I want to be an Arab
And wear a flowing robe
With a beard down to my ankles
From my ear lobe
I want to be an Arab
And chat all day and night
On a mat that's facing Mecca, or wherever
They direct that shite
I want to be an Arab
They love a drop of wine!
Downside: no bacon, sausage or pork chop
They're forbidden to touch swine
I want to be an Arab
Have my women walk behind
Ever thought you'd like to live the outdoor life?
Ever wondered what it would be like to live under the stars?
Ever considered building a treehouse?
Good, I hoped you say that! I've never built one, or even been in one, but how hard could it be?
The first thing, I imagine, that you need to build a treehouse, is a tree. Without one, the idea just won't work. I was going to say "the proj...
Snooker player, Stephen Lee was recently found guilty of match-fixing in what officials called "the worst case of snooker corruption we've seen".
His penalty was a 12-year ban, even though snooker's governing body had pushed for a life ban. The length of the sentence, however, had already been fixed earlier.
Lee, 38, had denied the allegations which concerned seven games in 2008 and 2009, in...
Hello again everyone. I have in front of me a letter from a concerned patient, worried sick that he might be 'terminally ill'.
Now, as you know, death is not a trifling thing, and is certainly not something we should be making fun of, but it happens to us all in the end, and we shouldn't be afraid to die.
That's what I tell my patients if I think they are going to snuff it, anyway.
I'm often contacted by patients who ask the strangest questions - some of them of a mediacl nature, some of them not - but I always endeavour to answer all of them impartially, and without prejudice, even when I know that one has been sent by a Paki.
Now though, as I near the end of my medical career, and I'm in need of extra funds to keep me going through my twilight years, I considered that s...
Overweight females - they're horrible, aren't they? Flabby, unkempt, stinking and sweaty armpits, sagging breasts and with puffed-up faces like hamsters with a stuffed pouch, just some of the undesirable attributes a fat bird can claim as her own, as she sidles along through her sad life munching Mars Bars as if they were going out of fashion.
But wait just a minute. Before we go judging these...
The Dog That Talked
It really was a miracle
I just stood and gawped
Left paralysed and speechless
When I met the dog that talked
He asked me many questions
For hours we just walked
A scholar, statesman, acrobat
He was the dog that talked
Times were hard, I saw my chance,
This novelty I hawked,
Customers would queue for miles,
To pat the dog that talked!
After we were married,...
The other day I was reading from a collection by the noted science fiction author Philip K. Dick. The collection included stories such as The Minority Report, Paycheck, Impostor and a lesser-known short story called What The Dead Men Say. It is with regard to the latter that I write today, and about which I would like to pose a question to Mr Philip K. Dick.
Now, I know as well as anyone else,...
I know what you're thinking: another one of those stupid quizzes with even more stupid scenarios to supposedly decipher whether or not you are a screaming racist, right?
That's right! It's the only way to tell. Just asking you whether or not you consider yourself a Nazi will most likely, make you run and hide your nationalistic tendencies where the sun can't get at them.
Take the test, and...
It's a question I know many people will have pondered over at some time in their lives, and even the good readers of TheSpoof.com will have had times when they have experienced doubts over their own sexuality, and asked themselves: Am I gay?
In today's strange world, it's easy to imagine that homosexuality is a normal thing, accepted, fashionable even, and that being gay is as regular as bears...
The aroma assaults me
The heat is intense
Choking on chillis
To me, makes no sense
But here is all life
And all life is here
The noodles, the men, the women, the beer
The vendor surveys me
Her stare is intense
She throws in more chillis
She can't comprehend
A farang in her shop?
It doesn't make sense
But why complain
If he's willing to spend?
I survey the menu
But 'Mai kow ja...
Does my lack of poetic training show?
Does the prose in my 'poems' properly flow?
Is the imagery clear for all to see?
Or are my bored readers just laughing at me?
Does a carpenter make good cupboards right from the start?
Do his dovetails fit snugly? Are doors straight and smart?
Is everything perfect, with no tiny gaps?
Or do the doors swing wide open, and the shelving collapse?
Limericks are fun, aren't they, children? And they're easy to write too. There are five lines in a limerick, with the first, second and last lines rhyming with each other, and the third and fourth lines rhyming with each other as well.
Limericks were a great source of fun in the long-ago days when there were no Playstations, and there was relatively little to do apart from chew stalks of grass,...
You are my refuge, my Big Shoppe,
You save my life, ev'ry day,
When I dither in your car park,
Trying to decide what to eat today -
You show me the way,
To the supermarket,
In your basement underbelly.
Oh, the aisles! There are so many!
And plentifully stocked,
But the locals and their trolleys,
Keep them permanently blocked -
You show me the way,
To an empty till,
Where a girl eage...
The chewing now is over
The 'gnawing at the bone'
Sausages burnt to a cinder
Bacon far too crispy
See the yolks run and run!
Rounded off with Heinz baked beans
And a well-grilled onion.
Transport cafe breakfast
In amongst the jasmine breeze
An intruder, nay, impostor
Is floating through the trees
The English are a-frying
A meal that's sure to please
My secret is out,
I'm no longer a man,
I came to Thailand,
Instead of Japan,
And all of a sudden,
As I daydreamed one day,
I had queer cravings,
I thought I was gay!
Went straight down to Yanhee,
Told the doctors down there,
"I'm fed up being macho
Remove my cock hair!"
But, oh! The translator!
He was such a fool!
Not only the cock hair,
But also my tool,
Was hacked of with gusto,...
Oh, Farida! How wondrous thy name upon my lips!
On that beach, as you danced, those swaying hips,
Your wonderful, beaming, cheeky smile,
Red swimsuit, flowing hair -
I should have had you right there
How could we tell
Each other of our love?
You spoke only Arabic and French;
And I, only,
A crippled form of English.
The cultural divide,
How could it be breached?
And yet, I've hea...
Jman, often known as J-man
The only American I like,
And I'm not even sure about him, to be honest
But at least he's not a kike.
Or is he?
I've never met the J-man
But he's from New Mexico
He weighed just over 400 pounds
When only 15 years old.
That's just background information,
I wouldn't speak ill of the J-man
He might sit on me
If he could cat...
Here is another in the series of poems that I wrote whilst either standing at a bus stop, or engaged in a toilet activity.
A relatively short poem, this. Despite it's brevity, I think it describes everything that happened in a concise and informative way. And, although it lacks any symbolism or imagery, its sparseness indicates the loss to which I was at to explain the incident fully, and is re...
Oh, Fergus! You are the one for me!
Well ... one of 'the ones'
I do have a few other 'friends' on here, you know
You're not THAT special!
But Fergus, dear comrade, our post-midnight chats,
They meant so much to me
Although, all that posting and waiting for responses(sometimes until the next night!)
We might as well have picked up the telephone and spoken to each other like most normal hum...
I love Jesus Budda so much, that it seemed only right and proper to publicise my love for him, and here on the pages of TheSpoof.com seemed like the right and proper place to do it.
Well, Jesus, here goes:
O Jesus, I have promised to serve Thee to the end;
Be Thou forever near me, my Master and my Friend;
I shall not fear the battle if Thou art by my side,
Nor wander from the pathway if T...
Oh, that Carina Eta!
The apple of my eye!
Or, at least, my fingertips,
For 'twas upon the internet
That we two spoofers met
She stole my heart
(My 'virtual' one, you understand)
And never gave it back,
Well, she couldn't, you see,
It was only 'virtual'
For many thousand hours,
We typed this way and that,
Joking, flirting, confiding -
In fact, I feel a bit of a prat