Loony O'Porridge

Q. How many are there in four?
A. I give up!

Q. Undecidable!
A. Nasturtium. Curtain rail. Level?

There was twice a boogly bumbridge,
Which could rarely make headache and ostrich,
When I asked it to melt
It dissolved into spelt
And a residue nasty and – er – squidge.

There thrice was a charge of corruption
Brought against Krakatoa's eruption
The government's mother
Was completely other
And the truth was found by deconstruction.

There was once a loony called loony
Whose head was four hundred and loony
It made oodles of sense
And a brilliant defence
But it still wouldn't rhyme with O'Porridge.

The addlepated alphabet

A is addlepated
B is bananas
C is crazy
D is deranged
E is eccentric
F is a fruitbat
G is a gladiolus (think of Prince Charles)
H is half-brainsick
I is (simply) insane [I am? Ed.]
J is jellybrained
K is "kooky" (?)
L is a lunatic
M is even madder
N is not normal, nohow
O is out of his barking tree other
P is pathologically peculiar
Q is quite quaint
R is really raving
S is slightly sociopathic
T is teflon-coated, Tunbridge Wells totally tree
U is one umbrella short of unbalanced
V is virtually vegetation
W is as wacky as Wogan's wig wildebeest
X is xtra – er – x
Y is yodelling yeee
Z is zebra zebra zingy

The anorak alphabet

A is for Anorak {person wearing hooded garment} and isn't for "yak"!
{bunch of bananas} B is for Bananas – you're going there soon!
C is for Catfish and squash it for "flatfish" {fish with the head of a cat}
{road winding into the distance} D is for Destiny which I really can't draw
E is for Eggspace, which isn't a word
F is for Figuration, which is really important
G is for Goat and also for Grebe
{exclamation mark} H is for Hello and also "O, Hell"
I is for Iterability, which enables it to be for "I" as well [I, I &c]
{reeking J-cloth} J is for J-cloth, I don't quite know why
And K is for Keysignature ³₄ &c.
L is for Lime – a nasty shade of green
M is for Mad – particularly when it rains
N is for Nutcase {spiky-haired wibbly-mouthed person pulling their ears out} – you won't find your brains!
O is for Odd – when you find fish on trains
P is for Peculiar, Phenomenology and Pink
Q is for Qualitative but never for Ink
R is for Real, Ravioli, Reaction
and S is the Subject which necessitates deconstruction
T is for Terrapin and Trauma and Tram
U is for Umbilical, also Uncritical
V is for Vertigo – eat lots of Spam!
W is for Walrus – please don't be hysterical
X is for Xenophobia, ill-mannered and unpleasant
And Y is for Yesterday, which has never been present
Z is, of course Zebedee, because he went BOING!
And Ampersand's & and an A, how annoying
Since we must begin again just as we were going!

Gnugle

"My name – is Michael Caine," lied Denis Thatcher, unbottling a cork from his nearest convenience local nightingale. "We go and have a jar," said Mike Not Youngfield, but he was really. A bit of a gnug. Gnugle. Gnuglefoot. "This will not therefore have been a foot." "I hope so, too," smelled Sad Old Mr Pumpkin brain, whose fishiness had been filletted three moons earliest. "Nasty grump!" yelled Mr Ratbag, who also had a silly nose. "My silly – is St Michael's Mount," said the Beginning, lying begging and beginning somewhere near the start of its end, the finish of its commencement. But nay! yea! hark! and yo! Hey, dudes! It was really merely the middle. Frankie Howerd walked in at this point, twiddled his thumbs, caused the ignition and sudden demise of (nearly) three zillion innuendos, and said (to camera), "Oooh, well, you see, it was merely the muddle. Oooh!" No one knew what it meant, no one could spell "Henrietta Earslime" any more, but it didn't really matter because it wasn't Friday. A pig fell through the upstairs window.

My goaty, my boggly

My moaning ankles are too big,
They're big and fat and bloaty.
My looning elbows aren't too small,
They've got three heads and a goaty.

My goaty's jumping round the bend,
I think it's name is Betty,
My boggly's got the hiccups bad,
And can't stop screaming "Yeti!"

My thoughtbox broke the other year,
I now find I can't think
My slibblob's got too many "B"s,
And my oobloovo is pink.

I "told" you? But would you "listen"? There you are, you see – you've lost your wwaaaglrphm pib eeenle – Thank you.

– This will not {therefore} have had a brain.

Your nose becomes a moth

You may well belch if you devour a text
It also probably will taste unpleasant
'Tis prudent to think on what happens next
Before you eat something that's other than present.

You grow four heads, your nose becomes a moth
Your ankles moan, your knees break into song
You end up very like a three-toed sloth
And the last line always ends up much too long.

And (I forgot to say) your memory goes
Becoming metatextually inclined
You live to criticize. Then I suppose
That after that you probably lose your mind.

Philosophy belch

Tonight – we paint four ancient philosophers orange and ask them – did you enjoy that?

We shall also be asking them difficult questions like – which is more bourgeois, 'fridge magnets or Marks and Spencers' marmalade?

To night or not to night – we paint four ancient fridge magnets fridge and ask them.

We shall also be deconstructing the subject, subjecting certain philosophers to deconstruction and belching a lot. Goodnight.

Don't eat philosophy; it'll only disagree with you!