Just boils my blood




I was this morning reminded of the scumbag that is Creflo Dollar, the preacher who, a couple of years ago, spent 63 million dollars (I put fifty in the limerick because it worked better ) on a new jet for his ministry.

Throw up all the arguments you like there is no justification ever that he should need to take money from people that he can travel spreading the gospel in a frigging Gulfstream.  Yes there have been good deeds done but just how much more could he do if he was not spending money on multi million mansions, multiple Rolls Royce and jets.

The man and his organisation are truly predatory.  You know, I do wish there was a hell because it would surely have a place for men like him.

Sadly, I still remember a time when I had some of his tapes you know.  Glad those days are behind me that’s for sure.




Dark Christmas – Child

not even a photo album?

Some interesting prompts over at Mindscapes  Thought I would do something a little different on the Christmas themes.

mindescapes Christmas Challenge 2017


A child they say, to save the world

So noble great and true

But there are  things I often wonder

And here are but a few


He must have had grandparents

But they do not get a mention

No way would they not be involved

They do so love attention


And what of names when he was young

When he’d not done works or healed the blind

Was he always just called Jesus

Or perhaps nicknames not so kind?


Did the miracles start early

Did his parents ever gloat?

did he go through the terrible two’s?

and when they bathed him did he float?


What were his toys, did he read books?

Was he any good at sports?

Did he always wear a robe or was

He rather fond of shorts


Did he have a pet, was he kind to dogs

And at what age did he walk

Was he quite an advanced baby

And how early did he talk?


You’d think someone might remember

If he was such a big deal

Pity that there aren’t records

As much more they would reveal

Photo courtesy of pixabay

M is for Michael

that’s me…

Michael.  That’s me.


This seemed like a good idea when I did the title but now I am less sure.  If you’ve read me for more than a day or two then you know what I’m like and I don’t really need to tell you.  I have a wife and kids who I love, a life I enjoy immensely and very few filters or boundaries.

You know what, I think that will just about do.

You really don’t need to know that I love comics or rugby or television or films or coding or laughing or being grumpy, that’s all there for you to see.  You don’t need to know that I think Donald trump is a twat and that I find it quite heart breaking to see what he is doing to America because I grew up with all things American and it played a big part in my growing up.

And you dont need to be told that I like to make people laugh and dont take things too seriously and that I have a problem with authority and organised religion.  It’s all there to see in my writing.

Thanks for reading and I hope you continue to take some pleasure in what I put out there and if not, meh, I’ll get over it.







L is for loss

If I were not here tomorrow…

Were I to die tomorrow then there are so many things I would not get to tell my boys.  As melancholy a thought as it is it is one with which I have of late struggled though something I have yet to remedy.  Such words of wisdom that are a father’s to impart would go unsaid and they would quite possibly venture into this world as young men without my deep and considered understanding of so many things.

Whilst their mother would without doubt provide them the support they need as young men I would not be there to explain to them why they should always ensure they place the drill chuck back in the little holder thingy on the handle of the drill to ensure they are not forever heading to the DIY place to buy another.

I ask myself who, if not me, should be the one to explain why darts is a sport and motor racing is not and why being a Yorkshire-man is truly a privilege.

My heart is heavy with the thought that at my passing so ceases the chance for me to impart upon them how a man should approach washing dishes so as to ensure he never gets asked again.

Truly though I believe the greatest gift we can give them is our presence, time and attention without which we cannot pass on our biases and prejudice.

Good god, what if they grow up to be Manchester United fans?


K is for Kids

Just to be clear. They are not for sale.

I have two and I love them very much, which is lucky for them because there are days when I think they might just be a little bit faulty.  Don’t get me wrong, despite their obvious flaws I still think mine are actually more pleasant than other peoples – and definitely yours – and I have the tedious photo’s and long winded stories to prove it.

I think/hope that my eldest may well have the most wonderful sense of humour as just the other day he asked whether the Germans were still looking for the Von Trapp family.  Now don’t get me wrong, as an Englishman I am of a mind to think that somewhere there is a lower level Ortsgruppenleitner with a hatred for sing songs that is still hopeful of apprehending them, but truth be told that’s probably just me being awful.  I was troubled enough to ask him whether he was serious, and I am still not actually sure.

The youngest is a precious little thing who has the most delightful ability to believe his own lies and I am most certain that he is destined for great things – probably in politics or banking.  Such is his conviction that I often have to refer to the internet to support any argument I may find myself having with him.

Still, I wouldn’t be without them no matter how much I was offered for them – and trust me the little blonde one is worth big money in certain parts of the middle east.  The elder brown haired one is probably worth less though he has broad shoulders and a strong back and would certainly do the work of at least one small mule.

Not that I’ve researched it.  Honest.

To be fair, had I tried to return them or asked for a repair I imagine I would have been told that any damage they are currently exhibiting may well be my fault.




J is for Jesus, Jew and Jam

I do rather like Jam.

Given it’s Christmas and all J is most definitely for Jesus.  I was going to write ‘J is for Jew’ but that sounded a bit accusatory and a kind of racist.  It’s not is it?  It’s only a word after all.  I tend not to think about what is and what is not appropriate when I write and simply go with it and watch my followers to see whether it effects the number.

Maybe it’s how you say it?  Or who says it?  If I am standing on top of a burning car outside of a bank it is most like decidedly racist, criminal and a load of other things that my mum would not be proud of.  If someone has a bomb vest on insisting J is for Jew and is shouting for his friend Alan Akbar then again – I am thinking it is probably a negative use.

Conversely, if I am wearing a little white hat thing on my head attending a colleagues son’s something-or-other where they cut parts of his dick off then I think it is simply a statement.  I sit and reflect: “Oh yes I see, J is for Jew.”  It’s almost a rather comforting and warming moment feeling that I am connected to a people that have spanned all of written memory.

Guess how it makes you feel is about you and not me really.


You know, google is great.  I searched for ‘Jewish Cock Cutting Ceremony’ and it informed me it was called a bris.  I am assuming lots of other people have searched similar terms.  See, I’m not alone in my ignorance.


J is also for ‘Jam’.  I do like Jam.




Dark Christmas – Chimney

I seem to have a recurring theme starting here. I think I might have Santa issues…

Some interesting prompts over at Mindscapes  Thought I would do something a little different on the Christmas themes.



As darkness falls and blankets pulled

up tight around your ears

across the town the crunch of boots

on snow and darkest fears


Door handles rattled, windows checked

Through letter box he peeps

Wild eyes, sharp teeth and fingers gnarled

As you pretend to sleep


He knows, he sees, he understands

Just how you have behaved

He watches day and night and follows

From the cradle to the grave


And should he know, perhaps suspect

You’ve not done as you should

Onto your roof he clambers

All because you’ve not been good


And down your chimney he will slip

When fast asleep you dream

And whisk you off to darkest lair

Where no one hears you scream


Dark Christmas – Inn

Recently found parchment provides reliable eye witness account of the big day it seems…

Some interesting prompts over at Mindscapes  Thought I would do something a little different on the Christmas themes.

mindescapes Christmas Challenge 2017

Dear diary you see

you may just not believe

what has happened tonight when at work

couple knocked at the door

he performed, stomped and swore

demanded a room, what a jerk


But I felt really bad

for the sorry faced lad

cos his lass says that god did …you know

now shes bearing his kid

not from nothing he did

but hes sticking with her, brave lad so…


The night’s silent and cold

Seems a saviours foretold

Theres the lass on a donkey call M

Now shes proper knocked up

and at back of the pub

giving birth near a cow a hen


There’s some fellas with sheep

and some lads from the east

who look lost but they seem to have gifts

it has been a long night

and this stars rather bright

god I really do hate working shifts




Picture courtesy of pixabay

Dark Christmas – Town

You better watch out…

Some interesting prompts over at Mindscapes  Thought I would do something a little different on the Christmas themes.

mindescapes Christmas Challenge 2017


As night falls, all through the town

When the children start to slumber

There comes a man his hood pulled down

His heart all black and thunder

it rages, coursing through his veins

and soul as dark as pitch

he searches for the homes and seeks

the curtains as they twitch

inside he creeps they scurry fast

he knows they’re wide awake

to take their souls, exchanged for gifts

be good for goodness sake

Dark Christmas – Donkey

My favourite Christmas carol has always been ‘Little Donkey’

Some interesting prompts over at Mindscapes  Thought I would do something a little different on the Christmas themes.

mindescapes Christmas Challenge 2017

I shared today’s post with my youngest Thomas and he came up with this.  Tom is 9 and seems to rather enjoy trying his hand at poetry.  Good work boy!

Donkey travelled through the night

On his back he carried heavenly light

The little heroes name was Kevin

And he carried the boy from heaven


Below is my effort.  I think Tom did a better job.  I’m going for a free form morbid nihilist first donkey perspective kind of vibe.  I think I smashed it.

What?  It’s a thing…Donkey’s can write poetry you know, they just don’t write it down because of the hooves.    


Long dark roads

Dust and despair fill my every waking hour

Family and friends long forgotten

We eat through the miles

We pass through the night

They rest on my back as we follow the star


No food no water no hope

Onwards they drive me

Through the night towards day break


Silver and gold spill across the land

Day brings scorching heat

I wish I was dead



Ive never written free form before.  I think it shows.

Dark Christmas – Nice

Theres someone in your house and he means to do you harm…

Some interesting prompts over at Mindscapes  Thought I would do something a little different on the Christmas themes.

mindescapes Christmas Challenge 2017

Red clad he stalks outside your home

He sneaks in while you sleep

Your kids he watches in their beds

through frosted windows peeps


You lock your doors and fasten shut

Your windows for you dread

Into your home he will still come

And find you in your bed


He looks for reasons, punishment

Will follow have no doubt

If you raise you voice or dare to cry

And god forbid you pout


For down your chimney he will come

His clothes all stained with black

And lingers in your living room

There with his bulging sack


He spills his goods upon your floor

They’re all the things you need

All wrapped with bows and glittery

The symbols of your greed


And unto him you pledge yourself

And worship at his throne

To him you pledge eternal self

Until he calls you home


Then in his workshop you will slave

and he feeds upon your pain

and day and night you’ll toil until

December comes again


Dark Christmas – Journey

Christmas with a little something extra thrown in just because…

Some interesting prompts over at Mindscapes  Thought I would do something a little different on the Christmas themes.

mindescapes Christmas Challenge 2017

With a hey and a ho

To Bethlehem they go

Cos it seems theres some count or some such

And he grumbles and moans

Of the distance he groans

And the stress he is finding too much


Cos she wont give him none

but she’s now 9 months gone

and insists she’s not been with another

she persists it’s not lies

that it came from the skies

he’s convinced that she’s been with his brother


He had wanted to leave

But no one would believe

She’s a cheat and she won’t meet his need

So he’s stuck, trapped he feels

As his wife she reveals

That god’s filled her right up with his seed


“Oh come on he insists

Do you think I am pissed”

Grabs the donkey and loads her on board

“If it looks like my brother

Then Im telling my mother

That you lied and that you are a fraud”

“Babe I promise” she sighs

“It was god twixt my thighs

I’d not cheat” and she feeds him a grape

But he rants quite aggrieved

And he just wont believe

“You ask me, sounds a whole lot like rape!


“Oh sweet Joe” and she smiles

And she charms with her wiles

And he sighs, his hot loins are still urging

He’d  just wanted some fun

Now she’ll soon be a mum

Him a dad, but they’re both still a virgin


His friends think that he’s mad

And will soon be a Dad

To a kid which he didn’t create

And he feels quite forlorn

And it soon will be born

and he’s trapped and this really ain’t great


So they take to the road

Donkey carries the load

And he thinks, “guess I’m stuck this is it”

They ride into the night

And a star it shines bright

His heart heavy and feeling quite shit…

A Pinch of Happiness

“Look at me boy” he snarled as Harley walked past, launching into another rant. “He will chastise you 7 times and you shall eat the flesh of you sons and daughters”  he screamed.

In response to M’s writing prompt “A pinch of happiness”.

Harley was very much a man of habit.  Each morning he would wake up at 6.45, hit the snooze button three times and then promptly into the shower where he would always use an exfoliating scrub.  He liked the way it made his skin look.

He would then dress quite impeccably in a dark suit and pastel shirt, followed by a light breakfast of toast and orange marmalade whilst he checked his social media accounts and sent a good morning message to his partner who worked the early shift at the local hospital.  A quick wash and dry of the plate and knife later and he would set off for work at precisely 7.45 a.m.

Monday to Friday the short walk to the underground was always punctuated by a stop off at the ‘Roasted Bean’ where he would have his usual skinny latte.  He would smile at Rose, a pretty freckle faced girl, who would recognise him in the queue and ask how he was and he would always reply that he was fine thank you.

He was a good and kind man, loyal to his friends, faithful to his partner and wholly the sort of person you would very much like to live next to and he very much enjoyed his morning routine.  It made him feel safe and in control.  What he did not enjoy though was the short walk from the roasted Bean to the underground.

Every morning, stood on the corner just a short walk in the direction he was headed, stood a man who was very much everything that Harley was not.  Under the dirt and long matted beard he was probably in his mid-fifties, but his blackened teeth and dark sallow eyes made it hard to tell.  He would stand quite still holding a small polystyrene cup hoping for a few spare coins from the passers by, his clothes stained and torn and the stench of a lifetime of living on the streets filled the air around him.

As the morning masses streamed past with blank faces he watched them go by, mumbling to himself under his breath, only ever becoming animated at the sight of Harley.  His eyes wide, spittle rained  from his rancid mouth and he would spew a tirade of Old testament hate and bile as Harley approached, only stopping once Harley had crossed the busy road and disappeared down the tube station steps.

Harvey’s stomach lurched.  “Here we go” he thought to himself.

“The people of Samaria must bear the guilt because they have rebelled against God” he shouted, pointing at Harley, “they will fall by the sword and their little ones will be dashed to the ground and their pregnant women ripped open!”

An old woman in a brown coat crossed the street to avoid him.  Harley had tried that in the past but the man always followed him and he had given up.  He had even tried different routes but the man always seemed to be there waiting, no matter which way he went.

Harley kept his eyes down and continued walking.  The man seemed particularly vile today.

“See the day of the lord is coming” he continued as Harley drew close, his eyes wide and wild and a cruel smile spreading across his face “a day of wrath and anger and the infants will be dashed to pieces before their eyes and their wives will be violated!”

Harley was now directly opposite him.  The stench of piss filled his nostrils.

“Look at me boy” he snarled as Harley walked past, launching into another rant. “He will chastise you 7 times and you shall eat the flesh of you sons and daughters”  he screamed.

Harley’s heart raced, his fists clenched.  He never responded, ever, but today felt different.  He turned and look damn you”ed at the man, continuing to walk slowly backwards.

“Shut the hell up!” Harley shouted back, “leave me alone damn you.”

The man laughed loudly and took a step towards him. “Happy shall they be who take your little ones and dash them against the rock” he shouted grinning broadly and stabbing a filthy finger in Harley’s direction.

Harley continued moving backwards as the man sped up walking towards him.

“You’re mine boy” he yelled.

Harley was about to tell the man to go fuck himself but the words never got from his brain to his mouth.  He heard a scream as he stepped backwards from the step and fell  into the road.

The last thing that went through the mind of Harley Silver before his light was extinguished forever was the cackle of the man’s laughter.

It was different though, and for the briefest of moments he thought it sounded almost happy…

Photo courtesy of Leroy Skalstad @ Pixabay

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Crow and Sparrow