Category Archives: wordplay

The old familiar saying is ‘What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.’ Not in this dysfunctional family it doesn’t.

’66, The Mother Road.

Lucky Wandering Willie got a job in Vegas,
Willie wished to augment his Casino wages,
But he broke the rules when he marked the deck,
He broke and ran before Bruno broke his neck.

Lucky ran like a cut cat, he ran for his life,
He ran out the car park, he ran out on his wife,
Down dark alleyways he poundingly pelted,
He ran till his steaming Sketchers melted.

He skipped into the Desert Lodge only to find
He’d left his expensive grab-bag of troubles behind,
So he laid low in a two-bit stinking sauna of a hotel;
Better to sweat here than suffer Bruno’s bloody hell.

Rambling Lucky Willie gambled on his good luck,
It left him, flat busted in Las Vegas, silly schmuck,
It’s a tiny town to hide in when you owe a million,
Miniscule when the family next door is Sicilian.

Poor unfortunate Willie was out of tricks,
Time to bail out, to sh hit the bricks,
When Bosco pounded heavily on his door
Willie bounded lightly off the second floor.

Willie lit out of Vegas that very night,
Walked the back-roads till morning light,
Then it was time to lay down his weary head,
If Bosco caught him up he’d be spittin’ up lead.

A faint trail snaking off into the sand
Offered only the shade of a Yucca stand,
There he stumbled on a long deserted Dodge,
A humble home, even though no Desert Lodge.

And so Lucky Willie slept the day away,
Got out of Dodge at the end of the day,
He limped along ‘neath a ghostly moon
Praying he’d find some hick town soon.

Bruno drove all day in air-conditioned splendor
His eyes peeled for someone crisp and tender,
Squinting in the sun for someone dehydrated,
His aim; to literally leave Willie well ventilated.

Bruno would’ve made the paisan Swiss cheese,
But it seems Willie was gone, like a cool breeze,
The Casino kindly offered his wife their support,
Even helped her file a missing person’s report.

No, the diligent detective’s found no trace of Willie,
Our hot-foot fugitive’s trail turned downright chilly,
Willie, last seen by a road crew outside of Primm,
Since that last sight, no-ones seen a sign of him…

——————————————————————-

Though the Willie trail went cold a few months back
Bosco still thinks of Willie, driving in his Cadillac,
Poor Lucky Willie sure was one unlucky mother-
Finding Nevada Road Fill’s run by Bosco’s brother.

Bruno knows Willies gone but he’s not forgot,
At a certain point, Bosco’s found a soft spot,
That dip on Route 66, down the road apiece-
Lost in time and lime Lucky rests in peace.

Ps; This was ‘inspired’ by driving down a long boring stretch of road alleviated by the random shuffle selecting Jason and the Scorchers version of ‘Lost Highway.’  

©Obbverse

What’s happening to the Lucky Country? Bushfires, shark attacks, oil and water drying up- and now this. Holden bites the dust. Crikey!

With A Whimper.

It all started up down at Fishermens Bend
We had a Genuine partnership, my Special friend,
Aw jeez, now yer dumping me, it’s journeys end?
Just like a busted wheel my heart cain’t mend.

Don’t ya remember when days were golden,
Back then when we were flush, the money rolled in?
We ran the hottest flamin’ dealership for Holden,
Now its been a cold day since a punter strolled in.

It was just a day after Valentine’s Day
I read my ‘Dear John’ letter with dismay,
My true love was packin’ up, goin’ away?
What a grievously monstrous thing to say.

My fingers slackened, as did my jaw,
The letter fluttered to the workshop floor,
Fair dinkum, my darlin’s duckin’ out the door?
I reached for some comfort, bottom drawer.

I took a drink, drank deep and long-
When the spirit’s weak, make it strong,
I wondered maudlinly ‘what went wrong?’
Then stumbled out to dribble by the billabong.

Nah, no more will the limping  roaring lion roam,
Flashing down the streets with teeth of chrome,
General Motors lit up them tyres, they’re flying home,
No last slow dignified ride back in the black Brougham.

Cobber, mate, I’m not watcha call a sensitive dude,
My oath, I’ve been called rude and f- far worse, crude,
But this  I can say with a high degree of verisimilitude
Unlike his bottle this guy’s gettin’ well and truly screwed.

 

Ps: For what its worth, minor inspiration  ‘Heart Like A Wheel’ Kate and Anna McGarigle and ‘The Newcastle Song’ Bob Hudson.

 

©Obbverse

Who does not like to see things being re-purposed, recycled, or reclaimed? Sometimes though, after the shabby-chic treatment don’t you just feel re-used?

Up Cycled.

We’ve recently taken a pedal into an old part of town,
It’s long been tagged as unsavoury and well run down,
But now it’s been all tarted-up, prettified and gentrified,
It’s been well flipped so as to show its bright not dark side.

For ever it’s been dumped on the wrong side of the tracks,
Here, even bad-as Hells Angels warily watch their backs,
The river runs high with rancid sludge and a ranker smell,
Even before the bikies ran out this ‘hood had gone to Hell.

But now the Victorian ruins have been lavishly restored,
The brick-work water-blasted, all rotten flaws refloored,
Now the developers can look at their enterprise with pride,
Cashed-up customers come a’flocking in from far and wide.

They’ve re-roofed the three-sheets-to-the-wind rusted roof,
The trusty developers reassure the tenants all is water-proof,
They’ve made a cash cow by scouring out the old Tannery site,
The lucky tenant’s leases are iron-clad and screwed down tight.

So, we dismounted our mountain bikes and strolled around,
What a fine array of whimsically priced fripperies we found,
A Tea Room charmingly infused with every blend of Specialtea
With organic free-range scones totally gluten and taste free!

Here, a hipster’s barber, complete with cravat, fedora and cheap cigar-
There, a ladies retreat, all sweet lotions, micellar waters, a stone cold spa-
Everywhere, wild-flowers, scented candles, potpourri perfumigate the air
Upstairs, a purveyor of pre-owned books, each volume precious and rare.

Behind the polished glass, hidden by glossy Grisham’s and Attwood’s
Lurking deep in shadow and dusty hibernation I spied the real goods,
What price the grubby Greene, what cost that long lost Crusoe?
I’d love to recover poor old Robinson but there’s only so far I dare go.

I admit I lingered longingly at the Lady Chatterley chastely tucked away
High above the wall of Da Vinci Browns and unmoving Shades of Grey,
We ended with a stroll down memory lane, perusing the Antique Shoppe,
To count the cost of junk wed’e once tossed away- I felt my heart might stop.

We’re not the demographic here,we don’t rashly rush in, buy and large
But we lined up at a ‘cantina’ and after coughing up the cover charge,
We laughed off our al fresco ale, our cracker topped with a sprig of rocket
Then pedalled off with hollow smiles, heavy hearts and a lighter pocket.

What did you do on Valentine’s Day? Or on Valentine’s night? Flowers just might not cut it or quite do the trick on this occasion.

Be My Valentine.

I have my love and she has mine,
She tells me of her love, deep and true,
How rare ’tis for two hearts to intertwine,
Oh, my sweet love, I give my heart to you.

I brought her red roses on Valentine’s Day,
I thought to lay them on her sweet bed,
Oh, but why is she not at work but at play?
I crushed those roses till my hands ran red.

So, my love, give me back my broken heart,
You took my trust, my love, you lay and lied,
Outside the door I hear the hopeless pleading start,
When you break it down you find we’re all dead inside.

 

PS: The car radio was crassly playing ‘Dear Doctor’- on Valentine’s Day!- and the lines ‘Help me Dear Doctor, I’m damaged, there’s a pain where there once was a heart,’ sounded ghastlily inspirational.

 

©Obbverse

The urban legend states that drivers of German prestige cars are wank- er, jerks. So a Finnish Professor did a study which concluded ‘Sadly, Ja, they are!’

A Lapse Of Luxury.

For years poor German auto drivers have put up with
Being called scheisse drivers, so let’s confirm the myth.

Thank you for your findings, Professor Lonnqvist,
You’ve proved German car drivers head up the S list,
Audi  uber alles drivers spin you into the safety fence,
Overtaking, over all the yellow lines, not a bit of sense.

Give any fast approaching ass-Audi a gentle warning toot-
They’ll leave four conjoined circles puckering your boot.

The Beemer driver is Xcremental arrogance personified,
In traffic jams he sits, front and centre, and woe betide
Any poor plebeian in a Prius who signals an intent to turn,
The Right light may say ‘all go’ but he’ll let the Greenie burn.

He sits in his Dummkofwagon, lording it over the peasantry,
Above reproof, deaf to toots, the cause of all unpleasantry.

But it’s the over-egoed big boy still in thrall to the silver star-
Guaranteed to be the bat crap craziest bad drivers by far-
He’s ecstatic to drive out of the dealers a small fortune lighter
Despite the grave reservations of his insurance underwriter.

The pricey new Mercedes owner is entitled to feel he’s owed
The right to run red lights, give no ways since he owns the road.

See the imperious glint of his eye, and off his gleaming grille?
But it’s the pampering of his polished Panzer that makes me ill ,
His Benz must be protected from all dings, dents or marks,
Ergo, the safest place is to take up two handicapped parks.

As for indicators, these geniuses have no need or wand to know;
But cross ones path- one slick finger flick shows you where to go.

 

©Obbverse

The Premier League results results in this Palace fan getting the usual tail end of season shi- jitters. Everton 3, Palace 1.

Getting Stuck In The Mersey slide.

Palace went up to Everton
Hoping for a change in luck,
Seeking three points, or at least one,
Our bold Eagles played with much pluck
But when the down settled, the Toffees won.
Doesn’t this sour taste of defeat simply suck?

 

Shlock mock horror! A quick look at an old horror flick. Alien, the concept, the movie, encapsulated.

Alien, The Cliff Notes Cut.

A richly laden space craft returning to far off earth,
A motley crew roused from their deep sleep berth,
Duty bound to wake in the middle of the long haul,
To answer something in the nature of an urgent call.

Touching down on a bleak and windswept planetoid
Crewman Kane makes a contact you’d pray to avoid,
Back on board the crew wonder if he will live or not-
Well, let’s face it, that’s one ugly kisser Kane has got.

Then when that foul face mask falls, all appears hunky-dory-
But Ridley didn’t make this a happy ending story, it gets gory,
After swallowing that alien dish it’s a wonder Kane’s able
To face a Damn thing that disgraces the breakfast table.

Kane discovers his hidden guest
That had snuggled down in his chest
Cause’s heartburn and a cardiac arrest.
(Some find this scene tough to digest.)

After busting Kane’s heart and finding it’s lost face,
That bloody little alien disappeared without a trace,
The crew peer up stairs, down shafts, a long corridor
Only to find the ‘Find The Alien’ plan contains a fatal flaw.

There will be only one winner in this game of hide and seek,
That’s one drooling beast who’ll never lose its nasty streak,
Soon the loyal crew are terminated, all bar a slippery one,
Sadly for Ms. Ripley, a psycho killers work is never done.

Pausing only to toss the ships cat in a carry cage
Ripley decides to pull the pin and leave the stage,
She set a time for the ol’ atomic pile to self-destruct-
Screw Wutani’s Destruction of Property Code of Conduct.

But in the escape pod Ripley found
She was a world away from safe ground,
And as the stowaway alien slowly unwound
Our spunky space-girl made a gibbering sound.

Trapped in the confines of her space-suit cocoon
Her trembling hand chanced upon a handy harpoon,
One second it was looming there before her, salivating,
The next, a harpoon to the chest left it hyperventilating.

From gross green rotten eggs through to face hugger
That nasty bit of work was proving a persistent bugger,
A pest of a problem and a proper nightmare to dispatch,
The only solution was open up the door, down the hatch.

Even out in airless space the beast was not yet spent,
It crawled up, coming to rest up up an air duct (or vent,)
So the sole survivor gave the rocket engine a quick blast
And the alien slipped away aft, toasty and crispy-assed.

She sets her course, sets homing beam,
A sedative courses down bloodstream,
Her eyes close, perchance to dream…
In deep sleep does she silently scream?

 

©Obbverse