801

MANDALAY
by
Rudyard Kipling

By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' eastward to the sea,
There's a Burma girl a-settin', and I know she thinks o' me;
For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say;
"Come you back, you British Soldier; come you back to Mandalay!"
Come you back to Mandalay,
Where the old Flotilla lay;
Can't you 'ear their paddles clunkin' from Rangoon to Mandalay?
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the flyin'-fishes play,
An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!

'Er petticoat was yaller an' 'er little cap was green,
An' 'er name was Supi-Yaw-Lat jes' the same as Theebaw's Queen,
An' I seed her first a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot,
An' wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's foot:
Bloomin' idol made o' mud--
Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd--
Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed 'er where she stud!
On the road to Mandalay ...

When the mist was on the rice-fields an' the sun was droppin' slow,
She'd git 'er little banjo an' she'd sing "Kulla-la-lo!"
With 'er arm upon my shoulder an' 'er cheek again my cheek
We useter watch the steamers an' the hathis pilin' teak.
Elephants a-piling teak
In the sludgy, squdgy creek,
Where the silence 'ung that 'eavy you was 'arf afraid to speak!
On the road to Mandalay ...


But that's all shove be'ind me -- long ago and fur away,
An' there ain't no buses runnin' from the Bank to Mandalay;
An' I'm learnin' 'ere in London what the ten-year soldier tells:
"If you've 'eard the East a-callin', you won't never 'eed naught else."
No! you won't 'eed nothin' else
But them spicy garlic smells,
An' the sunshine an' the palm-trees an' the tinkly temple-bells;
On the road to Mandalay ...

I am sick 'o wastin' leather on these gritty pavin'-stones,
An' the blasted English drizzle wakes the fever in my bones;
Tho' I walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand,
An' they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they understand?
Beefy face an' grubby 'and--
Law! wot do they understand?
I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land!
On the road to Mandalay . . .

Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst,
Where there ain't no Ten Commandments an' a man can raise a thirst;
For the temple-bells are callin', and it's there that I would be--
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea;
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the old Flotilla lay,
With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay!
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the flyin'-fishes play,
An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!

TO SHELLENA
(A Poet's Tale)

On the road off Croydon High Street, headin' eastward to the square,
There's a little Indian restaurant that lies situated there;
And the menu on the window tells the prices that you'll pay;
With a note that says 'You're Welcome To Eat-in Or Take Away!'
In The Mandalay Bombay,
Open every single day,
Where you smell tandoori wafting, from the ovens made of clay,
As you go down Croydon way,
To The Mandalay Bombay,
Where the meals come up like thunder, outta kitchens, on tin trays.

Her sari it was purple an' a rose was in 'er hair,
And 'er name it was Shellena, and she was a waitress there,
An' I saw 'er smilin' kindly at a man that she was servin',
An' wastin' 'er politeness on that bloke who weren't deservin',
He was such a bloomin' drip,
Wanted ruddy egg 'n' chips!
Plucky lot 'e cared about the beauty of Shellena,
In The Mandalay Bombay...

When I'd muddled through the menu, I would wait a little while,
Then she'd come on up to see me with a pencil an' a smile,
An' just to keep 'er talkin' I would ask 'er for advice,
Then she'd suggest a tasteful dish, with egg and pilau rice
An' one nan bread in the price!
An' a glass of rather nice
Neat Indian beer, all cool 'n' clear and just like liquid ice!
In the Mandalay Bombay...

That's all pushed be'ind me now, and prob'ly for the best,
And there ain't no bus that runs from South of France to Croydon West,
And I'm learning 'ere in St.Tropez about cuisine, French style,
But if you've seen The Mandalay and 'ad their tarka dall,
An' seen Shellena's dazzling smile,
Then there's nothing else worthwhile,
And the chicken tikka platter is the best for ruddy miles!
In The Mandalay Bombay ...

Oh, I'm sick of snails 'n' frog-legs and the other Frenchie 'perks',
And the reason that I stay's because they sent me 'ere to work,
Though, thank God, I'm due to go home in another fifteen weeks,
Though the mam'selles in St Tropez are all pretty, they ain't meek,
And don't turn the other cheek,
Unlike she that's called Shellena, and who makes me knees go weak,
In the Mandalay Bombay ...

Take me back to Croydon's alleyways and to that hallowed hall,
Where Shellena's smile awaits me and red paper lines the walls,
For the tarka dall's a-callin' and the window notes still say,
'Hello!' and, 'You're all welcome to eat-in or take away!'
In The Mandalay Bombay,
Open every single day,
Where you smell tandoori wafting from the ovens made of clay;
As you go down Croydon way,
To The Mandalay Bombay,
Where the meals come up like thunder, outta kitchens, on tin trays.

802

The Undisputed Top Eleven Reasons Not to Fire Donald Rumsfeld.

11. The ongoing and eccentric fear of absolute retribution.

10. His epic written memoirs say he was the only collaborator of the captain's orders.

9. He knows where the all bodies are rumoured to have been buried and what specific parts have been removed to keep Dick Cheney alive.

8. That the administration's investigation of Abu Ghraib only justified fault with the "Office of The Secretary of Defense," so it's really got to be the damn building's fault.

7. Donald Rumsfeld is one of the few people with a portfolio in the entire administration with actual military service (albeit non-combat) and he is needed for credibility.

6. As George Dubya always says: You can't blame the good guy in the big leather seat for the bad behaviour of his bloody subordinates.

5. He's the best hitter on the George's Dubya's administrations' softball team.

4. He only approved the uses of erotic torture that he wants applied to his very own body and mind.

3. The staff need to keep Donald Rumsfeld around to take the hard rap for some really bad stuff that is to be revealed.

2. Hasn't he suffered enough already?

1. If anyone in the administration loses his job, those damn Jihadi Muslim terrorists would have won the war.

The Undisputed Top Eleven Other Pathetic Things Dubya Bush Did While Hosting a Special Screening of the Film "United Ninety-Three."


11. Tried hard to fully remember what he was doing when they heard the very abominable news of all the plane hijacks.

10. Telephoned everyone to foolproof the administration's fictitious and old official story.

9. Boosted up his deteriotarive poll numbers through promotional bribery.

8. Stayed out of the esteemed and old Mr Cheney's way.

7. Thought about if JuJu Fruits are essentially made by anti-semitic voodoo businesses.

6. Waited for the agreeable movie star Harrison Ford to save the day.

5. Persevered with trying out different moves onto an undefended and tense rookie, Condi Rice.

4. Intermittently blubbered a babyish and obsolete warning like "O! Look out!" at the screen.

3. Resolved irrefutably that his flight-suit is less pleasurable after a couple of hours in a theatre than it was after a few minutes flight across San Diego Harbor.

2. Wondered what the hell had happened to that damn ambassador Osama Bin Laden.

1. Edited storyboard in his notebook for a beaut movie idea called, "Stay Out of Harm's Way." that defended his specific Nine-Eleven flights from Sarasota to Offutt Air Force Base to Washington, D.C.

803

[An anagrammed paraphrase of HP Lovecraft's first Fungus from Yuggoth sonnet]

The place was dark and dusty and half-lost
In tangles of old alleys near the quays,
Reeking of strange things brought in from the seas,
And with queer curls of fog that west winds tossed.
Small lozenge panes, obscured by smoke and frost,
Just showed the books, in piles like twisted trees,
Rotting from floor to roof - congeries
Of crumbling elder lore at little cost.

I entered, charmed, and from a cobwebbed heap
Took up the nearest tome and thumbed it through,
Trembling at curious words that seemed to keep
Some secret, monstrous if one only knew.
Then, looking for some seller old in craft,
I could find nothing but a voice that laughed.

Hiding within a maze of passages
Close to the port, where rotten litter stank,
I found the remote bookshop, cooped and dank,
Befouled with smells and noisome leakages.
Rooms full of bloodstained vellum; cursed pages
Like fungous blooms (mutant yet swollen growths!)
Clung loftward there. There, I knew it, were myths -
Legends telling of some dark-centred Age.

I rooted out one bunch of old grimoires,
Blotched with bright mould and cysts. Loath to tarry,
I scanned those ancient sheets and tattered quires,
Keen to enquire of Cthulhu's starry
Realm. No booktrading babble - just, far-off,
The stirrings of some strange and spectred scoff.

804

Barbara Ann - The Beach Boys

Ah ba-ba-ba ba-Barbara Ann
Ba-ba-ba ba-Barbara Ann

Oh Barbara Ann, take my hand
Barbara Ann
You got me rocking and a-rolling
Rocking and a-reeling Barbara Ann
Ba-ba, ba-Barbara Ann

Went to a dance, looking for romance
Saw Barbara Ann, so I thought I'd take a chance
With Barbara Ann, Barbara Ann
Take my hand
You got me rocking and a-rolling (Oh! Oh!)
Rocking and a-reeling Barbara Ann
Ba ba ba ba ba ba black sheep

Ba-ba-ba ba-Barbara Ann
Ba-ba-ba ba-Barbara Ann

Barbara Ann, take my hand, Barbara Ann
You got me rocking and a-rolling
Rocking and a-reeling Barbara Ann
Ba-ba ba-Barbara Ann

- "Let's go now!"
- "Ow!"
- "Carl!"
- "Hal, and his famous ashtray!"
- "You smell like Rocky! You're always scratchin' it!"
- "Hey, come on!"
- "Scratch it, Carl, scratch it, baby, right over there!
Down a little lower! Down a little lower!"

Saw...tried...tried Peggy Sue
Tried Betty Lou, tried Mary Lou
But I knew she wouldn't do
Barbara Ann, Barbara Ann
Take my hand
Barbara Ann, take my hand
You got me rocking and a-rolling
Rocking and a-reeling, Barbara Ann
Ba-ba, ba-Barbara Ann

Ba-ba-ba ba-Barbara Ann
Ba-ba-ba ba-Barbara Ann
Barbara Ann, take my hand
Barbara Ann, you got me rocking and a-rolling
Rocking and a-reeling Barbara Ann
Ba-ba ba-Barbara Ann

Barbara Ann, Barbara Ann
Oh, Barbara Ann, Barbara Ann
Yeah, Barbara Ann, Barbara Ann
Barbara Ann, Barbara Ann
You got me rocking and a-rolling
Rocking and a-reeling Barbara Ann
Ba-ba ba-Barbara Ann

- "Let's try that again. One more!"

You got me rocking and a-rolling
Rocking and a-reeling Barbara Ann
Ba-ba ba-Barbara Ann

- "Ha ha! Let's try it one more time!"

You got me rocking and a-rolling
Rocking and a-reeling Barbara Ann
Ba-ba ba-Barbara Ann

- "Let's try it once more! One more time! More artistic flavor!"

- "One more time!"

You got me rocking and a-rolling Barbara Ann! Woah!
You got me rocking, you got me rolling! Oh, Barbara Ann!

- "Thank you very much folks!"
- "Thanks Dean!
- "Yeah, it's not bad!"

'A-bomb Iran-ran-ran' by Bush Boy

Baby, take ma haa-aaa-aaand,
Attack an Arab laa-aaa-aaand,
Y'aaall undaaa-staaa-aaa-aaand?
Dang, Blair! Ah got a lovely feelin',
Shock-an'-awe'll leave Arabs reelin'!
A-bomb Iran-ran-ran...a-bomb-bomb Iran...!

Ya wanna warn that thar Ayatollah?
- Dubya gonna go grab his Arab collar,
An' he'll be turned into a rasher,
By a birdbrained bible-basher.
A-bomb Iran-ran-ran...a-bomb Iran-ran-ran...!

Lookin' ta grab oil,
For an Arab war ah truly spoil,
Baghdad an' Basra are rank toilets,
An' ah wanna torch Tehran!
A-bomb Iran-ran-ran...a-bomb-bomb Iran...!

North Korea? Too darn strong!
(Like the ragtag Vietcong!)
But a bargain Arab barrel,
Gonna be goin' for a song!
A-bomb Iran-ran-ran...a-bomb-bomb Iran...!

Arab architecture burned?
Carry on, bomb...ah ain't concerned!
Wanna cause carnage an' a ruction,
Gonna bag any reconstruction!
A-bomb Iran-ran-ran...a-bomb-bomb Iran...!

Cause trouble, charred-black rubble,
Kick Arab butt, an' make 'em holler...
No Arab crank gonna get in the way,
O' the almighty dollar!
A-bomb Iran-ran-ran...a-bomb-bomb Iran...!

Gonna wear drab khaki,
Get angry, an' kinda narky!
Gonna barbecue an Arab butt,
Clobber a bastard raghead darky!
Gonna race! Barely time ta blink,
Back ta the Arab nuclear brink!
Ah can blanket-bomb Beirut
- Kinda cool, ya gotta think!
A-bomb Iran-ran-ran...a-bomb Iran-ran!

Bang bang! A long-range rocket battle,
Blast away any Arab banner,
George, an' the boy Blair ready,
In a star-spangled bandanna!
A-bomb Iran-ran-ran...!

Big bad George ain't a Gandhi!
Ah's an arrogant yankee-doodle-dandy!
A war on Arab terror gonna be easy,
Like from a baby nabbin' cherry candy!
A-bomb Iran-ran-ran...a-bomb-Iran-ran!

Rang back ta barrack Annan,
Barked: "Ya gonna carry the Arab can!",
Bang bang bang, Annan! Gung-ho!
- Right now...on CNN, ya know!
Bring it on! Gonna be Barney Rubble!
Yabbadabbadoo! Rock on!
A war, it's a real ball, baby...
Abracadabra! All Arab garbage gone!
A-bomb Iran-ran-ran...!

("Ok, ok...but where IS Barbaria?")