Posts Tagged ‘Tuck’

Battle Royale

April 11, 2012

I watched Battle Royale the other day. Then I wrote a little poem to my local M.P. Then I woke up in a junkyard surrounded by cat skulls and empty Sunny Delight bottles. But that’s another story. Did I say I wrote a little poem? Well I didn’t, that was a lie. But if I had written a poem, here’s how it would have gone:


Their posture is WEAK

Their handwriting is FLAWED.

O what will become of today’s youth?

When the hem of a boy’s trouser leg

Hangs below his ankles

Great shame is visited upon

His father and his mother.

My daughter lost her pencil case.

Great dishonour must follow.


O parents! O progenitors!

O thin-lipped fathers

And tiny-hooved mothers!

Look at the pigs you popped out

Of your slack reproductive organs!

Are you not scandalised?


I think the solution is pretty self-evident


Battle Royale


Billy Bunter, the Fat Owl of Greyfriars School

Was the first into the lists:

A symbol of the decadence of the west

Or, alternatively,

A proto-Harry Potter

But rounder

And a muggle.


Yaroo. You fellows.

And Oooooh

He cried.

I’m fashed. Have you got any jam?

He added as they chopped at his trunk

With little Japanese knives.


Bunter was the first of the gang to die.

Takiki and Naruto followed hot

On his plump and well-heeled trot



Their pickled heads now sit

In the Trophy Cabinet of Michael Gove

To remind him of the sacred duty of his calling.

His strokes them sometimes,


I shall be the victor of Battle Royale and there shall be no tuck for you Lord Teddington.


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.