Bombers Are People Too

Thank you for your superb contributions to the Bad Poetry Celebrity Deathmatch, both here and at Harry’s Place. Backword Dave suggested that we were questioning the artistry of the inspirational work of Harold Pinter and Michael Rosen because we disagreed with the poets’ politics. I don’t read his ‘Blog much any more, and when I do it makes less and less sense, but that has to take the biscuit. Off with his link! [BD will be round soon to say that this excommunication is nothing to do with his site descending into gobbledegook, of course; it's because I disapprove of his politics.]

More than one correspondent has suggested that the poetical creations of the PooterGeek collective should be anthologised. This idea becomes more appealing the more I think about it. I’m tempted to set up a separate Website with fake biographies for each of the “poets”. It could be a complete luvvie parody with bad songs and bad art and everything. And any royalties from the “anthology” could be donated to a charity chosen specially to piss off showbiz narcissists. Suggestions for the beneficiaries and for a title are welcome. For the latter, I currently favour “LUV Not War“, where the letters L, U, and V stand respectively for: “Listen”, “Understand”, and “Versify”.

Until then, inspired by this comedy classic, I offer the following [with apologies to Allan Sherman]:

Camp Osama

Hello Mullah, hello Fatah, here I am at Camp Osama.
Camp is very indoctrinating,
But the virgins make it worth you graduating.

I went hiking with al-Zawahri
Saw Bin Laden’s old Ferrari
You remember 11 September?
Here they celebrate it each year with a party

All the jihadis hate the Ba’athists,
But they’re loved by the pseudo-Leftists.
And the big man won’t have free-thinking,
There’s no women and no music and no drinking

Now I don’t want this should scare ya’,
But they’ve maps of the London area
You remember the shoe bomber?
They’ve built a statue of a DM in his honour

Take me home, oh Mullah, Fatah
Take me home, I hate Osama
Don’t leave me outside Quetta
They’ll kill me with a Pred-ator

Take me home, I promise I will not make bombs,
Or fly planes with other boys,
Oh please don’t make me stay
I’ve been here one whole day

Dearest Fatah, Darling Mullah
How’s my precious Muslim Bruddah?
Let me come home if you miss me
I would even let Ken Livingstone kiss me

Wait a minute, marines are coming!
Our great leader’s off and running
He’s in a hijab on a Lambretta
Mullah, Fatah kindly disregard this letta’

2 Comments

  1. dearieme
    Posted 08Aug05 at 12:21 | Permalink

    And they’ve trained me, t’wear a death belt,
    But I hate it, wanna be svelte,
    If I blow up, I can’t show up,
    To get a prize and huggykisses from all at Die Welt.

  2. Posted 08Aug05 at 13:30 | Permalink

    Neat.

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