It seemed like a good idea at the time, but I don't think it went where I wanted. I may return to this at a later date and try again.
The Telephone Number of the Broad.
There's a beardy big-boned gamer in the heart of Dundee town,
There's a little Uni Club where he plays;
There's a small group of people who think he acts the clown,
And the big-boned gamer forever fits cliches.
He was known as "Big Bad Brad" by the folks in Dundee town,
He was dafter than they felt inclined to tell;
And for all his foolish pranks, he was welcomed in the ranks,
But he had yet to find the woman who rang his bell.
He had searched for her all along, with a hope with a hope that was going wrong,
The fact that he was tragic was plain to all.
He was nearly thirty-one and the arrangements that had begun
To celebrate Valentine's began to pall.
They wondered what they should do for poor old Big Bad Brad;
They met next evening as he ran his game;
And jestingly they thought that it wouldn't be too bad
If they went out and organised a dame.
All throughout the day, Big Bad Brad dwindled away,
And they harassed him to go out to a club:
But for once he failed to smile, and he sat alone awhile,
And drowned his sorrows with a good cabernet.
He returned before the dawn, with his shirt and trousers torn,
And a gash across his temple dripping red;
He was bundled home right away, and he slept through all the day,
With a large hold-all resting beside his bed.
He woke at last and asked if they could send his trousers through;
They brought it, and he thanked them with a nod;
He bade them search the pocket saying "That's for Big Bad Brad,"
And they found the little 'phone number of the broad.
They congratulated Big Bad Brad in the way that gamers had,
And hoped for his sake that it was a friendly gamerette;
But they shook their heads and left, for of luck he was bereft
And he was alone with the number he'd chanced his life to get.
When the party was at its height, on that still and freezing night,
They wondered where he was and called his name;
As they walked along the hall she could hear the screaming call
Of "Star Wars" clearly blasting thro' the gloom.
His door was open wide, and his screams were raving mad;
The place was wet and sticky where they trod;
A layer of tar covered the room and all over Big Bad Brad,
'Twas the "Vengeance of the Boy Friend of the Broad."
There's a beardy big-boned gamer in the heart of Dundee town,
There's a little Uni Club where he plays;
There's a small group of people who think he acts the clown,
And the big-boned gamer forever fits cliches.
Tune in again soon, same Blogg time, same Blogg channel.
Saturday, February 14, 2004
Shameless plagiarism
Saw this on Slacker's Blog. Had to pinch it...
Anti-Valentine's Day
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Anti-Valentine's Day
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Valentine's Day
&%£%$"(%*(^%&($% YT%^£$^%^£$*&$ &($&^$&(^$&($ £$^!*&^*&*^$%^"£ *OTP(&^^*$R~@~@~}{*$^£ I%E$^£%£"&^%&£^$! &$(&%$&^$&^!!!!
^$££%"&%£@:~@}{^$£&£&¬¬&*^%&^$*& O*^%&$*%£^*%(*^(&$*^%$()+* &^%&*%£$%^*£^*$£^*%£ O&*R^&(^()*@~@:~)*(&%&(%$^*%££$! &$%&$*%^$*%&$*())&O&*%%^£ *&%$!!??????
^$%£$%"&%(^&*^£$"£&^%*&(%&£ O^$^£&£"%)&*&(%£&^$£ (&^$&%&$%"£&^%)&*%£(&%)*&%(%£%£":}{:}:?~@:>
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^$££%"&%£@:~@}{^$£&£&¬¬&*^%&^$*& O*^%&$*%£^*%(*^(&$*^%$()+* &^%&*%£$%^*£^*$£^*%£ O&*R^&(^()*@~@:~)*(&%&(%$^*%££$! &$%&$*%^$*%&$*())&O&*%%^£ *&%$!!??????
^$%£$%"&%(^&*^£$"£&^%*&(%&£ O^$^£&£"%)&*&(%£&^$£ (&^$&%&$%"£&^%)&*%£(&%)*&%(%£%£":}{:}:?~@:>
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Thursday, February 12, 2004
Apathy
As you may have noticed, this is my first post since Sunday. I thought I'd better do one to remind myself that I have this really neat thing available and not to ignore it. Still working on the poem, three verses done and I may have it done by Saturday. Other than that, same old, same old...
Tune in again soon, same Blogg time, same Blogg channel.
Tune in again soon, same Blogg time, same Blogg channel.
Sunday, February 08, 2004
Inspiration
Spent the evening in company playing Cheapass board games and Vinci and wound up finishing the evening (morning) watching Peter's friends, a very good film about a bunch of close folk who haven't seen each other for several years and get together for New Year. Thought provoking and fun. For some reason this has inspired me to do my trick of mucking around with the word to a famous poem/song. Don't ask me why, I just do, 'kay? The work I have chosen for the chop is The Green Eye of the Little Yellow God by Milton Hayes. Again, don't ask me why. I love this poem, the tempo, the characters and the situation. It probably doesn't deserve to be mauled by me but there you go. When it's finished I'll put it up, but for those of you unfamiliar with the work...
The Green Eye of the Yellow God
THERE'S a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu,
There's a little marble cross below the town;
There's a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew,
And the Yellow God forever gazes down.
He was known as "Mad Carew" by the subs at Khatmandu,
He was hotter than they felt inclined to tell;
But for all his foolish pranks, he was worshipped in the ranks,
And the Colonel's daughter smiled on him as well.
He had loved her all along, with a passion of the strong,
The fact that she loved him was plain to all.
She was nearly twenty-one and arrangements had begun
To celebrate her birthday with a ball.
He wrote to ask what present she would like from Mad Carew;
They met next day as he dismissed a squad;
And jestingly she told him then that nothing else would do
But the green eye of the little Yellow God.
On the night before the dance, Mad Carew seemed in a trance,
And they chaffed him as they puffed at their cigars;
But for once he failed to smile, and he sat alone awhile,
Then went out into the night beneath the stars.
He returned before the dawn, with his shirt and tunic torn,
And a gash across his temple dripping red;
He was patched up right away, and he slept through all the day,
And the Colonel's daughter watched beside his bed.
He woke at last and asked if they could send his tunic through;
She brought it, and he thanked her with a nod;
He bade her search the pocket saying, "That's from Mad Carew,"
And she found the little green eye of the god.
She upbraided poor Carew in the way that women do,
Though both her eyes were strangely hot and wet;
But she wouldn't take the stone and Mad Carew was left alone
With the jewel that he'd chanced his life to get.
When the ball was at its height, on that still and tropic night,
She thought of him and hastened to his room;
As she crossed the barrack square she could hear the dreamy air
Of a waltz tune softly stealing thro' the gloom.
His door was open wide, with silver moonlight shining through;
The place was wet and slipp'ry where she trod;
An ugly knife lay buried in the heart of Mad Carew,
'Twas the "Vengeance of the Little Yellow God."
There's a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu
There's a little marble cross below the town;
There's a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew,
And the Yellow God forever gazes down.
There are gestures to be done with the work when it's recited, but damned if I can remember them.
Tune in again soon, same Blogg time, same Blogg channel.
The Green Eye of the Yellow God
THERE'S a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu,
There's a little marble cross below the town;
There's a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew,
And the Yellow God forever gazes down.
He was known as "Mad Carew" by the subs at Khatmandu,
He was hotter than they felt inclined to tell;
But for all his foolish pranks, he was worshipped in the ranks,
And the Colonel's daughter smiled on him as well.
He had loved her all along, with a passion of the strong,
The fact that she loved him was plain to all.
She was nearly twenty-one and arrangements had begun
To celebrate her birthday with a ball.
He wrote to ask what present she would like from Mad Carew;
They met next day as he dismissed a squad;
And jestingly she told him then that nothing else would do
But the green eye of the little Yellow God.
On the night before the dance, Mad Carew seemed in a trance,
And they chaffed him as they puffed at their cigars;
But for once he failed to smile, and he sat alone awhile,
Then went out into the night beneath the stars.
He returned before the dawn, with his shirt and tunic torn,
And a gash across his temple dripping red;
He was patched up right away, and he slept through all the day,
And the Colonel's daughter watched beside his bed.
He woke at last and asked if they could send his tunic through;
She brought it, and he thanked her with a nod;
He bade her search the pocket saying, "That's from Mad Carew,"
And she found the little green eye of the god.
She upbraided poor Carew in the way that women do,
Though both her eyes were strangely hot and wet;
But she wouldn't take the stone and Mad Carew was left alone
With the jewel that he'd chanced his life to get.
When the ball was at its height, on that still and tropic night,
She thought of him and hastened to his room;
As she crossed the barrack square she could hear the dreamy air
Of a waltz tune softly stealing thro' the gloom.
His door was open wide, with silver moonlight shining through;
The place was wet and slipp'ry where she trod;
An ugly knife lay buried in the heart of Mad Carew,
'Twas the "Vengeance of the Little Yellow God."
There's a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu
There's a little marble cross below the town;
There's a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew,
And the Yellow God forever gazes down.
There are gestures to be done with the work when it's recited, but damned if I can remember them.
Tune in again soon, same Blogg time, same Blogg channel.
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