So if I was not English, and I think I will suppose
The type of things I would enjoy, and ponder upon those
For foreign, people often seem, when seen on the TV
their weird ways, their lovely teeth, they’re really not like me
If French all day Id feast on Cheese and pastries I’d consume
and walk around in open shirts, with frills and pantaloons
turn up my nose at things not french and art I would adore
and get myself a second wife and hide her like a whore
If Spanish I would surely sleep each day from noon ’till 5
I need a nap, been up since 9, if not I’d not survive
Then mostly I’d eat squid for tea and sip on wine all night
and watch the Brits on holiday – they drink and puke and fight
If German born Id surely spend efficient time at work
then home for beer and sausage and some sauerkraut, what a perk
in leather shorts I’d strut around, my bare chest on display
and dance to David Hasselhoff, fat bottom I would sway
Across the pond I think perhaps gun toting I would be
it seems it fine if I shoot dead the folk who bother me
Defend myself from innocents not like me, how sublime
I’d get myself grenades and guns, some rockets and a mine
OK, so I will stop that there. I kind of lost my sense of humour the day that daft twat started shooting people at a country and western concert and found myself hating everyone and everything and just wondering how on earth do we end up doing such awful things to each other. I got that far before I calmed down a little but still felt all of this frustration at the stupidity of people and then started writing and thought yeah Im just as bad, mocking people so I stopped but I then thought oh heavens just press publish because it is what you felt at the time. I had this desire to just ridicule and mock, but not too severely. Passive mockery if you will.
Anyway, it is what it is and I am what I am. I do find humour in most things and most situations and for the most part think the world is quite hilarious. Then I started taking myself far too seriously.
you should have seen what I had planned to write about the Chinese and the Italians…awful awful stuff.
Fly me to the moon – Sunday photo fiction
Afterwards 