Max Scratchmann's Blog, page 13

The Job Interview

I went out to an interview, complete with suit and tie,

They said, do come and work for us, I said, I'd rather die,

They said, the wage is ten and six and an extra bob for luck,

It is an excellent package, I told them, is it fuck!

Just work your fingers to the bone, then work them down some more,

I asked, are you still talking? You really are a bore.

It's just twenty hours a day, they said, with five minutes off for lunch,

It really is quite generous. I told them, thanks a bunch.

So, you're going to spurn our offer, they said with grief and sorrow,

Of course I'm not, I said all fast, I'm going to start tomorrow.

Campbell's Meatballs

"Have received a novel in the post where the opening scene is a dinner party where the guests consume human flesh. Not hard to reject." – Penguin Books Editor on Twitter

I went to have my dinner at my neighbour, Torphin's, house,

I really loved the entrée, it was his cousin, Louse,

I went again on Thursday, we ate his little brother,

He's coming to mine on Tuesday, I've also asked my mother.

Amanda Piss-Pants

This is the story of Amanda McPhee,

A girl who was often seen having a pee,

For she pissed in the road and she peed in the street,

And it ruined her shoes and wet both her feet.

Her mother said, Mandy, please use the convenience,

We can no longer rely on municipal lenience,

Please go to the ladies when you feel that old urge,

Don't stand in the road and let it go splurge.

But Amanda said, Mummy, don't be so elite,

It's perfectly trendy to pee in the street,

It's best from the porch step but the window will do,

Thank god, said her father, it's not number two.

The mayor he visited, said, girl it must end,

Your public performance has me right round the bend,

So please, girl, to stop it, today without fail,

Or else I will throw you in Stockport's old jail.

So she tried to be modest, but alas, folks, she missed,

And at the Lord Mayor's Gala, Amanda, she pissed,

She sprinkled the vicar and a visiting priest,

And all their grand ladies till she finally ceased.

And she grinned rather sheepish and bowed from the middle,

Said, don't be so fussy, it's only warm piddle,

So they clapped her in irons and threw her in't sea,

And that was the end of Amanda McPhee.

Juniper Tree

Lady, three white leopards drank a toast,

Some marmalade and Sunday roast,

Then ate a brace of peppermint tree,

Some mulberry pie and shin of knee.

And when the winds of winter came,

They went outside and sang again,

Here we go round the prickly pear,

The jaggy dwarf, the scented stair,

We sing our song of Christmas-Tide,
Of Easter Daz and Omo-wide,
The ocean's foam, the bubble-bath rail,
The washing powder's sent to jail,
For we make no sound, no cry or simper,
And sink below with a bang, not a...

Wild Thang

Reginald Rocqueforth Fortesque Daire,

Was a boy quite enamoured with girls' pubic hair.

He jumped on his teacher and gave her a push,

Then whipped off her drawers to look at her bush.

The school called his parents, said, have there been others?

Oh yes, said his father, he looks at his mother's,

And we can't get a nanny and we can't get a cook,

Since Reggie is always sneaking a look.

So they called in a brain doc, said what's to be done,
He's assaulted a reverend and stripped off a nun,
The...

Obliging Amanda

This is the story of Amanda Wray,

A girl who would, if they offered to pay,

She hung by her heels for the parish priest,

And let the vicar dip her in yeast.

The local doctor painted her pink,

And Constable Jones locked her up in the clink.

Her mother said, girl, this has got to stop,

You've turned our home to a knocking shop,

This constant whoring is making me nervous,

But Mum, said Amanda, it's a public service.

I help them out, and let then wank,
They go off home, we have money in the bank,

The Voters' Roll

I was sitting here one evening when my doorbell it did toll,

It was a man from city hall who brought the voters' roll,

He said, you're Mr Scratchmann, I have you on my list,

Of those who we allow to vote who are not stoned or pissed.

I said to him, why thank you, it's a thrill indeed to vote,

But isn't the election over, I think you've missed the boat,

He said, there'll be another, it is a regular game,

But honestly, mate, why bother, they're all the bloody same.

The candidates are crooked...

August Bank Holiday Blues

It is the August holiday, put on your rubber wellies,

Your oilskins and sou'westers, there's forecasts on your tellies,

You'll need your umbrella and your best wooly scarf,

The state of British summer is enough to make you barf.

The river's overflowing, there's black clouds in the sky,

And we look at all those raindrops and, frankly, want to die.

It's wet and grey and cloudy, there is no sky of blue,

It's time to move to Africa, I'm going soon, are you?

I feel cold winter coming, the chilly...

Check Shirts and Pickup Trucks

A short story with apologies to Raymond Carver

The first snow lay rigid on the ground as a posse of men in check shirts moved stealthily around the frame and tar paper buildings of our town.

Who's they, Pa? I asked.

Them's dee-vor-cees, Son, my Pappy said, spitting a great gob of chewin' tobacco across our porch, hitting my Mama, an angular-framed silent woman, square in the face.

What's they lookin' for, Pappy? I asked.

Love, he replied, eyes wistfully on the middle distance, they ain't got...

The Life & Death of Alasdair Gray

I was walking out the other day from my wee flat in Cowcaddens,

When I met a prim young woman, her name was Miriam Adams,

I said I am a teacher, my name is Alasdair Gray,

She said you are, indeed, a cunt, but you'll marry me today.

We walked to Botanic Crescent to find an open church,

She stopped to buy a bottle of wine and left me in the lurch,

The minister was old and bent, he held a lengthy service,

But I loudly shouted out, I do, I wasn't scared or nervous.

Her mother sat upon the steps...