The other day I recognised Anubis
walking down the street smoking cannabis,
soon joined by his good friend Thoth
who was strangely disguised as a moth.

The jackal headed one fell into crisis
and cried out for his mother Isis,
who, puzzled, said she didn't get this
and called for her sister Nepthys.

But this was beyond even her art
so they summoned their cousin Maat,
She said only one could conspire this
blame must lay with the Lord Osiris.

Then up popped the hawkish Horus
to join his voice to the growing chorus,
followed in shadows by his brother Set
who hadn't a clue what was happening yet.

An angry Osiris appears with lips a'froth
denying he transformed Thoth into a moth,
this magic only one deity has mastered
so you can blame that ****** cat Bast..


Pagan Paul (02/10/23)

i’ve blown all my dosh
on a brand new Bosch!
my clothes will be super clean
with this amazing new machine
i’ve burnt all my dosh
singing swish, swash, swosh,
singing splish, splash, splosh,
a ladies got to wash!
i’m in love with my new Bosch!

I was going to bring my pet hamster tonight.
Anyone met my pet hamster - Picasso?
He is an impressionist.
No, honestly he does all the other rodents :-
Mice, rats, capybara, Donald Trump, Prince Andrew, all of them.
Unfortunately I couldn't bring him,
because he died this afternoon.
He fell asleep at the wheel.

I was sitting in the waiting room at my GP surgery and noted that there was a distinct lack of reading material provided. Just a couple of leaflets about ****** and a few old Mills & Boon paperbacks.

Mills & Boon, a very strange corner of fiction indeed. A strange corner in which the sight of a ladies bare ankle can cause a dashingly handsome cavalry officer to positively swoon with desire. A strange corner where the mere use of the word 'hosepipe' can cause a nun to blush. A strange corner in which the heaving ***** of an 80 year old great aunt causes palpitations and sweat gland problems for her even older gardener.

Mills & Boon is a very strange corner of fiction indeed. A strange corner that makes Austen and the Bronte sisters  look like purveyors of ****** ****.

I reach for the leaflets, and wait.

I was walking here tonight and saw a billboard with an advertisement for a communications company with the strap line:
'Connects 100 devices in your home'.
'Connects 100 devices in your home'.
I'm sorry but if you have 100 devices in your home you deserve to get hacked.
'Connects 100 devices ...' and what are these devices?
This is my fridge freezer, its connected to the wi-fi, it Tweets me whenever I have the unmitigated audacity to have the door open for more than 3 seconds.
This is my washing machine, its connected to the wi-fi, it emails me when its cycle is complete, even if I'm stood next to it doing the washing-up.
This is my carriage clock, its connected to the wi-fi, it Tic-Tocs me when it stops.
This is my games console, its connected to the wi-fi.
This is my television, its connected to the wi-fi.
This is my stereo system, its connected to the wi-fi.
This is my central heating, its connected to the wi-fi.
This is my dog. Its collar is connected to the wi-fi.
What next? This is my *** toy, its connected to the wi-fi, it gives me pretty graphs on Facebook.

(To audience: From that reaction I'll conclude that that last bit is already out of date. You naughty naughty people!)

Pagan Paul (April 2022)

I don't like haikus
I feel they're overrated
or maybe I'm bad
.
.
.
.
.
.
at using one too few words to render an idea in sweet humble conciseness without the justification for verbosity and yet nevertheless words spill out my mouth like a flash of water inundating a poor little faucet with needless ramble I have to fudge my mind for in conjuring the words I so much desire that a jaundiced outlook on certain Japanese short forms was borne...


**** haikus but of
course I'd appreciate good
ones every now and...

****, I ran out of syllables

Come to me,
Oh look and see,
Please tell me that I don't belong.

To this place,
O' to this world,
To this situation I hath rote.

But negative,
Nay I say,
Tis a situation so grand,
That it can be only sung out in the tongue of yore,
For it is only the most noble of mantles,
Of Fatherhood's door I adorn.

It shall be I,
I be armed with simple tools,
A fresh ***** or bottle,
To assuage my young liege lord's woes,
For betwixt the soggy ure or rancid scitan,
I dread knowing such knowledge,
But my sacred duties of ****** I shan't ignore.

So for now,
Oh humble bards and wanderers,
Listen to this tale no more,
Create such joy and celebration,
For upon this day,
My Firstborn son is born.