Author: jim clayton

the three bears

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

There aren’t many things I remember from Geography class, but one of them is the oxbow lake. It’s that thing that happens when a river meander gets loopier and crazier until the river nips it off at the top and leaves it to one side as a curved body of water. (Note to reader: I did NOT score highly in my Geography exam).

This close reminds me of an oxbow lake. The main drag thunders across the top, leaving a U-bend of terraced houses with a thin strip of wasted grass and brambles in the middle. Driving round it, I can’t figure out the numbers at all. It’s as if they built the houses first, then took a bag of numbers, shook it up, and ran round throwing them randomly at the doors. I can’t see any sequence to it at all – and worse than that, I can’t find any sign of a number eleven. (Note to reader: I did NOT score highly in my Maths exam).

There is an unnumbered door round the corner from number nine, though. So although strictly speaking it should count as an address on the main road, I take my chances and my bags and go down the cluttered path to knock on the door.

There’s a long wait, then the sound of someone clumping downstairs.
The door gets thrown wide.
An elderly woman with thick round glasses and a startled expression.
‘Hello!’ I say. ‘I’m Jim, the nursing assistant from the hospital. I rang your carer Stevie and she said it was okay to visit. Are you Agnes? I’ve come to take some blood!’
I extend my ID badge on its elasticated string but she doesn’t look at it.
‘Come on, then!’ she says, batting the air. ‘Follow me!’
She turns and stomps back up the stairs.

I’m encouraged by how full of life she seems. The Doctor had asked us to visit today as a one-off for bloods and a set of obs. The community phlebs were full so it was a bit of a favour.
‘I didn’t like the sound of it,’ the doctor said. ‘The carer was talking about jaundice and abdo pain. If you could take a look for us that would be great.’

I put the rest of my PPE on in the hallway and follow Agnes up the stairs into her sitting room.
She’s already back in her chair – a throne of white cane, padded with red and yellow cushions and set in the middle of the room, with a card table next to it for her biscuits and orange squash, telephone and remote control. She’s watching Flog It! A punter and a dealer are sitting either side of a table looking down on a tiny vase; the dealer starts laying out lines of twenty pound notes. Uh-huh! says the punter. The dealer lays out some more. ‘Try harder’ says the punter.

‘You’ve come for my blood!’ says Agnes. ‘You’d better be gentle!’
‘How are you feeling?’ I say. ‘Stevie said you haven’t been yourself lately.’
‘Who’ve I been then?’
‘Well. She didn’t go that far.’
‘No. I bet she didn’t.’

Lined up on a small sofa behind Agnes are three bears: one giant polar bear, one medium-sized grizzly bear and one small teddy bear. The teddy bear is perched on the lap of the polar bear.
‘They’re giving me a funny look,’ I say, nodding at them.
‘They do that with everyone,’ says Agnes. ‘Just ignore ‘em.’

We chat about how she’s been feeling. I take a history, give her the once over, take her observations.
‘All good!’ I say. ‘So tell me again how this all started.’
‘It was that burger,’ she says. ‘It was all mushy. And mayonnaise? That wasn’t mayonnaise! It was lumpy and grey.’
‘Eurgh! Doesn’t sound good.’
‘No. It wasn’t good. And that was the start of all my troubles.’
‘Have you felt sick? Or been sick?’
‘No.’
‘Have you had any diarrhoea?’
‘No. I went this morning.’
‘And was that all normal.’
‘Depends what you call normal.’
‘Well – firm. Fully formed.’
She pulls a face.

Behind me in Flog It! things are getting serious. The dealer has spread out a whole wallet of notes now, but the punter folds her arms and leans back in the chair. I can’t believe a tiny vase could be worth so much.

‘Any pain?’ I ask Agnes.
‘A little. Round my middle.’
She makes a sawing motion with the flat of her hand.
‘Sorry to hear it. Is it there now?’
‘No.’
‘Have you taken anything for the pain?’
‘What like?’
I shrug.
‘Paracetamol? That’s quite effective but shouldn’t upset your tummy any more.’
‘I haven’t got any.’
‘Maybe Stevie could get you some.’
‘Maybe.’
‘I’ll talk to her. So – Agnes? Have you had this pain before?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘Tell me about that. When was the last time?’
‘A couple of months ago.’
‘And what happened there?’
‘I had a chilli.’

The punter has taken the vase and put it back in her bag. The dealer is shaking his head and clearing the cash away.

‘Do you mind if I put the light on?’ I ask Agnes. ‘Only Stevie said you were jaundiced and I need to get a better look.’
‘Help yourself. The switch is over there.’
The moment I put it on the room is flooded with light. It’s made more pronounced by the lack of a lampshade, but even so it’s astonishing how powerful that bulb is – like I didn’t throw a sitting room light so much as shoot a flare overhead.
‘Wow!’ I say. ‘That thing’s bright! I need welding goggles.’
‘I like to see what’s happening in the world,’ says Agnes. She thumbs at the bears behind her. ‘And so do they.’

lockdown blues

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

I’m tired of going nowhere
me and these no good shoes
tired of complaining
quietly misbehaving
nowhere and nothing to do

I’ve got those old time, low down, no good lockdown blues

I served my time on Netflix
boxsets on Amazon too
I’m just a media slave
two remotes from the grave
nothing better to do

I’ve got those small town, long time, no hope lockdown blues
and if a vaccine won’t save us Lord only knows what we’ll do

nafforism

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

You can lead a fish to water
but you really oughta
use an approved container
(a transportational no-brainer)
because unless your fish is well submersed
expect the worst

Fish have gills under the operculum
(I googled ‘em)

All this is VERY different to a horse
of course
a horse has lungs
and take their oxygen pretty much as it comes

Whatever

How did you get this number?

Hamlet junior

~ jim clayton ~ 2 Comments

Dad came to visit me last night
– Alright?
he said
hovering awkwardly over the bed
well… given he’d been dead for years
then suddenly appears
like this
I couldn’t immediately say yes

– Harken to my warning!
I yawned
:: Wha’d’ya mean harken? I said
plumping the pillows behind my head
(because I got the impression
this ghostly session
might go on a bit
and I wanted to be more comfortable for it)

I have to say he looked amazing
Fading
in and out
throwing his glowing arms about
brown eyes burning
bald head turning
a full three sixty

:: Hey! That’s pretty tricksy
– Sorry. We’re obliged to do this shit
For a bit
he said
sinking sadly to the bottom of the bed
– Technically it’s called ‘haunting’
code for all the bullshit flaunting
you have to do to keep in trim
Anyway – nice to see you, Jim

:: Nice to see you
too
I said
:: But I wish you were alive instead
– Christ! You’re not the only one!
I can’t tell you how stupid all this is, son
You’re suddenly weirdly obsessed with mirrors
and hanging about on the banks of rivers

:: So…no change there, then, since you died?
I replied
– What’d’ya mean?
:: Well – you’ve always been
a bit obsessed with your looks
and you had quite a collection of fishing hooks
I dunno – maybe you’re just tied
to all the things you did before you died

– Listen! I’m the one to harken to
not you.
:: Sorry. All ears, I said
sitting more upright in bed
doing my best to concentrate
I was tired, it was late
and even though this should be exciting
eight hours straight was more inviting

– Forgive me, my son
he went on
– Ever since they pulled the plug in hospital
I’ve become quite forgetful
I mean – it takes me all year
just to comb my hair
:: What hair?
There’s nothing there!

– See what I mean? he said
swiping his head
his ghastly hand passing straight through it
– A simple thing like that and I just can’t do it
They say RIP
but look at me
I look like I’ve just been dug up
:: Sorry to bring the subject up

– But soft! Methinks I scent the morning air
he glared
suddenly flapping his arms like a bird
not so much scary as completely absurd
:: What’s with all this bullshit lingo?
What are we playing? Hamlet bingo?
Can’t you just give me the whole thing straight?
I get up early and it’s really late

– Adieu, adieu, adieu! Remember me!
Jim…mmeeee!
My hour is almost come…!
:: You’re not the only one
Didn’t you have some kind of warning?
Or have you run out of time now it’s morning?
My father just glared and shook his head
and disappeared from the end of the bed

:: Rest, rest, perturbèd spirit
Thanks for the visit
I mean – I thought you might have a bit more to say
Given how long you’ve been away
But aside from all the haunting and such
I suppose we never did talk that much
Who needs a ghost, come from the grave
To tell us how better we could’ve behaved?

The Thing from Another World

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

The Thing from Another World, 1951. Dir. Christian Nyby. Watched on YouTube, so you don’t have to.

Last night we watched the 1951 film The Thing from Another World. We’d all seen the remakes, but not the thing itself, er-hem. And a drama about a bunch of people under lockdown running around with axes felt about right.

So we settled in, and all in all liked it a lot, with a few caveats. Here’s a point by point response (in no particular order, because I must admit I became a little deranged, and had nightmares, and at this point who cares):

1: The Title. The Thing from Another World. I think the remakes were right to drop the subtitle. It’s clunky. You may as well call it The Thing (It’s Not From Round Here). Like the producers were scared you wouldn’t watch it if you thought there was a chance it was just the kind of Thing you’d see in a MAGA hat buying duck tape at the thrift store. To cut them some slack, though, and put it in context, I think UFOs were an expanding market in the 50s, what with the Russians and everything, so maybe it was just a marketing ruse that hasn’t aged well. We’ve had so many aliens since you can’t move for them. I could name fifty right off, and that’s not even touching the box sets

2: It’s mostly guys. Guys in big coats, guys in big trousers. Guys in flying hats and cute leather jackets. Guys holding guns, axes, Geiger counters, hands of cards. Guys smoking or talking very very very quickly with no punctuation or pauses for intonation or inflection and talking over each other too because there doesn’t seem to be time for anything other than guys saying guy things and giving and receiving orders and taking care of business. Or talking about wild nights in Singapore. Or blowing shit up.

3: Even the alien turns out to be a guy. Except he’s the logical extension of ‘guy’, being 100% vegetable – but not in a wholesome, Vegan way – and only able to communicate through irritable grunts. How Grumpy Alien Guy ever got round to building a sophisticated space ship and making the trip in the first place we never get to know. You just have to imagine back on his planet everyone’s like that, 100% vegetable and just enough brains to run when they’re attacked by dogs or on fire. Mind you, it’s clear he landed the flying saucer with very little finesse, ploughing it bonnet-first into the North Pole so only the fin sticks out of the ice when the guys get there. I can imagine Grumpy Alien Guy, legs up on the console, flicking through a potato magazine, bored out of his gourd, watching the gauges after a five millenia commute, then grunting fuck it that’ll do.

4: The set-up is pretty clear. Some kind of army base in Alaska. A reporter goes there looking for a story – although you’d have to think he must be desperate, choosing such a remote location. Maybe he specialises in snow. Maybe he had relatives in the area so was combining the trip. Anyway, almost as soon as he gets there Hero Captain – an actor with such deeply heroic grooves down the side of his face you could lie him on the ground and park your bike – Hero Captain and his band of guys are ordered to fly to the North Pole to help with a plane that went down, or something. So they fly off in a plane with snowboards for wheels, and end up in another godforsaken snowy outpost, where everyone shouts ‘Shut the door’ as soon as you walk in. You get to meet the people there – a guy who looks like a rockabilly DJ, someone tall with a small voice who looks like Lurch from the Addams Family, an old guy chuffing on a bendy pipe, a bunch of interchangeable characters with no dialogue who are there to make up numbers and maintain body heat, and a Professor type in a sinister smoking jacket and white roll-neck jumper and hair and goatee made of Italian meringue who takes every opportunity to make a portentous speech – the human race… rah rah … evolution rah rah …. with everyone gathered round, one hand in his pocket (to be clear, it’s the professor who has one hand in his pocket – not everyone else – the professor doesn’t have a pocket big enough for that, and anyway, it’d be difficult to choreograph).

5: There are two women in the film. One is a secretary at the first outpost, with weaponised breasts and an arch manner with a pencil, who has some kind of history with Hero Captain, only he’s got a drink problem and doesn’t remember. Singapore? Anyway, when they fly to the second post they need a secretary, and she soon realises her value by making coffee. Twice. Although Hero Captain doesn’t take her up on the offer, presumably because it doesn’t involve alcohol. The other woman is a scientist at the outpost. You can tell because she has plaits.

6: When Hero Captain and his guys make it out to the crash site they realise they’ve got a bonafide flying saucer on their hands. Stuck in the ice, fin-up. They decide the best way to proceed is to blow the shit out of it with ‘thermite’, which I think went on to be used in the manufacture of gloves. Anyway, surprise surprise, it doesn’t work that well, accidentally completely destroying the ship. Although – weirdly – what happens is that Grumpy Alien Guy is blown out of the ship, then instantly refrozen in the ice. (Which doesn’t improve his mood). To be fair, Hero Captain learns from his mistakes. They won’t use thermite again. This time they’ll chip him out with picks, and load him onto the plane in a block of ice like so much tuna.

7: Back at the outpost, they put iced GAG (Grumpy Alien Guy – it takes too long to type) in a storeroom. The Professor wants to defrost GAG immediately, but Hero Captain says no, the military authorities have to say it’s okay, and for now the radios are out, so they’ll have to wait. Instead they post a guard to keep watch over frozen GAG, breaking a window to keep the place cold (although why they couldn’t just open the window I don’t know). They give the guard an electric blanket to keep him warm, which is nice. But the guard is spooked by the way GAG is sneering at him through the ice, so he puts the blanket over the ice so he doesn’t have to put up with so much attitude. (In retrospect, not the brightest guard to sit there in the first place). Turns out the electric blanket is very effective at defrosting aliens, not shorting out in all that water, because no-one’s having any luck at all in any of this, especially not the alien. When GAG climbs out the guard shoots him six times and runs away. GAG doesn’t follow him, quite sensibly, I think. The signs aren’t good he’ll be well received. GAG runs out into the snowy storm and immediately gets set on by the huskies. He fights them, killing a few and only losing an arm. Then he runs off into the night.

8: The guys (plus The Secretary and Plait Woman) realise that GAG is dangerously grumpy and is bound to come back for his arm. They stand around as The Professor dissects it (presumably there’s a blooper reel – the actor under the table making some unscheduled gestures). The Professor is very impressed by the level of vegetableness. He makes another portentous speech about venus fly traps and carrots and things. There starts to be a measure of disagreement between The Professor and Hero Captain. The Professor wants to learn from our strange, highly-intelligent visitor; Hero Captain wants to blow the shit out of it

9: They all split up to search for GAG. The Professor and his team go to the laboratory, which is basically a fancy greenhouse. They find the bloodless corpse of a husky in a storage bin and guess that GAG put it there, for some reason . The Professor asks two guys from his team to hang around whilst he goes off to do some other shit. Fairly soon after, they’re hung upside down by GAG and have all their blood drained, too, which is a shame. The Professor is pretty sanguine, though. He’s prepared to give GAG the benefit of the doubt, especially as GAG’s new to all this, and probably jet-lagged.

10: Hero Captain and the guys (and The Secretary, and Plait Woman) get ready for GAG’s next attack by hiding in another room, nailing posts against a door that opens the other way, so that’s not great. They know you can’t shoot a carrot with any degree of effectiveness, so maybe they should burn it instead, like they did with the thermite, and how well that ended. Plus, they’re in a wooden building, so… Anyway, they go ahead with this plan. When GAG breaks in, the idea is one person chucks a bucket of kerosene over it while another tosses a cigarette or a pipe or something. The Secretary offers round coffee, then hides behind a mattress. GAG runs in, rah, rah, rah, fire, flames, terrible…. runs out again… Hero Captain and the guys put out the fire and wonder what to do next, and reminisce about Singapore.

11: Turns out, GAG isn’t so stupid after all . He’s disabled the outpost’s heating system, so they’ll all freeze to death, especially The Secretary, as she only has a light summer jacket and a pair of driving gloves. They decide to rig up a trap and electrocute him.

12: Meanwhile, they find out The Professor has been growing some GAG pods, a bit like pulsating alien cannabis, except with blood plasma instead of hydroponics. The Lurch character listens to the pods with a stethoscope and weirds everyone out by saying they sound like mewling children, which is an insight into his parenting experience. The Professor wants to grow lots of these pods; Hero Captain wants to blow the shit out of them. The Secretary is worried GAG has only come to Earth to make more of itself and take over the world, treating us all like so many cabbages. The Professor shrugs. It’s a risk he’s prepared to take.

13: They’re all standing in the corridor. GAG one end, holding a piece of wood, Hero Captain and the guys (and The Secretary – I’ve lost track of The Plait) holding axes and guns at the other. Just before GAG rushes them, the Professor breaks through and stands in front of the monster to make a speech, appealing to his better nature, which is a brave move, considering. GAG shows his appreciation by knocking him halfway through a wall. Then he rushes the team, and immediately gets flash-fried. Although they overdo it with the heat and he ends up completely inedible.


14: The film ends with the reporter on the radio to somewhere else, everyone gathered round to listen except for Hero Captain and The Secretary, who are canoodling on a bench in the background. ‘Watch the skies!’ says the Reporter. ‘Keep watching the skies!’ Which is good advice, although you might want to glance down now and again, for health & safety reasons.

plasticine man

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

it was only when I read a magazine
I realised I was made of plasticine
it was a shock at first
all my notions
of human emotions
and self-determination reversed
my bubble well and truly burst
I felt cursed

so I sat with the idea a minute
looked at all the aspects to it
I realised it explained a lot
I was easily led
my hands and my head
stayed in one spot
moved in sequences shot by shot
independent I was not

but every cloud has a silver lining
it’s really not so life defining
if you don’t let it
the stability’s great
someone else to animate
big hands come in to set it
real life? forget it
I don’t regret it

how the system works

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

It’s pointless to resist / Read your economists / – and not just the ones synonymous / with lame ideas about workers and production / or revolutionary interruption / to the natural laws of business function / That’s strictly for dreamers / beardy bolsheviks and left wing schemers / Give ‘em a union card & they’ll take you to the cleaners / No – GREED is what jealous people call SUCCESS / It’s a bit like chess / The pawn doesn’t understand the overall process / YES? / Makes sense? / The game is all about offence / The pawn’s only there to get jumped by the knight / Otherwise the game just wouldn’t play right / And – okay – so the table gets littered with pieces / But Jesus! / You can’t make an omelette without cracking some eggs! / Which begs / the question / Whatever gave you the impression / any of this was up for discussion?

You’ve got some nerve
Everyone gets what they deserve

Money doesn’t just talk / It hollers and squawks! / It bangs on the table with silver knives and forks / I’ve paid for this shit so feed me! / Bring me plates and bring them immediately / Bring me the best of whatever you’ve got / piled up decoratively high and hot / with attractive waiting staff fussing a lot / in a seamlessly choreographed trot / from the gleaming kitchen to my crumb-swept spot

Thank you SO much
Now hurry off back to the wretched little hutch
you call home
and leave me the hell alone

Okay, then – I’ll keep it simple / a couple of lines you can keep on your Kindle / Something official / A phrase or two you’ll find beneficial / Capitalism / is a natural system / An organic expression / of social dynamism / whereas Socialism / if you’ll excuse the criticism / just isn’t

Let me explain / There are complex networks of exchange / Okay? / Methods of social collaboration / permeating the body of the nation / just like veins and capillaries / nourishing every area and category / doing whatever’s necessary / to keep the body politic healthy / Now – if the temperature suddenly drops / does the brain shut up shop and stop? / NO! / It does not! / It sends a message straight to the toes / I’m sorry but your services are no longer required / Your licence to walk has expired / So the blood supply gets choked / the toes are smoked / And then when the weather finally picks up / the brain’s altogether tip top! / Because the Brain is your original capital survivalist / And always in good shape to see a podiatrist

Whaddya mean, no?
What did I just say about The Toe!

The point is – Capitalists efficiently utilise potential / It’s self-evidential / They strip things down to the basic essential / so the company can maximize profit / the shareholders draw their dividends off it / and the workers go home with money in their pocket / because only the fittest win / I mean – take Charles Darwin / Heard of him? / As Charley D so eloquently had it / you wouldn’t have got such a thing as a rabbit / if mammals hadn’t started through millions of years / growing the longest, most rabbity ears / and naturally the ones that couldn’t / pretty soon got made redundant / That’s the rule of natural selection / and I humbly offer it for your close inspection

Greed may well be the root of all evil
but I think that applies to other people
and anyway – I’m confident all this shit’s legal

sugar coating

~ jim clayton ~ 3 Comments

The night has been long and cloudless, so cold that everything is locked in a thick hoar frost. A crystalline web sags heavily on Mr Rawlinson’s front gate. I imagine the spider that spun it must be something of a jewel itself now, glittering like a leggy diamond somewhere, deep-frozen in its lair.

Mr Rawlinson is luckier than the spider, though. His bungalow is filled with a fulsome warmth that seems to ripple as I move into it.
‘Come in! Come in!’ he says. ‘And be quick about it.’

We’re short on carers this morning, so I’ve been asked to drop by. Looking at Mr Rawlinson, I wouldn’t think there’s much to be done, though. Not only has he managed to wash and dress himself, but he’s done it so well he looks almost too perfect, standing straight-backed, holding on to his kitchen trolley, a pensioner on parade. It’s like a team of make-up artists has been challenged to put together the most perfect pensioner they can, and really, they’ve excelled themselves. Mr Rawlinson’s silvery hair is brushed to the left and the right of a geometrically precise parting, his moustache perfectly trimmed, his shirt buttoned to the neck with a blue tie in a Windsor knot symmetrically in place; cuffs sharply in line; cardigan just-so; canvas trousers with pleats like origami folds, and slippers so buff I imagine a valet must have been fussing over them with a monogrammed brush moments before.
‘Are you here to fetch me breakfast?’ he says.
‘Absolutely. Whatever you need.’
‘Smashing. I’ve left it all ready to go. The bowl, the muesli, the sugar and so on. I’d like a portion of muesli, some milk in a jug, a slice of toast with thick-cut Oxford marmalade and a cup of Earl Grey tea, medium strength. Are you okay with all that?’
‘No problem.’
‘Splendid.’

I’ve been given the job on the fly, so I haven’t had a chance to read his notes. It strikes me that Mr Rawlinson is functioning extremely well, and I wonder why the care has been requested. After all, it’s not too much of a stretch to put muesli in a bowl, especially once you’ve gone to the trouble of setting the packet and the bowl out in the first place. But maybe I’m missing something. It could be that without a carer coming in to supervise these things, he’d hit the skids and wouldn’t bother. I’m happy to oblige, of course, but I make a mental note to follow-up the job when I get back to base.

‘Why don’t you sit down at the table and I’ll bring everything over?’ I say to him.
‘Righto!’
‘I thought this muesli already had sugar in it?’
‘Yes, you’re right, it does, but I like it sweet. Three sugars in my tea, as well, if you wouldn’t mind. When you get to my advanced old age, a few extra spoons can’t hurt.’
‘That’s true.’
I fold a square of kitchen towel into a triangle and put it with the point towards him on the table, followed by a knife, dessert spoon and teaspoon. He adjusts the angle of them, to line up more precisely with the napkin.
‘When I was in the RAF,’ he says, folding his arms, ‘there was a chap there, forget his name, Canadian, I think. The most athletic man I have ever met. Played any sport you could think of, and probably a few others. Mostly one of those track types. You know? A runner. Faster than a blessed hare. Well! He used to do it all, sugar, tobacco, alcohol – you name it.’
He finesses the cutlery a little more.
‘Maybe it would have had some effect eventually,’ he says, after a moment. ‘But we were never afforded the privilege of finding out, of course. The poor chap was shot down somewhere over the Atlantic.’

a very warm welcome to The Academy

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

First of all / a very warm welcome to Mussolini Hall / it’s such a great pleasure / to see so much leather / so – before we go any further / why don’t we give ourselves some thunderous hurrahs & claps / for all these wonderful shirts and caps?

Thank you

Thank you

Now – I won’t keep you a second / I know how keen you are to get to your lessons

I just wanted to say / how thrilled I am to be speaking to you today / you’ve come such a long way / from those early experiments / repressing questionable elements

But – if you’ll forgive the expression – / you lack the fundamentals of oppression / so vital to people in our profession

This is why we exist / this is why we’ve drawn you so lovingly to our midst / to help you persist / in your education / to help us build a firm foundation / and heal the heart of this wounded nation

My friends – forgive me if I weep – / it’s because soon I know you’ll be jackboots-deep / in all the tried and tested techniques / designed to keep / the hegemony sweet / and we, the anointed elite / well and truly top of the heap

Er-hem
Perhaps you’re familiar with the following item:

First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out because I was not a socialist… followed by a long and very tedious list / but one important fact they missed / if you’re the one that’s doing the coming / and everyone else is doing the running / isn’t that result just pretty damn stunning?

One thing will always act in our favour / to make the enemy weak and our soldiers braver / and embolden our patriotic behaviour – and that is … anyone?

Yes! You with the sneer / the cold blue eyes and oily hair / stand up on your chair / nice and loud so everyone can hear…

That’s it!
Did everyone get it?

Truth is complicated! Lies are simple! / Truth is heavy and Lies are nimble! / Truth is the studious application / of intellect and imagination / but Lies need no further explanation / being a full and fatal distillation / of shock and scandal and titillation

Truth is the heart of any democracy / according to our enemies / which I think you’ll agree / is the most pathetic fallacy / reeking of liberal philosophy / a dog of disreputable pedigree / which is why we apply ourselves so relentlessly / ruthlessly / till the old dog can only bark toothlessly

Let us show you what a well-placed lie can do / for all the goons who think like you / who want to bloody the civic waters / and silence all those lame reporters / who huddle in their sad headquarters / waiting to be thrown in dark transporters

We’ll teach you the fundamentals of lying / how to bend it without even trying / to keep fabulous frauds and falsehoods flying / and the majority masses complying / in the Great Denying / marching forward to take the realm / with your charismatic leader at the helm

So let us go forth with our leader as anchor / to harbour resentment and cultivate rancour / to propagate hate with propaganda / and realise our racist nationalist agenda

Come! Swear your allegiance to the Flag!
Hold your shaven heads high & let thy knuckles drag!
And in the morning I’ll see you all back at the stump
for our special guest speaker, Donald Trump