Moose

A scream shot through the frigid airIn Fairbanks by the streetTwo moose together by the roadJust one was on its feetThe parents covered children's eyesSo that they couldn't seeThe cops arrived but far too lateThe moose began to fleeA prize for if you find the mooseWas promised to the peepsFor Fairbanks had a special lawMoose can't screw in the streetsAll down the road the moose were chasedEscaping at the endBut right away the cops showed upAnd flew around the bendThe sound of shots rang through the airThe cops had acted fastThe guns had finished firingThat moose had humped his lastA scream shot through the frigid airIn Fairbanks by the streetTwo moose together by the roadJust one was on its feet

Broke

He walked into a bar, sat his frame upon a stool,Said to the barman, "Just give me anything that's cool!I'll have a Scotch, a Rum, a double Gin and a quart of beer.I need something to ease the pain, to stop me feeling queer."The barman put the drinks upon the bar and shook his head,"This kinda drinkin' will make you sick. You may even wake up dead!""Don't talk to me about being dead," the stranger said with a groan,"I've just got out of hospital and I should be headin' home!I'll have this jolt and then I'll bolt, but let me tell you whatI should not be drinking this, well, not with what I've got!"The barman looked sympathetic as he wiped the bar with a mop."Gee, I hope it's not too bad," he said, "So tell me what have you got?"The stranger downed the drinks real fast, said, "Set em up again,'Tis terrible and it's rotten......Just what I've got, my friend!"The barman leant much closer, feeling sad and tense.The stranger belched and said, "What I've got......is FIFTY CENTS"

Battered Savs

Have you eaten out at a take-away?Whether it be fish or chips that you have;And have you ever spared a thought...For that poor old ... battered sav.Now battered women you'll read about,And battered children as well;But no-one speaks of the battered savAnd its life of torment and hellThis tale it is a simple one,It's not that hard to foller;I was lined up for my fish and chips,And saw the sign "Battered Savs... one dollar."The place was really busy that night,In fact, it was fillet to the bream;My old mate Trev Alley was in the lineAnd I was just ahead of him.Now battering savs just wasn't on,The idea just left me aghast;So I had a chat to the lass who was serving... Marie ... an old friend from my past."Why do you batter your savs?" I said,"I thought you were nice peaceful folk;Seems though.. you're a bunch of sadists..Or p'raps it's some kind of sick joke.Now Marie... she talks sorta fishy like,Been serving seafood for too long;"You're a bit green round the gills there lan,"She said, "Perchance there's something wrong.""Why do you batter your savs? " I said,"Why can't you just leave 'em alone?""We do it for the colour," Marie said to me,"So's they're nice and golden and brone.""Just mullet over, lan " she said,"A sav is red OK?""We batter 'em so's they're golden and brone,'Cos people prefer 'em that way."I don't care about the cala marie," I said,... And the people behind me just chatted..."I want a sav that's been treated decently,I don't want one that's been flamin' well battered.'Now we oyster go out together...And some lovely times we've had;I said, " Do you batter these savs yourself,Or do you leave the job to your dad?""Dad.... eel mix up a slippery batter,'Cos his mussels are bigger than mine;Mine are tailor-made for the job,Mum says I do it reel fine."And I like to do it, lan," she said,And her sweetlips showed not a glimmer of guilt.I've got this bucket and rack out the back,Dad had 'em porpoisely built.I batter all sorts of things here," she said,I batter chicken and fish as well."And I always thought she was the peaceful kind,But it just shows, you never can tell."Good Cod!" she said, "lan what's wrong,You've gone all pale and wan;I don't believe what I'm herring," I said,"I'll flake out if you go on.""Ex-salmon carefully your conscience,Your part in this....... your role,And don't be flathead having savs being golden,Or you will flounder in your sole.""The whiting's on the wall," I saidAnd she looked at the sign "Battered Savs,I stick up for the underdogs," I said,"The have-nots and not the haves.""Will you place your order," the bloke behind said,"Five minutes I've had to wait!Do ya wanna battered sav or don't cha,Just make your mind up, mate"

Languid Cup of Tea

Your passion is my pleasureYour desires served at leisureYour hands coil round that treasureYes -
a languid cup to sip.In these tea rooms they bewail,
The lack of pies and rustic ale,
While all those ladies quiver frail,For that slice of cake you bit.
You know I crave this most,
To spread butter on your toast,Among the condiments to coast,
For that moment marmalade.
With those fine white pearly teeth,
You'll provide me with relief,And restore my lost belief:
The crunch of teeth relayed.You can reach across to grasp,
Biscuits firmly in your claspWith a warm vivacious laugh,
By those lips moistly defined.I would love to plant a kiss,
But such behaviour is amiss,
And would have me soon dismissedFrom the table of your mind.

Camp Fire

When the heat of summer passes, when the leaves wax red and gold,When abating daylight hours turn the night air crisp and cold,This is just the time for camping for a tough and hardy few,Those who pack their kit and campers, (and their friends and family too.)Camping it a time of testing, when young boys learn manly waysFrom their wise and knowing fathers, reminiscing childhood days.One such group of hardy campers tarry in a leafy glade,Lofty forest all about them, nestled in the dappled shade.Just a brace of families camping in that calm and peaceful spot,(Soon that calm would be disrupted, and the peace disturbed somewhat.)Knowing fathers go exploring, while their women set up camp,Leaving children running feral through the forest, cool and damp.After quite a time at toiling, ladies put the kettle on,Then they sit and sip and wonder where the hell their men have gone.Meanwhile, in the dark'ning forest, wise and knowing fathers findOne enormous pile of refuse that the ranger left behind.Thinking that they'd do a favour for the ranger, still unseen,Fathers' head back to the campsite for a tank of gasoline.When, at last, the knowing fathers find their way back to their site,Ladies ask them where they're off to, and will they be back tonight?Fathers promise they will only be away a moment more,They must go back to the forest to complete a vital chore.Ladies once more boil the billy; call the children in for tea,While their wise and knowing husbands creep away with impish glee.In the course of modern living, what they plot would not arise,But in verdant leafy forests, they see things through boyhood's eyes.With the petrol can in one hand, and their wayward thoughts in mind,Knowing fathers find the refuse that the ranger left behind.So they drown the pyre in petrol, not sure if they've used enough,Then they throw a lit match in it and they wait there for the "puff".But the refuse pile exploded, rattling the forest floor.Then, immediately after, came a deep and deaf'ning roar.Knowing fathers scurry camp-ward, as the flames light up the night,While their children scramble from their tents in obvious delight.Hardy campers stand together as they watch the fire blaze,Till the silhouette of fire trucks scream up through the smoky haze.Soon the wise and knowing fathers get to know the ranger well,When he gives the ultimatum; never in his forest dwell!Now when summer heat is over, when the leaves are changing hue,Nothing more our campers light, except the backyard barbecue.

Abort, Retry, Ignore

Once upon a midnight dreary,Fingers cramped and vision bleary,System manuals piled high and wasted paper on the floor,Longing for the warmth of bedsheets,Still I sat here doing spreadsheets:Having reached the bottom line,
I took a floppy from the drawer.Typing with a steady hand,I then invoked the "save" commandBut got instead a reprimand: it read, "Abort, Retry, Ignore?
"Was this some occult illusion?Some manacal type intrusion?These were choices Solomon himself had never faced before.Carefully I weighed my options...These three seemed to be the top ones.Clearly I must now adopt one; choose: Abort, Retry, Ignore?
With my fingers pale and tremblingSlowly toward the keyboard bending,
Longing for a happy ending, hoping all would be restoredPraying for some guarantee,Finally I pressed a key.But what on the screen did I see? Again "Abort, Retry, Ignore?
"I tried to catch the chips off guard -I pressed again, but twice as hard,But luck was just not on the cards, I saw what I had seen before.Now I typed in desperationTrying random combinations.Still there came the incantation "Abort, Retry, Ignore.
"There I sat, distraught, exhausted,By my own machine accostedgetting up, I turned away and paced across the office floor.And then I saw an awful sightA bold and blinding flash of lightA lightening bolt that cut the night, and shook me to my very core.The PC screen collapsed and died."OH NO! MY DATABASE!"
I cried.I heard a distant voice reply, "You'll see your spreadsheets...nevermore!"To this day I do not knowThe place to which our data goes.perhaps it goes to heaven, where the angels have it stored.But as for Productivity, well,I fear this has gone straight to Hell.And that's the tale I have to tell - your choice: Abort, Retry, Ignore.

Perfect Gift

Twas the night before Christmas and Santa's a wreck.
How to live in a world so politically correct?
His workers no longer would answer to "elves" -
"vertically challenged" they now called themselves
.And labour conditions up at the North pole
Were alleged by the Union to stifle the soul.Four reindeer had vanished,
without much propriety,
Freed to the wilds by the humane societyAnd equal employment had made it quite clearThat Santa had better not use just reindeerSo Dancer and Donner,
Comet and CupidWere replaced by four pigs, of all the things stupid!The runners had been removed from his sleigh:The ruts were termed dangerous by the E.P.AAnd people had started to call for the copsUpon hearing sleds run across their rooftops.Second hand smoke from his pipe had his workers quite frightened;His fur-trimmed suit was dubbed "unenlightened".Then to prove the strangeness of life's ebbs and flows,Rudolph was suing for unauthorised use of his nose...And had gone on TV in front of the nationDemanding six mill, overdue compensation.So half the reindeer were gone, and his wife,Who suddenly decided she's had enough of this life,Joined a self-help group, packed, and left in a whizDemanding from now on her title was Ms.And as for the gifts, why he'd ne'er had a notionThat making a choice could cause such commotion!Nothing of leather, nothing of furWhich meant nothing for him, and nothing for her.Nothing that might be construed to pollute,Nothing to aim, nothing to shoot,Nothing that clamoured and made lots of noise,Nothing for girls and nothing for boys,Nothing that claimed to be gender specific,Nothing warlike or non-pacific.No candy or sweets, they are bad for the tooth.Nothing that seemed to embellish a truth.And fairy tales, while not yet forbiddenWere like Ken and Barbie, (better off hidden)For they raised the hackles of those psychologicalWho claimed the only good gift was one ecological.No basketball, no football, someone could get hurt -Besides, playing sport exposed childrent to dirt.Dolls were said to be sexist and oh so passé,and Nintendo would rot their brains away.So Santa just stood there, dishevelled, perplexed;He couldn't figure out what he should do next.He tried to be merry, he tried to be gay(Though you must be so careful with that word today).His sack was quite empty, limp to the ground -Nothing acceptable to be found.Something special was needed, a gift that he mightGive to all without angering left or right.A gift that would satisfy with no indecisionEach group of people from every religion.Every ethnicity, every hue,Everyone, everywhere, even you.So here is that gift, its price beyond worth:"May you and your loved ones enjoy peace on earth."