Monsters Of Our Time - Margaret Thatcher

Monsters Of Our Time - Margaret Thatcher

Jeremy Clarkson caricature

Eggy Pop

A product waiting to be produce and a campaign ready-made.

Rudolph: A Satire on the Bedroom Tax

The Bedroom Tax is an unfair charge, imposed on the poorest and most vulnerable in society by rich, privileged and pig-ignorant politicians.  Politicians they call themselves, but behind that badge they wear another pinned to their hearts: Pirate, Spiv, Parasite.

Here's a little song I wrote to the tune of Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer.  It's Seasonal, satirical and, sadly, not that far from the truth.

Rudolph The Barefaced Scrounger

You know Slasher and Flasher,

And Banker and Fix ‘Em,

Conman and Hedgefund and Politician,

But do you recall

The most heinous reindeer of all?

Rudolph the Barefaced Scrounger

Had a tiny surplus room:

If you lived in a mansion,

The kind of place you’d keep a broom.

All of the other reindeer,

Not on housing benefit,

Read it in the Daily Mail,

And had a self-righteous fit.

Then one foggy Christmas Eve

Santa came to say,

“Rudolph for your extra space,

Pay or find another place”.

Then all the reindeer jeered him,

Waving their stuffed Christmas socks,

“Rudolph the Barefaced Scrounger,

Go live in a cardboard box”.

                                  

                                          (c)Frank Rooney

Tipsy, Dipso and Dead

I'm planning a series if children's books around 3 alcoholics called Tipsy, Dipso and Dead. I'm hoping they'll be picked up by CBeebies.

Tipsy, Dipso & Dead

Off his rocker, out of his head, Said Tipsy to Dipso, ignoring Dead, "I have 2 cans of Special Brew... There's one for me and one for you"

Tipsy's chosen drink is sherry. Dipso sups his cider merry. But Dead won't tell us what his is, He's on the floor and soaks up piss.

Tipsy carries a razor blade. Dipso has a nail in a stick. Nobody will dare try mug Dead, He smells so bad covered in sick.

Tipsy bothers folk for money.
Dipso finds the traffic funny. Dead lies against the Tesco's door, To decompose a little more.

Frank P. Rooney

Summertime (Alt)

It  is  common  knowledge  in  songwriting  circles  that  the  legendary  lyricist  and  librettist,  scribbler  of  the  classic  show  Porgy And Bess,  Ira  Gershwin,  was  a  martyr  to  hayfever.  The  first  draft  of  his  timeless  song  “Summertime”  (printed  here  for  the  first  time)  went  thus:-

Summetime (Alt)

Summertime ...

And  my  nose-holes  are  sneezy.

My  head  is  thumpin’

Cos  the  pollen  count’s  high.

Oh,  my  poor  eyes  itch

And  they’re  really  red  lookin’,

Like  halved  tomatoes

When  they  fry.

But   antihistamines

Won’t  dispense  with  the  symptoms;

With  my  nose-holes  explosive,  snot  will  fly.

Summertime ...

And  my  nose-holes  are  sneezy.

My  head  is  thumpin’

Cos  the  pollen  count’s  high.

Oh,  my  poor  eyes  itch

And  they’re  really  red  lookin’,

Like  halved  tomatoes

When  they  fry.

             (c)Frank Rooney

Multi-Tasking: A Modern Predicament

After I have tapped out a Tweet,

Perching on my porcelain throne,

I lie the bog-roll at my feet,

Wipe my arse with the mobile phone.

(c)Frank Rooney