Cabbage Soup

The latest, new fad diet,
An apple for lunch and tea,
Followed by a strict half hour,
Of Dancing on the Wii.
A monthly direct debit,
For use of the local gym,
and 34.99,
On some knickers that tuck you in.
A low calorie recipe,
For a slimming cabbage soup,
As you blast out some calories,
Every time you poop.
Swapping wine for water,
And chocolate for some veg,
And a plate of good greenery,
Like chewing on the hedge.
A run around the park,
A lap around the block,
A little further next time,
As your body’s now in shock.
The skinny Fitting jeans,
You should of threw away,
And swearing to yourself,
You’ll get them on one day.
The tin of Christmas chocolates,
Glistening in that way,
Just a toffee penny,
I’ll start again Monday.

Round 1: Cat vs Dog

Said the dog, to the cat,
They crossed some words, some tit-for-Tat,
Said the cat, to the dog,
Never argue with this mog.
Said the dog to the cat discrete,
Il wait for you in street,
Hahaha the cat she purred,
And turned her head undeterred,
The dog to her he grunt and barked,
And set his place when he marked.
Said the cat, quite disturbed,
I scratch you there upon you nose,
Replied the dog to the cat,
You can not catch me, you’re way too fat.
Said the cat, I don’t concur,
This isn’t fat! This is fur!
Said the dog ‘then we’ll race’
And I bet you can’t keep up the pace,
The cat she yawned and licked her paw,
She wasn’t arguing any more,
She arched and stretched and agreed to that,
But this of course was a sneaky cat.
Off dog ran, in a shot,
And cat remained on the spot,
Ha! Well that got rid of him,
Time to explore the wheely bin!

Round 1 to cat!

Jägeritis

No memory of the night before,
Shoes lying on the kitchen floor,
I am not drinking anymore,
It’s jägeritis for sure.

My head it hurts and spins,
I have bruises cuts and other things,
My ears, well all I hear is rings,
Oh what jägeritis brings.

I only had a shot or two,
Well that is not exactly true,
Now I have some kind of flu,
Jägeritis! who knew!?!

Feeling more than under weather,
It certainly isn’t big or clever,
Now I wish I was much better,
Jägeritis is not a pleasure.

Perhaps it’s something that I ate?
Or that I went to bed too late,
Maybe it is a bug or fate,
Jägeritis! I hate!

Ok so maybe it is not,
I admit I had too many shots,
Apart from that I drank alot!
Jägeritis it is not!

Jägeritis Is a condition that effects millions world wide. Symptoms include:
– Short term memory loss
– feeling tired and lightheaded
– unexplainable bruises and cuts
– dry mouth
– feeling nauseous and/ or vomiting
It is often that these symptoms are more common on or after the weekend! If you think you may be suffering from jägeritis DO NOT follow the ‘what makes you bad makes you better’ rule as this may cause symptoms to flare up. Drink plenty water and take plenty rest!

Amydot

Poem for a Pastie

Oh sausage rolly,
all sad and lonely,
On a tray all by itself.
No pasties or pies,
Stand by it’s side,
On this baron shelf.

These pastie shops,
Don’t have a lot,
By the end of day,
The fillings cold,
The pastry’s old,
And there’s the vat to pay.

Living in the north of England, I find there is a greggs on every street corner! On a cold rainy day there is nothing more inviting than the warm orange glow of the pastie shop, only to find at 5:30pm all that’s left is a wilted steak bake and half a corned beef slice. It’s tragic!

Egg

Not a one to be beaten, I have wrote (and illustrated) this limerick called egg, feel free to comment and crack your own yolk!

I like to eat a boiled egg,
Egg’specially with toasted bread,
But I’d get quite a shock,
If out popped a croc,
And egg’stracted my fingers instead!

Fried is the best egg for me,
And many of you will egg’ree,
Well the up must be sunny,
And egg’trodinarily runny
Served with bacon, a sausage or three.

A poached egg must be egg’act,
But it’s difficult to keep it intact,
They say it’s el-egg-ant,
But that’s irrelevant,
An egg’s an egg and that’s fact.

Scrambled; well I must egg’splain,
It tastes egg’actly the same,
You can make it taste better,
With salt and some pepper,
But egg’pect it to be rather plain.

Easter is just an egg’sample,
When an egg is more than ample,
From those filled with sweets,
And eggs’changed as treats,
To a fabergé stuck on your mantle.

The Mysterious Scampi

What the hell is scampi?
Is it a fish caught from the sea?
Is it from the bottom of the ocean?
And what is a lingustine?

What the hell is scampi?
And what’s with the crumbs for skin?
Does it have arms, legs or even some eyes?
what incredibly ugly thing!

What the hell is a scampi?
Does it swim, paddle, or bob along?
Can someone explain a scampi?
Is it a fish or some sort of prawn?

This rolled off my Tongue when me and my mum went for a steak last night! So I remembered it to share with you guys

Sally the Voodoo Doll

Sally was a voodoo doll,
Her skin was made of cloth,
With little tiny puncture holes,
From people who hate a lot.
She was battered and beaten,
And a little bit bruised,
And the pins sticking in her,
Were all the way through.

Sally had a sad face,
And a plastic button for an eye,
With nothing for a tear duct,
So she couldn’t let out a cry.
Her mouth was straight and serious,
And sealed with a rusty pin,
And even though she tried,
It was impossible to grin.

Sally was the kind of doll,
That no one even cared,
They all stabbed her through the heart,
Or bit and ripped and teared.
She carried with her for emergencies,
A needle and some thread,
Incase someone just so happened
To want to rip off her fabric head.

But Sally had a purpose,
Not any other doll did,
for people wanted Sally,
As long as they lived.
For ex boyfriends or the taxman,
Teachers and betraying friends,
Sally was always needed,
For controlling their revenge!

There’s a Slug in my Head

There’s a slug in my head!
How do I know?
Well you see,
Everything seems to be moving real slow!
It’s all stuffy and icky,
my nose is snotty and sticky,
There is definitely, a slug in my head!

This slug in my head,
It’s at the back of my nose,
And sometimes,
It tickles throat,
It’s not a cold or the flu,
Cos there’s just bogies and goo,
it’s gotta be a slug in my head!

This damn slug in my head,
Is making me sick,
I want it gone,
And quick,
It’s causing congestion,
And disrupting my resting,
I want rid of the slug in my head!

I know, I should be a doctor!… Haha! Wrote this in the last 10 minutes because I am loaded with germs and generally sums up how I’m feeling!… Delightful!

Curly

Had a bad case of writers block recently! So I punched it in the face and came up with this little piece of poetic nonsense.

My friend he has, just 1 tiny hair,
That sprouts up out his chest,
Only one, that is all,
He has no idea where are the rest!

He gave his lack of topiary,
A name of which was suited,
curly he said with so much pride,
He was proud of where it was rooted.

This little sprout of manliness,
He protected with love and care,
He combed it and styled it right,
And conditioned this single hair.

One day he felt an itchy pinch,
Which he scratched and heard a scream,
And when he looked with much surprise,
He thought this must only be a dream.

For there upon his tiny hair,
Sat a hermit crab named don,
A perfect hair for him he said,
For there is only the one.

Crabs, you see are used to living,
Well hidden under a rock,
But my friend, he offered this lonely crustacean,
A home upon his lock.

The Love Bug

There’s a caterpillar in my tummy,
He’s all fuzzy and he’s warm,
I think I’ll leave him be,
He isn’t doing any harm.

I’ve called him the love bug,
For he should have a name,
Because since I’ve discovered him,
I’ll never feel the same.

He feeds on all my troubles,
And chews them all away,
and creeps up through my body,
To wriggle on my brain.

He nestles between my heart strings,
It’s here where he sleeps,
if you listen carefully,
You hear him snoring when it beats.

I know that if I was with you,
He’d crawl up in a cocoon,
And I’d feel the marvellous feeling,
When the butterflies start to bloom.

– only wrote this in the last half hour and not sure about illustrating it! But if you have an illustration of a love bug! Let’s try some re-blogging! yey!!