Poetry Corner. And Chicken Korma sandwiches.

Could I Ever Love A Fascist? (An Ode To Nick Griffin)

You’ve got a perfect smile but an evil mind,
You’ve got a national front and a cute behind.

I’ve got a nice apartment where we could head down,
You’re so much sexier than Cameron or Brown.

Give up the violence and the race hate and citings,
So you and me could have a romantic night in.

My girlfriends ok but I know you could match her,
Would you be up for a threesome with Thatcher?

I don’t agree with your policies on national immigration,
But I hope I can ignite your man love celebration.

FIN.

Hello you cracked egg shell in the albumen of life. Hows things in less awesome places? How I thought they were. Less awesome. I never want to confuse feeling in a happy mood with being in 'that' kind of happy mood. As soon as I feel any kind of over-joyousness I start to worry it could be a sign of things to come, as a big high is sometimes followed with a big low. I don't want to sound pessimistic, but it's such a big weight on my mind the whole time its hard to put it to one side. The four ways I can sort of judge whether or not I'm feeling happy, or feeling 'happy-happy' are listed below, in details which may or may not be humorous/boring/of such gory detail my close family and friends will not be able to look at me in the same way again.

1. Increased appetite.
I eat much more as normal, this constitutes to either packs of sandwiches on comparably high scale as the amount of Nightmare On Elm Street films, and calorific content that would put Joey Chestnut to shame.

2. Stupid amounts of money lost.
Money is frittered away without a care in the world, 'Ooooh a dog with its face caved in, I'll offer you a tenner, and my lovely shoes', is just one fictional example of the stupid things I'll buy.

3. Increased wants for sexytime/ladies.
Now this is one thing I love about being in this mood, the only two relationships I can say I've had, have come about because of a high mood. I'm scared of asking girls out or saying to them how I feel, but in this mood I just seem to lose my inhibitions and just go for it and ask them. Wants for sexytime go up. Less said about that the better. Move on. MOVE THE FUCK ON.

4. I drink like a motherfucking alcoholic fish.
Water, Cider, turps (not turps), Apple Juice, Smirnoff Ice, Creme de Menthe, turps (not turps), Aftershave (I've drank Aftershave, that was a fucking awesome night at my house, it was Yves Saint Laurent, I mixed it with vodka, half and half and tried to set it alight, it worked for like a split second. I smelt like Peter Stringfellow for a month). My God, I drink lots of fluids. Not that though. MOVE THE FUCK ON.

I'm going to go, I'm reading a Wikipedia article about Holocaust Deniers, not because I agree, I despise the people who do, but I was reading about Justin Fashanu and it seemed to link after a few clicks. I'm not saying the late, great, homosexual footballer Justin Fashanu denies the Holocaust, but 3 clicks on links is all that separates.

Love and AWOOOOOOOGA! (Thats John Fashanu not Justin Fashanu)

Jc