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Array
(
[sid] => 124936
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => If You're Going To Lie, Lie Big.
[time] => 2006-08-26 15:25:29
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => Derek was the classroom geek. Full of maths and books, and weak, And pale of skin, bespectacled, haunted By the bigger boys who cruelly taunted And punched, and pinched, and kicked, and hit And held him down till he'd submit To eat a slug that they had found Or rub his face into the ground. Most nights he'd go home in tears Planning how, in coming years, He'd annihilate his schoolyard bullies And lynch them using complicated pulleys He'd designed himself using basic trig. And all too late they would twig That they had been so taken in, As the rope tightened, their legs would swing. But for now he must win lesser fights, To save him crying on most nights. And then a chance one playtime, An opportunity so sublime. The usual game of playground vying, Or more the point a game of lying Of whose Dad was bigger than the rest, Who had a job, good, better, the best. "My Dad's a farmer, he's got a gun, He'll shoot you all, just for fun". "That's nothing, my Dad's a copper," Now that really was a conversation stopper. "He'll throw you all in prison cells, Where noone will ever hear your yells". Now Derek took his chance at last, And spoke up before the moment passed. In a vague attempt to beat his teasers, He bleated out, "My Grandad's Jesus!" The Da Vinci Code he'd just read And strange conspiracies filled his head. The chatter stopped, the playing ceased, The birds stopped singing, so it seemed at least. "Your Grandad's what? The son of God?" Derek agreed with a simple nod. "You see he married Mary Magdelene, And bought a house, they were cheap back then And had some kids as you might have heard. My Dad was one, I think the third". "That's an interesting thought". Said the biggest boy with a nasal snort. Then launched into a verbal assualt That would last till they were both adult. And both had found lifetime careers, The thug shaving old men's ears And Derek flying as an astronaut With a supermodel in every astroport. From the playground, one hundred years on, And both boys are now dead and gone. One in a fiery pit, probed with hot pokers, screaming aloud, The other, with his Grandad eating sweets, sitting on a cloud. [comments] => 6 [counter] => 189 [topic] => 7 [informant] => faiton [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => HumorPoetry )
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