Kardashian Kar Krash

Why is your passion

On ration

Like it’s gone out of fashion?

You’ve perfected the trick of making me sick

Like I’m watching the Kardashians

Who think we’re enlightened when they whiten their teeth

Or get new tints

The vacuous bints

And that twatish bloke with the jumper round his neck. 

I’m no fighter

But I’d love to pull it tighter

Life would be better to see you swing

From the ceiling

Attached to an Arran sweater.

But I’m better than this

And I don’t know if you got the gist

It’s just I’d love your expensive watch

To list

Like a ship

And slip

To the floor

From your limp, dead wrist.

I’m in my prime

But I could turn to crime

Do time

And yeah it might seem that I’m

Being rash

But just a cheeky little car crash

Would do the job.

I know this bloke, Bob

The Everest of man-mountains

Who could sort it in such a manner

Like Diana

But with less memorial fountains.

And I know wishing death on someone is a little far

But I’d supply the car

If that’s what it takes

It just wouldn’t have brakes.

But I digress

I went off road

Like I hope their fucking car does

NO!

I’m joking

I’m just poking fun, I’m provoking

I’m karaoke-ing with a lie that I can’t deny:

I don’t really want the Kardashians to die.

I want them tortured

To within an inch of their celebrity life

Like I’d get one red ant

And his ant wife

To eat them alive

Starting at opposite ends

Until they arrive

Together

And all that survives

Is their eyes

So they can watch their demise

In HD, like me

And their shitty TV show

I so

Despise.

Wise

Men would say turn over

But I don’t control the TV in our house

I haven’t got the nous

I’m timid as a mouse

I haven’t even got a spouse

Just my girls

Steph and Emma

It’s not much of a dilemma

And I don’t moan when you don’t replace the loo roll

Or leave the key in the front door

But that Kardashian programme’s poor

And QI’s on the other side

And even silence is better for the mind

And I’m sorry for speaking while you’re watching

But please, please, please

Whatever you do

Don’t rewind. 

Compensation Culture Vulture

A window pane

When it connects with your brain

Is not quite the same

As gaining a stain

You could ring the council to complain 

But the paperwork might drive you insane,

So in the main

I would refrain
There's nothing to gain

But heartache and pain

It's throwing good money down the drain

It's walking, single, down a lover's lane

It's buying a horse that ends up lame

It's knowing you were rubbish and she never came

It's putting out the washing when it starts to rain

It's the FA Cup final and you've picked up a strain

Or you're late for Spain coz you missed the train

And of your life

It could be the bane.

I speak the truth

But only a grain

You can make a claim

Just sign your name

Car Philosophy

As I gently press the throttle
I think
Aristotle had a lot of bottle
He had a lot of things to say
And as I break I wonder what he'd make
Of today
The proliferation of media
Smart phones, ice cream cones
Wikipedia
The people lurking in social networking
Sites
Human wrongs and human rights
Electric lights
40 denier tights
How cool would it be to let him see
With a lightbulb
To marvel at planes, trains, bus lanes
A Hoover plugged in at the mains
Stock market gains
Our ability to remove stains

All those inventions
Too many
To mentions

There's laptops and Lycra
The Nissan Micra
How we deliver a parcel
And talk about a footballer's 4th metatarsal...

If I took him out
Our world would probably freak him out
I'd get the drinks
It'd be my shout
But these things, I just don't know about
How they work
I use them, I abuse them
Sometimes I lose them
I'm an ignorant jerk
A berk
I just see them as a perk
I'm sorry Aristotle
I just get all
Annoyed
With myself
A bit deranged
But the lights have changed
So maybe I should stop philosophising
Summerising
Surmising and compromising with the temperature rising

And just start driving.

Broken Hearted In Tescos

Watching the tramps queue
For Special Brew
I think yeah, I fancied you
A bit
I mean you were fit
You had a nice nose
And always looked good
In your Tesco's clothes
By the cream cake shelf
(And that's an art in itself)

I worked there too
And there was nothing in my contract
About your eye contact
Plus I would've expected additional fees
To cover goosebump usage
When you teased
You were the honey to my bees
The carrots to my peas
The toast to my cheese
The squirrel to my trees

Oh how I'd loved to have buried my nuts

And it cuts
When I think about her
On the cheese counter
All big eyes
A big white hat
And lips
All I had was my quick wits
And funny quips
We drifted apart
Like passing ships
Well I was more of a sinking rowing boat
And you were an aircraft carrier
With a permanent barrier
But it's not your fault
I should've run after you
Like Usain Bolt
Or swam like Michael Phelps
But time's a great healer
And I've put out a few feelers

Well, Every Little Helps.

A Happy Ending

The problem with some poems
Is you don't know where they end.

(big pause) 

I hate the awkward pauses
That can drive you round the bend.
They become a slight distraction
And you don't know your reaction
Is quite the right action to gain satisfaction.
A fraction of the time I applaud too soon
I feel like a loon
Like there's an elephant in the room.
But it's not my fault, it's the poet
And he knows it.

(pause) 

The false ending is even more mind bending
It seems to be trending
And is frankly a little offending.
It needs mending
And I feel like spending some time sending
A letter to my MP,
The BBC
And John Hegley.
Or paying a visit
And if there is a happy ending
Then this is it.

(pause, look at woman in audience) 

Sorry that wasn't the end, missus.
This is.

Arachnid Anachronism

Sometimes I think that you want me around

As muscle, to hustle

Or lend you a pound

To loosen a jar

For lifts in my car

To Ikea

I fear

It’s never too far

For me to say no

Some balls, I should grow

I should Coco.

And when

All the men are inside ya

Like the clown, I’ll always be stage left

Bereft

Catching my breath

Trapping a spider.