weekly comedy podcasts - subscribe

100. The Death of Poetry

Posted on: January 9th, 2010 by Colonel Crabtree-Smythe 2 Comments

Before my memoirs this week I would like to begin by saying… Or should i Just get to the point and say thank you to my people, my fans and enemies… yes… to the lovers and the haters… for all of your support over the past three years or so.

For Amanda Holden, Piers Morgan and Simon Cowellwithout you nothing is possible and it brings a tear to my eye and a damp path to my skimpy briefs. My reason for this thanks is that I have… or we have (if you include Sage, Featherlite, Winston, lindwall, and Ron Kray et al etc in our non-profit enterprise) sorry yes, we have reached our one hundredth radio episode and to be honest it has been a toil. I have been treated harsly and have been judged very unharmoniously like I was the Guilford Four or Michael Ryan on the rampage… like Quinton Jackson as Mr T… Sage from the start has never understood me and has always wanted to show me in a bad light using editing technology… Take our first show  when I said that, “I’m not a fan of the Jews and their current policy towards Palestine,” which is what I said but Sage had Winston edit out the second half of the sentence airing the line “I’m not a fan of the Jews”! Sage is a swine of a man like – Piers Morgan humping Amanda Holden while Simon Cowell looks on in judgmental mode… Like I say; Sage has never given me a fair shot at the title and wanted to get rid of me even then, but I – like the great Paul Collingwood – will always come out fighting.

I am hoping for more of the same in 2010 and I wish you all well… So here it is in all its glory like, Ron Jeremy’s man part or Amy Winehouse’s new milk wallopers… it’s a sight to behold – like when Faye Featherlite exposed his third eye on the fourth plinth in Trafalgar Square and was arrested for offending a Muslim chap who was on holiday… like Monsieur Hulot but without the wit… so here is episode 100 of The Colonels Radioshow and my one hundredth memoir!

One day I shall leave this mortal coil but until I do I have to say I was not happy with Sage for allowing a pervert onto his show… It gave me the right pip as it was. A pip in the gullet and it was painful. To think that Sage has had…Or should I say ‘had’ allowed that Scottish fiend Jock Strap Spalding into the studio for a meaningless existential chat about whatever it was they spoke about. The point about the whole thing is that Winston and Faye Featherlite can still be shocked in their own ways… And for Sage to invite that smiling deviant into our sacred space, well! It’s an indiscretion of unalienable proportions. What I mean is.. .and it answers itself when I say that Winston is having nightmares due to Spalding’s actions. Yes; my proud black friend Winston has said that the vile action, the crookedness and lewdness that was conducted by Jock Strap Spalding interferes with his dream state rather like the Noel Edmonds ‘pubic man’ does mine. Except to say that this Scottish leering person has his fly open and is waving his mottled Highland member in maniacal fashion to the Right Said Fred song ‘I’m Too Sexy For My Shirt’… I mean; the song is bad enough but to have a Scotsman waving his part in time to the famous tune that celebrates faggotory on all its levels is utterly freakish, debase, and nightmarish… and I feel that Winston has suffered enough what with the slave ships and all.
Although I have to say I feel that Faye Featherlite’s dream has a different connotation entirely and too be honest I feel that Faye has become accustomed to such behaviour and exposures in the pubs and clubs of Olde Compton Street. I must say it seems he wakes up smiling and sadly I wake up in a cold sweat like I was James Brown in nineteen seventy five.

Finally let me add this; I know that Sage finds this whole sordid action amusing to the last… I’m also aware that Sage was seen dancing with his Percy hanging out in the gents lavatory ten minutes after the show went out on air… something I’m sure he will add to his late night Hampstead heathen repertoire… Not on I say Sage!…I mean where does this end? Children listen to the show and what will they think of such gross behaviour?… This vile indoctrination is a slippery slope to fascism! One minute you’re watching ‘Ben 10′ in nursery then its flashing your part in the in the lavatories at big school… as I say a slippery slope… look at the royal family and the influence of their less than dormant German tendencies… Harry with his Nazi uniform fetishes, Nessie Furnish and his over the top far right chin parties… Bruce Forsyth in his secret pre-war German leather street pant… Enough said on the subject I say… although… Tess Daly looks quite fetching dressed as Eva Braun in her crutch less leather bondage SS short designed by the famous German pervert tailor Kurt Kerrvalderhide.

Quickly a little something that you my friends may not have picked up on… Yes it is something that I am loathed to bring up in polite company or any sort of company to be frank. Truth is to hear Sage implying the wonderful family entertainer and actor supreme Bobby Davro was in some way responsible for the demise of the wonderful Jillian Dando, well! It’s tantamount to a Nightingale being shot in Berkeley Sq. and blaming it on Bill Oddie! It’s all very cruel in its essence and mental conceptions. I was with Bobby Davro on that fateful night when Jill was slain and I am a watertight alibi… Truth is; Bobby is a wonderful cod fisherman and had taken me out to sea to show me his talent with a net and his live bait…Fishing with Bobby Davrowe had a wonderful time singing sea shanties while engaging in mutual masturbation… All in all we had a fine time… Bobby showed me how to skin and gut a cod while explaining the issues of over fishing the waters of Southern England… I only mention masturbation with the need to prove that Bobby was not anywhere near the proximity of the heinous murder and not the sort of thing I would normally share with a braying public.

Changing the subject and moving to the point my good people… Poetry is my life, my friend, my lover and my life blood. I must say to hear the distorted notions of Sage in relation to the poems of the fine Derek Pringle and Wilfred Owen (the great First World War poet), well to imply that Anthem For Doomed Youth was penned with regard to repressed poofery…well! It beggars belief. There is only a modest reference to trench buggering in the whole piece… The truth of the matter is (and I am sure that you have gathered this by now) is I knew Wilfred from my schooldays, he was always a soft lad, and it surprised me no end when he was allowed into the army with his flat feet and erectile problems… I suppose needs must where the devil drives.

While we are on the poetry trail I wish to again emphasise that I am a great admirer of poetry. All poetry let me add… as long as it has some meaning tenuous or other… I love all the greats of today and yesterday, the romantic poets like Keats Wordsworth and Londons own William Blake. I also love the deathbed work of Jade Goody, I found that to be her most poignant work and I have to say an inspiration to us all. Especially the piece she entitled ‘Fuck Sherpa Shitty’, which I found to have a depth and meaning that only the famed art critic Brian Sewell could understand or explain. I know Germaine Greer felt that the poem worked on three levels but fell out with Jamie Redknapp who was adamant that it only worked on two levels… but I have it on good authority from the mouth of Jade herself… that is was only meant to work on one level and that Sherpa Shitty was no more than a cunt… fair enough I say.

Finally I would like to add my love of the wonderful poet and singer Ned Needle of the Abu Hamza community centre poetry evenings… I bring these poets up not to mock Sage but to give you an insight into the real man behind the shorts… he has a liking for the poems of Jock Strap Spalding, I mean; come on!… This is what I have to put up with. So here is a taste of the distorted writings of Spalding… Judge it for yourself for I am not one to tell you how to think.

I am Jock Strap a jocular chap,
A Scottish sexual maniac,
To flash in Harrods is my dream,
Some might say that im quite obscene,
Yes I am Jock Strap a jocular chap
The Scottish sexual maniac,
Once I’ve flashed in Harrods,
I will then flash the Queen,
So I’m moving on to the Knightsbridge scene,
Cos I’m Jock Strap in my plastic Mac,
I’m a Scottish sexualmaniac..

What sort of poetry is that I ask you? It’s no wonder I am a bag of nerves… It’s distasteful and crude and without doubt self-serving a seditious act… To suggest that one wishes to show one’s part to our Queen and Sovereign leader is, in my opinion, a hanging offence…

Colonel's signature

Be Sociable, Share!


2 Responses

  1. RONNIE KRAY says:

    I dont like perverted sweaty socks…keep him away from me or i will cut him…

  2. poetry says:

    Poetry will never die. The poem was funny.

Leave a Reply