Mayonnaise on the bus…

But first…
Dulltown, Europe: Today’s existential angst is centred around the letter ‘g’ in the word paradigm.

It was middle of the afternoon, I was sitting at the front on the upper deck of the bus on my way home from a spot of shopping in town. After the bus stopped to pick people up at a bus stop near the King Eddie pub I became aware of the crashing noise of someone making a poor job of coming up the stairs. It was a drunk, and he was singing Mull of Kintyre by Paul McCartney at the top of his voice. I didn’t bother looking around, but I heard him successfully reach the top and stamp rhythmically to one of the back seats where he took up residence and continued with the song. I noticed that a few people changed seats to get away from him as he tried to get them to join in.
Then suddenly, ‘Oh mist rolling in from the… Dave!… It’s my old pal Dave!…’
I thought that voice was familiar – it was Tony Mayonnaise, poet from the glory days of the Hull Surrealist League. I looked around slowly and groaned as he bounded up the aisle to plonk himself down next to me. He talked and gibbered at me for the rest of the journey and insisted that I’d accept the spoem (spoof poem) that he’d just written around the edges of four beer mats using a pen borrowed from behind the bar in the pub he’d been in… He mentioned that he didn’t really think much of Mull of Kintyre as a song, but that he’d sung it because ‘people like it!’…

Press-motor Alpine range-nut crisp,
Dribble-brood Dante-pork fledgling pod,
Tease-mat mattock snake-knife potter,
Zoo-blanket trap door rebellion pup-pump,
Rowdy-cap forthright dinner-bang goblet,
Drip-cog righteous buzz-fox tremor,
Trigger-ink Borodino clang-dump atmosphere,
Swarthy duck bramble cross-site walk.

Solitude solitude solitude solitude solitude.

Prism-dock laugh-scrape chute suit,
Hole-fancy spotlight jaw stick anticline,
Phone-slice billiard card magnificence,
Firm-film butterfly coil-trip lunacy,
Wicker purse tummy-coat object pall,
Mime coconut dust-engine frantic bottle,
Tone-pliers acrobat soap-peep blister,
Dark-frock antidote bulb-racquet clips.

Tony Mayonnaise 2014.

About Dave Whatt

Grumpy old surrealist artist, musician, postcard maker, bluesman, theatre set designer, and debonair man-about-town. My favourite tools are the plectrum and the pencil...
This entry was posted in art, brain, drama, existentialism, Hull.UK., humour, information, mind, poetry, serendipity, style, surrealism, words and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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