Christmas Comes In Twelves.

As your Christmas unwinds,

prepare for the listicle grind,

of twelve of a kind,

from a media unrefined.

 

The twelve pubs,

the twelve worst snubs

the twelve best meat rubs,

the twelve cutest cubs.

 

The twelve most christmassy cakes,

the twelve calmest lakes,

the twelve hottest Jakes,

the twelve most effective rakes.

 

The twelve most festive tipples,

the twelve weirdest celebrity nipples,

the twelve most concentric ripples,

the twelve most inspirational cripples.

 

The twelve most chocolatey chocolates,

the twelve most mullety mullets,

the twelve most scariest plummets,

the twelve most vaginal gullets.

 

The twelve most christmassy jumpers,

the twelve most rockin’ fist pumpers,

the twelve cutest pictures of Bambi and thumper,

the twelve bravest men who found testicular lumpers.

 

The twelve loveliest Christmas family portraits,

the twelve least navigable straights,

the twelve worst ways to conjugate,

the twelve best ways to ovulate.

 

Twelve Christmas kittens,

twelve ways to knit mittens,

twelve unusual citrons,

twelve Z-list celebrity Britons.

 

The twelve most nostalgic movies,

the twelve best Premier League newbies,

the twelve biggest sets of wag’s boobies,

and twelve child actors holding doobies.

 

Twelve delicious Christmas dinners,

twelve Nobel award winners,

twelve toothless grinners,

twelve famous plate spinners.

 

twelve people to watch in the new year,

twelve ways to festive up your beer,

twelve of the cutest deer,

twelve ways to force Christmas cheer.

 

Twelve stages of crushing ennui,

twelve ways to be bourgeoisie,

twelve things someone should remind me,

twelve places I’d rather be.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Simple Solutions

For every problem there’s a simple solution,

that’s what they always say.

Further thought only leads to pollution,

and areas of muddled grey.

 

If a TV’s acting up just hit it,

it worked when TVs had tubes.

A little tap wont break it,

and leave you looking like feckless boobs.

 

And if the middle east’s acting up,

just fire some missiles.

No need to look closeup,

at the effects of explosive projectiles.

It clearly worked before.

The answer’s so simple, how could it fail?

Dropping bombs will end all war,

I think we’ve hit it on the nail.

 

Like a man who’s been to  every woman in the club.

Danced up and whispered ‘suck my dick.’

Been scratched, slapped and punched in the mug

and not realised it isn’t a good line to pick.

Dropping bombs is not a solution,

merely dick waving policies,

breeding Islamist revolution,

and rarely secular democracies.

 

This policy of appearance and blind alliance,

fueled by ambivalence, will only lead to death and Islamist defiance.

 

Bleak Christmas: Office Workers’ Christmas Drinks

He wears a Christmas jumper,

and a festive tie.

Begins to slump more,

as he spills his whiskey and rye.

Stumbles in his stupor

and bothers a passer by.

Exclaims ‘party pooper’

and fumbles with his fly.

 

Just another office worker,

attempting Christmas cheer.

More used to watching X Factor,

than the drinking of beer.

An alien to pub matters,

and an absolute pain in the rear.

 

 

Out Of My Cold Dead Hands

Move along,

keep doing what you’re doing.

Nothing to see here,

nothing needs improving.

Go home, watch TV, have a beer.

It’s just another shooting.

 

We’ll send our prayers to the murdered.

That’ll solve all problems.

Continue buying guns undeterred,

more guns  less victims.

Don’t listen to what you’ve heard,

to the lies in newspaper columns.

 

Something needs to change,

so let’s do what we’ve done before.

No need to rearrange,

and definitely not face the problem’s core.

 

Brush the problem aside,

lip service token gestures.

Say ‘by god we abide’

offer victims empty prayers.

Gun control deride,

and continue with holy airs.