All The Ginger Biscuits (Give Me My Biscuit)


All the ginger biscuits
(All the ginger biscuits)
All the ginger biscuits
(All the ginger biscuits)
All the ginger biscuits
(All the ginger biscuits)
All the ginger biscuits
Hold your hobnobs up.

Up in the club, with my blue mug,
Waiting for my serving of tea.
I decided to dunk, but my biscuit sunk,
Right to the bottom of my damn tea.
A chocolate chip, should not be dipped
But there were no digestives.
I hold my tears, as my biggest fears
Is soggy biscuit in my tea.

‘Cos if you liked it should have given me some biscuits
If you liked it should have given me some biscuits
Oh, Oh, Oh
Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh
Oh, Oh, Oh
Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh
‘Cos if you liked it should have given me some biscuits
If you liked it should have given me some biscuits

I got crumbs on my lips, about to nip
To my local for some custard creams.
The insides so soft, it’s that I scoffed
Good God I love custard creams.
They say it’s addiction, did I mention?
That I love lots of biscuits.
And as you learnt, its biscuits I yearn
No you cannot share them with me.

‘Cos if you liked it should have given me some biscuits
If you liked it should have given me some biscuits
Oh, Oh, Oh
Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh
Oh, Oh, Oh
Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh
‘Cos if you liked it should have given me some biscuits
If you liked it should have given me some biscuits

If for some reason you’re still reading then feel free to finish the rest of the song as I’m going now. I’ve got no biscuits.


Just kiss it!

Lizard Just do it

Please little lizard, give him a kiss,
That why you have lipstick, to make you a miss.

If you don’t do this thing that I ask,
This one tiny insignificant task,

I swear that you’ll get on my bad side,
And I’ll do it I swear, I’ll make you his bride.

Kiss him little lizard, do as I say,
You’re not getting away any other way.

So just do what you’re told,
And kiss Ronald McDonald.

My port, mine!


The ports on offer in the shop next door,
It’s Taylor’s Reserve, the one I adore.
As soon as it’s open I’m going down to that store
To fill up my basket with 10 bottles more.

Why’s it so cheap, I feel like I’m stealing,
It can’t be true, some dodgy dealing?
But after a bottle, won’t be guilt that I’m feeling
As I’ll be in town on my hands and knees squealing.

So come on Co-Op, you know it’s not fair,
Surely you’ve seen me, you must be aware.
Or maybe that’s why, I’m trapped in your snare
Take off this damn deal so I can stay in my lair.

It’s my day off and now half past two,
And I’m back once again shopping with you,
You sly little devil, I’m sure that you knew
I’m attached to Co-Op like I’m covered in glue.

So Co-Op take it away please,
Make a new deal on some Mexican cheese,
Or one of those meals you take home and freeze.
I’m begging you Co-Op, I’m down on my knees.

Journey to Work

There’d normally be some massive image of me, naked and sprawled across an animal or two. But I go on holiday in 3 days, and I genuinely can’t be arsed to draw, so you’ll all just have to use your eye spheres to imagine me naked, then read my words and imagine me naked again. Then wait for me to find my arse and draw again. So here is the poem that goes along with the naked imagery of me! Enjoy….

As I begin to walk to work,

To start my day as a clerk,

I pass the cows and they all stare,

Perhaps I’ve left the house too bare?

They’re all gormless, dribbling and such,

Then between my toes I feel slush,

I’ve stepped in shit,

And that’s when I start to lose it.


My phone sounds off a chime,

I’m aware I’m losing time.

So I set off in a rush,

To catch my bus.

My cheeks all a flush.

I see it coming, number five five five,

But I think ‘Maybe I should skive?’

I look up as it rushes past,

That arsehole was driving too fast!

After him I shout and curse,

How can my day get any worse!!


The taxi drops me off in town,

Its 15 pounds, I can’t help but frown.

I feel obliged to pay

But what a shitty way,

To continue this terrible day!

I slam the door feeling hawkish,

Turn around and think ‘Shit! I’ve awoken the Cornish!!’

They follow me through the streets,

Their spit hanging from their cheeks.

What a bunch of freaks!

I hide behind a corner,

Then they’re distracted by a foreigner.

‘Get out of our county!!’ I hear them cry,

This gives me a chance to slide right on by,

Whilst avoiding their third eye.


I pass by a bin,

But my, what a din!

I open the lid,

Find a couple of quid, and some mouldy old squid,

But under the squid, I find a kid,

Gasp I did, shouting ‘Christ, you were well hid!!’

He’s covered in cloth, and from his mouth I see froth,

Or perhaps it’s just broth? I guess his parents were Goths,

How could they be so brash, to leave him in the trash,

Covered in squid and ash,

They could have at least sold him for cash.

I push away the decay,

Asking ‘isnt this a school day?’

Not a word has he to say,

Only wants to play,

So I do the right thing, perhaps a cliché,

Passing him to the RSPCA


But alas, up the hill I climb,

Towards the end of my rhyme,

It’s off to work I go, passing by the wrinkled old ho,

I fear I cannot go slow, as she’s offering a strip show.

Dancing on her bench, just like her days as a wench.

I run and jump the fence, just to avoid her stench

I must not be late, as I’m needed at eight

Sure my wage isn’t great, but I really cannot wait.

I arrive with a smile,

Sure I’ve walked a mile,

But I feel like it’s my birthday,

Because I work at Food Surveys.



Apparently, It’s considered impolite and unromantic to burp over the phone. So, in order to make amends I summoned up all of my GCSE D level English speaking ability, and wrote a poem…

‘Tiny, hairy, bag of bones

10,000 images of you, all on my phone.

Not one of them have I requested,

But all of which, I have detested.

My wife to be,  seems to keep,

Taking them, while you sleep.

Your snoring in cupboards or chest of drawers,

Your legs wide open, like Eastern European whores.

I’ll see you soon, in 2 weeks to come

Please sit still, try not to run,

Or climb on me, when I’m tired and broody,

And in return, I’ll be less moody.’

I think it’s fair to say my literary career begins now. 

Love Letter to Walt

Love letter to Walt

There’s actually a little backstory to this, kind of.

Last Friday while talking to my boss about some food stuff, I noticed on his screen that he was reading ’90 things you didn’t know about Disney’. Our food conversation then went on to discuss tiger noises and not being allowed to break character, and I think he may of hinted that I should draw something Disney inspired? But I may just have created that myself, it was over 2 days ago and I can’t actually remember.

I had originally planned to expose the dark underbelly of Mickey Mouse,  in which he had replaced Minnie with naked me, making me dance for him and perform other unspeakable acts. But after silhouetting a perverted mouse I suddenly realised, I love Disney, and if an anthropomorphic rodent wants me to dance for him, then by god I will fucking dance for him, no need for chains, I’ll willingly do it for him and anything else he wants.

So, if my last post was an ode to meat, then this is very much a love letter to Walt.

Suuuure!! We’ll say god did it…


I have a confession. I’ve held it in for about 2014 years, but a mixture of guilt and the fact that everybody else involved at the time are now proper fully rotten in their coffins. The thing is, Jesus didn’t really come from God, there ok, I’ve said it!! Worst part is over.

Mary, my sweet blue eyed Mary, well she wasn’t so pure in real life, we may have secretly done things a couple of times around the back of the camel shed, not that Joseph cared, he was more concerned about making pathetic little cots that could barely stand up. Obsessed he was, obsessed with having a family, 10 kids, some goats, llamas and other horrible milk producing mammals from whatever part of the world we’re actually in, that’s the dream for peasants, isn’t it? Unfortunately (for him ;)) he was completely impotent.

So, one day Mary notices a bump on her belly, originally she thought she’d pigged out a little too much on baba ganoush, but the bump grows, she starts getting fat everywhere else, sick, sweaty, bitchy, eating weird shit, real ugly stuff. She approached me, told me she’d pissed on a stick and it turned blue. Had a little problem on our hands after that. So, we did the best thing to do in any circumstance: lie.

She told Joseph that some angel man thing came to her at night, gave her a little God magic and then buggered off leaving her to cope with the lord of humans (I can’t believe he believed her either). Meanwhile, I stayed in the village, working in the bazaar, selling off crappy metal bracelets that rust like shit in the shower or rain. I watched her get fatter and fatter, until the day of birth. So overcome with emotion was I, knowing my son was about to be born, I shrugged off my peasant’s clothing, and chose to be with her during birth.

However, when I saw the baby covered in womb juice, I did what any good father does, I fled and let the mother cope alone.

While fleeing the country, I met three weirdos looking up at the sky, I doffed them all and stole their gold,  stinky oil thingy and myrrh. Which I later sold to fund my cocaine addiction.

Apparently Joseph got angry and drunk, beat her, and forced the kid to pretend to be the son of God. Things kind of got out of hand after that.

So children, the moral of the story is….don’t lie!

*For those who don’t work as head of flowers for your respective employers or those who are just poorly educated, the thing in my hand is an unopened oriental lily stem.