New year, same old bollocks, but with rhymes.

Resolutions are coming, another bright year
of running and fighting and playing by ear,
of eating no wheat and avoiding all jellies
lest purple attracts me, ugh, that is velly-
disturbing.
Another few months of curling my lip
at psychic woo merchants who give me the pip.
'Don't be so negative!' They'll wail with great blather.
'Fuck off woo merchants, your head on a platter-
is what I want.'
And to that end, mumbos, I promise you this
I will not shirk from taking the piss
of gobshites and loonies and people most horrid
reiki healers and psychics and stigmata clad horrors
I'll load up my blunderbuss, gleeful and gay,
and aim where I want to, fuck you namaste.
Lipotrim and fad diets are also on there,
starving and fainting and losing your hair
paying a fortune to not eat some food
you bloody great eegits, oops, sorry, so rude,
Of reading the Wail, disgusted, but daily,
then cursing and snarling exhaling, inhaling.
'Gadzooks' I will cry, 'Confound it!' I'll holler!
'This rag is the shits, so why do I bother-
to read it.
But read it I will, and unclean I will wallow
in anti woman bias and rhetoric most hollow,
I'll furrow my brow and tighten my belt,
and threaten to go on an almighty vent-
about stuff.
But clearly my rage is mostly quite tame
I putter and fume but behind a fake name,
fear not gentle reader, my fangs are my own,
My ire is relentless much like my phone,
the annoying blasted thing.
And while I'm at it I'll peer at myself
with those honest goggles I keep on my shelf
I'll demand I do better and try to stay focused
about working and running and, well
all the usual bollocks.
I'll worship the ginger and squee over puppies
and play 'see the cat jump'- but never with Puddy,
She's too old.
I'll visit museums and stack up on culture,
hoovering up info like a bloody great vulture,
the flappy fuckers.
I'll learn French and Italian and practice them daily
'Bonjour! Ca va? Ciao Bello Von Tutti Frutti!'
I'll mix it with Spanish and end up quite loopy.
('Donde es la tienda de los Zapatos?' )
pfft.
I'll stay off the hooch for these first eight weeks
my liver ( Melvin) will thank me, the bloody great geek,
No rum nor beer or yummy red wine,
no Baileys nor cocktails, sweet Jebus...
I'm fine.
You can join me if you like.
Plink.
So I guess what I'm saying Is really quite clear,
It's all systems go and happy sodding new year.



(I am throughly ashamed. Next I'll be playing a sax solo or some frightful shit. In my defense I am quite hungover)