Poem for the day

Dog show at Nantmel:- The hairless Hitch and the walnut witch

International death-camp empressario and prune-faced-walnut-witch, 'Our Mam' Teresa-nun of Abercalcutta, claims to have proof-facial that dinosaurs had scrotums. Hairless alcopopinjay ad-lib-rehearsing name-dropper and bridge-ox cancer-bookworm, Christopher Hitchjones counter-claims (just to be awkward) that his friend Richard Dawkins says the striking similarity is merely an example of convergent evolution. What better way to settle the question that has confounded my finest minds since the dawn of eating those mushrooms, than to let the two conflicting ideas compete, in canine form, at the Nantmel dog show 2010 annual festive and gala picnic outing-day. event.

REJ:- Now, Hitchjones, you are going to be a Saint Brandy-Bernard, and Teresa-nun, you are going to be a Shar-Pei from 'ble mae bobl melyn yn byw' - as the song goes. From when songs were allowed to be racist. Although they're still yellow even if you don't say it... -

HH:- Richard!...,ladies,...gentlemen,...comrades....brothers, sisters...-

REJ:- What is it Hitchjones? I can't say f-f-f...I can't make it clearer than that! Diawl yffern! -

HH:- Richard, am I to understand that you intend to actually transfiguremorphify us into dogs, rather than have us metaphorically represented by canineular quadruwolfs? -

REJ:- Shut up and eat this dog-wafer. You too Teresa-nun, and chins-up please, Meinir Philips will be judging -

TN:- Loneliness is the most terrible poverty -

REJ:- Yes, yes - we've all hugged Diana...*strokes necks*....Swallow! - good boy!...good girl!...that's it!...dyna ni!...Nawrte boysss! - although you're now dogs, minus-millionaire almost-has-been inventuallist dream-weaver Phil the Rimmer has stolen from the office stationery cupboard these two Rosettatechno-dog-collars, what will translate that which what you are woofing. Otherwise it might be silly. Nawrte...gadewch i ni see if it works...

*hoof!*

HH:- I am an American Jew. woof.

*hoof*

TN:- My mission was to increase suffering. woof.

REJ:- hmmm....02748673921....Rimmer!...RIMMER!...are you sure...yes - the LEDs are pretty....yes - fresh batteries from Sioned....no - I haven't got 4 million...you spent the last 4 million on....yes - you remember now don't you?...yes...that's it...- and did the clockwork goat-ticklers...yes...the market...yes...more LEDs....yes that does sound a bit harsh....probably jealousy....I know....well he's probably a bit nervous after that loan you got from Northern Rock....yes....not your fault....not all your fault...look! Rimmer! I've got to go as Hitchjones dog is pestering the beagles for a fag....yes...you too....they kick in after about 3 weeks I'm told....no...no, not a good idea....no, you keep taking them....he's not a ghostnazi...no, he's a very nice doctor...poisoning your water?....no, that isn't nice but....*Clunk!* I'll buy another one -

HH:- Exquisite!...like Albanian raisins! - yet...peppery...the high notes play an olfactory contralto to the -

REJ:- Good, good, I see you're getting to know each other...Hitchjones dog! don't do that Joyce Grenfell -

HH:- Bet you wish you could - woof.

REJ:- No thankyou diolch...perhaps my own, but not yours. Nawrte! Mae'r sioe yn beginning! -

*chhhhhhhhhh!....testing...testing...un dau un dau....is it on? - Bore da! a chroeso i'r Nantmel dog show 2010 annual festive and gala picnic outing-day! event! Rydyn ni'n very pleased to have with us Mayor Donefuckall....blablablabla.....the first event is! - the egg and spoon race! Please take your positions - *

TN:- Shitbags! wtf?! egg and spoon race?!! ffs! that's all my training fucked! - woof.

HH:- I am Jefferson's biographer...in a small way...I think it was Mr Clemens who said of boasting - woof.

REJ:- You'll miss the start! You'll miss the start! Get these doggles on Hitchjones dog...and Teresa-nun dog - don't do that Joyce Grenfell. Not that I was looking...

*Chhhhhhhhh! first prize for the egg and spoon race is this lovely tea-towel donated by...-*

TN:- Fuck! I'd look sexy in that!...I sense a 'miracle' coming on...woof.

*Chhhhhhhh!...Tri...dau...un....mynd!*

HH:- That should be 'ewch' surely...plural imperative....*trip!*...ooof!...bitch!...woof.

*And the winner is...Teresa-nun dog! Da iawn Teresa-nun dog!....Hitchjones dog - you are the loser!*

HH:- Yet I burned a beautiful light...woof.

*Next event is called 'stun the mule'. As the name suggests - competidogs must attempt to drink enough to stun a mule and there will be a special bonus prize for forgetting Trotsky. The prize - donated by Messrs Dubya shrub and Rictus grinblair is this delightful dead democratic Iraqi freed person-corpse....*

HH:- Strap me down and waterboard me! - woof.

TN:- You war-mongrel! You apologist for the invasion! - woof.

HH:- I'm not sure I could put it better myself...*pause*.....*glint-in-eye*....but you certainly couldn't. - woof.

*And the winner is...etc*

*Y gem nesaf is called 'hide the anaesthetic'. Competicurs must walk up and down the line of wailing pitiful agonised tortured dying peoples - donated by a Mr A. pathy - without cracking and giving them pain-relief. Because suffering brings them closer to God. And ban relatives visiting...and...oh that's enough to earn the prize - which is this 'I am super' badge...from the Pope...*

TN:- Oooh! I'd gladly kill thousands in as agonising a way as possible to win an 'I am super' badge from the Pope! - woof.

*and the winner...*

- Hang on...what's the score...ok....1 more to Hitch and then we're set up for a sudden-death decider...to see if dinosaurs had scrotums -

*The jeu prochain est called 'Quote someone cleverer than yourself'...*


REJ:- Well, Well boys bach! didn't they do well? etc. So it's the sudden-death decider! Paws on buzzers please! - Oh! Good God Iesu Mawr no!...stop that!...you two stop that now!....somebody get a bucket of water!....Oh I can barely watch!....bad doggies!... etc etc. Fin.

Poem for the day

Russian spam-bots ate my cheese! Mrs. Price-Hughes-the-butcher's has an eye for the sausage and a song in her heart. Unfortunately her heart-bone's connected to her mouth-bone in a way only a mammal-dicer could undertand. It sends the Zulus scarpering I can tell you. 'Paid a chanu until you see the whites of their eyes!' the villagers say to no effect. But it makes them feel better and that is what it's all about isn't it? Don't you? Indeed.

Today's poemical cat-dropped twitching blue-tit is a gem from the crown of one Dilwyn ap Gwilym. Dilwyn likes dandelions. Let me see if I can do his voice:-

'Could I' -

..I'll just tighten up my post-it pants...one of my more promising inventions I thought - every time I...well never mind -

Could I in silver-dotage soft sprite dream
Along the air aloft! alive! and broomless
Sweep upon the breeze or from a child's sweet
Wonder lips delight away! and up! To gaze
as hawk or kite the blanket patchwork green
and shine mist-tingled glisten bowed by droplets
Homing from the waves alight! upon my bed afar
Now coffee-ploughed and fresh love rained
So blessed with sleep tomorrow rise again?

No, Dilwyn my bach, I don't expect you could.

Dr. Venternstein and the gay tomatoes

Last night I dreamt I went to Mandelson again. Eyes of Caligula, mouth of Monroe, hairbrush of Heseltine, brain of Bush, sincerity of Blair....we have all dreamed of creating the perfect politician. But could our dreams ever become reality in reality? And could those dreams that had become reality in reality ever become nightmares? Or just go wrong a bit? Could politics ever stray from the path of righteousness to take a more sinister turn? Could people with beards, perhaps called names like Cook, or Kelly, ever find themselves unexpectedly dead for only innocent accidental reasons? - due to some sort of genetically engineered pogonophobic super-virus unrelated to adventures in Iraq? I don't think so, because I'm not a fruitcake in a labcoat...but my next guest is! - Dr. Craig Venternstein! -

CV:- Hello!

REJ:- Hello.

CV:- Hello?

REJ:- Hello. - Formalities over! - Now, Dr. Venternstein, you enfamously didn't finish sequencing the human genome months before that Collins fellow didn't finish it either. Did you bother in the end or did you say 'stick' rather than 'twist' at 90%? -

CV:- We agreed on 'stick' Richard, - do you know how boring it is? just millions and millions of the same thing jumbled up here and there - half of it nonsense...I doubt there's anything important in that 10% -

REJ:- Not worth looking really -

CV:- No, probably not.

REJ:- You got most of it done -

CV:- Yes, most of one person.

REJ:- Well, 'job done' then! -

CV:- Near enough. It is 2 billion base pairs long, Richard....or is it 3? - I can never remember - Igor does all the counting stuff -

REJ:- Really? Wow! - that's almost half as long as a locust's! -

CV:- Well locusts are very tricky...it's not a silly system at all. Yes, the human genome is so long that it would take a person 2 centuries just to read it. Or is it 3? -

REJ:- And you say you've read 90% of it? -

CV:- Correct.

REJ:- Yes....er....hmmmm....er....hmmmm....- This chair is rather uncomfortable! - for my back!...you see...yes! - I'd better pop myself down on the sofa over there...by the mirror. It's a lovely mirror isn't it? -

CV:- Yes, delightful -

REJ:- Would you like a closer look - the detail in the frame...

CV:- I'm sure it's fascinating -

REJ:- It really is worth getting up and taking a peek at...for the frame....and the way it is hung...er..from a very interesting nail -

CV:- I'll take your word for it, Richard -

REJ:- Well if you like I could bring it over -

CV:- There's really no need -

REJ:- No! - no need at all!...it's just...the -

CV:- The frame yes. Perhaps on the way out. Now, we weren't here to talk about mirrors were we Richard?! - we were here, and indeed still even may be, to reflect upon the wonders of genetical engineerings and my bank account -

REJ:- Indeed we were isn't it don't you yes lovely tidy. And Glyn-the-milk has some very strong views on this matter I can tell you. Since I know him. And he told me. I'll be seeing him later as it happens....once I've checked the sentencing tariffs - he says milk from a cloned cow got into the SPAR on West Street last week, and somethingmustbedone! -

CV:- That is terrible news Richard! We don't want exactly the same milk on our supermarket shelves! I'm afraid, once more, this proves science can be used for evil as well as good, and there is always grave danger inherent in meddling with powers beyond stupid people's comprehension. Although technically the milk would only be similar...not exactly the same. -

REJ:- Well similar is bad enough surely? -

CV:- It does sound irresponsible, yes. -

REJ:- Nawrte, there's someone else I know who has strong opinions too...she's small, she's round, she'll do it for a pound...yes! it's Sioned! Sioned said - when we were still talking that is - that you should stop being a twpsyn and do something useful for once. She said - and I'm trying to keep a straight face! - she said why can't he make something that eats Carbon Dioxide and poos Methane thus simultaneously giving us limitless energy and solving global warming and bla-di-bla...crops that feed the world...biological immortality....bla...bla...something else - I missed the rest of it as Shane Williams scored one of his wonder-tries and I had to do my celebration dance. Would you like to see it? - it goes like this:-

*dance!*

'Ole!, Ole! - Our Shane's gone all the way! - now sing the song, the rumour's wrong, great players can't be gay!'

*collapse!*

CV:- Gervais must be so proud. Yes Richard, I've come across people like your Sioned before -

REJ:- Not going to say it.

CV:- In the geneticist fraternity, this is known as 'double-X' thinking. Pure fantasy. The danger is such femi-flights-of-fancy are picked up by the media and blown out of all proportion. I just wish they would concentrate on the serious side for once. Like my work on luminous penises. -

REJ:- Luminous penises? -

CV:- Yes, transgenic todgers. By taking the appropriate genetic material from the jellyfish glowius globulous and inserting them into human embryos with a turkey baster - or whatever Igor does with the dungeon-ladies - I have been able to create the solution to lightbulbless nocturnal urination. Great for hitchhiking too. -

REJ:- Well duw! duw!, that never made it into the 'Rhayader and District Advertiser'. As you say, it's always amputee limb regrowth or cures for cancer and Alzheimers and never the serious stuff like ear-mice.

CV:- All those medical breakthroughs you keep hearing about are just scaremongering to sell newspapers, Richard. Don't be taken in! - Now about the gay tomatoes -

REJ:- Yes! the gay tomatoes....please explain! -

CV:- I was inspired by the late great mathematician, Alan Turingtest. Alan was very good at sums when he was alive - not so much now, - so good in fact that he could even do sums in German. -

REJ:- Goodness Iesu-mawr me! that is clever -

CV:- Indeed it was. But Alan Turingtest had a dark and sinister secret too...that only he and some very special friends knew...he was...a GAYER! -

REJ:- *Gasp!* -

CV:- I know. However, the disgusting pervert was extremely fortunate to be living in a time of hugely tolerant liberal attitudes and was spared the noose he deserved - providing he agreed to win the war and be turned into a woman. Like he was really.

REJ:- It's values like that we were fighting for! -

CV:- God bless the Queen! Back then though, transfeminisation technology was in it's infancy. The methods by which his liberation was attempted went sadly wrong, and he topped himself when only part-hooterised...

REJ:- Siomedig iawn! - She would have been so happy...

CV:- Undoubtedly. And so began my epic quest to seek a more genetical cure for the gaiety affliction. But first I had to understand. I had to understand just what would make tomatoes gay. As you couldn't be bothered to finish that OU Genetics SK589 course you started, and don't feel like looking up how it's done, I decided to do it Mendelian fashion - sort of more 'O' level like where you're at. -

REJ:- I'm straight back in 1987! - Arthur Williams Biology saying 'Canaliculi' and the girls at the back saying 'yesucanuli' - happy days! -

CV:- Whatever. - Yes, Mendelian fashion. I started selecting for tomatoes that were slightly nicer-looking, and kept their plant-pots tidier...grew sturdier listening to the Pet shop boys - that sort of thing -

REJ:- And did it work? -

CV:- Not quite! I only succeeded in making stereotypical gay tomatoes. And half-gay tomatoes. And I have my suspicions about some of the normal-looking ones too. It turns out to be more complicated than I had first thought. It's very hard to catch them at it too - my hypothesis that there would be pan-greenhouse toga-orgies on poppers 24-7 has not turned out to be true. That's only on fridays. They do smell nice though...mmmm!...lovely peachy curvy juicy-ripe...

REJ:- I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave. Some of my best friends know tomatoes, but there is a limit. I will not have tomatoes forced down my throat! Good day!

Poem for the day

Santa-bearded hocus-pocus close-up homosexuellist magician, James Randy, says on his electro-not-arachno-website that he will give me a million dollarpounds if I demonstrate the para-magic to his scientific satisfaction. Unfortunately, Yiddish spoon-bending would seem to be paramagica non grata, but I haven't let this put me off - think of the scratchcards! - and indeed I have enhatched a plot so cunning, that even Richard Curtis would be impressed. What I have done, you see isn't it, is post a letter-bomb to Uri Geller. Urrrii will then use his magic powerrrrrs to stare at the letter-bomb - as if constipated - and perhaps doing something embarassing with his hands, and then, having paramagically determined it's contents, put it to one side to be opened later by the cleaner. Once the newyddion gets to Randy he'll be straight over with the lolly, although something tells me he won't be staying at Mrs Pugh's Bed a Brecwast. Not in her house. I really hope Uri can do it!....only now I come to think of it, I've got that tenner in the biscuit tin...and there's probably some change down the back of the sofa...and under the car seat...hmmmm - the poem! I almost remembered. Today's poem is called 'ant'.

Ant

Last night I spied a wandering ant
a-pondering on Immanuel Kant
It sat beside a thoughtful flea
And talked epistemology
Or did I squash them with a broom?
- The flea he was a fan of Hume -
A spider abseiled silken-line
Then chipped in with some Wittgenstein
The mantis was a sulky creature
who spoilt the mood with quotes from Nietzsche
But still! - what fun it is to see
Arthropod philosophy.

Countdown to Charlton Heston

...Twenty-five plus six....divide by three...carry the one....times seventy-five...

*dada-dada-da-da-da-dah...doo!*

...take away the four...er...Diawl!

*'click!' - pause*

...add the seven....divide by...Aw dammit! - bloody stupid videogram recorder! Now Vorderman's all jiggling and I can't concentrate...

*'click!' - rewind*

*whir!*

*'click!' - play*

'Two big ones from your top row please Carol!' - hahaha! - if she played her cards right...Oooh! Sioned! you mustn't creep up on me like that! I was just -

SIONED:- Practising your sums...yes I know...and it's not the same without Richard Whiteley...

REJ:- It's not the same! -

SIONED:- And being naked helps cool your head so -

REJ:- So I'm better at the sums! Yes - we've been through all this...hang on a minute...I can't feel anything...aren't you going to sosban me?

SIONED:- Sosban yourself! Rwy'n mynd i gwely.

REJ:- Duw, duw! - are you alright love? - you look like you've sat on a thistle. Would you eisiau a cwpaned o te? -

SIONED:- There's no milk. Nos da!

*slam*

REJ:- Wel, wel, boys bach - that wasn't a proper SLAM at all! - and she's gone to bed at chwech o'r gloch! Mysterious girl indeed - Peter Andre is a prophet no less. I'd best fetch my portable digital radio to drown out the sobbing...*click*...*click*....*click*....Iesu mawr! someone's nicked the batteries eto!- SIONED! - have you been pinching my batteries again? -

SIONED:- DON'T COME IN!!! -

REJ:- Hmmmm...Never mind. Now today's excitement - and you can almost hear the buzz - is wholly if not all down to our very special guest Charlton Heston RIP. Born Ben Cid Moses, Charlton Heston RIP is perhaps best known for his role alongside Martin Lutherking in America's civil rights movement, his support for President Johnson's Gun Control Act of 1968, his opposition to the Vietnam war, being a staunch supporter of the Democrat party and getting Alzheimer's and fucking it all up. - Charlton Heston RIP! - Croeso!, and diolch for making such a difficult journey. It must have been exhuming. Now - first I would like to ask you just exactly why you changed your name -

CH:- Well I died Richard - it was out of my hands really. I rather like the RIP anyway, it adds gravitas I think -

REJ:- It does! - let me just put this bucket by you...there! - *plop* - Oooh! gwych! I'd like to see the pysgodyn that could resist that one! - nawrte...when you went insane in 1998 and became president of the NRA did you have any idea just how successful your tendancy would be? -

CH:- No Richard, in all honesty I didn't. I thought it would just be a bit of a laugh really to begin with - the films had dried up - God hadn't written any new commandments, monkeys looked unlikely to take over planets, chariots went out of fashion - there just weren't the roles for me anymore.

REJ:- And yet people took you seriously! -

*plop*

CH:- They did! - and no-one was more surprised than me, I can tell you. It was a great gig - very few lines to learn - in fact I only needed to say 'constitution' and people did what I said! - it's just a piece of paper Richard! -

REJ:- hahaha! -

CH:- hahaha! - sometimes I think we should have had a more sensible system - you know - a monarch appointed by God or something -

REJ:- er...perhaps think again Charlton, that could be the rot talking -

*plop*...*plop*

CH:- It's cold, Richard....so cold....and dark!....dark and wet....the earth...

REJ:- Are you alright? - you don't look well...

CH:- Fine! perfectly fine, Richard. It's just I haven't been feeling myself lately -

REJ:- Well you've got to keep the pipes clean! - now Sioned was very excited to hear you'd be coming - that is until she went to bed - and she looked up the US justice dept official figures and found that last year Americans killed four of their own children per day. 'Show him that!' she said, doing that thing she does with her eyes -

CH:- What thing? -

REJ:- Sort of like this...*twitch* -

CH:- You mean this?...*twii - plop!* -

REJ:- Don't worry - you've still got the other one! -

CH:- I hope I don't sneeze...Yes! I think it's three or four 9-11s worth since...what was that date? -

REJ:- 9-11!

CH:- That's the one! - it's the Alzheimer's you see...that and the maggots -

*plop*

REJ:- bless you! -

CH:- Thanks! Yes, Sioned's right. But I can't take all the credit for that - it looks impressive on paper, but it's only twice the British rate pro rata. -

REJ:- You don't see that on the newyddion! - Latin -

CH:- No, you don't, Richard. Luckily the news is edited for us. I don't have the internet at my current address, but I did hear down the ether that you limeys pop off 80 kids a year. You must be fit that's all I can say - guns much easier -

REJ:- Guns don't kill people - bullets do! hahaha! -

CH:- hahaha! - but seriously, the main advantage with guns is you can do it quickly - before you change your mind. Sort of like texting - there's many texts people wouldn't send if they thought about it a bit longer...just a few seconds! -

REJ:- Got to strike while the iron's hot as it were! -

CH:- Yes...actually Richard, now I really don't feel well...not well at all....something's not right...

*plop...plop*

REJ:- What is it? - you're very pale...and fluid -

CH:- It was when we were laughing just then...something....it didn't seem funny anymore...I feel....restless....I....don't want to go...want to come back....do things differently....I....help me Richard!....help me!....please you've got to...hel...

*plopopopopopopopooooooopppppooooopppoooppppp!*

REJ:- SIONED! I'm going fishing!

Poem for the day

Champagne at Pontarfynach - (a request and to thank 'ee for cummings)

Allan and Phil and Hazel and me
Went down Pontarfynach (to picnic you see)

And Allan discovered a business plan
That freed and enlightened the common man

Phil invented a genius scheme
That gave the world the chance to dream

And Hazel shone brightly as one who knows
And panned for the gold in the mental flows

I drank champagne and sat on my arse
And came up with nothing but trivial farce

But whatever life brings (from a you or a me)
On that day we were kings crowned by 'Yr Hen allt' tree