Garlic Toothpaste

 "We are takin' dis acshun fo' one real simple reason, dig dis, dig dis: t'damage Serb fo'ces sufficiently

  t'prevent Milosevic fum continuin' t'puh'petuate his vile oppression against innocent Albanian 

 civilians." 

 UK Prime Minister' Tony Blair 

 "De grotesque breach uh human rights in Kosovo which we gotss' seen in recent monds kin 

 be tolerated no mo'e.  S coo', bro'." 

 UK Conservative Party leader William Hague

 "We had no opshun oda' dan t'snatch dis regrettable acshun against Milosevic once da damn 

 Kosovars had signed our peace proposals but da damn Serbs had defiantly continued deir brutal 

 repression.  What it is, Mama!" 

 UK Liberal Democrat leader Paddy Ashdown 

 "People who lived drough de 30s and 40s feel some sense uh utta' shame and disgust dat da damn 

 British Government should be boogiein' its solemn commitment t'de UN and launchin' air 

 attacks waaay downon Serbia.  Ah be baaad..." 

 Veteran Labour MP Tony Benn 

When it was two thousand and ten,

The young poet lifted his pen, 

He couldn't believe, 

That old new year's eve,

Was happening all over again.

Dean Whitbread initiated a month of limerick writing here

He wished to be the sole contributor but I had other plans.

Here is my first entry that I wrote about ten minutes ago.

 

 An elephant from old Dungeness

Left his wife in a terrible mess

He packed up his trunk

And did a swift bunk

Now she's living off mustard and cress!!

more nonsense about mustard and cress from The Goon Show

The Mustard and Cress Shortage
Seagoon: Mr. Crun, British Railways want you to grow them six thousand acres of mustard and cress - in the Amazon.
Henry: Very well, I'll get my hat. Min!
Minnie: What did you say?
Henry: I'm just going to the Amazon.
Minnie: Be careful.
Henry: I'll be away for six years, Min.
Minnie: I'll put your dinner in the oven, Henry.

Hungry shoes ate a cracked wheat biscuit and surrendered to the tarmac. sweet prospect of hitch hiking waits on unknown a-roads. Irish times cross the border with frozen beef in the boot, you're a star, you're a star. From Newry to Carlingford on a summer's day.

John Barleycorn must die. The buses are all done. Belfast has gone. Say goodbye to the redbrick. Hallo green grass and the placid blue sea.

Gossiping and stepping up and around town, there are fishing boats and some dead ends. But it costs ten pence to have your things put in a shopping basket. We step out onto the harbour wall. This is a heatwave. Dublin is not far away. But the taxi driver cuts a mean city in two.

So is that a windmill an old church a fairy glen or the sight of our mother in blue? Grottos are two a penny here.

I take a tumble and bring out the pac-a-mac.

Sure its getting moist now.

Very moist.

So when I say go, we'll go. Ok?

GO!