901

Solomon Grundy.

Solomon Grundy,
Born on Monday,
Christened on Tuesday,
Married on Wednesday,
Took ill on Thursday,
Worse on Friday,
Died on Saturday,
Buried on Sunday;
This is the end of
Solomon Grundy.

Dour end sounds not odd you'd say?
Mourned some moons ago in May.
Odd in his urban coffin Grundy lay,
And in our hero, worms drilled their way
And Grundy's only bones today!
Skeleton nod is; rotten story eh?

902

BRITAIN'S NEW DESTROYER

A Press Release to report the introduction of the latest British Type 45 Destroyers:

Details have been released regarding Britain's introduction of the next generation of fighting ships. The Royal Navy is proud of the cutting edge capabilities of the fleet of Type 45 destroyers. Costing £850 million to build, these destroyers have been designed to meet the needs of the 21st century. In addition to having ongoing state of the art technology, weaponry, and satellite guidance systems, the ships will also comply with the very latest employment, equality, Health and Safety and Human Rights legislations.

These ships will be able to remain at sea for several months and are positively bristling with facilities. For example, the new user friendly crow's nest comes equipped with full wheelchair access.

Live ammunition has been replaced with paintballs in order to minimise the risk of anyone getting hurt and to reduce the number of possible compensation claims.

Stress counsellors and lawyers will be on hand 24 hours a day, and each ship will have its own onboard industrial tribunal too.

The crew will have the same number of women as men, being balanced strictly by the book in accordance with the current Home Office directives on race, gender, sexuality and disabilities.

Sailors will only have to work for a maximum of 37 hours per week in line with Brussels Health and Safety job rules, even in wartime!

All bunks will be double occupancy, and the destroyers will all come equipped with a maternity ward located on the same deck as the Gay Disco.

Tobacco will be banned throughout the ship, but cannabis will be allowed in the Wardroom.

The Royal Navy is anxious to shed its flawed traditional reputation for "Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash". Out goes the occasional rum ration which is to be replaced by Perrier water. Although sodomy stays, it has now been extended to include naval ratings under 18. The lash will still be made available but only by request.

Saluting officers has been ditched because it is elitist, and will be replaced by the more informal "Hello sailor".

All notices displayed onboard will be printed in exactly 37 different languages (and 4 in Braille).

Crew members will no longer be required to ask permission to grow beards or moustaches, even the women.

The Ministry Of Defence is working on a new, updated "Non-specific" flag based on the controversial British Airways "Ethnic" tailfin design, because the White Ensign is considered to be offensive to minorities.

The ship is scheduled to be launched on 25th August in a ceremony conducted by the cleric Captain Hook, VIP (late of Finsbury Park Mosque) who will smash a petrol bomb over the hull. The ship will gently slide down into the water to the catchy 'Village People' tune "In the Navy", played by the trusty band of Her Majesty's Royal Marines.

Sea Trials are expected to take place, when the first of the new destroyers HMS Cautious, sets out on her maiden mission. It will be escorting 50 boatloads of illegal immigrants across the channel for resettlement in 4 towns along the south coast.

The Prime Minister said that, whilst the new Type 45 ships reflected the very latest in modern thinking, they were also capable of being up-graded to comply with any new legislation that may be introduced. His final words were: "Britain never waives the rules!"

903

A Cliff Dwelling
by Robert Frost

There sandy seems the golden sky
And golden seems the sandy plain.
No habitation meets the eye
Unless in the horizon rim,
Some halfway up the limestone wall,
That spot of black is not a stain
Or shadow, but a cavern hole,
Where someone used to climb and crawl
To rest from his besetting fears.
I see the callus on his soul
The disappearing last of him
And of his race starvation slim,
Oh years ago - ten thousand years.

Bandelier National Monument

Behold a Southwest memorial to agelessness,
Clock of civilization reversed a thousand years to timelessness;
Petroglyphs decorate its hideaway chambers in artfulness;
They tell a story of earth-harmonious inhabitants:
The midsummer corn, chili and bean planters,
Who before they left a harsh life of tirelessness,
Passed on knowhow and ways to Pueblo men of today -
Highlighting the goal: steadfastness.

904

His Royal Highness The Prince Charles Philip Arthur George, Prince of Wales and Earl of Chester, Duke of Cornwall, Duke of Rothesay, Earl of Carrick, Baron of Renfrew, Lord of the Isles, Prince and Great Steward of Scotland, Royal Knight Companion of the Most Noble Order of the Garter, Royal Knight Companion of the Most Ancient and Most Noble Order of the Thistle, Knight Grand Cross of the Most Honourable Order of Bath, Member of the Order of Merit, Knight of the Order of Australia, Companion of the Queen's Service Order, Member of Her Majesty's Most Honourable Privy Council, Aide-de-Camp to Her Majesty

Heir to the Throne's a high horse bloke,
Fancy upper class ponce is not as folk!
Nerd looks corny in a tartan kilt,
In sporran regalia to the hilt!

Dull fella erred, and horror, by gad!
To dear chic Di, was one horrid cad!
Rare flannel gaffer he is now,
Since wed to a rather common cow!

He's a puffed up nerd to boo,
One right proper charlie too!
The jerk could just be King? A toff!
That's if Mammy does pop off!

Mammy's toffee-nosed, birthright bore,
Is no commoner, that's for sure!
Grand, effeminate , VERY correct,
Remember man, quite elect!

My! Charlie's one stiff loon,
HRH rank: The HRH Goon!
Forevermore, here to do;
Go! To class, let's BOO!!

905

50 Things To Do On an Exam, When You Know That You Are Going To Fail It Anyway

906

SILENCE (OVER MANHATTAN)
by Paula Bardell

A black September shadow cloaks the dawn,
The City's once white teeth now rotting stumps,
Midst choking dusty embers ether-borne,
Its shrunken soundless heart now barely pumps.[1]
Infernos upon retribution rise,
Fanaticism maddening the flames,
Its once imposing deities abscise,
As the faceless antagonist proclaims:[2]
A consummation sweet but unfulfilled,
A penetrative burst without regret,
A zealous passion never to be stilled,
An earthly instinct powerful, and yet -
This bitter loathing blowing from the East,
Curtailed but could not kill the feisty beast.[3]

[1] RUINS
by Dorothea Grossman

A year later, I'm still seeing
chalk and charcoal,
and all those diagonals,
fighting like mad to stand up
on that carpet of skin and bones.

[2] "Garments of fire shall be cut
and there shall be poured over their heads boiling water,
whereby whatsoever is in their bellies
and their skins shall be melted..." -- THE KORAN

[3] GROUND ZERO

It's Twenty Eleven
As a numb nonentity
Subsists on difficulties
Swept up to eternity.

We succumb to a succubus,
We twitch in a cement tomb.
Bottom tenement traps;
Subway plans infinitum.

Pottle of suspects,
Scuttlebutt of slime;
Rest in pieces
One spirit at a time.

The poems SILENCE (OVER MANHATTAN) and RUINS are from here and here respectively, while THE KORAN excerpt is from here. Needless to say, GROUND ZERO is from this anagrammatist's imagination.

907

ANTARCTICA
By
Derek Mahon

‘I am just going outside and may be some time.'
The others nod, pretending not to know.
At the heart of the ridiculous, the sublime.

He leaves them reading and begins to climb,
Goading his ghost into the howling snow;
He is just going outside and may be some time.

The tent recedes beneath its crust of rime
And frostbite is replaced by vertigo:
At the heart of the ridiculous, the sublime.

Need we consider it some sort of crime,
This numb self-sacrifice of the weakest? No,
He is just going outside and may be some time.

In fact, for ever. Solitary enzyme,
Though the night yield no glimmer there will glow,
At the heart of the ridiculous, the sublime.

He takes leave of the earthly pantomime
Quietly knowing it is time to go.
'I am just going outside and may be some time.'
At the heart of the ridiculous, the sublime.

THE ULTIMATE ENGLISH HERO
(On L.E. Oates' Demise)

Wilson, Bowers, Evans, Oates, Scott,
Make that final surge for the South Pole.
Will they be first to get there... or not?

They reach their goal in seventy-nine days;
But delight becomes gloom, finding Amundsen's tent...
The note inside it confirming their fear... He beat them by thirty-five days.

Their mission is hijacked, a huge hammer blow
To a million dreams, lying dead in the snow.
Dear God, the fatigue! Time to quit. Time to go.

The men trek back; dazed, cold, hungry, weak.
En route, Evans dies with a head injury;
Oates is hurt, bleeding, frostbite in both feet.

The group must go on though, must go on or die!
But Oates, semi-mobile, succumbs to his guilt:
"I'm just going outside, I may be some time."

His choice - the ultimate sacrifice.
The last three men, just a few miles from camp,
Are doomed to die in the ice.

908

I love coffee, I love tea,
I love the Java Jive and it loves me
Coffee and tea and the java and me,
A cup, a cup, a cup, a cup, a cup!

I love java sweet and hot,
Whoops, Mister Moto, I'm a coffee pot
Shoot me the pot, and I'll pour me a shot,
A cup, a cup, a cup, a cup, a cup!

Oh slip me a slug from the wonderful mug
and I'll cut a rug 'til I'm snug in a jug
A slice of onion and a raw one,
Draw one! Waiter, waiter, percolator!

I love coffee, I love tea,
I love the Java Jive and it loves me
Coffee and tea and the java and me,
A cup, a cup, a cup, a cup, a cup!

I HATE Marmite, and O! its pooh!
I HATE Coca Cola, and gum to chew!
I REJECT Coca Cola that made me spew!
I LOVE cachous, Jaffas, and stew!

I CAN'T stand pot, or a fag puff!
I LOVE a cute vulva, and vamps to stuff!
I LOVE a stuff! WOW! Oh! Gee!
I LOVE sugar, jam and fudge! Whoopee!!

I ADORE a venue, and a jovial jaunt!
I LOVE a jaunt! A jaunt! A jaunt!
I DON'T care tuppence for pop or pomp!
I LOVE vol-au-vents and a duet romp!

I WELCOME all ale to pep me up!
I LOVE a hiccup! A hiccup! Hiccup!!!
I VALUE free fun! A pee! A pee!
I LOVE ice cream, ale, and ME!

909

A few months ago, there was an opening with the CIA for an assassin. These highly clandestine positions are hard to fill, and then there's a lot of testing and background scrutiny involved before you can even be considered for the position. After sending some applicants through the background checks and the training and the testing, they narrowed the possible choices down to three: two males and one female, but there was only one position available.

The day came for the final test to see which person would get to have the secretive job. The men administering the test took one of the men to a large metal door and handed him a gun. "We must know that you will follow our orders whatever the circumstances," they calmly told him. "Inside this room, you will find your wife sitting in a chair. Now you must take the gun and kill her."

The man looked horrified and said, "No! You can't be serious!" "I wouldn't ever harm my dear wife!" he sobbed. "Well," said the tough CIA man, "you're definitely not the right man for the job then. Now leave."

So then they brought the second man to the same door and handed him the gun. "We must know that you will follow our orders no matter what the circumstances." Then they told the second man, "Inside you will find your wife sitting in a chair. Now take the gun and kill her."

The second man looked very shocked and sick, but nevertheless took the gun and went armed into the room. All was silent for about five minutes. The door opened; the man came out of the room clenching his eyes in pain. Crying, he said. "I panicked. I tried to shoot twice, but I just couldn't pull the trigger and shoot my wife. I guess I was never the man for the job." "No," the CIA man replied, "You don't have the icy nerves of a CIA agent. You can go home with your wife."

Now only the woman was left. The CIA guys led her to the same door and same room and handed her the gun. They said, "We must be sure you will follow every instruction no matter what the circumstances; this is your final test. Inside you will find your husband sitting in a chair. Take this gun, go in, and kill him with it."

The woman took the gun, ran, and opened the door. Before the door even closed all the way, the CIA men heard the gun start firing, one shot after another for fifteen shots. All hell broke loose in the room. They heard manic screaming, clanking, and frantic banging on the walls. This went on for several minutes; then all went silent.

The door opened slowly, and there stood the woman. She wiped sweat from her brow and ranted, "You guys didn't tell me the gun was loaded with blanks. I had to beat the son of a bitch to death with the chair!"