JOE CHIP SINGS!!!

Masses, this is what you have been waiting for!

Here it is, the latest music video by Bucket Man.  Move over Psy, here is the dancing communist super man …

Joe Chip sings:  “I can dream about fish…”

What more could you ask for?  (art?  good taste?  high production values? phht)

I can dream about FISH

all I like,

I can dream about FISH

all I like,

The bastard’s can’t stop me now

I’m dreamin’ ’bout fish right now,

I can dream about FISH

all I like.

Thank you Bucket man.

Rubber leg ladies

There’s all ladies now

whose legs are made of rubber

Now I’m respectful of women

(even I had a mother)

But I need to know

are they rubber all  through

or like Astroboy

are their legs a hollow tube?

I can’t wear those pants

they’d look silly on me,

so I’m the only one not walking round

pneumatically.

Rubber legged ladies

bouncing round glorious

Soon they’ll be running

like Oscar Pistorius.

***

I don’t think those pants are really rubber, but I’m not going to touch them to find out, thats how trouble starts.  Joe Chip, always with the big issues.

 

Ugly fat old man

Hey ugly fat old man

what do you think you are doing

just standing there staring at me like that

with your face covered in shaving cream?

What happened to that young guy

you people used to have

on the other side of the mirror?

Did he get bored hanging around?

Went looking for somewhere more interesting

to hang out?

You may as well stick around,

I suppose.

I hate to think who they might send

to replace you,

if you were to go.

You’ve got his nose, you know.

You two related?

How come you got so many ugly people

over there?

***

Pathetique.  Its less pathetic, when its in French.

Stuff

If I was ten years younger

I might make a fool of myself

so I am glad that I am not.

I smile

and suck it in.

Why would I think

things would be any different

to how they were

ten years ago?

If I was ten years younger.

Except, like, for facebook and stuff.

***

I found a shoe

by the side of the road

There was no foot in it.

Not this time.

***

Tell me.

What I want to know,

is where

do the dead women go?

Albino Girl

I thought she was albino

’til I saw that her eyes were blue

I was gonna keep on going

just walk on through

you might think that was kind of rude

but she looked like she had bad attitude

***

Cute girl with the see through skin

I thought that she was

Albinan-ian

Cute girl with the veins that show through

What has nature done to you?

***

She replied:

Nature didn’t do this

It began with the

wrong boy’s kiss

Disease over which

love holds sway

Bad boy sucked all my colour away

***

Cute girl with the see through skin

I thought that she was

Albinan-ian

Cute girl with the veins that show through

What has that bad boy done to you?

***

I thought she was albino

’til I saw that her eyes were blue

She kept on going

just walked on through

you might think that was kind of rude

She repaid me for my bad attitude

***

Cute girl with the see through skin

I thought that she was

Albinan-ian

Cute girl with organs that show through

How can I ever forget you?

***

***

Gentle readers, you should hear me when I sing this.  Perhaps it is better that you don’t.  And yes, I am fully aware that while an albino person may come from Albania, that that is mere coincidence.  Remember, I have been issued with a poetic licence.  Perhaps a commentary on a certain type of singer, perhaps just stupidity.  Perhaps a cautionary tale for Twilight readers?  Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.  (And as I type this on a fine winter’s afternoon, I am rewarded for writing about colour with the eerie wail of a yellow tailed black cockatoo.)

The Polygamist’s Lament

Will you be my third wife,

and save me from the lonely life

that only a husband

of two wives

can know?

Three

is the loneliest number

its one too many

to rhumba

My sister wives

spend all their time

together

I wander lonely as a raincloud

in a spate of good weather

I don’t want to be a heel

but I can’t live as the third wheel

unless there is a fourth

I’ll have to consider divorce

so please save me from taking

that unnatural course.

I am glad they get on

so well

those two

But what the hell

do they get up to

all the time

leaving me to attempt

to lament

in rhyme?

It was really big of me

to consider polygamy

it flatters a girl to think

she might be number three

but it just cannot be:

It isn’t me

It isn’t you

its just

I don’t like the other two.

Fair enough.

Do you have a sister?

……….

Who says true art takes time?  Its like true love – it just pops out.  “A spate of good weather” – William McGonagall, eat your dead heart out.

Jehovah’s Witnesses

Having been inspired to great artistic heights by Mormons and Scientologists, I was going to pick on Jehovah’s Witnesses next.  In my old house they used to visit me and resist my attempts to convert them to something else on a regular basis.  I have been in my new house a year and they have not visited at all.  I suspect this is because there is a big hill you have to climb up to get to me (yes, cos I spend my time meditating on top of a mountain), and the local Witnesses round here might be a bit lazy.  So my poem was going to have lines like

Hey Jehovah

why don’t your witnesses like to climb over

the hill and visit any more

I never seem them

they don’t call

they don’t tuck the WatchTower

under my door

And then there was going to be something about how I hope that he is a vengeful god, because his Witnesses were ignoring me.

Then I came home the other day and the alleged Mrs Chip, if there should be such a person (I don’t think there is for this persona), had placed The Watch Tower and Awake on my desk.  Bugger!  They had been!  That spoiled everything.  Curses!  Foiled again!  I am struck into appropriate politeness, and it is for the best.

I like the monster Jehovah’s Witness in Ghost Story by Peter Straub.  The bit about Dr Rabbitfoot.  He was scary.

I hope none of this sounds rude, I have to write about something.  (Or do I?)