Posts Tagged ‘Death’

Death by Tuba

May 22, 2012

Et tu, tuba?

 

Sometimes, after I have died, I like to make the best of a bad situation by helping others to learn from my experience. Once, for instance, I died in a tuba-related accident. So I wrote a little poem that would allow others to learn from my mistake:

 

The Tuba.

They call it Le Seau Furieux

Meaning ‘The angry bucket’

In France.

Do not put any water in Le

Seau Furieux.

For it will spit it back in your face

Then growl

Like an ungentlemanly sea

Lion.

Mon dieu! Don’t put any

Rice Pudding in Le Seau

Furieux,

Even if your Rice Pudding Bowl

Is broken and your Wife

Refuses to transport it

In the capacious floral hollow

Of her maternity dress.

Even if you know that in half

An hour you will desperately crave

Some Rice Pudding, but don’t really

Feel like eating any now.

For if you put your Rice Pudding in

Le Seau Furieux

It will vomit the pale chunks up

Like John Belushi

All over your Jesus Sandals

And mock you with a

Booming Bass Honk.

But O, my scholars, my pupils,

WhatEVER you do,

WherEVER you are,

Do not, under any circumstances,

Think of Le

Seau: that is, Le Seau

Furieux,

As a suitable place to imprison your next door

Neighbour’s dog. Even after your next door

Neighbour’s dog has kept

You awake at night with its

Yippety yappety yaroo

Or its

Rawk, rawk, rawk

And of course its

Wow, wow, woop

And, lest we forget,

That one evening, when,

In a fever-fugue of sleep-deprivation,

You were convinced that it had shouted

Twiddly-dee

Through the letter-box

Five hundred times.

For, rest assured, my scholars,

My pupils,

That course of action will lead directly to you

Taking a dog in the face

At 150 knots.

And, I should add, most likely perishing

As a result.

Le Seau Furieux

Is not an appropriate place

To put a dog.

Believe me. I know.

 

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Death by T****

April 14, 2010

Recently, everyone at my branch of T**** was asked to reapply for their jobs. The bosses told us that they needed to ‘tighten their belts’ and that everyone at the firm had to ‘pull their weight’. I was concerned. Had the recession got so bad that the managers would have to fund their trips to Thai brothels out of their own pockets? Would they have to pay for their own cocaine? It certainly looked that way. I was prepared to help them in any way I could. So I sat down with pen and paper and endeavoured to give a fair assessment of my abilities that would help the bosses to decide whether I was a ‘weight-puller’ or a ‘dead weight’. Here is the gist of my application:

Dear Sir/Madam,

I would like to apply for my job. I am interested in exploring new opportunities and developing my skills, and I feel my job would provide me with an excellent opportunity to explore these new opportunities. This however is academic and semantic. And while ever I am sitting here growing florid, you, I and everyone else is losing money. So let me cut to the chase. I know you value plain speaking. So here is why you should give me my job:

1) I have played Macbeth off Broadway

2) I can kill a man by staring at his dog

3) I have never put my genitals on any of the bread products

4) I know what you done to Benny that time in the meat room

5) I am the strongest person in my family

6) I can rap

7) I have a massive penis

8) I will die if you fire me

9) I really will die. Horribly. And it will be your fault.

10) God is watching you

11) He told me.

12) I can work by myself or as part of a team.

13) I am punctual (on my mother’s side)

Best wishes,

John Le Baptiste

Post-script: not only did the CEO of T**** refuse to continue my employment, he also hunted me down and beat me to death with his gruesome lecherous fists. I was gobsmacked. What do you have to do to impress these people?