Mayonnaise on the street…

But first…
Dulltown, UK: Today’s featured fruit is the haughty pineapple lording it over the Golden Delicious in the fruit bowl in the sitting room.

I happened to bump into Tony Mayonnaise, poet from the glory days of the Hull Surrealist League, barging his way out of the crowded Cash Converters shop in the town centre yesterday.
‘City of bloody culture!’ he snarled.
‘Hello Tony,’ I said.
He immediately started ranting on about how he’d been awarded only a ‘measly’ £500 to put on a performance piece with his shouted poetry accompanying a visiting mine artist from Chittagong, for next year’s UK City of Culture festival. I remarked that £500 didn’t sound too bad really, but he launched into a stream of well-chosen and surprisingly inventive and venomous expletives, and then explained that Simon Doom, also a poet from the glory days of the Hull Surrealist League, had recently told him that he had been awarded £1,000 for his project.
Now, this put me on the spot, as they used to say, because I knew that Doom’s application had in fact been rejected, that he wouldn’t be receiving any money, and that he had obviously lied to Mayo.
Out of compassion, and to try to calm Mayo down I decided to spill the beans about this deception. As soon as I enlightened him he broke into a broad smile and seemed to cheer up for a moment as he considered Doom’s disappointment, but then, he suddenly bared his rather unattractive teeth, flushed red, and started shouting, ‘That bastard!… Bastard Doom!… Bastard Doom!…’
I was just about to tell him that really he should try to look on the bright side, when who should step up, carrying an open can of cheap lager, out of the nearby herd of strolling shoppers, but Simon Doom himself. He chirped up, ‘Hello Tony, hello Dave!…’
Mayo straightway punched him on the nose, and all hell broke loose with them soon scrapping and rolling about up and down the dirty wet road.
A passing old lady touched me on the arm and said, ‘Is this part of the Year of Culture?’
‘Yes, of course…’ I said, as I picked up a folded piece of paper dropped by Mayo in the scuffle:

Parallel sweep-barn chop chap cut,
Ripped overshot pump unpleasantness!
Meme duke coastal asymptote cutlery,
Sepulchre doorknob plait-pout pig pottage…

Diverging frost-claw whip dock cloak,
Spalled sponge drift-nut embarrassment!
Dial mountain brick lid asymptote handles,
Padre boating-pipe omelette fuse bugs…

Vertical ox-tub buttress trip crack.
Slotted pistol-blue tank kit itchiness!
Murky slit portmanteau asymptote tickets,
Cadre jollity spittle jump-cap foxglove…

Horizontal prize-knot lupin box tart sock,
Sliced moonlight danger-camp squirming!
Flood food droop unction asymptote garment,
Ogre flesh compensation rose-bog stiletto…

Tony Mayonnaise. 2016.

See also…


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, conversation, drama, Hull.UK., humour, information, poetry, serendipity, style, surrealism, words and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Mayonnaise on the street…

  1. Shammy says:

    You live an exciting life!

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