Category Archives: obituary

Terry Jones, member of Monty Python, moves on. Sorry, ex member. The world of humor has lost a great one today.

Terry’s Pissed Off.

Farewell Mr Jones, know you’l be missed,
How well you filled the role of Mr Creosote,
Of Jesus’ Mum, of that rude nude organist,
Terry rarely, barely,played a bum note.

Now is the time to raise the wrist,
To drink to John Cleese’s fitting quote,
‘Four left to go on the Dead Parrot’s list.’
Goodbye Jokester, That’s all he wrote.

 

©Obbverse

The year grinds on. Even at the very end of 2019 another bright thread in life’s rich sweet and idiotically human tapestry sparks out. Goodbye, Neil Innes. In the comedy of life, his timing was impeccable.

Fresh Wound.

Here we are on December Thirty-First,
I’ll be glad when this accursed year is done,
This stinking year must rank down with our worst,
But we don’t care- or dare- to dig up that sorrier one.

I was chillin’ in the car when the news came on,
Then the fuggy atmosphere grew a degree colder,
Neil Innes, immortal eccentric English wit has gone!?
The words I heard drove me over onto the hard shoulder.

What a way to wrap up a bad year’s news,
With a sigh but a rueful grin I wiped a tear away,
With his Python bits, Ruttle skits Innes would amuse,
He’s left us with a song and a smile, this dogs’s had his day.

It’s another sad goodbye and farewell. There will be no more encores for Ginger Baker, the hot-headed red-headed drumming genius of Cream.

No Fitting Fiery Farewell?

I woke up and heard the bad news today,
Ginger Baker has gently and quietly gone on his way,
‘Not how I thought he’d go,’ some might say,
Eric and Jack expected he’d go down still blazing away.

He had them swaying in the sun and sand to the Bossa Nova beat. Take your final bow, Jaoa Gilberto.

Ciao, Jaoa Gilberto.

‘Bye to the man who made ‘The Girl From Ipenema,’
That ode to the hot-blooded Latin dreamer- and schemer,
Jaoa’s beach partying days are done,
For him, the Ipeneman sands have run,
He’s had his time, his moment in the sun.
For Jaoa Gilberto, the reclusive master of the Bossa Nova
The dreams of golden beaches and glistening peaches are over.

Tim Conway, quirky comedian, leaves us with a smile.

Time, Tim.

Just days after the departure of Doris Day
Tim Conway has gone and gone the same way,
He’s done last his run, he’s taken his final bow,
He’ll be asking Saint Peter about any openings by now.

Who could ever forget
Tim cracking up Carol Burnett
And leaving the entire set
With cheeks and tidy-whities wet?

So Tim has sadly gone, and only God knows why-
Perhaps, these days, He feels He needs a funny guy?
Lordy, it’s not for us to question the likes of Thou
But he’s gone, and left, and it’s a sadder world now.

The final curtain call for Doris Day. A lovely person, apparently, but her screen persona was quite, shall we say, twee?

YesterDay.

We say goodnight to Doris today,
At ninety-seven she’s faded away,
No more virtuous parts will Doris play,
Bye, Americas eternally virginal sweetheart.

Perpetually preppy peppy Doris Day,
No movie dared show her going astray,
Not the kind of girl to take a roll in the hay,
Always the sweet girl-next-door, never the tart.

‘No no no’ our Doris must always say,
No petting, no rucking up of the duvet,
No deflowering of Doris, no hint of foreplay-
Not even with Rock Hudson gayly playing his part.

Doris was forever doomed to portray
The gal who favoured pajamas over negligee,
The blonde who’d kneel before bed- and pray!
No impassioned puckering could prise her lips apart.