official name? C/2022 E3 (ZTF)
some kinda comet registration I guess
more snappily known as The Green Comet
a crazy ball of ice or summat
high-tailing it outta the Oort cloud
every 50,000 years or thereabouts
FYI
the Oort cloud is a circle of icy crap
on the furthest edge of the solar map
well
I’m sorry
but
this particular neanderthal
can’t see any comets at all
as a put on my hoodie and beanie and go
freezing my Oorts off on the patio
scanning the skies without a hope
wishing I had a telescope
(sung to the tune of Eleanor Rigby, with sincere apologies to Lennon & McCartney)
aah look at all the tory cronies
aah look at all the tory cronies
nadhim zahawi
picks up his tax with a lurch when the audit has been
big income streams
waits at the window
wearing the smile that he keeps in a jar by the door
for TV and more
all the tory cronies
where do they all come from
all the belusconis
where do they all belong
rich rishi sunak
practising gestures for questions that no one will hear
no one comes near
look at him working
wearing his sliders inside when there’s nobody there
selling his shares
all the tory cronies
where do they all come from
all the belusconis
where do they all belong
nadhim zahawi
lied to the house and was feted for playing the game
no sense of shame
rich rishi sunak
wiping the sleaze from his hands as he walks from the box
dreaming of stocks
all the tory cronies
where do they all come from
all the belusconis
where do they all belong
have you seen my toothbrush?
no
oh my god – are you ACTUALLY using it?
NO! this is mine. yours is in the bag
what – LOOSE? not even IN something? eww
what’s eww about that?
who KNOWS what else you’ve had in there.
what do you think I’ve had in there?
exactly.
are you going to have a shower?
no. I’ll wait till I get home
what about your teeth?
I’ll do them then
what – in the shower?
no? who the fuck cleans their teeth in the shower?
you’re weird
you don’t get to talk to me about weird when you’re wearing a hat like that
driving through a forest
heading back
from a new year’s eve party
the moon a lamp
angled in our faces
when suddenly we stopped
at the back
of a queue of traffic
stacked along the road
blue lights panicking
the trees
either side
‘an accident’ I said
getting out to look
just as a man
with his hood up
hunched in the cold
came walking back
from the scene
‘a deer’ he said
‘someone hit it
the police are finishing off’
I got back in the car
‘a deer’ I said
there was a crack
like a car backfiring
then another
‘shouldn’t be too much longer’
I said
yawning
there’s a dino loose in Barbieland
causing all kindsa tyrano-sized troubles
security gate buckles
converting convertibles
snacking on collectables
hot tub huddles
tossed down clean
the barbecue-themed
blue eyed couples
fixed smile struggles
the whole scene getting WAAAY outta hand
there’s a dino loose in Barbieland
he musta just bust out the Park I guess
dressed to oppress
feet to depress
a million gnashers more or less
scranning on guests
a grand design
for an ad hoc dine
(but I have to confess
very little finesse)
to the disco sounds of the groovy house band
The Great British Run It Down & Flog It
The Great British Jacob Rees-Mogg it
The Great British Eton Mess
The Great British Fascist Press
The Great British Government of Tyrants & Cons
The Great British Keep Your Head Down Carry On
The Great British Act of Egregious Self-Harm
The Great British Squealers on Animal Farm
The Great British Michelle Mone, Golden Zone, Have It
The Great British Offshore Smash & Grab It
The Great British Shrug Off
The Great British Mug Off
Pull the plug off
The Grr British
The Brit
The Brr
The
shh
Stanley is a mongrel
which means he’s a bundle
of lotsa different things
so this report untangles
a few of those strings:
it says here that he’s
approximately 5 percent cheese
10 percent sneeze
2 percent howl
4 percent scowl
1 percent essence of frustrated owl
9 percent Viking
9 percent liking
the striking
of ridiculous poses
3 percent noses
about 5 percent ruined sofa
it discloses
10 percent paws
like big clawsy loafers
4 percent whiff
2 percent sniff
3 percent wearing his
hair in a quiff
1 percent manly
1 percent Bramley
1 percent ludicrous modus operandi
1 percent the painter Modigliani
twelve percent scraggly
four percent baggly
but essentially
one hundred and ten percent Stanley
I’m the Tory Party in control / fiddle-dee-dee and fol-de-rol / the poor must learn to be self-reliant / unless we see you’re a wealthy client / in which case advance friend and be recognised / your donations will always be classified / in fact – you’ll see we’ve organised / a secret nod and a VIP lane / for cooperation and mutual gain / the rest of you losers can just go hang / you haven’t the dough to be in our gang / so it’s cheers, pip-pip and cigars all round / as we burn the rules and scorch the ground
and…in other news
I went to the corner shop and asked for a sprite / and certainly got what I went for alright / a mischievous fellow with gills and fangs / seashell booties, kelpy bangs / and I stood there a minute all pensive and quiet / then asked him if he was sure it was diet / but the geezer just shook his head and laughed / so I took the thing home and ran him a bath
I’m the creature from the black lagoon / escaping the swamp in a hot air balloon / shouting smell ya later, losers / but I’m attacked by drones from a distant computer / royally fried in monstrous chunks / from the ghastly gills to the speedo trunks / plummeting back to earth with a bump
I’m your average, messianic prick / scented beard and bald head slick / posing on a bonnet for an insta pic
I’m a zombie dressed in abercrombie & fitch / staggering onto the football pitch / the ref blows hard on his little black whistle / and I end up carded, barred and gristle
I’m a ghost gone glamping, a wraith in a wrap / I’m the spirit of justice taking a nap
I’m Aurora adrift on a bougie cruise / a disney princess with a disney bruise
I’m a syncopated waiter with spoon and cup / rapping in the kitchen as the plates come up
I’m a desperate submarine captain, poor soul / octopuses pointing and laughing through the porthole
please welcome onstage for the final soliloquy / Macbeth, chuffing on a roll-up miserably:
(pause, while he smokes ad nauseum / staring out at the auditorium)
out, OUT brief candle, life’s but a walking shadow / over too quick and rigged from the get-go / you do what you can but the next thing you know / you’re stitched up by witches at the end of the show / and the only way now you get to play the Adelphi / is as the skull in the hands of an actor called Chelsea
and this is the way the world ends.
This is the way the world ends.
This is the way the world ends.
Not with a bang but a selfie.
