A lipogram for Brown
Poster Tiresias has been kind enough to craft a lipogram (a text work with certain constraints - in this case shunning the letter 'e') in honour of our dearly beloved PM for our entertainment.
I hail such skill and art:
"Following a famous colloquy with Tony Blair in a fancy trattoria in Islington, Brown had to wait long and grudgingly to fulfil his cosmic ambitions.
But now, according to official hagiography, broadcast by word of mouth (his), Gordon is a polymath and financial wizard who, on his own and without support, can fix an apocalyptic world banking crisis. All will garland him with honours! All will run in pursuit of his triumphal chariot!
In truth, Brown is a monocular moron who knows nothing about anything apart from municipal Scottish socialism; a pusillanimous procrastinator, known for his cowardly vanishing acts, as if mimicking Macavity; a shambling cyclops, arbitrarily knocking financial controls out of whack with random blows of his clunking fists; a small town idiot who draws insults and obloquy from all but a pitiful handful of sycophants and nancy boys, such as that goggling onanist, Balls.
A Stalinist to his digit-tips, Brown long ago brought about total liquidation of any rivals with half a brain, until nobody was around to appoint to any of the top jobs apart from Dipsy, Tinky Winky, La La and Po (alias Darling, Smith, Straw and that banana-brandishing buffoon, David Milliband).
Financial wizard? A schoolboy would look adroit by comparison!
Half our gold sold for a handful of rat droppings! In hock to PFI contractors, without inclusion in PSBR - pushing junk loans from fisc to contractor to bank to fisc again: washing out blood with blood.
Following withdrawal of ACT, which gross funds could claim back, all can now look forward only to a dismal and probably shrinking annuity, and to finishing our hungry days sitting out on a back porch in a rocking chair, watching worms crawling out of stony ground...
Damn you, Brown, you charlatan! May you finish up in jail or in a lunatic asylum, putting your clunking fists to work thumping flinty walls in dumb frustration, rattling rusty bars and proclaiming to smirking visitors how you carry on with your job and at last .. . gazing stupidly at your "moral compass" through a glass darkly as its arrow spins anarchically around in Stygian shadow...
(I thank you.)
Can a rival match this triumph? Mr D, T has thrown down an iron hand garb. Outdo, if you will, this glorious work.
I hail such skill and art:
"Following a famous colloquy with Tony Blair in a fancy trattoria in Islington, Brown had to wait long and grudgingly to fulfil his cosmic ambitions.
But now, according to official hagiography, broadcast by word of mouth (his), Gordon is a polymath and financial wizard who, on his own and without support, can fix an apocalyptic world banking crisis. All will garland him with honours! All will run in pursuit of his triumphal chariot!
In truth, Brown is a monocular moron who knows nothing about anything apart from municipal Scottish socialism; a pusillanimous procrastinator, known for his cowardly vanishing acts, as if mimicking Macavity; a shambling cyclops, arbitrarily knocking financial controls out of whack with random blows of his clunking fists; a small town idiot who draws insults and obloquy from all but a pitiful handful of sycophants and nancy boys, such as that goggling onanist, Balls.
A Stalinist to his digit-tips, Brown long ago brought about total liquidation of any rivals with half a brain, until nobody was around to appoint to any of the top jobs apart from Dipsy, Tinky Winky, La La and Po (alias Darling, Smith, Straw and that banana-brandishing buffoon, David Milliband).
Financial wizard? A schoolboy would look adroit by comparison!
Half our gold sold for a handful of rat droppings! In hock to PFI contractors, without inclusion in PSBR - pushing junk loans from fisc to contractor to bank to fisc again: washing out blood with blood.
Following withdrawal of ACT, which gross funds could claim back, all can now look forward only to a dismal and probably shrinking annuity, and to finishing our hungry days sitting out on a back porch in a rocking chair, watching worms crawling out of stony ground...
Damn you, Brown, you charlatan! May you finish up in jail or in a lunatic asylum, putting your clunking fists to work thumping flinty walls in dumb frustration, rattling rusty bars and proclaiming to smirking visitors how you carry on with your job and at last .. . gazing stupidly at your "moral compass" through a glass darkly as its arrow spins anarchically around in Stygian shadow...
(I thank you.)
Can a rival match this triumph? Mr D, T has thrown down an iron hand garb. Outdo, if you will, this glorious work.
Labels: Challenges to the readership, guest posts
This entry was posted
on Wednesday, December 03, 2008 at 9:27 pm.
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it is very fine indeed
but I have a riposte in mind
am travelling just now (Dublin's fair city) and my Guinness-fuelled muse is whispering to me
the following omits the letter "s"
Brown and Cameron are but an irrelevance to the people north of the border.
At one time, the people who lived in the UK governed much of the world, and coloured it red.
That reality went a long time ago. The UK can’t claim any importance in the world of today. The currency can no longer claim to have any importance, and the financial area of the economy, on which huge reliance was placed, can no longer have any currency (pun intended) in providing any underlying reality for the money exchange that the world economic body will trade with.
For we, who carry the caricature of wearing tartan, to have a choice between a wee currency – the pound - which no other country will value above the Hungarian forint, compared with the mighty euro can be no choice at all.
Our future will be in the Union, but not the tiny and irrelevant UK Union, but the large and central European Union.
Albion, goodbye. If you are too “feart” to join with your Northern neighbour in being part of the future.
Oops. One got under the net. "any of the top jobs" should of course be abbreviated to "any top jobs".
I am trying to think of a more suitable compliment for the last post than "Stirling effort"!
Anonymous, 11:21pm - good effort but you've let a "was" creep into your third paragraph.
Anon - Indeed. While not altogether in agreement with your argument, I applaud your work.
OK C, the muse has delivered:
*clears throat* (or is that clears the room ?)
From famous colloquy with Tony Blair
(In Islington, in fancy trattoria)
Did Gordon Brown wait long and grudgingly
His cosmic mad ambitions to fulfil
But now, according to ‘official word’,
Brown is a polymath, financial wiz
Who, on his own, without any support
Can fix apocalyptic global crash
All garland him with honours! All will run
Pursuing his triumphal chariot!
Procrastinator pusillanimous –
Brown, that poor shambling Cyclops knowing naught
(apart from Scottish municipal ways)
But known forsooth for cowardly vanishing acts
As if in mimic of Macavity
And with blows random of his clunking fists
Knocks all controls financial out of whack
A small town idiot drawing obloquy
From all but sycophants and nancy-boys
And giggling onanist, young ‘Blinking’ Balls
Stalinist Brown full liquidation brought
To any rivals but with half a brain
Until nobody for top jobs was found
Apart from Dipsy, Tinky, LaLa, Po
Alias Ali Darling, Smith, and Straw,
And ‘brandishing bananas’ Miliband
Financial wizard ? by comparison
A schoolboy looks adroit, nay, brilliant
Our gold for rat-poop sold; in hock to scams
Without inclusion in PSBR
Pushing junk loans from fisc to contractor
To bank, to fisk again – such bloody scams
Post ACT (which gross funds could claim back)
All can look forward now to dismal days
Hungry with poor shrinking annuity
To watch worms crawling out of stony ground
Damn you, vain Brown, you cur, you charlatan!
To dank prison, or to a loony-bin
To thump your clunking fists on flinty walls
Rattling rusty bars in frustration
And unto smirking visitors proclaim
How you your lofty job do carry on.
At last, your moral compass gazing on
Through a glass darkly as its arrow spins
Anarchically round in Stygian gloom …
A suitably doughty travail, Mr D, for which thanks.
This discussion will join my hall of acclaim.
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