Max Scratchmann's Blog, page 12

Pip the Jolly Penguin Meets Santa

Pip the jolly penguin, played in the snow,

He always sang a jolly song, that went where he would go,

The other penguins hated him, they said it's just our luck,

To be stuck upon this ice-flow with this bloody cheerful fuck.

But then one foggy Christmas Eve, Santa came to say,

I need some penguin volunteers to help save Christmas Day,

My reindeer, they are out on strike, I must deliver toys,

Oh, won't you penguins help me out, for all the girls and boys?

Oh no, the penguins cried as one, we are not rats in labs,

If reindeer boys are out on strike we will not be your scabs,

But Pip he cried, oh Santa, dear, I'll help you save the day,

I'll sing to you my jolly song, and I won't ask for pay.

But Santa shook his grizzled head, and said, oh no, me lad,

You are that cheery fucker, I don't need help that bad.

Hooray for Hawkin's!

Hooray, it's the Hawkin's catalogue, that's Christmas all wrapped up,

A whoopee cushion for Granddad, for Dad a boob-shaped cup,

We'll get Uncle Fred a science kit and a French maid dress for his wife,

And great Grandmamma will have a rocket, she'll have the time of her life.

A silent whistle for Bonzo, a book of farts just for fun,

And a bus ticket to the charity shop, to dump all this stuff when we're done.

PS: If you've never received a Hawkin's catalogue, click here to get the joke!

How the Grinch Stole Christmas

The Grinch sat in his office, and sang old Christmas songs,

Why, I can use these melodies to sell old jars and bongs,

And all these drums of old road grit, I'll scent and put in bottles,

And call them Christmas bath salts, although they will cause mottles.

And sweets and cakes and mince meat pies,

I'll package up with gaudy dyes,

And Ealing films and X-box games I'll deck with boughs of holly,

And kitchen stuff for frumpy mums I'll wrap and pack quite jolly.

For Christmas is the time of stuff, of obligation, good and strong,

So I will sell you lots of junk to help you pass those hours long,

With nephews, cousins and great uncles,

And smelly aunts with big carbuncles.

So, overeat and be excessive,

On with the trad and fuck progressive,

The Grinch salutes your Christmas cheer,

And hopes you'll have it every year.

Ode to Yuletide

Season of crap and mellow fruitfulness,

Stores laden with the useless and the banal,

Gaudily packaged nothingness in endless gondolas,

Mule trains of garbage in the retail canal.

Oh for a glass of Yuleade, fresh and gaseous, from the racks of giftery,

Perfumed detergents and sponges shaped into false effigies of love.

Bubble baths, coloured crystals, cleansing loofahs,

Stack upon stack from the corporations up above.

The gentle bleeping of till bells heralds the Yuletide,

Credit cards swipe in ecstasies of joy,

Cardboard effigies of televisual ghosts line counter after counter,

Somnambulists seeking the latest desirable toy.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

Xmas Shopping

There are too many people in the town,

Someone ought to cut them down,

They cover pavements, fill the bars,

Clutter up the roads with cars.

Bodies packed at every till,

Samantha, Wayne and Little Bill,

Push-chairs crammed with squalling brats,

Raining down like dogs and cats.

Double-decker bloody folk,

Humanity, God's little joke,

Streaming, teaming, over-flowing,

Bustling, hustling, coming, going.

In the malls and in the markets,

Trundling over polished parquet,

Filled up busses, filled up trams,

Filled up buggies, filled up prams.

Oh for a feudal city clearance

To grant to me no interference.

The Men Behind the Curtains

This is the story of Antonia Sword,

Who ruled the roost on a message board,

In life she worked at the kipper factory,

But on the net she was most refractory.

Antonia's tits were at her knees,

They were ninety-six double Ds,

Her arse as wide as a Dutch barn door,

And when she walked it dragged on the floor.

Her nose was long, her ears were big,

She belched like a mule and stank like a pig,

But on her board she was a god,

Even if she came across slightly odd.

So spare a thought for the people behind,

The cyber curtains of their daily grind,

Take with a pinch of salt what spouts from their gizzards,

'Cause, remember, in life, there are no wizards.

The Nemesis Rap

I was workin' all the night,

It really was quite shite,

At the Crystal Palace dreary Seven-Eleven,

When this big and hairy dude,

Said, please give to me some food,

I'm dead and going to my own private heaven.

He ate a whole meat pie,

Two pastrami served on rye,

And mealy puddin' sandwich with all trimmin's,

A flagon full of ale,

That fucker was on sale,

And jar of Russian vodka with fresh limmons.

I said you pack away,

An awful lot of hay,

And eat a lot for someone who's deceased,

He said, they shot me full o' lead,

There's a hole right in my head,

But my appetite, it's really quite increased.

I said, I feel your pain,

But you're drivin' me insane,

So sling yer hook, get lost, vacate the premises,

He said, see you in hell,

You'll know me by my smell,

And that is how I met my earthly Nemesis

The Hunting of the Snark

Look out, look out, they're coming, they're holding hunting spears,

The hunters they are coming, they're close, they're near, they're heres,

They say, we seek the deadly Snark, oh have you seen its like?

Its spangled suit, its Brilliantine, its karaoke mike?

Oh no, we have not seen it, we very boldly cry,

There has been not a spangled loon that has, by here, passed by.

Well, call us if you see it, they said in voices gruff,

Oh yes, we will inform you, we can't thank you enough!

And so they left our village, in their uniforms oh so green,

Their trophy room was Snarkless, the Snark remained unseen.

And we often talk of hunters, and their weapons oh so bright,

While the Snark sings O'er the Rainbow, on karaoke night.

Depression Blues

This is the story of Jessica Keating,

A girl who couldn't stop comfort eating.

Her mother said, Jessie, this snacking is bad,

But, Mum, said our Jessica, it's because I am sad,

I'm crushed by depression and feelings so blue,

If I don't have my snacking I'll have to sniff glue.

So they went to a doctor to make our girl well,

But while in reception she snacked on his bell,

And when she spoke to the medic she only went 'ding!',

And the doc asked her mother, are you feeding her bling?

I can't treat this patient, she hasn't a voice,

Take her home or just kill her, it's your personal choice.

But what about the eating, look she's waving her fork?

Oh that, that is easy, just use this old cork,

Just stuff up her gob, she's got nothing to say,

It'll stop all her eating for ever and a day!

But won't it just kill her, if I do to her that?

Oh no, said the doctor, she's got plenty of fat.

So folks if you're feeling all sad and quite blue,

Don't reach for the cake tin, this might happen to you.

The Love Song of Harriet Klausner

Let us go then, you and I,

To where the remnant copies are stacked up tall and high,

Let us discuss those certain much-neglected tomes,

By lonely authors who pick the bones.

And on the site the fangirls come and go,

Gossiping that Robert Pattinson will play Michelangelo.

Oh, I grow weary, I grow weary,

I eye my number one position leery,

Shall I fall a vote behind?

Do I dare to give five stars?

I hear the lower-rankers whispering in bars.

And as if my lonely life is thrown upon the screen,

A jerky Quick Time rendering of my lost and broken dream,

And as I lift the latest book of literary cordon bleu,

The readers callout, Harriet, please give us your view,

And so my tired fingers stroke the keyboard in my darkened room,

It's done,

I pen another Amazon review to keep me number one.