Tuesday, November 21, 2006


Toby and the Toy Inspectors

Toby was a well-loved lad,
He made his parents proud.
He never cried or wet the bed
Or sulked, or played too loud.

One fault, though, ’smirched this paragon,
This virtuous little gem:
He’d strew his toys about his room
And never tidy them.

Toy cars, soldiers, guns, bricks and balls
Lay knee-deep on his floor.
Grandma, after nine nasty falls,
Stopped coming to his door.

No matter how his mother wailed
And gnashed her teeth, and wept,
The toy-strewn chaos yet prevailed
And in its midst he slept.

One night he woke in dim moonlight,
Roused by a hissing noise,
And froze in wide-eyed mortal fright
For, there amongst his toys -

Stood two men. One was short and fat,
The other tall and thin.
Each dressed in black coat and top hat
They stood there watching him.

‘Tut, tut,’ hissed the tall man as he
Surveyed the mess of toys.
‘What do we do, Mister Eerie,
With such untidy boys?’

‘Well, Creepy, mate,’ said his fat pal,
A smirk about his face.
‘This gross abuse of toys is vile,
A really serious case.’

‘I’ll tidy up the mess I’ve made!’
Cried Toby on the floor,
Scrabbling to pack neatly away
The bits of a jigsaw.

‘Too late!’ laughed the Toy Inspectors,
Advancing on Toby.
And next day, bringing his kippers,
Mum found his bed empty.

He’d disappeared for ever more.
His parents sold each toy.
The jigsaw’s scattered ’cross the floor
Of another small boy.

The puzzle, a bland Constable,
Shows little trapped Toby,
Face twisted in a silent wail
For all eternity.

So, children, put away your toys,
Or by God’s blood, it’s true:
The Toy Inspectors, girls and boys,
Will come and visit you.

What you say is very true
It happened to my friend.
He always left a trail of poo
In every room he went.
But one Winter's night
When in position
To loosen off a shite,
He found himself within a Titian
As Apollo, God of Light.
Toy cars, soldiers, guns, bricks and balls
Lay knee-deep on his floor.
Grandma, after nine nasty falls,
Stopped coming to his door.

If you intend to post your rhyme
To titillate your fans,
You really ought to take the time
And see the fucker scans.
Kieran: your sad tale would have touched a chord
And melted my cold heart.
Except I don't believe a word
And know nothing of art.

Philip: just lay the emphasis on cars
It will scan in the end.
Speaking of scans, it's time for yours
My crazy Dalek friend.

(Yes, I know Davros wasn't a proper Dalek.)
this is sad and very bad and should be left to rot
but I'll have a beer and comment here, sorry that's all I've got.
Everyone's rhyming couplets here
in response to Footie's post
but allow me to make one thing clear:
I don't have time for that shite.

I will, however, use this one on my kids. Good man.
Oh fuck it, I can't rhyme even when I don't have migraines.
Dear lord how I hate poetry. It's even worse when I go out of my way to read it.
You realise I would only do that for you and Sam, right? I have to go off for a shower now.
Mr Knudsen: speaking of rotting, I hope your visit today to the genitourinary clinic went well.

Kav: glad to be of service.

Fat Sparrow: been flying into windows again, have you?

Kim: not insofar as I've never been trapped inside a jigsaw puzzle before, though my parents did once keep me in a Scrabble box when I was very small.

FMC: your sacrifice is greatly appreciated, as is your hyperbole. This is hardly poetry. Doggerel just about says it.
giddy fools. forced rhyme is NEVER a good choice. unless you're wearing blonde pigtails and carrying a skipping rope, WHICH I DONT DOUBT.
Actually I was more wondering about whether you'd done a double act with another dressed in a black coat and top hat
There are new strips at Blunt Cogs. The Toy Inspectors have comic strip potential - get writing
Toby and empty don't rhyme well at all, and I can't make jigsaw and floor rhyme no matter what I stuff in my mouth.

But otherwise, it was an amusing diatribe against the dangers of societal non-conformity amongst the developing youth of our next generation. Bravo, you damn fascist.
I just want you to know that I BLAME YOU!
Jigsaw and floor rhyme easy
If you aint no yankee.
"Speaking of scans, it's time for yours
My crazy Dalek friend.

I'm so relieved; I'd thought Philip was just a really ugly DJ.
I don't know who wrote this, but I always liked it and used to recite it to my kids when I wanted to frighten them to sleep.

Little Willie from the mirror
Licked the mercury right off
Thinking in his childish error
It would cure the whooping cough.

At the funeral, his mother
Brightly said to Mrs Brown
'Twas a chilly day for Willie
When the mercury went down!

Not bad, Bock, but a bit sexual for my tastes. I prefer:

Father heard his children scream
So he threw them in the stream.
Saying, as he drowned the third,
'Children should be seen, not heard.'

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