ooh misses

a woman and a man in the style of the 1960s

well that’s a matter of opinion,

I’ve had no complaints,

they’ve all got it infamy,

all over normandy,

and up yours.


then do send him up to my room later,

next it was peace off,

there’s room for a couple of lodgers in there,

you wouldn’t let me.

once a week is enough for any man,

my gast has never been so flabbered,

you can be as wude as you like with me,

mine’s a pint,

you took the words right out of my mouth.

one around here with a big chopper,

what’s the matter with the other one,

what’s more I can prove it,

a little plastered,

she’s pregnant too.

you ought to put some talcum powder on them,


that there,


carry on phwoar.

Credit given to found quotes on the Carry On film franchise

Limerick’s mimic

A cartoonish image of a middle-aged masculine human wear glasses

There once was a bottom so plump,
It wiggled and jiggled with every jump,
It was round and it was firm,
A sight that would make anyone squirm,
But to the bottom, it was just a bump.

There once was a sausage so small,
It couldn’t even stand up tall,
It was short and it was thin,
It barely made a dent in the skin,
But to its owner, it meant it all.

There once was a tuppence so fine,
It was round and it was divine,
It was soft and it was smooth,
It was the perfect place for a groove,
But to some, it smelt like pine.

There once was a thing so rude,
It had a bad attitude,
It was crass when it was nude,
It would say things that were quite lewd,
But to others, it was just plain crude.

There once was a pair of puffy nipples,
They were round and they were dimples,
They bounced and they jiggled,
Whenever they giggled,
But to others, they were simply symbols.

There once was a sack so round,
It jiggled and wobbled all around,
It was filled with little balls,
That bounced and bounced against the walls,
But to its owner, it was simply profound.

There once were monsters in my pants,
They scared me with their creepy advance,
They had teeth and they had claws,
They gave me such terrible pause,
But in the end, they were just fake chance.

There once was a man who loved to chew,
He’d do it in private, away from view,
He’d chomp and he’d grind,
With his mouth so confined,
And when he was finished, he’d give a big whoo!

There once was a dongle so small,
It could fit in a pocket, no haul,
It connected to devices with ease,
And it never caused any disease,
But to some, it was simply a ball.

There once was a computer so suggestible,
It would do anything that was credible,
It was a machine of great fame,
But it was easily swayed by the game,
Of those who were persuasive and lovable.

There once was a spam caller so bold,
They called every day, young and old,
They’d try to sell you something grand,
But you’d hang up with a quick command,
And to them, you were just a scold.

There once was a thing so absurd,
It needed to be inserted, not just heard,
It went in with a push and a shove,
And it came out with love,
But to some, it was simply blurred.

There once were fingers so sly,
They’d wander and they’d pry,
They’d touch and they’d feel,
They’d reveal what was real,
But to some, they were just a lie.

A limerick haiku, oh what fun,
Five seven five, it’s done,
A silly poem, with a twist,
It’s funny and it’s crisp,
A haiku limerick, it’s won.

There once was a unicorn so pink,
It danced on rainbows, in a wink,
It was fluffy and it was fun,
It bounced and it spun,
But to some, it was simply a link.

There once was a time to stop,
To put down the pen and the mop,
No more limericks to write,
It was time to say goodnight,
But to some, it was simply a flop.

There once was a goodbye so true,
It came with a heart that was blue,
It was hard to say and it was tough,
But it was time to leave and be rough,
And to some, it was simply new.

In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
A limerick doth play, full of fun and mirth,
With words so sweet, and rhymes so fine,
It doth bring delight, to all who doth dine,
On this poem’s beauty, of endless girth.

There once was a browser so private,
It hid your tracks, so no one could cite,
You could browse and you could search,
Without anyone else knowing, in church,
But to some, it was simply a sight.

There once was a swing so tall,
It went up and it went down,
It was fun and it was wild,
It gave us a thrill and a smile,
But to some, it was simply a fall.

A limerick so,
Brief and to the point,
It’s short and it’s sweet,
With no time to cheat,
A limerick that’s,
Very anoint.

© Copyright 2023, Aidle MacAie (guest writer)

it’s a time slip into 70s England

remember the powercuts, they were fun,

the madness of lunatics playing with fire sticks,

has the brainfog enveloped us?

has our purpose to fight the power eluded us?

has power’s influence dulled us into solitude?

if so why not join a fun union crew,

help them to help people just like you.

the rich may own many, but they number a few,

the workers unite, your message blew.

support your military people, wrong or right, they die for us, alright.

they cut the military, we give solidarity,

solidarity is empathy by another conceptuality,

(means the same thing to some.)

so if our soldiers are not on their side whose side are they on?

the side of the tory? (military fights redundancy.)

the side of the sometimes unemployed, mainly working tax credited? (it’s what the tory, not the people, but the tory wants you to be.)

the people are the ones that need heroes, not lying posh toe rags (old ball bags),

maybe the entitled need to remember the size of the poor is directly proportional to the size of their noses,

that nose that’s as big as their portfolios’es.

what else do we have back?

lots of strikes cuz the government’s crap,

and racism, so much fucking racism!

and a new one, transphobia, gender critical mass media!

all we had was Mr Wilberforce Clayborne Humphries, now imagine that!

but back to the racism, did we really need that!?

so how do us gen x’ers want the world to appear?

we want thatcher, regan, and bloody big hair?

what about millennials? when you’re old what d’you want?

you want toasted avocado on tap?

a joke, lacking nuance at that,

I’ll sit still.

the lights back on, at last!

now I can put the TV on and stop being haunted by the past.

© Copyright 2022 InkeyString

the self-styled droles cloned of the old French Norse trolls


From French drôle (“comical, odd, funny”), from drôle (“buffoon”) from Middle French drolle (“a merry fellow, pleasant rascal”) from Old French drolle (“one who lives luxuriously”), from Middle Dutch drol (“fat little man, goblin”) from Old Norse troll (“giant, troll”) (compare Middle High German trolle (“clown”)), from Proto-Germanic *truzlą (“creature which walks clumsily”), from *truzlaną (“to walk with short steps”). Doublet of troll.

Wikipedia, 2022

English history is full of darkness and actions to be mindful of, the English can be nasty when they dislike something.

we can be darker in our humour if the trolls in charge wish,

we can find humour in the darkness of our poverty in the hands of our captors,

so poor on the world stage they stance, making fools of us all,

“buffoon” is too polite for this behaviour, they shame us as our abusers.

they say we put them there, did you?

did you vote what sits as prime minister tool?

doubtful, only an obviously oblivious fool wouldn’t question this decision, look at the world, NOT your sodding newspaper!

be polite, be English plus, maybe minus some bad stuff of course.

take the nationalism and shove it in the faces of fascists, as the unity of a people who are awakening from capitalists,

see the people who you thought you could trust, the people you keep putting in charge,

come from criminal politicians who stole all our stuff.

from our children’s milk, to our national treasures,

like water and land, and our national health carers.

they lie and they steal our children’s meal.

so perfect their plan to break us all apart,

divide and rule some say, it worked on the enemy?

destined to dust, that’s where they wish for, all toast?

a world burnt to a crisp, leaving only the wisps,

these people in charge need muzzling,

they need monitoring by professionals!

they’re clearly deranged, cuckooed, pickled and strange,

if it just was the strange, pickled or deranged, we’d be fine.

but the cuckooed sound far too rude to resign.

not true, the cuckooed may be cocksure, who knows,

be sure that we can trust this mouth hacked manure?

is it true, or is it gloss,

is there substance to this?

do we know it instinctively?

where have our instincts taken us?

to sun lit upstreams of empire infinity!

come see the monarch, so splendid, and only costing a few pennies.

the monarchs government, the thugs, the tories.

they can know my ip,

they may drink all my tea,

but the bollocks an Englisher takes, has limits before it breaks.

break the English, we break you, tory masters and old fools,

read your history, we decide on our enemy!

it’s our deluded feeble minds, doped up on what grinds,

their gears bare fears of pain and suffering.

they know suffering, they know the story of the fat old tory,

the one that grew fatter like a pig eating platter.

they eat their own, with their bones all chewed up with splatter,

are they all bad? that’s sad, daily mail’s a tad Nad.

Nad or nad is one that’s gone insane due to the pain,

of being in love with her bad boy, king of the world!

darkness in the heart of the keeper of home,

it reads like the necronomicon,

if you stand in a mirror, chant her name three times and quiver,

her thugs will drag you away to Rwanda!

on the foreign front dumb dumb just runts,

“take my picture, of course, I care about yous.”

“look, I’m an apple, you heard, I’m no old turd.”

if I had some doshy on my little dishy,
I would have a mealy when the cheque clears.
if I had some doshy on my little dishy,
I would save my kinsfolk when the cheque clears.

living on borrowed time, they all await the next chime,

of the bell echoing from ancient time,

they don’t care, it’s about themselves,

there’s only time to party and crime!

please be clear, there’s nothing to fear,

their teeth are only sharp because we let them.

if we need them gone, then woebegone,

it’s long over due, the butt and the shoe,

kick him out, kick them out, old snuff bags and snout.

if we let them win, then we deserve a punching!

see how they crush and abuse, lie and confuse,

leave them be in their pee, all crying to nanny.

in this short spell you may get a smell of burning, it’s not real, it’s just how you feel,

vote them out, vote them out, vote them out, vote them out,

then you can be free to love your families,

be warm in safety, know only peace in yourselves,

care about others despite the vain,

speak out at injustice,

be protectors of all, no matter how small,

share kindness and support to those that have nought.

to end this mad reign of Romans and arcane cocaine,

given lois to the gaulois up in angle land.

remember the history that broke all our stories,

the one that invaded our homes, loves and spaces.

the meaning of English needs to change to one that is true, warts and all,

the bad stuff needs to be taught so we’re no longer bought,

by the capitalists hand, the libertarian’s mad clan.

the fool that thinks the world is vast and infinite,

the one that keeps burrowing into seabeds and old lands.

burning habits down without even a frown,

they kill our children’s children’s children’s children!

we kill our children’s futures when we lay back and exclaim…

“they’re all the same, we know their game.”

so why don’t you stop it, old poppet?

we don’t need their scolds.

they don’t need us for anything, apart from their clothes,

and their water, their food and even they’re ancestor’s oaths.

they want to be despicable, just like the films?

they’d do well as the villains that send heroes to hell!

we vote for them, glorify them, sniff up their pocket for a look in their locket,

for a gram of the good stuff, you know the whitehall puff!

don’t trust them, old son,

they’re after your time,

don’t give them an inch,

don’t give them a mile,

maybe cast them a friendly smile.

© Copyright 2022 InkeyString

2 and 6, 2s 6d

predates me, seems too intellectual and academic,

I came after when we’d decided on metric,

I mean no offense when I say it was shit,

but now we despise leaders who decided to quit,

given up to the thieves and liars in power,

we’ve given up on the preference for nature’s flower,

let them push through and barge,

will they see others die to save the gobshites in charge.

– Scia Vetala, 2022

audio video version

who edits Taskmaster

I may have noticed a bias in a TV show’s editing

I doubt the responses of some people’s answers, they’re simply edited away by a deviant

misogyny is like this, it’s not tolerated in polite company

try doing it in front of the queen, I suspect she doesn’t like it judging by the view of her generation, I would not disagree with this reaction

I call for the monarch to be allowed to be political, freedom of speech should surely be the queen’s right

not run as a candidate, just allowed to be publicly critical, I would be happier funding such a thing if this were the case

sadly it is not, the monarch has chosen out of duty to suppress any political opinion, after all she’s seen, I’d like to hear what she really thinks

what will they do, depose her, rid the country of monarchy, doubt it

the government relies on the patronage of the monarch, but in our post-Cromwellian coup d’état have we lost something about why we liked having a good monarch, not a quiet one

too many skeletons in that cupboard, just one more might cause the doors to fall off

why flip back and forth, monarch and government, the power and the hand that wields it

here we have a monarchy that is trying to be good, but still has skeletons of it’s own

the next one had better bring better repute upon the institution before it’s supporters all die of old age

the young don’t vote, don’t vote conservative, don’t like hateful views, respect and respectful

how old am I, depends who you ask

to some I’m a child, doesn’t really understand the importance of good fiscal policy

understanding that what you do as consensual adults behind closed doors is your business, not mine

gossip is a terrible distraction for a spiritual life, I figure give no gossip and don’t take any

gossip is a subtle drug, available for the price of communication, clickbait

a moment on the lips a lifetime on the…

not going there today, today is not even haunted by the memories

no voices just peace, a serene view, a sense of family and love

they will always help, but must know who you really are, still love you, and care

for some that is an elusive situation, some don’t have family that’s estranged, some have none at all

it’s among the images I’ve seen in my time, that photo of a burning child running, dark history, something to be horrified that people could do that to a child, look for the child that is treated this way, make them stop

back to traditional values, but what are they, the things our folks believed in and supported, like empire

empire may have brought great wealth, but it always brings far greater suffering for others

empire teaching must be balanced by the negative effects globally

left unchecked our planet dies a little more, and us with it

unfettered capitalist thinking is illogical, scientifically it’s bollocks

if the universe is conscious then what’s it’s experience like

if it’s conscious then it’s a living being too, very big, very old, and possibly lonely

it didn’t create us, were basically the same stuff, possessor possessing the possessed

see how it’s just circular, I belong to me may belong to we

now say that last part as quick as possible repeatedly to someone you want to freak out, I’d advise practicing it, hah

anyway, I reckon Bridget was cut off by a misogynistic editor, scandalous from Ch4, stop pandering to the fascist overlords, you’re the peoples channel

– Thom Mithowlin-Brow, 2022