Archive for January, 2011

My Name is Joe

January 28, 2011

If it weren’t for Ken Loach none of us would know what reality looks like. That’s a fact, fact-fans. Here is the opening voiceover to his (presumably) realistic social-realist film, ‘My Name is Joe’:

Follow me, gentle viewers, through the fizzing membrane of your teleportal to a twilit realm that I have named Proleworld. Make sure you pack woollen-wear and health-restoring flapjacks, for this is an untamed and inhospitable landscape, from which many never return.

And now as we secrete ourselves by the greasy windows of a sub-Tweedian cavern in the heart of Proleworld, known to natives as ‘The Glasgow Unemployment Office’, let us gaze in and marvel at the anthropological wonders now taking place…

See the tense crisp-fed jaw of the mother-prole honk out a cacophony of indignant vernacular noises. See the appointed elder, steadfast behind a gleaming Perspex shield, parry her prating with a Government incantation. The warrior, whose charge it is to maintain the dignity and solemnity of the Glasgow Unemployment Office, turns the awful oleaginous splendour of his white tumescent gut towards her as if to say ‘Fishwife: desist’. The bones of his former foes are stuffed in his capacious navel. His piglet eyeballs squeal curly-tailed murder.  Mother-prole effects a retreat. This is just another hard-luck tale from the Mean Streets of Proleworld.


The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian

January 21, 2011

Narnia time again my DLFs. Here’s a poem about the second of the Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian

Chaos Reigns in Narnia


1. This badger has a mouth full of words,

But he has no ‘yea’ and ‘nay’,

Only ‘gimswatch, plank and purds’

As the forestfolk say.

I hate them mummy I hate them I do.

(You can see in the hell of their snout-black eyes

That they hate you too).

‘Gimswatch, plank and purds!

Frogballs!Beaversnatch the birds!’

They say, incriminatingly

You will find no Dear Little Friends here Susan.

Aslan done a bunk and bought himself

A keyboard.

We are at war with the Mexicans.


The forest is filled with beastly muck.

Edmund stole my tuck.

I’m ashamed to say it,

But he really is a beastly cunt

And I want to go home.