I'm feeling particularly lazy at the moment, what with it being Friday and all, so I took some time out of my busy schedule (those channels aren't going to changed themselves) to travel backwards in time. Upon returning to the present I managed to bring two little rhymes I concoted not so long ago.
The first was a little something to help pass the time at work as well as a jab at the many friends I know who finish in the late afternoon.
I never understood, or as much as I could,
Why Wednesdays were so slow.
They stretch on so long and it's ever so wrong,
When home is where I wish to go.
But ever so soon it will be past noon,
So my hope, it begins to grow.
Because when the clock strikes 3, home is where I'll be.
You're jealous. Don't worry, I know.
The second comes with a little more background however. I mentioned in an earlier post about a rhyme I done did that was brought on by the seedy discovery of a certain street name. Throughout the country there exist streets called Grape Lane (and others of similar title, but they ruin the story). The one I'm most familiar with is in York, that old viking city of aged buildings and a cracking night out if I do say so myself. An innocent name if there ever was one, Grape Lane was named for something far from innocent.
Back in the middle ages (when bread were bread) many or most streets were named after the function or business that it served. Now you're thinking "So it had grape sellers, big deal," but this is where the fun part starts. Obviously a lot of time has passed since the heady days of peasantry and cholera (though replaced with unemployment and STDs) and as such names changed as well. Well this street was beleived to harbor that most ancient of businesses; prostitution. Yes often the busiest part of a town or city, ye olde red lighte district went by the not-so-subtle name of Gropecunt Lane. I don't think I need to eplxain anymore of the etymology than that. York isn't the only one, far from it. Many names have changed with the attitudes to Grove Lane, the more obvious Grope Lane and some altered altogether to places like Magpie Lane, a street quite familiar to those who have visited Oxford. And how did I get a poem out of this? I'm glad you asked!
Upon sharing this delicious morsel of trivia with facebook, a good friend of mine commented with the following:
"If we were in the middle ages, that's where you'd find me."
This got my creative forge working overtime and the result was a story of time-travel, debauchery and a life lesson. Enjoy.
Damien Allen, one Panama Jack,
Travelled backwards in time through a temporal crack.
Seeketh he did the Gropecunt Lane,
Where acts are performed that are quite profane.
There he did spy one with a mighty stack
And shouted "Alright pet, will you play with my sack?"
Off they did wander into an alley quite dark,
When he let out scream alarmingly stark.
Her teeth were black (those few that remained),
And her dress appeared as something quite stained.
With haste he did flee back to his time,
Where whores were cleaner with not so much grime.
Now the lesson is clear but at which some may scoff;
Use classier whores or it just might fall off.
Now you can put your mind back in the gutter. Comfort zones and all that jazz.
Damien Allen, one Panama Jack,
Travelled backwards in time through a temporal crack.
Seeketh he did the Gropecunt Lane,
Where acts are performed that are quite profane.
There he did spy one with a mighty stack
And shouted "Alright pet, will you play with my sack?"
Off they did wander into an alley quite dark,
When he let out scream alarmingly stark.
Her teeth were black (those few that remained),
And her dress appeared as something quite stained.
With haste he did flee back to his time,
Where whores were cleaner with not so much grime.
Now the lesson is clear but at which some may scoff;
Use classier whores or it just might fall off.
Now you can put your mind back in the gutter. Comfort zones and all that jazz.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Thoughts? Musings? Don't be shy!