Larry Brash

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Original text in yellow, anagram in pink.

And Did Those Feet in Ancient Time
by William Blake

And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen?

And did the Countenance Divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among these dark satanic mills?

Bring me my bow of burning gold!
Bring me my arrows of desire!
Bring me my spear! O clouds, unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire!

I will not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand,
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land.

Mmmmmmm... Nine Cold Beers
(An Alcoholic's Solemn Hymn)
by Larry Brash

And didn't Jesus come here in the past
And try a drop of fine Aussie beer?
Downin' nine lagers in an hour
And you'll be pissed, Lord, no fear!

And did Jesus try Foster's with his mates,
Will, Dan, Tim Finn, and Dwane?
And get pissed as a fart,
And beat a damn poof in the lane!

Give me a beer, girl, nice and cold!
Get me dinner and my packet of smokes!
Pull me an ale the colour of gold!
I'm going out with the blokes!

We'll chug a ninth tinnie and, damn,
We'll get full as a bull, Lord!
Imagine fun being single!
With us winners, you'll never get bored!

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Henry V, III, i, 1-17

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility;
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger:
Stiffen the sinews, conjure up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favoured rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect,
Let it pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon, let the brow o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swilled with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit
To his full height.

Hello! Let's give the froggies the hiding that they won't forget. We'll defeat them! Brits pissed on the Dauphin when we liked. Hell, we're the Best in the World.

The bloody escargot eaters are a crude bunch of arse bandits. Mind if we go to Paris and can't speak French that well, the rude bastards'll just ignore you. I'll tell you, the cuisine's crap and the wines are to be avoided (Hell, Aussie wine's nicer).

The cunts should test the atomic bomb on Brie constantly, not on the Muroroa Atoll. What about the Rainbow Warrior? Pretty shameful, eh? As we understand it, "Renault" is just French for "heap of chilled shite" (Gerard Depardieu, too). We hate the fashion, the manners, the food, the high-handed Frenchmen.

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The prologue of Romeo and Juliet.

Two households, both alike in dignity
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life;
Whose misadventured piteous overthrows
Doth with their death bury their parents' strife.
The fearful passage of their death-marked love,
And the continuance of their parents' rage,
Which, but their children's end, naught could remove,
Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;
The which if you with patient ears attend,
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.

This is the prologue's view of William Shakespeare's play about the Montagues' brave son, Romeo, and the Capulets' fair daughter (for which I'm short a letter to do her name), who are in love, if to the consternation of their families.

With two clans, which have hate for each other running for years, it won't work out. I'm sure you'd have predicted it; the horrific final scene, wherein the hurt couple kill themselves, is hard stuff.

West Side Story (music by Leonard Bernstein), based on that old tale, involves two awful street gangs, which war for divided turf, the Sharks and another ruffian horde (I'd need that fucking letter here, too).

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The Star-Spangled Banner

Oh, say can you see by the dawn's early light
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous flight
O'er ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

After terrorist thugs flew planes to destroy the World Trade Center towers, half the Pentagon and kill rather a lot of people, George W. Bush told the harsh Taliban rabble:

"Give up that cur, Osama bin Laden!"

Islam's reply: "Ho-ho, hardly!"

Now the mighty United States wages war against the ragged Afghan goatherds. They'd win there where the Russians failed, 'cos with heavy bombs or very long missiles, they ought to thrash that garbage.

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A quotation from The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde.

There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about and that is not being talked about.

Gay Wilde hated to be thrown in that stinking gaol. He dies in a hotel, lost, broken, beaten and burnt-out.

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Updated: May 10, 2016


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