Tusk (You Mean Cock)

A poem that myself and Professor John Bird wrote in the early days of our Caledonian adventure in the autumn of 2008:

Anticipating my haggis
I walked to the 'Gents'
like an alien

 

Clippidy-clop,
clippidy-clop.
 

Guessing what melts
in an elephant's treat
 

To be served
a plate
sans haggis meat.

CSI Love You

It was Cupid. In the bedroom. With the bow and arrow.

Love in the Time of Cholera

Just came across this little gem in Big Willy's Twelfth Night. A character called Malvolio is examining a letter that is supposedly from his girlfriend, Olivia:

[Taking up the letter] "By my life, this is my lady's hand: these be her very Cs, her Us and her Ts, and thus makes she her great Ps".

Nice and subtle, heh heh heh. Good work!

Ugh

Oh, the weight of expectation! The oppression of responsibility! The millstone that burdens poor Sigh Man and keeps him hemmed in, strung out, tied down and locked up!

They seek consultation
They pray for instruction
Sigh Man considers his moral destruction


They scream out for guidance
They beg for assistance
Sigh Man looks wistfully off in the distance

Sigh Man grows weary
Of spoon-feeding elves
Look not to me but to books on your shelves


I'm not a Messiah
My wisdom is sparse
Sigh Man fucks off cos he couldn't be arsed