Filmed by Ed Sinclair at HEADcrash cabaret on 21st December 2011. Thanks Ed.
Thursday, 22 December 2011
Saturday, 17 December 2011
While taking a swim off Los Mochis
in the temperate Sea of Cortes,
I happened upon a small island
on which lived a Cat in a Fez.
As I stumbled ashore I first glimpsed him,
a flash of tassel and red through the trees.
There were rumours that he granted wishes,
there were rumours that he ate your knees.
I'd never been fond of my knee caps
and I was in need of a new microwave.
So I crept along after the beastie
and followed him into a cave.
The inside of his lair was astounding
and I fell to the ground in my shock.
I could see hats of all kinds in the cavern;
perhaps my sanity had taken a knock?
The Cat in the Fez sat there knitting
an elaborate woollen beret,
around him were threads, scissors, fabric
and the needles and yarn for crochet.
To start with I thought I was crazy
till the magical moggy exclaimed,
'Good morning, may I grant you some wishes?
'As it is wishes for which I am famed.'
I explained about the microwave oven
then came the reply of the Cat:
'I'm afraid that I only grants wishes
that involve the procurement of hats.'
'I can see that you are disappointed,'
he continued to knit as we sat.
'It's a specialist field, I realise,
'but don't forget that I am just a cat.'
I had to concede him the point there,
I'd been blinded by material greed.
So I ordered a Stetson and a Cloth Cap
and a Sombrero made of ribbons and tweed.
I'm still waiting for my items to come through.
They've been dispatched, so the email says.
But really I think I was swindled,
swindled by a Cat in a Fez.
Illustrated by Hannah Radenkova at hannahradenkova.blogspot.com
Sunday, 4 December 2011
I think this would be the perfect song for Rhianna or Katy Perry to pop on their next album. (Call me Girls!)
How do I love you? Let me quantify the variables.
There are no constraints on the meta-data of your tables.
I love you as pi to the forty sixth decimal place;
No theorem yet devised can define the beauty of your face.
I love you with a p-value significant to zero point zero five,
Your correlation coefficients cause my blood pressure to rise.
I've studied your hypotenuse, and your angles I've defined.
The circles of our Venn Diagram are perfectly aligned.
Your bar charts are remarkable, your line graphs make me melt.
Reviewing your index notation Is the best I've ever felt!
My scattergraphs suggest our hearts have strong positive correlation,
But our love can never be: too vast is our standard deviation.
Saturday, 3 December 2011
Veronica Kent knew that things weren't right
when she found a severed hand in recycling bin one night.
Bloody fingers on old magazines were an unexpected fright.
Veronica Kent knew that things weren't right.
She confronted her husband (who hadn't been the same
since he had a full face transplant and changed his name.)
He said that he'd found it, an excuse somewhat lame.
So she thought she'd sneak around; play him at his own game.
He often left his Thumbscrews untidily on the floor.
There was blood on his shirts that he couldn't account for.
His favourite y-fronts concealed a grappling hook and claw.
She'd washed his pants a thousand times and never seen those before!
She found a suitcase filled with cash, in small denominations
and a drawer filled with blueprints and sinister machinations.
His browser history was full of research on the United Nations
(which wasn't a pop group, as he'd claimed, but an international organisation.)
All this weird paraphernalia made Veronica stop and think:
there was the filthy AK-47 lying in the sink,
and photos on the notice board with people crossed out in red ink.
There was a realisation to be had here, and Veronica was on the brink.
Now she put two and two together, it was as clear as day,
Harry didn't work in the factory on Mount Pleasant Way.
Those trips to Washington DC were more than holidays
and whenever he said he'd “get a Chinese”, he never returned with a takeaway.
So those vials of smallpox in the fridge by the chicken
were not a culinary ingredient to make cake mix thicken!
But what really caused Veronica's heart rate to quicken
was the package they received, in the post, that was ticking!