Sunday, 18 April 2010

Dogs Die in Hot Cars

Dogs die in hot cars
Or so the saying goes
And growing up in a shit small town
Was not the life I chose

I wanted the glamour of paris
I wanted the edge of New York
I'd settle for London, despite all the smog
Anywhere but here, I thought

Here were there's no inspiration
And I feel like a rat in a cage
And all of the kids are on welfare
While parents scrape minumum wage

Here where the crime rates are soaring
And there's nothing to do except drink
Where you have to play dumb just to fit in
And never let on what you think

The men in the pubs blame the council
For allowing the discord to grow
There's a festering mess, where this town used to be
And dogs die trapped in hot cars you know.

'The lack of community's frightening'
People moan, and then in the same breath
Complain 'bout the blacks, jews and muslims
And kick immigrant workers to death

And its alright for you in your cities
With the escapism of places to go
Spending all of the money you've made off your stocks
But dogs die in hot cars - don't you know?

A town full of people, all talk and no take
Resigned to their lot in the world
But I can't sit back in this back-water place
My flag of ambition unfurled

I just need to get out of this dead-town
Because I feel like a rat in a cage
And if its true that dogs die inside hot cars
Then this puppy's got major road rage!

Saturday, 10 April 2010

Smoking

Smoking Break:
“The reason dinosaurs are extinct,”
She says, twirling a cigarette
Through fingers of manicured glass,
“Is because they were stupid.”
“No,”
I counter
Blowing smoking rings towards the ceiling.
“Dinosaurs were the victims of circumstance.
They did their best to react
Given all the available indicators.
They tried their hardest,
To outrun prevailing preconditions
But global factors beyond their control
Coupled with geothermal anomalies
And unforeseen difficulties
At both an economic and cultural level
Along with an inadequate system of checks and balances
Inevitably led to their collective demise.”
“Oh,” She said.
Stupid Dinosaurs.

Saturday, 3 April 2010

The Cat

The Cat has a purr like a scooter-motor and a meow as thick and sharp as brambles.
The Cat wants what you have, right up until the moment you relinquish it
When the value of any object decreases exponentially.
The Cat will take care of any crumbs or dropped food items, and doesn't even charge for the service.
The Cat has a loving - if not entirely reciprocal relationship - with the tin-opener.
The Cat is under the impression that she is transparent, and thus is able to sit directly in your field of vision.
The Cat is an expert interior designer, with a particular specialism in 'holes and dribble' chic.
The Cat has not mastered the art of decorum when washing herself
And thinks that it's appropriate to lick her bum, then try to lick your face.
The Cat needs to be shown how to work the cat flap EVERY SINGLE TIME.
The Cat does not appreciate being forced in to any items of clothing
Or having banana labels stuck to her nose.
The Cat does not care for telephone conversations which exclude her,
And sometimes conducts dirty protests, in order to make her feelings known.
The Cat has forgotten her real name
Instead she is Puss-Cat,Fluffy-wuffles, Chubby-Tubbington or Mrs Pussington-Smythe.
The Cat does not enjoy being shut out of rooms, and expresses her displeasure by being sick on the rug.
The Cat walks around with a smug sense of superiority
And watches in disgust as you eat cereal from a mug and watch children's cartoons
At three o'clock on a tuesday afternoon.
The Cat knows that she is not your pet, that you are her person.
The Cat is infuriating, condecending and emotionally-distant.
And as soon as she grows thumbs
You'll be the first against the wall.