When I was in France Rubbish wrote me a poem. I'm re-posting it here because nobody has ever written me a poem before and certainly not this funny. I've left it unedited, unadulterated and unspellchecked, it wouldn't do to censure the chap would it? (Even if my blog's rating will shoot right up. ) Anyway, while you're reading it I'm off to Wales to kick Rubbish's ass.
A long long time ago
I found a blog written by Mo which made me smile
And I knew if I started one
I could make it lots of fun
And maybe they would laugh for a while
But June became really hard
Challenges coming thick and fast
Wayfaring through the blogs
Was jamming up my cogs
I can't remember if I spat
When I read underline optional rats
Who thinks of all this crap
My brains just turned to shat
So Mo Stoneskins gone to France
He took a train through the tunnel for some romance
Before his wife gives birth to a son called Lance
Singing this is his last chance, yeah this is his last chance
Did he write about token intake
I'm sure it must have been a mistake
I hope so for his sake
And is writing the new rock n roll
Can blogs save your mortal soul
And does economical produce just blow
All the American Moms are in love with Mo
Because he's a Brit and a wordsmith Ho
You all kick off your furs
And dig his funky words
And I was a lonely poker playing ass mug
With a shitty blog and a line in smug
But I knew I was due some luck
The day Mo went on holiday, I started writing
Chorus
For ten days we'll be on our own
I might listen to some Rolling Stones
No will I fuck
The jester will be back really quick
Writing about hamsters and some such shit
Exclusion from his blog really sucks
But whilst the king was on vacation
Rubbish took his following nation
The blog world was stunned
Are all these Brits so fun
And whilst Nikki read Rubbish' rants
She felt a warmth in her pants
Rubbish she thought, insemination any chance
The day Mo went on holiday, I started writing
Chorus
Helter skelter in a summer swelter
Mo holidayed in a fall out shelter
Eight miles high and falling fast
So I've been smoking some grass
Wondering if these words will pass
With his non imperiousness in France
And all the Moms put on their best perfume
Whilst Rubbish wrote the words to the tune
And Mo got up to dance
But he never got a chance
Because Mo came back to take his field
But Rubbish refused to yield
He'd nicked Mo's followers he revealed
The day Mo went on holiday, I started writing
Chorus
And there we were all in one place
A generation raised in cyberspace
With no time for fucking anything
So Mo be nimble Mo be quick
Mo you're in the fucking shit
Because Rubbish has stolen all your friends
And has I read his words of wrath
I wanted to give the bitch a slap
Rubbish must be born in hell
Mo will break his spell
Approaching damnation this very night
Words written for a sacrificial rite
Mo would be laughing with delight
The day Mo went on holiday, I started writing
Chorus
I've read a Moms blog about the blues
So I left a comment for some happy news
But she never answered me
So I searched for some more
Some of them left my head feeling sore
They just weren't that funny
And in the blogs the children scream
The husbands whinge and the women dream
Not a word was spoken
The keyboards were all broken
And the blogger I admire the most
Mo Mad dog Stoneskin cannot post
He's on vacation down by the coast
The day Mo went on holiday, I started writing
Chorus
Disclaimer.
I'm not really trying to nick all Mo's followers, just the pretty ones. All the best.
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43 comments:
Wow - Rubbish wrote something I understand in its entirety!
Mo, you really should be flattered.
Great poem! Some weed was smoked for such rubbish.
Did you go bulk buy some binkies for the baby!!! I would keep one in my pocket at all times.
I can't speak for the rest of the American women, but I - for one - am drinking whiskey and rye and singing "This'll be the day that I die. . . "
He's right about the American moms.
And now I feel dirty.
But in a good way.
Beautiful!1 BRAVO!!!
That was really cool and flattering... that someone took the time to write a poem for you!
For some reason, I feel the urge to go take a shower.
And is it wrong to want a drink before noon?
I detect a bit of Don Mclean influence here. Great poem, but I'm an American mom, and now I feel so exposed.
How do I convince someone to write me a poem? I feel left out. I want to be lauded!
This is hilarious. You Brits really are awesome. Even my mother is lurking over here.
Who is this Rubbish and will he sleep with me? I have been on a very long blog holiday. Clearly I have missed some monumental times. Off now to find some Rubbish...
That might be the longest stretch of words Rubbish has ever strung together that do not involve description of particular poker hand.
Impressive. Not rubbish at all.
I am not, by the way, in love with you. But I'm not fully American either, so I'm not sure if I even count.
There are no words for Rubbish's awesomeness! I agree it is the greatest poem ever written...great job Rubbish!
That is my all-time favorite song. Rubbish just won points with me, but probably not me with him. LOL My blog isn't "funny", the kids do scream, and the husband whines. He did say "whines", right? ;) Mo, you're becoming very loved in this blogland.
Somebody get that guy a record deal. He could probably save hip hop...
...or more importantly, give me 35% of whatever he makes in the industry.
What Mo hasn't pointed out was this was a challenge from one of our favourite stalkers, sorry commenters. Here's the post where the song came from and some of the lines "underline optional rats" will probably make more sense, just!
http://overratedphilosophy.blogspot.com/2009/06/not-today-maybe-tomorrow.html
As for Mo coming to Wales to kick my Butt, lol. Special invitation only into God's country mate.
I should also point out that I only wrote it about Mo because Nikki had challenged him to write a piece with the phrases supplied and I knew Mo was away and wouldn't be able to do it. You should all check Nikkis blog out, not only is she funny but there's a photo on there of her and a real life, bona fida, porn star. And if you call her Babes she's goes all hot and fuzzy!!!
Dude, Rubbish actually speaks English -- the English I know. That's coo.
It's really buggin me because I can now only remember the damn chorus of Don McLean's stupid song!
DAMNITT!
Now I'm gonna have to do some google research.
That was pure genius. And knowing the back story on it just made it even more delightful. So glad you posted this!
And that'll teach ya to go on vacation ever again.
I just want to know why Rubbish named himself Rubbish. Or is that, most sadly, a nickname he was given in real life?! *snicker*
I've been away too long. This is the first bit of catching up I've been able to do. Bravo Rubbish! Well, except for maybe the American mom part...not a word of truth there! =)
haha...I can't say I have ever seen "F'ing shit" written in a poem until now.
I think I can hear the underpants (panties?) being thrown at Rubbish as I type. Sorry, Mo, but it looks like the American mums will be cheating on you with Rubbish from now on... Even if you are a Brit and a wordsmith Ho.
Rubbish might have been smoking some weed when he wrote this??
Friggin' AWESOME!
I wish I still smoked that stuff, maybe I could write a poem, too.
Oh my gosh. I love this. Hilarious.
"All the American Moms are in love with Mo Because he's a Brit and a wordsmith Ho"
Best line.
Where do I sign up for the Mo fan club? I hope we get goodie bags.......
Very clever. Now I'm counting myself as a "pretty one" and going to follow Rubbish (but only on the blog front, not a a creepy way).
i think rubbish is crushing on you.
but in a non-gay way.
andy:)
lmfao.
It's true. American moms are never wrong.
You used the word "wayfaring".
You win.
lol - I'm not sure I should visit Rubbish, as I'm so pretty I have to have a picture of gravel as the avatar for my blog.
Ah sod it. I'm going for a ganzy.
Hey Mo, you word ho, I'm jealous. No one has written me a poem.
And I did not realize your wife and you are expecting another baby!
Impressive.
What a lovely tribute!
Or something....
I had no idea you were the housewives' choice Mo. Hence, no doubt, the stories about your gratituitous nudity which keep coming up like an unwanted stiffy on the bus.
Mo, much as I admire Rubbish's fine work (especially since I am a bit of a McLean fan myself), I must take issue with your assertion that, "nobody has ever written me a poem before."
While my sonnet of 29th April may not have been the finest work of literature known to humanity, and certainly not as amusing as Rubbish's recent contribution, it was nevertheless, written by somebody (i.e. me) for you.
You even commented on it at the time, so you cannot claim ignorance. I have so few readers on either of my blogs that I tend to notice and remember when people comment. However, just in case it has slipped your memory, I will re-post it here in its entirety:
A SONNET FOR MO "MAD DOG" STONESKIN (not very good I'm afraid)
Once, long ago, Mo Stoneskin's blog I read,
Before he added "Mad Dog" to his name.
I heard his wisdom, saw his growing fame,
Laughed at the things he did, the words he said.
Since then, each day I, to his posts, am led.
So much so, that I hang my head in shame.
My own poor efforts, next to his, seem vain.
My inspiration faded, wilted, dead.
And yet, he does inspire me more to write,
Some words, which, like his words, are full of mirth.
Some sentences so fine and bold and jolly.
And still I struggle wildly, even fight,
To write something that could express the worth,
Of one whose writings banish melancholy.
I'm with Lizspin. I'm singin' "American pie" and ready for some rye.
Woah! That was pretty epic! That would make Dante and Milton pull this face ------> :O and throw down their pens in despair.
I feel oddly inspired too ... I feel a poem coming on ...
Loved this. Loved it.
"All the American Moms are in love with Mo
Because he's a Brit and a wordsmith Ho"
was my favorite. Shall I call you my wordsmith ho now? :)
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