Thursday, February 08, 2007
To the metal rocker
I’d sit, a moody, acned, unloved cur,
In murk of teenage bedroom, sour and bored.
But feet and blood and loins would start to stir
At your first jarring, howling, shrieking chord.
Your playing was so savage that I swear
There’d be smoke coming from the record player.
A life of excess was the one for you:
The swankiest hotel rooms you destroyed.
You’d drink and snort and smoke and shoot and screw -
Our moral guardians were quite annoyed.
And in response, you trebled the outrage,
Decapitating rodents live on stage.
At social graces, rancid phlegm you spat;
Contempt for hygiene you did naught to hide.
You smelled as if a syphilitic rat
Crawled in your grandma’s knickers and there died.
Your beard, a foetid, cheesy, greasy merkin,
A haven was for alien life to lurk in.
Your music, all bass, feedback, drums and roars,
Made my head ache as though wolves ate my brain;
Yet still, against the floor and walls and doors
I’d bang my head again, again, again!
My air guitar I’d beat and thrash and pick -
A huge invisible surrogate prick.
I thought I’d grown up and left this behind
(A fam’ly man am I now, and mature).
But of your heyday I’m oft put in mind
When this ‘Nu-Metal’ shite I must endure.
You’d still put these pretending twats to shame
Although you walk with aid of Zimmer frame.
So dust your axe off once more, and crank up
The volume on the amp to more than ten.
And let’s drink deep from metal’s rusty cup
Lest sacch’rine safeness rot our ears again.
Though others at our folly sneer and scoff,
Let’s bang our bastard heads till they fall off.
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You metal dirthead, I will think about yer heathen ways and pray for you as I listen to some Pat Boone.
"Yet still, against the floor and walls and doors
I’d bang my head again, again, again!"
I think we're all glad, Foots, that you didn't go in for the type of doctoring that requires a steady hand, and drooling must be positively de rigeur on your ward. It must make the patients feel like you're reaching out and really trying to get into their shoes.
I’d bang my head again, again, again!"
I think we're all glad, Foots, that you didn't go in for the type of doctoring that requires a steady hand, and drooling must be positively de rigeur on your ward. It must make the patients feel like you're reaching out and really trying to get into their shoes.
your ballads always amaze me.
although.. i don't know about this loin stirring..
although.. i don't know about this loin stirring..
# posted by 
: 9:12 am
: 9:12 am
Mr Knudsen: if you play Pat Boone's records backwards you get some of the dirtiest messages imaginable.
Kav: I suppose I should have used the adjective fishy in that context.
Sam: I knew a surgeon who would play Motorhead in theatre during operations.
Sarah: but hard rock is all about sex.
Kim: you're thinking of swear/player, aren't you? No, nothing as interesting as that; I was just stuck for a rhyme.
Where's Philip to have a go at the poor scansion?
Kav: I suppose I should have used the adjective fishy in that context.
Sam: I knew a surgeon who would play Motorhead in theatre during operations.
Sarah: but hard rock is all about sex.
Kim: you're thinking of swear/player, aren't you? No, nothing as interesting as that; I was just stuck for a rhyme.
Where's Philip to have a go at the poor scansion?
For the first time ever I'm going to post clarifications on my comments.
Mr Knudsen: Mr Boone's hit Speedy Gonzales contains, as I'm sure you as a fan know, this lyric:
Come on home to your adobe/ And slap some mud on the wall!/ The roof is leaking like a strainer/ There's loads of roaches in the
hall.
Reversed, at 33 rpm, this translates as:
Smoke marijuana, up the IRA, you can suck my Fenian phallus till I - etc, etc.
Kav: how many 'uses of a merkin' have you 'ever seen', then? Perhaps I should send your wife that DVD after all.
Sam: you're too nice. I suspect there's some immense Lovecraftian evil lurking beneath it all.
Sarah: your profile is always entertaining to me. I share many of your musical tastes: I'm Britain's biggest Creedence fan, for one.
Kim: now I'm more paranoid than ever. You said 'a couple' of rhymes. Which was the other?
Foot Eater: you're so full of shit you squeak going round corners. Why do you bother commenting when everyone despises you?
Mr Knudsen: Mr Boone's hit Speedy Gonzales contains, as I'm sure you as a fan know, this lyric:
Come on home to your adobe/ And slap some mud on the wall!/ The roof is leaking like a strainer/ There's loads of roaches in the
hall.
Reversed, at 33 rpm, this translates as:
Smoke marijuana, up the IRA, you can suck my Fenian phallus till I - etc, etc.
Kav: how many 'uses of a merkin' have you 'ever seen', then? Perhaps I should send your wife that DVD after all.
Sam: you're too nice. I suspect there's some immense Lovecraftian evil lurking beneath it all.
Sarah: your profile is always entertaining to me. I share many of your musical tastes: I'm Britain's biggest Creedence fan, for one.
Kim: now I'm more paranoid than ever. You said 'a couple' of rhymes. Which was the other?
Foot Eater: you're so full of shit you squeak going round corners. Why do you bother commenting when everyone despises you?
Foots, you are to medicla practice what Jack Black is to teaching, dude. An anti-establishmentarian revelation, a revolutionary epiphany, an insidious explosive, a mild-mannered fifth-columnist.
That being said, I'll see your cock-rock band and raise you a Brazilian hard rock giant. Eh?
That being said, I'll see your cock-rock band and raise you a Brazilian hard rock giant. Eh?
Des: any band that has a drummer named Igor has my respect. Will check out their music; though if they're as good as AC/DC I'll rim myself.
Oh, and I wouldn't want a load of children loose in the operating theatres, so your Black comparison falters a bit. Great flick, though, wasn't it.
Sam: I meant too nice for this site, not too nice in some metaphysical sense (in which it's impossible to be too nice). I'm actually quite in awe of your flowing command of English and your apparently unshakeable optimism. As, I'm sure, everyone is who knows you online and off.
FMC: and this, coming from a lady who hails from the land of Swift, Wilde, Yeats and the rest.
Oh, and I wouldn't want a load of children loose in the operating theatres, so your Black comparison falters a bit. Great flick, though, wasn't it.
Sam: I meant too nice for this site, not too nice in some metaphysical sense (in which it's impossible to be too nice). I'm actually quite in awe of your flowing command of English and your apparently unshakeable optimism. As, I'm sure, everyone is who knows you online and off.
FMC: and this, coming from a lady who hails from the land of Swift, Wilde, Yeats and the rest.
Oh dear, Footie. I have a hard time picturing you as one of those sad dirthead teenagers. Say it ain't so.
Ozzy's doing a free concert this year for OzzFest, out in my corner of the world. I was kind of hoping that it heralds his swan song, what with no one wanting to pay for the old whore anymore.
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Ozzy's doing a free concert this year for OzzFest, out in my corner of the world. I was kind of hoping that it heralds his swan song, what with no one wanting to pay for the old whore anymore.
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