Tuche & Automaton

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

I AM THE TRAFFIC TALIBAN

TheGreatGodPanTM says "KINDLY RELEASE MY HOOF"
You make Yukio Mishima look like Peter Rabbit
And me, your faithful husband of 45 years!
Reduced to the level of chauffeur or ANIMUS
As you sit there, flicking ash'n'black from your clay pipe
Your lung vessels popping under the strain
Oh such a futile feminist statement!
Lazy racist days in 1974
We conducted our honeymoon in a ruined Roman fort
As I bit my knuckles in impotent silence
At your arse-wiping antics with mud-clogged leaf mounds!
And thought - I HATE YOU, YOU BASTARD

Me! This lowly lapdog, this prancing PRIG
As I pottered round in slippers
You talked of breast implants and shagging mutton jeff shepherd boys
And your addiction to tripe! Oh, I tiptoed around alright
Enduring the TV documentaries
Jackie Collins' first crack at sapphic pursuits
The secret boxlife of SHERGAR
And Hitler's dietician!
And your squawking voice, phlegm-cackling on
At me, your blameless patsy!
Like a cup of soup with that Strongbow, DEAR

Now the boot's on the other foot
Mortal scum ; hail the dawn of the TRAFFIC TALIBAN
A hundred wheels roll through Candytown
Repeat offenders crushed into the tarmac
Bourgeois bumpkin filth, vulgar swan-sandwich shops
BLOWN SKY HIGH ; motorbike license revoked, or GOUGED EYE ; pram license up in smoke?
CHILD, DIE ; bitch, I'll crack your spokes - NOW CRY
Oh yes, you ungrateful cow
Now, you see your tyranny
Hurtling down the hill, like some rural cheese-rolling contest
As you whimper, and try to invoke your satyr mack
SHIT ; this is the end of forced Gong sessions
Shergar rides again
Kissed back to life by the TRAFFIC TALIBAN
While you, sit there, stunned, smeared in fishpaste
Your carpet as worn as your mother's piles
And I laugh, as the radio announcer confirms

You're just David Pleat with tits

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