Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off.

Apologies to George Gershwin.

 

The love we found at the bottom of a glass
Just like my beer is growing flat.
For you like this and the other
While I go for this and that.

You say potato, I say chips,
You say brunch, I say crisps.
Potato, chips, brunch, crisps
Let’s call the whole thing off.
You like salad, I like pork scratchings
You like romantic films, I like action.
Salad, scratchings, romance, action
Let’s call the whole thing off.

But what if we did call the whole thing off ?
Then I suppose we will drift apart ?
And I imagine….
You’ll briefly break my heart ?

Nah, we’re destined to fail because…

You like boxers and I like Y-fronts
You like Phil Collins, I think he’s the antichrist.
Phil Collins, antichrist, boxers, Y-fronts
Lets call the whole thing off.

 

 

An ode to the supposedly ” ill ” person I work with.

 

So you’ve come to work with a cold
And by your overacting I’m told.
That we should be grateful you’re at work
As seemingly close to death you lurk.
But then you decide to rub it in and say,
” I don’t know how I made it in today !”
And I think, should this charade I condemn
While risking being covered in your phlegm.
I want to scream that you’re not ill
As your germs you seem to spill.
I long to shout out if you’re not well,
Why was it on me your sneeze spittle fell ?
But just to make your ” cold ” seem graver
You start to sound like an asthmatic Darth Vader.
Pausing only to gulp down cold remedies and pills
That should only be taken by the genuinely ill.
I think a change of sick policy is required
And that people like you should be attired.
In a germ warfare suit, it’s the only solution
To put an end to your supposed germ pollution.

Friday melancholia

To be read quickly, preferably by muttering under your breath at work.

 

Melancholy is brewing in the corners of my mind
Stirring up stormy thoughts of being unkind.
For today I am afraid there will be hell to pay
To any fool who thinks of getting in my way.

My angry tongue lashes out spitting acid rain
You’re caught in its shower, I feel no shame.
My torrent of outpouring hits you in the face
You search for cover seeking a safer place.

The lightning of my wrath always strikes twice
You ventured into my storm against the advice.
My vitriol, a hurricane from which none can defend

May brighten into sunshine by the coming weekend?

The coffee pledge.

I hope this spell of tiredness I am suffering with isn’t indicative of how the year is going to progress. Either that or I could stop staying up late to play Star Wars the Old Republic every night 🙂

 

Take the coffee pledge below before you drink your first cup of the day.

 

In coffee I trust
To cure my fatigue.
In coffee I trust
To fulfill my needs.
For an instant energy hit
For wakefulness for a bit.
To dispel my muscle ache
To dispel my vegetative state.

In coffee I trust
Above all else.
In coffee I trust
To restore my health.