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Schlock Sonnet

A new Shakespearean Sonnet has been unearthed by scholars working in ‘Spearmint Gerbil’ in Edinburgh! [Apparently. Ermintrude] It was discovered when they were sandblasting a pair of crotchless knickers in the Gents urinal. They appeared to be stuck to the wall. According to one observer, from the Smegma Police, ‘it was ‘a sticky situation’. The knickers in question were found attached to the mammified corpse of a right old Merchant Banker. The undertakers apologised for not being able to remove his grin. Poetophiles from the nearby Edinburgh University Bar – still the longest in Europe – have been tight, as well as tight-lipped, since the find. Most Elizabethan observers agree that Shakespeare probably wrote it when he was up there, helping Jordan with her large double negatives, at the last Edinburgh Book Festival. But the literary world is still divided. Was this yet another poem purchased by his patron, Duke Ellington; or a personal cri de hoor? Certainly, Shakespearean buffs recall the Bard of Basingstoke (Is this right? EdZilla) returning from Edinburgh with a limp; which he found very difficult, if not to say ‘hard’, to explain to his wife, Anne Have-it-Away. Contemporary records have him ascribing it to ‘An Olde Whore wound’.


Ace reporter and bon viveur [and utter twat. Ermintrude] Yours UnTruly, has been granted access to the inner sanctum of Poetopia; and now as a Wurrld Furst, publishes the entire sonnet; unblemished; unlike Shakespeare’s willy was, apparently. Back fans! Back! (Get on with it! EdZ)

Thonget 18

‘Shall I compare thee to an easy lay?

Thou art more lovely and you want more pay.

Rough fingers tweak the buttons on your dress,

Your boobs are heaving and your hair’s a mess.

Sometime too hot your thighs of heaven get,

And often is your underwear quite wet.

And every bra from time to time declines,

By chance or drinking one too many wines.

But thy eternal blusher shall not fade.

Although you turn a pleasingly red shade.

Nor lose possession of that which thou owest

Until the price is right; and then thou ‘goest’.

So long as men can pay and you take plastic,

The world is full of melting knicker elastic.

Signed ‘Big Will’. (The ‘y’ is silent)

Kulture Vultures

What can I say? ‘The rest is silence.’ Does this not demonstrate the ongoing commitment of MOI, aka Captain Fabulous, to raising the intellectual profile of this Blog? [No. Ermintrude] (Pull the other one. EdZ) Bah! And bear in mind, all this was done whilst I was in the grip of a beaver! [‘Fever’, you pervert! Ermintrude] Anyway; I was ill! (A combination of flatulence and ‘Writer’s Droop’. EdZ) Beat it! Here I am; prone on my sick-bed, [and prone to type a load of crap. Ermintrude] Fools! Just so as to show you the soaring peaks of intellectual endeavour to which we aspire I now set out hereunder, for the first time in pubic, my own, my very own, brand new, shiny, Haiku. Or is that ‘Haddock’? I give you -‘Triumph of the Willy’. [They’re gonna kill him for sure this time. Ermintrude] (Trouble is, they all want to cremate him while he’s still alive. EdZ) [Fair enough. Ermintrude]

‘Triumph of the Willy’

Hand in hand.

Hand in gland.

Gland in gland.


As an afterthought, I’ve sent a copy to the ‘Grauniad’, their ‘Wimmin’s Sexshun’, for comment. [Famous last turds. Ermintrude] John J. McCabe. Copyright