The foul return of folly

The dog returneth to its spew,
And so the sick man has his too –
Unless he has a girl in view,
In which case he'll say something blue,
Like, “How about try something new?”
And she decides that's what she'll do.
So they go off and have a few,
As he tries not to up it screw.
He tries to base defects subdue,
But still the faults come poking through.
So he returns to eat his spew
And there's a sense of déjà-vu.

(Proverbs 26:11)

This was written and submitted for a competition in The Spectator. Alas, it was unsuccessful. The winning entries are, presumably, very much worth reading.

I Beliebe

The following should be sung, as a hymn. Below you'll find the melody for it.

You must be gay,

Sitting atop

Your pedestal of fame.

Consume your prey,

And drink your pop,

You angel without shame.

Your records sell

To little folk.

You play them like a game.

But what's that smell?

Oh no! It's smoke.

But can you see a flame?

Well I cannot,

So make no fuss.

Your boy will take the blame.

He'll lose his spot

Aboard your bus,

But you'll protect your name.

With all your swank,

You can achieve

Such popular acclaim.

And let's be frank,

We all believe

That you from Heaven came.

You disrespect

Your devotees,

Devoted all the same,

As they accept

Apologies,

Excuses that you claim.

So you will play,

And never drop,

From your pedestal'f fame.

Consume your prey,

And drink your pop,

You angel without shame.

On the misuse of high priority emails

I recently sent the following email to a few people from my university (every department administrator). Unfortunately, I'm yet to receive any feedback, or indeed my email returned to me via my own department. This has led me to conclude that people have neither the wit nor the sense of humour that I had hoped.

Hello,

Please could you circulate this email around your department.

Many thanks.

Best regards,

Quentin Harvey

It seems that you're feeling a little distressed,

And that you are thinking that it would be best

If all of your emails were seen right away,

As there could be trouble if there's a delay

Before they are read by to whom they're addressed.

No matter the subject these emails regard,

They're kind of important so they have been starred.

Their title is URGENT and must be exclaimed.

Your grammar's appalling but you're not ashamed.

You're sending four hundred to message me hard.

So I am subjected to all of this spew.

I guess that I'm just carbon copy to you.

In normal conditions I don't think I'd mind,

But there are so many you're making me blind.

Sincerely I feel that some changes are due.

Rant after watching reality television for two consecutive hours

It's time that girls stopped being so fickle,
And time that boys stopped wanting to tickle
The fickle girls' fancies with their tickling tackles,
Just for the purpose of proking their prickle
Into a crackle and creating a trickle,
Then breaking their 'earts that are ickle and brickle.
Because if they can't hackle, they'll be heckled and hockled,
Which would be so unpleasant and publicly prickly.
But it's the fault of those females who are so fucking fickle,
And their culture of cliqure. It's taking the Mikkel.
Society's wicked and makes me want to be sick all
Over them.