Poetry Prose Anything goes

Monday, March 03, 2014

Old Post But Good Post - Prime Minister Eats Prime Rib (originally published on Muddy Grail)

Prime Minister Eats Prime Rib
by Michael Bwayne
"World News" | April 15, 2010 | Ottawa -
The joke was on the Prime Minister during what was suppose to be a time for informal discussions between cabinet members on the eve of the election week. An open microphone caught Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper unawares as he and the Minister of Status of Women chowed down on prime Alberta beef. But it was not what the Prime Minister said to Hon. Josée Verner as how could he say anything with so much of the $5000 a plate dinner shoved into his mouth at one time. Previously it has been noted the Prime Minister's eating habits resembled that of a cow eating green grass, but this the first time the visual of his open mouth chomping and slobbering, was backed up with audio as though recorded near a trough in an Airdrie barnyard and not at a black-tie award presentation.
Even the usually composed Hon. Member from Louis-Saint-Laurent , Quebec looked horrified when a puffed and packed cheeked Mr. Harper gestured for more mashed potatoes and gravy. As if it seemed to the Prime Minister the Hon. Member who also holds the portfolio for Canadian Heritage was diametrically opposed by not responding, Mr. Harper began to grunt furiously as he frantically pointed at a large dish of P.E.I.'s pride. It was at this point when the Prime Minister got the prime rib. The lovely Ms. Verner apparently had enough of her boss' bad manners when she turned to Finance Minister Hon. Jim Flaherty , and said disdainfully , as it turned out, for all to hear, 'I could put up with the noise of his back teeth in my ears, if he had more meat'. To which the Hon. Member, Whitby-Oshawa jubilantly gaffed, 'if he had more meat, no one else would eat'. The Prime Minister, oblivious to his party members childish heckles, gnashed on, and seemed determined to pack even more meat in his salivating hole. As the spectacle continued, it became apparent that as Mr. Harper chews, his ears move up and down in time with his gaping mouth. Further analysis of his gorging reveals that the tip of his Sponge Bob-like nose also moves up and down changing the entire ruminating performance from animalistic to cartoonish. However, that analysis is soon dismissed once the audio is taken into account. For if one could fathom the sight of a man's cheeks stretched over two bowling balls, it would leave no room in the human mind to comprehend the sound of a man trying digest the bowling balls only with teeth and saliva. A description of the sound would include the glugging sound a toilet makes at the end of long slow flush only repeated many times in rapid succession. Also, the sound of a vacuum cleaner hose suddenly sucking on the couch cushion and drawing up the remnants of a spilt milk shake.
Once the error was disclosed to the surprised Prime Minister by former Alliance leader Stockwell Day, it was the sudden realization that he might try and swallow the masticated mass that caused Hon. Member Verner to exclaim, 'Mon Dieu, if he chokes we'll never be elected'. This prompted the Minister of Public Safety, Mr. Day, to blurt, 'It would not be the first time he choked because of Alberta.' Then, seeing his boss was helpless, Mr. Day punned, 'Maybe he's finally bitten off more than he can chew'. The Prime Minister, a former Reach for Top losing contestant, suddenly became aware of a chance to be clever, and had no choice but to abandon his quest to became Canada's Next Top Eater, dispense with his beef entre and start on a new course, but not dessert, or, at least, maybe just desserts for his ribbers. As his suborinates looked on in amazement, the usually slack jawed Mr. Harper took on the diametrically opposed food mass by dislocating his jaw as only a true snake would do and it was gone faster than he would have liked Governor General Michelle Jean to dissolve pariament and announce an election.
Once unencumbered, and wanting vindication, the primed Prime Ribber himself rose to the occasion saying, 'Mr. Day, you need to get back to work for you have bitten off more than you can eschew'. This caused the voluptuous Ms. Verner to tittter. With his keen wit fully aroused, Mr. Harper reset his jaw and added smugly, 'And that is how I deal with a Bloc'. And the night once again belonged to the Harper.

Michael T. Bwayne

Thursday, May 20, 2010

Typewriter Man (to the tune of 'Piano Man')

It was during a long story meeting
When the painter came through the door
The writers all stared at the keyhole
Then applauded the wet spot on the floor

Write us a joke you’re the typewriter man
Write us a joke right now
We want to hear a rib tickler
About a man and his jersey cow

And the writer is sharpening his quill
As the painter is dipping his brush
The model climbs onto the pedestal
They both snicker and make her blush

She says, “You two are like young school boys,
You have never used your tool"
The writer says, yes, the painter nods and grins too
They chorus, How do you think we built this stool?

Oi dee doi, la dee doi
Dee dee loi fart oink

Saturday, December 13, 2008

You Know What Burns My Ass

You know what burns my ass when I say that coffee causes hemorrhoids. You are there all day in the Chinese Canadian cafe waiting to meet a friend to talk to about dick-all really, reading yesterday's paper, discovering innovative ways of getting a tacky piece of nose-pick off your finger, sitting on non-breathing vinyl, drinking weak coffee by the gallon, eating all day breakfast all day, building up acid gas pressure, and, well, something has gotta give and usually it's the inner wall of your ass. And there is no side effect warning on the side of the cup that says drinking coffee and sitting on vinyl for eight hours will cause hemorrhoids to swell and swell and transform until an ostrich grows out of your ass and the Chinese Canadian waitress lady will mock you saying, "You want seeds for your ostrich, that extra, too". And then the very unkind burn of, "Ostrich like you, only you bury your head in booth (laugh, laugh, laugh). More coffee as life pass you by, Mr. Zookeeper?"
Then you must think about the ying-yang of thoughts coming out the ying-yang. Suppose an ostrich can run 30 mph and carry a man on its back. But also suppose that a giant bird, pecking your head and poking in and out and in and out of your asshole all day long, making it necessary to re-wipe your punched out asshole every half-hour, is bothersome; and would you ride your ass-parts in public or compete in an ass-parts race across the desert; and would you name your ostrich after yourself - that would be 'Vein'. And, golly, coffee is good for stimulating thoughts, but do you want to put up with a flightless bird in your ass big enough to kick the shit out of you no matter how helpful that may be. Sure, thoughts are your life, but thoughts can only take you so far, but an ostrich, that is something else to consider especially with the price of gas soaring. Perhaps something should be done. Perhaps, they should heat the vinyl seats. Perhaps when the bill comes, alongside the mint and toothpick is a suppository. Or at the very least come up with a coffee that does not result in such large eggs.

Tuesday, December 02, 2008

NY Giants vs Washington Redskins

NFL Sunday November 30, 2008 ... NY Giants vs Washington Redskins ... Today the Washington Redskins and their fans, in a heart-felt tribute, honoured the memory of #21 Sean Taylor who was shot dead in his home in Miami last year. Oddly, NY Giants player #17 Plaxeco Burress, who was not scheduled to play today due to a hamstring injury, shot himself in the thigh with a unlicensed gun on Saturday while at a nightclub. Today, it is not understood how Burress' criminal act honours Sean Taylor's memory. Today, it is not understood if Burress had been able to attend Taylor's induction into the Redskin's Ring of Honor, would Burress have reflected on the fact he had jeopordized the safety of others by having a gun. What remains, today, is that Burress is fortunate to be alive to come to the conclusion he cheapened Taylor's memory by not respecting how Taylor died.

Thursday, June 26, 2008

Plenty of Horn (revised)

Did you hear about the MacKenzie girl? Heather, the oldest, blond, pleasant, rather big bum? You know that after graduating from Springer last year, she went to Africa to work with World Youth for Raising Awareness. I told you that. Well, just before she was to return last month, she went on safari with her Uncle Ron. You know Ron Harris, cultural attache to the Romanian Consulate in Spain, drinks, when he exhales, his nose whistles. Anyway, I have some bad news. It seems little Heather, while taking pictures, wandered away from the safari group, wearing an iPod thing, a lone white female out on the African plain, big bum, and a rogue Rhino charged up behind and ravaged her. It was a nasty shock. She said the worst part was she didn't see it coming. Fortunately, Ron did. Caught it on all video. Practically buckets of the stuff. Amazing. Talk about your dry hump. It ends up those leather skinned rhinos have poor vision and are highly excitable so most of it ends up in her hair. It's on the Youtube. What would we do without technology? You know Ron's a terrible sketch artist. His strong suit is sunsets. Rhinos ............... Anyway, poor darling Heather is home for the season recovering. Visit, just don't ask if she had a good time in Africa and for Christ's sake don't ask if she saw any wild animals. Bit of a sore spot with her still.

Sunday, February 10, 2008

Ode-d'ur (Rough Cut)

Ah, Hell, I remember it all too well.
It has a fishy smell,
You've heard this before
And you know there's more
No soap will wash away,
Its redolent bouquet
Attending to her charms
As I hold her in my arms
She asks me to think of love
And consider her my little dove
I panic and try to run
But the smell of which I make fun
Fills my nose, transforms my thought
I soon forget what I fraught
So when she asks to reply
'Do you love me 'til I die?
I stammer 'I am yours forever'
Because Hell is very clever
Instead of seeing it as a trap
And recall I am such a sap
Its odour defeats my weak will
(You'd think the smell'd make you ill
Yet I ponder, Is that krill or oyster grill?)
And then though crazed I hold her longer
Encourage the smell to grow stronger
Instead of heeding danger
And this is even stranger
I adjust my hold and then I dare
To go and slide my finger there

'As dreams are made on, and our little life',
Since the dawn, it has caused man strife,
Below the mountains, in the valley
Sometimes mossy, sometimes shorn
Oddly, it's where a baby's born
It has many names
One's not James,
If I may be blunt,
And be up front,
Today those in the know
Call it a camel toe.

The rest is all blah, blah, blah
And then there is the la-de-dah
She entices me to go til I am drained
The quicker finished the less the strain
A thought flits 'cross my mind
I think I may be in a bind
I feel a foreboding
My mind is unloading
Something about a promise to be hers
Oh, my vision blurs
My being, it demurs
I'm slipping into the abyss
This is post-coital bliss
She says I really mattered
Really I feel flattered
Any mention of a dread
And she will turn in the bed
And her words will interrupt me
From my dreams of the perfect peace
My deep, deep, sleep.

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

City Birdie

City Birdie

City birdie you have such fun
Flitting, twitting in the morning sun
You splish you splash all a flutter
Playing in the cobbled gutter

I watch you from my comfy bed
I love to feed you doughy bread
Happily you madly hop about
You bathe under a water spout

I'm happy to see you day in day out
But you are trouble without a doubt
And even though I am bemused
Your antics make me tres confused

City bird you build your home
A bit of string, a dirty comb
A used rubber, a filthy sock
Maybe even a piece of rock

Birdie would I have you as a pet?
Is this something I would regret?
Even though your sweet peep, peep
Would comfort me to deep, deep sleep

Should I share my bed with a city bird?
Should I have a pet way less absurd?
'though it may poop on the floor,
A cuddly doggie I could adore

We'd pack a bag and leave the core
Visit the mountains and the shore
We'd cozy together in a little tent
Not huddle by a noisy in-take vent

And if a robber did b. n. e.
Doggie would protect wee me
Doggie would attack and bite
Not just shit, then take flight

Doggie I can walk to keep us in shape
Birdie needs no mutual escape
Birdie needs to spread its wings
Doggie looks to me for things
Birdie I love you go your indie way
But you use the street as your dinner tray
And though doggie's only words are arf, arf, arf
Doggie does not feed its kids puked up hobo barf.

So as I end my juxtapose
I’m reminded of a pretty rose
Its lovely scent will make you quiver
Its thorn leaves a painful sliver

So you fly away, you who is in control
I give up on your cursed indie soul
Life is much more than squawking from a tree
I need Doggie cuz Doggie needs me