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.

With you, falling in love, I am. Hmmm!


Oh Yoda, with your skin so green,
I’ve been in love with you, since I was a teen,
When I turned on TV and you enlightened my screen.
Say you love me, please don’t be mean.

You’re a little bit fat,
But I’m ok with that.

Your hairs are sparse and grey,
But with them each day I’ll play.

On each foot you’ve only three toes,
But, honestly Yoda, that’s the least of our woes.

You’re a little too into the force,
But I swear that’ll never be cause for divorce.

We’re two different creatures,
But I love all of your features.

Maybe they’ll all say that we’re just plain wrong,
That a love between us won’t last very long,
But I know the truth, we’ll be so strong,
And that, my little fat Yoda, is why I wrote this song.




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.