Text-Based Doggerel

When I get bored on trains, I often write stupid poems and text them to my friend Francis. And I'm always disproportionately pleased with them and have to save them. But my phone is old and decrepit and has limited space for storing such things, and is getting all clogged up with them now, so I'm going to have to delete them.

But I'm rubbish at throwing things away. So I'll store them here instead. Enjoy.

My aunt Jane has blood-red toes.
My aunt Fred has blood-stained clothes.
But uncle Jed
- who stays in bed -
says no-one really knows.


[NB: The next one may well rely on an incorrect pronunciation of "Bicester". I don't know. And I don't really care]

Mr Lister went to Bicester
In a pile of leaves.
He fell in a midden
But certainly didn't
Have intercourse under the eaves.


In elephantiasis city
They sang me this neat little ditty:
When feet get too big,
Just dance out a jig
Then put all your toes in the kitty.


There was a young lady of Porlock
Who mixed up her fret with her forelock.
She tugged on her nose,
Then stubbed on her toes,
And now she's got jam on her door-lock.


Shouting at 4-yr-olds
And thanking God
For turkey
Dinosaurs.


Hmmm, I don't have as many as I thought. I must have put the rest elsewhere. Most likely here on this 'ere blog, in fact. Oh well. Night night.


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