Category Archives: parody

Who could sleep last night what with the excitement of Santa Claus’ impending arrival? Looking up to the sooty sky I could scarcely imagine the stress on that ol’ coot in the red suit… Anyway , something sparked the imagination.

Merrily On High.

Down the chimney Santa Claus went
But he’s a touch laden down at present,
For Santa may wish to discharge his duty
But Santa Claus is carrying too large a booty.

The dazed and confused residents below
Heard his ‘Yo ho ho’ become an ‘uh-oh.’

Santa was stuck fast ‘neath the chimney pot-
Speaking of which, pot is legal now, is it not?
They puffed and strained to smoke the stout fellow out
But a man of Santa’s weight can butt wait and mellow out.

Donald’s ending his year in his own inimitable way. As a weary caravan of refugees troop towards his USA, he’s sending out his own troops to welcome them.

Northern Lights.

Through the barren desert, dry and parched
The rag tag rebellious revolutionaries marched,
Towards the Grande prize they’d set their course-
To be met by Dons army and promises of lethal force.

Among the weary mothers and children Don has detected
Gangs of ‘bad guys’ from whom his States must be protected,
Now at the border his good ol’ boys look out, keen and alert,
They’re gonna protect his holy ground from the Mexican dirt.

It was late in the year, late at night on the Twenty Fourth
A keen-eyed trooper saw a sinister bearded figure heading north,
A flare went up, then a shot, then fusillades filled the air-
Donald would’ve been proud to see the rockets’ red glare.

The sun rose on a smouldering desert, deathly still,
The soldier boys had indulged in a bit of over-kill,
By the border fence, battered and broken as a pinata
Lay the latest sad-sack border hopping bloody martyr.

No one gets in the Great States undocumented,
But this is one under fire Alien who’ll be long lamented,
Sadly for the good children North of the border wall
Santa is officially late, and henceforth, unable to call.

I love to watch the Premier League football, I follow Crystal Palace… Yes, I know, I must be deluded… Today, I am beyond it though. (A cry of anger and frustration.)

Thor Point.

I’ve been sorely tried to hold Palace in high regard,
And yes, it’s been a tough week for the Palace guard,
This week Spurs stole the sole goal, given half a yard;
If only our half-hearted offense would try half as hard.

For another week we hear old Roy’s comments-
Yet more talk of tough luck, bad calls, sad laments,
Good old Roy has a lifetime of wisdom to dispense
But this eternal optimist is running out of patience.

Today saw Wilfred Zaha appear amongst the suits,
He’d put his feet up , but not put on the boots,
Wiv Wilf out of the game it’s down to Roy’s recruits-
From the back of the class up Sorloths hand shoots.

Yes, today would be Alexanders lucky day,
Good old Roy reluctantly let ‘Lex out to play,
And as luck would have it the ball came his way
But alas, lead-foot ‘Lex also has feet of clay.

Glory beckoned for Scandinavia’s best,
For with an eagle eye our Norseman’s been blessed,
He shot unerringly- straight at the ‘keepers chest!
I near had conniptions, Roy near a cardiac arrest.

Whey-faced Roy feels in his chest the knife slowly twist,
Roy, your choice is is cut ‘Lex loose, or cut your wrist;
Now Sloth’s hot off the bench, and on to the transfer list,
His missed shot at Spurs guarantees he’ll not be missed.

Late at night, trawling through the channels and I fell upon this tender offering from the past. So serious, so silly, so… If any fans feel distraught about this all I can offer is, ‘sorry- grow up.’

The Vampire Diatribes.

First Entry.

The full moon shone down, bright and clear
As she left the pub full of cider and good cheer,
When from out of the shadows ol’ Dracula did appear
She gave out a cry as down her thigh ran a…frisson of fear.

This sure put a dampener on the nights atmosphere.

The Count slid towards her with a lecherous leer,
She feared this was her dying day as he drew near,
As his fangs grazed her neck she whispered in his ear
Bitter words no salivating vampire ever desires to hear.

Immodest confessions no fair Catholic maid could volunteer.

She has developed quite the reputation round here,
Has an accommodating nature that’s sure to endear,
Her maidenhood hadn’t withstood her sixteenth year,
She’d long laid her honor to rest, and not shed one tear.

So while she’s lying safely abed, Drac’s crying in his bier.

Roseanne, late night entertainer, lacking just a touch of social grace.

Whacked On Ambien. (Apologies To John Mellencamp.)

Here’s a little ditty about tact and Roseanne,
‘Bout how she twitted her career right down the can,
Of how high she rated, and of how she’s fallen so far,
How now neither ABC nor her agent want a bar of Ms. Barr.

What damage to her ‘good name’ Roseanne is wreaking,
(Though her joke is shared by a few, conservatively speaking,)
Now she blames sleep deprivation and Ambien for her faux pas-
But it’s her own witterings on Twitter that launched this falling star.

A change for the better in the old monarchy of Swaziland. But better for who? Or whom? Who knows?

Ruling The Changes.

The good King of Swaziland
With one sweep of his hand-
Not to mention a Kingly decree-
Now reigns over the Kingdom of eSwatini.

For the Kingdoms King
It has a less colonial ring,
Old British tethers, now unbound;
His Majesty’s reasoning sounds sound.

Map makers the whole world through
Are left with reams of work to do, and undo,
The Kingdoms King revels in the change of name,
For his poor but loyal subjects life goes on the same.

Donald and the NRA’s Mr LaPierre see there’s a problem with school shootings. They looked at it, and, boy, have they got the problem cracked!

Principles Of School.

The Prez ponders on the question of the latest school shooting,
The NRA have found an answer that they’re keen on contributing,
The first priority for a teacher is to be a passable problem solver,
The second, say the NRA, is to aim to be be first class with a revolver.

Don and the firearms manufacturers think its a policy worth backing,
Although pupils may well be petrified knowing Sir or Ma’am is packing:
Those still attending Stoneman Douglas must feel a touch of concern-
Just how many bloody lessons does it take for one’s learned peers to learn?