O* dear Lord and Father of Mankind

We humbly beg you to smash ***-sinners
Heavily in the face and lower regions too,
And also be sure to graciously give
Them a good old botty-poking with a red-hot poker,

And don't bother with using K-Y Jelly.

Can't you see in the dawn's early light
Ugly ***-sinners creeping home?
Not content with adultery, oh no,
The swine ******* frequently!

Yet the good Lord will not be mocked,
Oh no, never, ever will he be mocked!
Until you filthy ***-sinners grovel in the dust

And repent your evil ***-sins.
Remember that Hell's punishments await:
Eternal agony and a plague of boils on your genitals.
*!

People think that Brussels is an interesting city,
Full of beer, full of mussels and pommes frites
And easy to buy a really nice box of chocolates
(Personally I prefer the dark ******* as they are less sweet).
But there is another side to the city
Believe me, I know, I have been there
And I have seen it in all its shocking terror.

I was there, just off la Grand' Place (Grotemarkt in Flemish),
With my younger sister, a fat and ugly girl,
Who had a very pronounced lisp and a lot of oozing ****** spots,
When a gang of ill-dressed American youths,
Probably the sons of wealthy businessmen or diplomats,
Sky-high on coca-cola, or whatever vile filth,
Attacked us, mugged us, gave us a total bashing-up,
And we ran quite hard but could not escape from them.

And they left her lying there in the gutter,
Her legs broken to bits and her head half-chopped off,
And for what? They were envious of her false hairpiece
(as it made her look half-human, a major improvement).
She dragged out a miserable half-alive existence
For a few awful months in a dilapidated infirmary;
Dear God, she will not be going to Brussels again
In fact she will not be going anywhere at all,
Apart from into an early grave, that is.

I once climbed a tree
to save a stranded cat
and it struck out
blinding me in one eye
so much for ******* animals

I keep getting these letters from my Uncle Bert
from his twilight home
and you know they quite upset me
but no way am I visiting him
the last time I went it took me
three visits to the laundrette
to get the stench out of my clothes.

"Dear niece Edna" (old Fred wrote,
in his spidery wavering hand,
the notepaper spodged with snot)
"I am a bit more depressed than usual today
which is saying quite a lot as the only thing
which cheers me up is when the old fool
in the next bed gets diarrhoea
after I slip a cat's **** in his soup
when he's not looking, so, dear Edna,
I'd be very grateful if you'd send me some more as
old Mrs Bloggs in the next ward deserves one too
for teasing me about my gangrenous foot.

"It seems I've been in here for centuries
but it's probably only a couple of years
and the pain since my dear wife Linda passed
over to what surely-to-*******-God
has to be a better place than here
bearing in mind the noisome odours
emanating from the rest of the patients
in the run-up to bath night
which doesn't help much in the long run
if you are fifth or sixth in line as the water
gets a bit soiled by then, especially
if that ****** Mr Ali has done a brownie.

"I'm getting more and more worried
about the Bulgarian who has taken up residence
in the linen cupboard as he could well be
some sort of carpet-slipper thief or even worse
a homosexualist after my ringpiece -
or he might be an Islamist who wants
to behead me which would be a blessed relief
if I am to be totally honest with you.

"We had a bit of fun the other week when one
of the Nigerian nurses forced my that Mr Jenkins
to use the bedpan in public as a reward
for stealing Mrs Jackson's home-made enema kit
or she could have been from Liberia
as the accents are broadly similar
(so I read in the Sunday Times travel supplement
they gave us instead of toilet paper when
supplies run out during the dysentery outbreak).

"All the best under the circumstances
from your Uncle Bert and don't forget you stay
disinherited unless you visit me soon -
no more excuses about your car having
broken down - what do you think i am,
some sort of addled dementia case?"

It's all very sad, but I have checked Uncle Bert's
bank account and he's just trying it on
as there's no more than a hundred quid in it
and no way am I visiting him for a lousy hundred;
for Christ's sake, the smell is enough
to knock a cowboy off his horse.

My uncle is in a twilight home
for the seriously demented
and he'll never be coming back
from the place he's in
even if he could find the ******* way.

"Dear Edna" (my uncle wrote) "I am feeling low today
mainly because of the diarrheoa
I have had for the past week
although how you could get the runs
from eating pre-mashed milk pudding
is a ******* mystery to yours truly
I blame the African chef
I don't think he washes his hands
after he drops a log or two.

"It has been so long since your Auntie Linda passed
over to what may be a better place
than here because it could hardly be
worse what with the bedbugs
and the Asian nurse who keeps making me
use a bedpan in public as a punishment
for wetting the bed.

"To be frank with you though,
sometimes I can't remember
what I did yesterday or tomorrow either
but on other days everything is clear
and I think there is a Chinaman hiding
in my bedside cabinet and I am worried he might be
some sort of homosexualist after my *******
especially after my weekly bath
when it's relatively fresh.

"And, my dear niece (if that's who you are
I am not two hundred percent sure at the moment),
I don't think I got my breakfast today again
what a ****** surprise but at least
I won't have the runs again
it's because the Filipino nurses are eating it
my breakfast I mean not the other stuff.

"Your auntie my dear late wife was a truly gentle soul
and I am sure she is the only woman I have ever truly loved
the others were just a bit of spare how's-your-father
even though she could be very trying at times
and I remember once she bit someone
from the social security services
when they tried to help her up
off the kitchen floor after one of her attacks
she thought he was trying to cop a quick feel-up
below the waistline on the sly."

There's a rather nasty splodge on the paper
at this juncture, it looks like Uncle Bert
coughed up a lump of something
or other semi-terminal.

*"I've been thinking it over
about the nurse who stole my breakfast
and I might be mistaken.
I think it's quite possible she could be Romanian
now that we are in the European Union
there's a lot of funny people about
and they're taking over everything
you can't get Wagon Wheels in the tuckshop any more
only some beetroot flavoured biscuits.

"I am very worried one fine day I shall wake up
and not remember all the happy times
about my long years with my dear late wife
whose name eludes me for the moment
but I am still worried about the carpet slipper
and breakfast thieves round here.

"I fancied a nice piece of boiled salmon for lunch today
but it will be fish fingers once more this Friday
not that there's any catholics in here
and the staff are muslims in any case
and don't these people know fishes
don't have fingers, but flippers and fins
not that I'd eat a fin but that's another
country in the European Union I think
or it might be Frinton-on- Sea
where I think I once got a bit
of outdoor legover action.

"I wouldn't mind dying but I am scared to do it just yet
because I think I have lost my faith in baby Jesus
in fact I can't remember who she is even
and I hope my Linda (I remembered her name now)
will have gone to heaven in spite of biting
that health worker when he goosed her
the thought of going to heaven and she's not there
would be ******* dreadful
as I fancy a bit of the other.

"I think I can hear someone in the next ward
singing obscene songs in a wavering voice
with a la-la-la for the forgotten words
but remembering all the good bits
the bits they miss out of the Daily Mail.

"Where in God's name is my lunch
and who has got my slippers
how many times must I ask
and where is my bedpan when I need it?
Can you bring me one, Edna,
it would be nice to have a bedpan
all to myself as I hate sharing one
with Mr Ali as his son keeps sending him
cold takeaway curries which means
his motions are very strong indeed
Love from your uncle Bert.
PS I will put you back in my will
if you come up with that bedpan."

I just got a letter from my old Uncle Bert
and I'd like to share its tragic contents
with you here today;
but I'll edit out the ***** bits
just in case you are shocked
that an old man could still
have thoughts along those lines
or so as you don't throw up on your cornflakes
when you read them over breakfast.

"Dear Edna (he wrote to me)
It's not all that bad in the twilight nursing home
if you can bear the stale smells and moanings
of the other ****** inhabitants
and their bad breath fumes
plus the mashed food which all is pulped up
into something not unadjacent to catfood
for the sake of the toothless ones
who **** it up via a plastic tube
provided for that purpose.

"At least I take a bath once a fortnight
even though I don't like sharing it
with that Pakistani fellow Mr Ali
who always reeks of curry
and lets off stinky air from his back end
in our bath causing brownish bubbles
with a touch of follow-through vengeance.

"That reminds me of what happened
only last week when the ministry
sent some ****** health inspector round
who might have been a homosexualist
from his mincing walk I thought
and he came into our ward
you could see his beaky nose wrinkle
in distaste which was tactless we thought.

"He asked what the toiletty smell was
not knowing it's what we have to put up with day in day out
(and I know say you can't really afford
to pay extra for a clean private room for me
and not many of the others families bother either
its not as though they're the ones who suffer is it,
so let me suffer here after all I'm only your uncle
and you aren't in my last will and testament
as I never liked your mother much
fat stuck-up ***** from what I remember).

"The male nurse on duty that day
(he's the one we call Old *******
because he's so ******* bossy
and full of his ******* self)
asked all of us who had let the side down
and wet himself (or herself, it's a mixed ward
which I dont approve of as I don't want
to see anything disgusting anymore).

"Well no one owned up so Old *******
went round sniffing at everyone's rears
until he came to Mrs Jones squatting in the corner
and the he said why the **** hadn't she owned up
that she had done one in her pants today
and Mrs Jones said it had happened yesterday
or it may even have been the day before that
she couldn't really remember.

"You know, Edna, I still love miss my dear Linda
I even wish she was here
in this hellhole of a place
waiting for death's release
and not mouldering in her grave
but at least she avoids the squidgy mashed up food
which goes in one end and out the other
barely stopping for a rest halfway down."

You know, I couldn't stop laughing
for a full five minutes after I read this
as I knew, just knew, the old *******
had cut me out of his will -
well, let him rot is what I say
and that ******* about objecting
to sharing a bath with Mr Ali:
Bert's problem has always been
that he's allergic to soap and water
how well I remember the miasma
following him around his old house
before we had the **** certified.

O yea, judge a lady not on the company she keepeth,
It may be a reflection of her lack of choice
Due to the ugliness of her face, tragic be that,
Verily, measure her not by the tears she weepeth,
For she may be weeping tears of humiliation, forsooth,
Pronounce thee not upon the words she speaketh,
Her accent may not be of the finest calibre
Thanks to her lower class upbringing and bad teaching
In this accursed socialist society we are curséd withal.
Who be one such as I to contemn her in hypocritic words?
In dark’s solace I'll just take her hand and let her share my camp-bed
And in innocent insomniac lust we'll **** like puppy-dogs.

O how sanguine your author was, that
After so many bitter heartbreaks
On the rocky road to Love
(sweet Nirvana shared with a special kindred soul),
This would be the Big One,
The dawning of my joyous future,
A future to be enjoyed in togetherness
With the he-man of my dreams,
A charming full-kilted Highland laddie.

I smiled in innocent anticipation
Of what might transpire
As I waited to meet my bonnie Angus
That lovely Scots summer evening
In the beauteous Pass o' Killicrankie -
His selection of such an inconvenient,
Yet spectacularly gorgeous spot,
Reflected what I had come to appreciate
Of his romantic nature, thus boding well
For our first physical encounter.

Although we had not hitherto met
In the full flesh, so to speak,
I felt I knew the dear laddie well,
Having exchanged increasingly amorous emails
On an exclusive dating website
http://brokenhearts-renewed-by-love.co.uk
And the semi-draped digital photo
Made my heart go pit-a-pit-a-pat
And made my knickers drenched,
To put it mildly, dear reader.

And so I waited, heart in my mouth,
By the bridge o'er the Pass o' Killicrankie,
That warm evening last year
And the birds sang a gentle little song:
Tweet-tweet-tweety-tweet
They chirrupped, somewhat unoriginally,
And how my heart was gladdened
By their artless warbling, och aye,
But I knew not what tragedy lay
Just around the proverbial corner.

And then I saw him coming down the path,
Limping gently (I recalled he had mentioned
early on in our electronic correspondence
that one leg was slightly shorter than the other
thanks to an incident involving a rabid Rottweiler)
And, O dear Lord, he was indeed a fine specimen,
Truly a very tasty number indeed
(although at least ten inches shorter
than I had fondly imagined theretofore),
And I knew my prayers had been answered
(yet perhaps not one hundred percent ideally).

We embraced shyly as he rested his shrunken limb
On a conveniently sited large round stone,
As we stood by the bridge looking out o'er
The spectacular Pass o' Killicrankie,
With its tumbling burn in the mighty ravine far below,
And he reached up on tippie-toe
So as to bring his lips up my mine
In order to seal our love, to plight our troth;
Och how my poor wee heart pounded
Like a steam-hammer at full throttle.

But Fate, cruel Fate intervened brutally
And Angus's surgical boot slipped on the aforesaid stone;
Then he fell against the ill-maintained fence
Which inevitably snapped asunder
And my bonnie lad toppled over into the terrible depths
Of the famous Pass o' Killiecrankie,
His arms flailing like semaphore.
O, but I shall ne'er forget his doomed shrieks
As he bounced gaily o'er the granite rocks,
Landing with a fatal plop in the rippling stream
As it ran urgently in the crannies at the bottom
Of the legendary Pass o' Killicrankie.

There's aye a silver lining to this tale
As poor Angus's man-bag still lay on the path
And I quick perusal therein
Suggested I could go for a tasty supper
At the nearest hostelry and have plenty left over
To subscribe to a more explicit dating website
(perhaps one where only the physically perfect
would be allowed to register)
In the hope of better luck next time round;
But the memory of his dying gurgles
In the icy waters of the babbling brook
Coursing through the Pass o' Killiecrankie
Will live with me for all eternity
(well, a week or two at a rough guess anyway).

I heard the world's loudest **** today
It echoed round the town enough to say
"I am a **** of great renown and fame,
I am a **** who's worthy of the name
Of  KING of FARTS!"  Unthinkingly I sniffed
And, let me tell you, I have never whiffed
Aught so potent, dank and dread and foul
Blasted out from heaving human bowel
As that king of farts I smelled today
And which took my ******* breath away.

Who was the pumper of that putrid beauty?
How many curries in the line of duty
Had he consumed?  It must have been a man -
No pong so strong ere blew from female can.
Can no one answer yet my urgent question:
And say who suffereth such dire indigestion?
O heavens! his torment must be something chronic.
Can no one subsidise a high colonic
Irrigation to prevent another
Noisier and more noisome than its younger brother?

"Two dead fieldmice, rigid as boards,
"Two suppurating corpses of foot-and-mouth sheep,
"Two fat vultures, their gobs choked with putrid carrion,
"Two flea-infested, plague-ridden rats,
"Two rabid wolves, drooling jowls dripping with lethal froth,
"Two cancerous wildcats, eyes shrieking out in agony,
"Two squashed pet dogs, breed unknown,
"Two mangy, skinny, louse-covered buffalo,
"Two ****-sodden pigs rotten with unspeakable internal disorders...."
The list seemed endless as each page revealed a fresh useless horror.

Noah turned to his supplier, the swarthy Ike, and said:
"Vot for you should bring me this load of dreck already, you putz?
"******* like this I don't vant for my Ark, yet!
"Better quality I can get from Rueben Rosenberg any day, already"

"Rueben's shut on Saturdays, my dear" said Ikey,
Looking a bit uncomfortable and sweating under his skullcap.

A "Memories" Poem from the great Barry Hodges' pen*

I shall never forget our first date together,
How we wandered through the streets of Soho,
Gazing into the **** shop windows,
Laughing at the giant vibrators on display...

And later, a romantic meal in a French bistro,
Where the rules of hygiene were not
As strictly observed as might have been hoped for,
Promising a regurgitatory treat in store...

You ignored the startled eyes of our fellow diners
And brutally shoved your tongue in my mouth;
O how fiercely I slurped on it enthusiastically
Caressing it with my own mouth sausage...

I ****** and ****** and ****** and ******
And (oh joy!) I could taste the garlicky bits
'Twixt your gorgeous unwashed choppers;
How my underwear damply stretched out of shape...

I withdrew my probing tongue and kissed your cheek
Affectionately, yet trembling with rampant desire;
And I boldly licked a firm yellow-topped spot
With its previously observed black centre...

My huge uncontrollable lust conquered
The demands of demodé bourgeois good manners
And I sunk my incisors into that zitty beauty
Relishing the ******* waiting just for me therein...

The waiting staff were deeply impressed as I chewed
In rapturous sensual joyous contemplation
And you spluttered bloodily in loving agony
Your own mighty ****** fast approaching...

Oh what a foretaste of what was to come
When we repaired to my convenient bedsit
For an immensely gratifying triple bonk
Prior to a staggering mutual diarrhoea session.

My toothpick
Is impaled on the wall
Of goatiness
This a rabbit's prayer
Nor will I
Heed Thee
When the cat
Walks through the dark
Cushion of hate
Let me know
Why
I pick big fleshy
Mucus from my nose
Chewing noisily.

Raindrops keep falling on my head
Sometimes they miss and hit the cat next door
Who runs to her dirtbox and
Terrified
Drops a big one.