Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Andrew's Owed

A bard, however hard he tries
Grows flabby without exercise
But flabbier by far the hacks
Who spout before they've checked the facts
Because you've hurt my feelings I'll
Regurgitate a little bile

I do not like you, Mr Marr
And jaunty step on Sunday morning
To work: to give a good stiff fawning
To some slimy politician
Or celebrity beautician
They flock to you from Near and Far
I do not like you Mr Marr

I'm sorry, but your face is not
A pretty thing, you jug-eared Scot
Watery of eye and weak of chin
Thin hair scraped over pasty skin
Hunched forward with a whining leer
You simper in some starlet's ear
The girls like their reporters hot
I'm sorry, but your face is not

You preen before your flock to see
This weekend's mediocracy
And pimp their policy or book
Then let them wriggle off the hook
Or slither off to Hay on Wye*
Who dare to publish what they think 
In plebian dubdubdub, not ink

And what's a "Cauliflower Nose"?
We've never heard of one of those
I take an interest because 
I rather like my chiselled schnozz
It's clear that, after many years
Of taunts, you wouldn't mention ears
You seemed so nice, but all the while
Your soul was steeped in raging bile

And these crass comments that you rue
Are simply piping up "me too!"
It's only human, joining teams 
Around some new (or ancient) memes
Like laying down your daily siller
For Daily Mail or Daily Mirror
Or writing - give the world a laugh - 
A letter to the Telegraph

And did you read, before debunk
ing ruthlessly, young Penny Trunk?
CO and Michael Wade soar free
Or bask in Eclecticity 
So back to blighty's rain-swept shores
My cozy corner of a world
That's multiplied a million fold

You jeer at pimpled youth with scurf
Have you not heard? The silver surf
You jeer at journals published new
We cannot all be Montesquieu
A cruel hist'ry will judge whether
Books self-published in limp leather
Bindings were a worse offence
Than blogging one's experience

No, what gets up your rosy neb
Is journalism on the web
For now the demos, in full cry
Tears down the lazy alibi:
"No matter what you said or heard
The facts are these, the printed word"
Yes, what you hate, you jaded hack
Is, now your victims answer back.

*All right then, Cheltenham if you must
Some other Festival of Dust

** The Guardian made me opine
The Telegraph, for once, is fine

***If you've just time for one I'd rate
Bright shards of wisdom: Nicholas Bate