Kayak intestine

Roll "KAYAK" --> you get "KAYAK".

Isn't that intestine?

No, it's a liver (squelch).

This is page 35 from the end.

"If only Bicycle Repair Man weren't here!" said Arthur, expiring briefly.

Rubbish bit

"The Rubbish Bit of Rolled Kayak"

"Asleep! For evening in the bowl of flowers"
Has thrown a fit in leafy bowers —
And hi! We're back with (yes) part nine
Of Comic Relief for bloody hours and hours!

When I awoke I must have been completely pissed
As though I had fallen on the floor and missed
And in my eyes like pestilential pies
My pupils were converging — do you get the gist?

I listened for a bit but felt like Death itself
The night was soundless, just a groaning shelf.
I shouted loud to ease the boredom
The shelf collapsed — so far this year it is the twelfth.

Imperatively "Learn to DIY better!"
I had followed the instructions to the letter,
But I did not intend to have three screws remaining,
So I fed them to my pink red setter.

"The chair of time has but a little way to roll"
Quoth Stephen Hawking, who had achieved his goal
And thus discreetly died, quite unlike Icarus,
Sudden falling off the canoe into a whirlpool.

This verse is just like those which went before
In no way at all — I floundered on the floor
Inebriatedly, devoid of sober sanity
And rolled around in horrid sick and gore.

"So what had happened?" An answer, please!
I contemplated, remembering swarms of bees
That caused my Arctic kayak to capsize;
I thought "I die, and then I'm going to sneeze."

Rudeish bit

"The Rudeish Bit of Old Khayyam"

"Awake! For morning in the bowl of night"
Has vomited — and it is getting light
And lo! This poem has begun
Its bloody endless metaphoric flight!

When I awoke, I must have been hungover
As though I had been in Beirut or in Dover
And in my ears, like music of the spheres
Some moron whistling "The Gypsy Rover".

I listened like the undead for a bit
Then, through, the casement, "Put a sock in it!"
I shouted — the milkman did not respond
I tried my head on — and it did not fit.

Imperatively "In the fire of spring
The winter garment of repentence fling!"
Quoth Old Khayyam — but he did not intend
A woolly vest morosely smouldering.

"The bird of time has but a little way to fly"
And then perhaps it will discreetly die
Amd leave poets and dustmen all in peace
Like Icarus, sudden falling off the sky.

This verse is just like those which went before
Pointless in the extreme, an utter bore,
Completely null, devoid of plot or substance
There isn't even any blood or gore.

"Dreaming when dawn's left hand was in the sky"
I contemplated, then I asked her "why?"
"If you do that, your arm will start to ache"
She said "I live, and then I'm going to die."

Repressions

A chap who believed himself orthodox
In writing was faced with a paradox
He fragmented the norms
Of his poetical forms
And his discourse became quite heterodox.

Whilst endeavouring to be sardonic
His limericks were quite self-ironic
And so deconstructably
And thus ineluctably
Proved themselves somewhat-misconceived.

An Idealogue, it seems, will not learn —
His mental state causes concern
For in uncanny places
And negative spaces
Repressions will always return!

A chap of mind somewhat uncritical
Regarded himself as analytical
His opinions, though vigorous
Were much less than rigorous
How could he be so hypocritical?

(((SPACE))) (+20 pages)

Sink stink

"Mind your A's and Q's" exclaimed Horace.

Deconstruction is really a bit
silly, yet it allows no respite
Liz reads it all day
But some day she yet may
Realise it's all a pile of horse manure.

A book called Limited Inc
Once got stuck in the sink
It clogged up the words
and attracted the birds
And created a most godawful stink.

Heap big breakfast

semolina (with milky).

Q. How many semolinas are there in a piece of string?

A. Milky.

Q. How many pieces of string?

A. John Major.

Q. No he isn't!

A. Disqualified! Statement! I am, I am, I am Ian. Am I?

Q. I'm asking the questions!

A. State-ment! State-ment! [contortion of the features impossible in writing]

Q. How?

A. Heap big breakfast.

Q. Recycled bicyles, batman!

A. Aaaaaaaa

Yes, you

"No, I don't want to hear from you again." — Robin Day

"Where did I leave my brain-cell?" — D. Robin

"Feared by the bad, loved by the good." — Robin Hood, Robin Hood, Robin Hood

"Help me, Batman!" — Robin

"Helpu min, Vespertulo!" — Rubekolo

"Can we TURNABOUT®™(P) the timer, please?" — Rob Curling

"Die." — RoboCop

"Milky milky. Lovely." — Anon.

"Anon." — Me

"You." — Who?

"Me?" — Yes, you

"Don't you tell me what to put in quotes." — Why not?

"Oh, Barry Norman is it all of a sudden?" — Rory Bremner

"Who?" — Shakespeare

"Abracadioduloservosystems" — Marvin, causing the page to end and all to be restored to...

Full circle

There once was a pony called Freddy
Whose balance was not very steady,
He fell into a tank
Of battery acid (dank!)
And thus became called Ever Ready.

That's not an A! (Unless defined as such. And such isn't an A either. Sutch is mad, though I suppose the three are not mutually exclusive, especially insofar as they contain traces of their opposites. Of course they don't contain Z's either, which may or may not prove that they are not A.)

A, ab, abacus, succubus, omnibus, omniverous, herbivorous, herbicide, homicide, homology, analogy, analect, abstract, abacus, ab, A.

"The wheel has come full circle, I am here" — Shakespeare

"Here, or there, or elsewhere. In my beginning" — T.S. Eliot

"In the beginning was the Word" — S^t John the Evangelist

No innuendo

Weasel + Popacatopetl = Blump

There was a young woman called Tonkin
Whose hooter would always be honkin'
Though she stuffed it with dung
It still stuck out its tongue
So she gave it a jolly good seeing-to.

There once was a limerick-type creation
Which raised readerly expectations
By wasting some time
In order to rhyme —
But the last line had no innuendo.

There once was a couple called Wilberforce
Who decided to obtain a divorce
A limerick's constraint
Left them frustrated and faint
They stopped rhymimg so they could have intercourse.

Sorry. I appear to have lowered the tone. If one of the oboes could kindly provide an A?

Outdated metaphysic

Truth's not a thing like any door or table
Wombat or computer or referent
Alas, perhaps, it would have been convenient —
However it is rather more unstable.
Thus it is pardonable to be confused
By the linguistic sign — even perturbed,
Though wishful thinking will make you disturbed
Or pathological — if it's abused.
So be realistic, if you sadly are
Overburdened with outdated metaphysic
Acknowledge the odd little problematic
Though you be fearful, and though it may jar
Though subtleties so far have you eluded
You may even end up quite uneluded.

Obscurantism is normality

In the language of deconstruction
Obscurantism is normality
Indeed it's impossible to function
If one lacks the ability
To employ such difficult jargon.
They love the word "iterability"
Tho it was coined by a moron
It is tempting to resort to frivolity
Despite the unfeasability
Of my enduring ability
To continue in this style.

It is so incomprehensible
It completely baffles me
Tho' tis so reprehensible
I feel it overpowering me
Yet theory text must be resisted
As long as I have breath
'Cos it's so bitter and twisted
And as interesting as death.

It has already overtaken Liz
Which is an awful shame
For the result of this is this —
She can't even write her name
She continues to be absorbed by the text
Tho' it never makes any sense
For she has to keep wearing specs
In case she should go into the Gents.

Degenerate fumings of an idle brain. Sorry. State of Affairs. Indeed.

No God was reified

Except it isn't.

Apart from some people, who, as the name implies, are quite noodles.

Deifier saw dog on poop; no God was reified.

And as for the halibut, it didn't incarnate the sign, either. Or both. Gods must be carried on the stairs! Pass farther down the sub! Marine! You tell them! Remain? I rename Eire means Ire-land; man. Rain and elms. Ablithu, lithp, lps. Lapse of the lips, fin again (more holibit), writing. Am I? Miami, miasmus. No! Yes, yes. Really? Good. O God!

Finnegan's Wake — is he? For we all did said, but! Buttle! No more morrow for old Mrs Marrow. Truly the wain it was meant to beeb. Blobbledy boon. ! ? Her. Considering. Yes. Oh goodness. Where would be we without one? Do I? I don't know? I am going too fast for you.

I, I, and I.I.A.E.I.O.U.

Context?
Metatext... Four.

Sum pipple

"Some people think that a tickling-stick is a sex symbol, but that's just a fallacy." (Ken Dodd)

"Some people think that an off-sea bar is a pub where divers go. I told that to a shop-assistant in Martin's once. She didn't understand it either." (R. Feaver)

"Some people think, therefore they are." (R. Descartes)

"'Some people' is an English-language signifier of an indefinite quantity of human beings." (R. Sole)

"Some people write with their nose." (R. B. Trerry)

"Sum pipple nobbly nibbly noodles." (Squelly Vacuum)

"     " (Neg. Space)

Arthur in his bin

A dustbin once contained a holy relic
Some socks, a video and a piece of cheese
And Arthur, standing right up to his knees
Disconsolate, and sometimes he went click.
On balance this is rather psychedelic
But what can you expect from text so thin
Or a linguistic construct in a bin
At least I haven't mentioned "Freud" or "phallic",
"Phallogocentric" or "overdetermined"
Though leaving you entirely unillumined —
But what can one expect from rhymes like that
So there we leave him, Arthur in his bin
As though of hemlock he had drunk, or gin —
At least he wasn't wearing a silly hat.

The punch-line is on line three of the subsequent page.

[No]