3 Weeks left to live?

'MADE IT MA! TOP OF THE POETRY BLOG PAGE TILL I GET KNOCKED OFF THE TOP SPOT. DOH!'

This 'stream of consciousness' piece, based on a couple of preconceived ideas, might be seen as funny in a sick way. I'm 'dedicating' it to that Salford 'Jesus' out of 'Shameless', a series I can only watch for a very short space of time; it's worse than 'Brookside' ever was. Not even the opportunity to watch the Salford 'Jesus' behave like the Anti Christ can induce me to sit through a full episode.

3 Weeks left to live?

The judge has spoken, the sentence has been passed; you've got 3 weeks left to live before you breathe your last strangled gasp, or not as the case may be.

Your crime? 'Living a joyless existence, using up valuable resources and taking up precious space.' Your defence: 'It's not my fault; I can't help it if nothing ever comes along to put a smile on my face.''

'We find you guilty of lassitude and ennui in the first degree.'  'Bugger me, I'm 'Donald Ducked!'

'Under the new reconstituted death penalty, brought back as a matter of expediency to rid the nation of excess baggage and a drain on the public purse, it's my duty to order you to be hung by the neck until there's not a speck of life left in you. There's only one way you can avoid this extirpation, which is to spend the rest of your time on Earth berthed in a large dormitory-type prison cell with a bunch of hell-bound life wasters like yourself; it's a concept we've imported from the States.

Inmates are lumped together for economy's sake; the only 'private' space they have is a locker and a bunk. If their junk gets 'liberated' from them it's their hard luck, no one gives a rat's arse. It's the survival of the toughest in there. If you're found dead or minus your scalp, no one cares; it frees up a bed for the next 'Good Fella' once the blood and guts have been cleaned up.'

'You'll be given 3 weeks in a holding pen to make up your mind. You won't find conditions comfortable there, we've got the condemned coming and going at all times; either to the gallows or the state prison or the offshore hulks, right on the edges of our 200 mile boundary limit. It's awful in those prison ships if you don't like the rolling, heaving motion of the ocean.

'Perhaps you'll pay more attention to what's been happening in the real world while you're in detention making your mind up. Your sort make me want to vomit; staying on the sick for decades, thinking you know every trick in the book when it comes to scrounging everything you can from the unsuspecting tax payer. Well we're sorting you all out, layer by layer until there will be none of you left!

'Our records show that you've had 30 years of 'free lunches', it's now time for you to pay the bill; which way will you jump? Off the end of a rope or out of the frying pan into the fire? I've heard that 'gunning' is all the rage in our maximum security prison cages; there's frig all else to do. It enrages the screws let me tell you.'

                                   ............................................................................................................

You'd have had to have seen that recent Louis Thereux documentary from an American gaol to know what 'gunning' is. Watching TV is my main source of entertainment and information gathering; it beats going out to gigs and being bored rigid by 'perf poets.' (Not to be confused with 'perv poets.')

Eggbert Alex Po-face.

'gunning'chips with everythingjames cagneyprison ships

◄ Can you get sex on the NHS?

My Amazon sales ranking. ►

Comments

stella jones

Thu 26th Jan 2012 21:38


I too like the internal rhyme you use. It's good, enjoyed the read. :)

Profile image

Martin Peacock

Thu 12th Jan 2012 13:20

Hey-ho, TV is Lucifer's dream lantern, according to the mighty Bill Hicks [RIP] and who am I to disagree with such a worldly brain?? Love the 'choppy seas' internal rhyming going on here, Eggbert. 'Big brain'? Hmmm, big enough for me skull box, perhaps; and no longer a smoker, although I used to go to Motorhead gigs, stick my head in the bass bins and shout, 'louder!' Something got scrambled in the process.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message