The lumbergrad song

    The egg will have died
    Said the chicken with sadness
    Long live the ego.

1, 2,   1, 2, 3, 4...

She's an English grad and she's insane
She works all night and she sleeps all day

She reads her texts, she deconstructs,
And knows not what facts tell,
She puts on women's clothing
And hangs around in Blackwells.

She buys thick books, she reads them through,
They make no sense at all,
And now she's got no money,
And has to eat in Hall.

[Anyone who turns into Geoffrey – raving simplistic!]

The telos of the arche

Abstract from H.M. report on Geoffrey's sanity.

"We didn't find it"

(or the sanity!)

This is not the end – it is not even the beginning of the end [no – it's a quarter of the way through the book], but it could perhaps be described as

"always already the telos of the arche."

(Hence?) you will be delighted to know, the trace of writing and the writing of the trace.¹

That is grammatological, Captain"
            Spock, spooked

"Woooooh! ooooooh!"
            Spook, spocked

¹"He started it."

Treaties made of pond

There is a pretty certain
Though common I am Bond
I'm very fond of cement
And treaties made of pond.

Though signed and sealed in Basildon
One day I can't remember
As last December weighs a ton
For fear I should dissemble.

All Hollands – raving dervish.

        See you in the place the tomatoes come from.

"The 'fridge?"
        No.
                THE VILLAGE.

Dead moob

["Politics is the moob" said the egg.]

["The egg is dead" said the chicken, who had just trodden on it.]

{ The moob is dead" said the moob. "Long live the chicken!"}

And they all went to Cambridge in a Walrus (like me!).

Song for Maastricht

There is a certain treaty
Of which I'm very fond
It is so very pretty
It cements a common bond

It was signed in lovely Holland
One day in last December
It definitely shouldn't be banned
It's the one to remember!

Those dratted folk of Denmark
Did it a great disservice
But with the strength of the great Deutschmark
They will be shot by a whirling dervish.

Though many really like it
There's some don't care for Maastricht,
To whom we say "you old git
You really need your arse kicked."

Gobblebarble spaghettry

["Blaaerhh"! "Milky milky"!]

                Lovely.

Goat to work on an egg.

Q. "What did the pumpkin say when it was asked to be the tailor at a monastery?"
A. "Pumpkins don't talk."

Q. "What did the New York traffic lights say when they were asked to be the spaghetti at a gobblebarble?"
A. "Pedestrians – Don't Walk."

Gramophone sonnetry

There was a young lady intent
On why limericks all rhyme in "Gwent"
Thus oddly inclined
She went out of her mind
That imprudent lady of Gwent.

Quoth that mad dame, "It's weird –
The others rhyme with 'beard'"
How sadly and wholly dement(ed).

"What's in a name?" Some funny wordy bits,
As phonemes, graphemes and their correlation
Some syllables, and sounds, in isolation
Which, were they placed, they'd have no referents.
(A slight disruption there, a nervous laugh
– 'Tis figured in the syntax's distraction
And in the faulty rhymes – now a quotation
"In a word, gramophone" (not "phonograph"
Unless we gramophone the gramophone
A possibility whose slight digression
May open up an infinite regression.)
Mayhap we'll leave the phonograph alone
And ask of the perfection Romeo owes
How much it needs the ponging of the rose?