Bad and Superbad

Bad and Superbad

or

Irony Byrony What does it matter as long as you love your sister.


The inspiration for the first title was the idea of Nietzsche suffering a cold. The second came from Freud. Incidentally, Goethe believed that this style could not be rendered in German. After all Bismarck was never called the Irony Chancellor. It is in the form of letter to his friend Thomas Moore, the Irish Poet and Lyricist by Lord Byron. This letter was lost for almost 200 years, until his Lordship was kind enough to inspire the hand of Moore's descendent, John Moore. Following this inspiration, the latter assumed the title Don Juan el Moro. He awaits further calls from his muse in his grave at Hucknall for his services as amanuensis .

Bad and Superbad

Dear Thomas

I have taken to writing to you often, and with vigour, as you are most outstanding man of letters of the era bar one. Aside from the greatest poet hero of age, you alone have the edge to cut like the flashing blade of a Scythian chariot, and the burnished reputation to shield you from our hero’s reflection as when Perseus pursued Medusa.

Indeed there are those among the fair when alone,
who metamorphose, not to cold stone,
by the agence of the Gorgon’s snakes,
but to the quivering vibrating shakes
that look to all the world like rapture jelly
as she dreams of our hero’s serpent in her belly.

Last Shrove’s Bacchanal was of a particular fine vintage, although the custom of masque seems wouldst seem to dull a lady’s pleasure in my company. Although I might quaff a bushel I would certainly never hide my light under it.

I encountered within the midnight hour,
as doe eyed a houri as ere sat in a bower.
Although her don was of a great estate,
her desire for pleasure he n’er could slake.
I, her Apollo did seduce her with my lyre.
By half one I was lying by her.
Her skin was brown; her lips both full and soft.
By two was George’s proud English lance aloft
Oh how strange the ways of the east,
as I stoked her hair, she swallowed the beast.
But then delight! Her sister, a Sapphist by repute,
who strummed on languid and lascivious lute,
her inclinations shown only by her dungarees.
Soon removed in a voluptuous striptease.
Shapely as a nymph, she was no dyke this woman,
and did surpass her skill on lute, with tunes on Gordon’s organ
As one steed fades, so the rider takes another saddle.
By the break of dawn could our hero scarce waddle.

After pleasuring the pair with such rigour,
they took to water to revive proud George’s vigour.
Two hour’s natation at the Lido,
did the trick for his libido.
Returning the kindnesses of the dusky donnas,
did with his purple striped pole propel their gondolas.

As their boats did heave upon the lagoon,
our heroines at last did cry and swoon.

After a month a sadder George did realise,
that it is always folly and never wise,
to have one night of unbridled Venus,
and a year of Mercury in your ....

Please forgive me if my rhyming skills desert me there, Tommy, as I am feeling a painful tingling sensation. By the way who is the Minstrel Boy? Why did he go to war in the first place? Give my love to my daughter, but not in the same way as I gave to her auntie. Apparently she is showing unhealthy interest in horse racing and computational techniques. At two, this is to be severely discouraged. (She gets it from her mother, the Princess of Parallelograms, you know).

No good will ever come from computation. It can only erode the creative imagination. People who do that sort of thing will start believing that one dimensional fantasy characters:

Wizards, elves dwarves etc on some mythic quest constitute literature,
And if you state as much you show what a twit you are

Please see to it that my daughter’s reading material, is improving her wisdom and character. Personally I recommend your good self, Wycherley and Pope, (Alexander that is, not the infallible one from the Hitler youth). Under no account should she be allowed to read Wet Willy or his Dottie sister.

Incidentally if that descendant of yours again dares to parody me,
I shall box his ears in hell, with Old Nick as referee.


Incidentally, would you hurry to tap John Murray for an advance. He is making a mint out of me. And do make sure you get the right John Murray this time, the publisher. I am sure that the Middlesex wicket-keeper was most disconcerted when you asked if I might approach him. He kept looking over his shoulder all through the afternoon session. I was sure he was wearing his abdominal protector back to front. He ended up suffering an attack of Dropsy. Six toes Titmus was unimpressed. I was something of a cricketer in my time. My ability to swing both ways was legendary. I helped set up the Eton vs Harrow fixture at Lord's, mostly in the hope of meeting other young men of sound education and burgeoning physique. I was most flattered that the county side based there, took its name from my reputation.

Your humble and suffering servant

John Moore

alias

George Noel Gordon Byron

6th Baron of Rochdale

Thursday, 28 August 2008

A beginners guide to Pigistentialism

This piece has caused some minor offence to an old friend of communist leanings, and my favourite Francophile.


Following the success of recent potted philosophy studies by Alain de Boton (formerly of Gonville and Caius, Cambridge), France's greatest philosopher has rushed into print before he himself became potted pate.


Introduction
Jeune-Porc Sartre was known as France's greatest living rive gauche philosopher until he died.

Piece en chef
He was famous for his pessimistic statement of existential philosophy, the roman philosophique the 'Roads to Bacon', in which he identified himself as a gallant French patriot liberated from all normal human responsibilities sacrificing his life to defend French soil from advancing sausage eaters with superior fire power.

Actually during the guerre he did suffer. He was served hors d'oevre d'ordure which remains the staple of his fellow Gallic porcines aujourd' wheeee!

Inspired by this he wrote an even greater work entitled 'Roots are freedom', recounting France's painful recovery from the shame of the glazed carrot government sometimes known as Vichy.

Jeune-Porc's life long sty mate was Sow-Moan de Beauvoir.

Sow-Moan finished a narrow second to him in their University finals' examinations. From that moment she was a living witness to Jeune-Porc's assertions about free will, as he exercised free will not to do washing, ironing, dusting or vacuuming.

She also found that Jeune-Porc exerted considerable powers persuading the youth of many nations as to the self evident essential truth of his views. Often she heard squeals of OUIIIII!, OUUUUI!, OUUIIII!, coming from the many young Swedish sows who enjoyed Jeune-Porc's personal tuition in his stydy. She new that they must be in agreement with him, but why the tutorial always ended with the teacher and pupil emerging from the study covered in straw remained a mystery.

Jeune-Porc's position among the nouveau gauche became firmly established, by his life long failure to ever put up a set of bookshelves. He always managed to hit the nail firmly on the trotter at the critical moment. Once he put the nail through his totter, the inspiration of his most famous single work, 'Iron in the Sole'.

Jeune-Porc thought the most important element of humanity was essence. Some cynics think that the 2000 refinery picketing may show he had a point.

Avant le verite!

J-P S

Author's post scrotum (shouldn't that be scriptum? ed)

J-P S is posthumously suing a tobacco company over the use of initials to promote a brand of cheap Virginia cigarettes avec filtres. As you may know, the packet had the same black with gold stripe colours as some of those Ford Capris, which are so popular with Essex people .
He wanted J-P S to be used for oval Turkish brand, so etnique that the tobacco falls out at both ends, and the paper sticks to one's upper lip, suiting the horny handed sons and daughters of the soil who have their hands fully occupied at all times.
Ironically this very type of baton de confort carcinogenique pour les ouvriers was marketed under the brand name, 'Busy Goths'. They sold best to effete urbanites, and the campest of campus campesinos.

John Moore

Jean de la Bruyere
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