Next day when you feel overhung,/
Head pounding, with leathery tongue,/
You’ll sit there and think/
Now why did I drink/
That gin made from elephant dung?///
Next day when you feel overhung,/
Head pounding, with leathery tongue,/
You’ll sit there and think/
Now why did I drink/
That gin made from elephant dung?///
A club British Cycling decried/
Says members enjoying a ride/
Were treated with scorn/
As Pedallers of Porn/
Were pulled out and just tossed aside.///
In gardens of Germany’s homes/
Are commonly found garden gnomes,/
But gnome-makers fear/
They may disappear/
As gnomes have no gnome-chromosomes.///
A South Wales detective named Clare/
Whose sins a tribunal laid bare/
Used language most lewd,/
Was terribly rude,/
And loudly polluted the air.///
The minister Christopher Grayling/
Found government isn’t plain sailing;/
He racked up a bill/
Of 33 mil/
Through yet more incompetent failing.///
A man with a tooth up his nose/
Declared: “This unpleasantness shows/
That teeth belong not/
Up there with the snot/
But down in the mouth, in neat rows”.
Graffiti inscribed on a block/
Of Hadrian’s Wall-era rock/
Shows right from the start/
The thrust of such art/
Was representations of cock.///
Embattled Prime Minister May,/
Perceiving the ebbing away/
Of both her majority/
And her authority,/
Granted a vote on delay.///
May’s plans have few fans to defend ’em/
And if Labour cannot amend ’em/
Now Corbyn decrees/
That Labour MPs/
Should vote for a new referendum.///
A pilot in southern Australia,/
While testing plane paraphernalia,/
Was moved to record/
The message ‘I’m bored’/
And trace out some male genitalia.///