The joke's On Me... *sad face*

I feel like the butt of a long running joke,
Where the punchline's been hidden by mirrors and smoke.
But this doesn't sit well with my sense of humour,
As funny as famine, drought, or a tumour.

All through school and college I'm told,
You'll be happier now than when you get old.
But when you grow up you're comparatively rich,
So where's all my money you son of a bitch.

I get paid bugger all and pay rent through the nose,
Every week my bills dish out bitter blows.
And just when I think that I've got through the worst,
My overdraft's gone and my bubble is burst.

These wise old heads have been known to say,
"Paying rent is like pissing your money away"
But like a girl in a car, trying to parallel park it,
I'll never get into the housing market.

So as property prices continue to tease,
The economy fails with quantitative ease,
Other ways of life might be better for the soul,
Like social housing and claiming the dole.

What to do with Your Recently Acquired North African Tyrant...

If by chance Gaddafi is caught,

Do we know what we’re going to do?

As with every crime, justice is sought,

But perspective is needed too.

A benchmark of law and order,

An origin for our graph,

As we drag him back from the border,

Have we written his epitaph?

So let’s establish a sense of scale,

Before he’s off to the slaughter.

As a starting point – six months in jail,

For stealing a bottle of water.

So how much worse are war-crimes,

Than bottled water theft?

I’d say it’s at least four times,

On account of the bereft.

So by my calculation,

Two years might make amends,

Followed by swift assassination,

If he ever reoffends.

Anyone for another game of Hide & Seek?

It looks like Gaddafi is out on his arse,

As North Africa’s ball and chain,

Support for the eejit would seem to be sparse,

But he’ll probably do a 'Saddam Hussein'.

They’ll storm his compound and what will they find?

A note signed off with a kiss,

"As you can see, you’re a step behind,

I’m long gone while you’re reading this. x".

He might’ve knocked on a neighbour’s door,

And asked him to do him a favour.

"Hi mate, can I just hide under your floor?

If not I’ll take your wife and enslave ‘er."

What if he’s got to the border?

It wouldn't surprise me at all

Found a way through all the disorder,

Or just gave is local cab firm a call.

Or maybe he’s got even further away,

He might’ve been gone for a week,

The last game NATO wanted to play,

Was anymore Arabic hide and seek.

Phone Hacking and a Nice Cup of Tea

As people’s private lives are attacked,

I think that it could’ve been me.

What if my voice-mail had've been hacked,

And my deepest secrets set free.

The world might hear of addiction,

A disgrace to my family tree.

My life is scarred with affliction,

None worse than my constant consumption of tea.

I've tried to stop, but you don’t understand,

It’s harder than that you see.

Imagine me sitting there, biscuit in hand,

Dry as a bone, without any tea.

It’s all well and good drinking water,

But it doesn't quite pack the same punch.

If I had one I’d sell my own daughter,

For some quality tea with my lunch.

The thought that the papers could get hold of this

Has driven me slightly insane.

When I don’t enjoy tea I know something’s amiss,

So I've become quite partial to smack and cocaine.

Jesus Christ Bananas! What's going on!

What kind of morally decrepit, scumbag, prick,
Primitive, sub-mental, low-life, dick,
Would crack an old man’s skull with a stick
For the change in his pocket, you make me sick.

You walk about like you own the streets,
Recruiting through incomprehensible tweets,
As you burn down buildings the atmosphere heats,
And the rest of the country’s patience depletes.
You’ll loot anything – Example: Gregg’s baked treats,
Lattices filled with savoury meats,
Four ipods each, for surround-sound beats,
But your warranty’s invalid if you don’t have receipts.

There’s a person on the ground, bleeding and confused,
Someone your mates have already abused,
He’s helped to his feet and his bag is perused,
Nothing that you want, so he is excused.

You’re worse than shit I’ve scraped from my shoe,
You reckon society owes something to you,
You say you’ve got nothing better to do,
Well then, here’s a suggestion or two…

You could take your old-man-hitting-stick and shove it up your arse,
I’d say you’d learn a lesson, but grey matter must be sparse,
Next time you burn a car out or set fire to a shop,
You might douse yourself in petrol, and throw yourself on top.

It would be wise to find some other ways to take out your frustration,
Which you claim stems from economic issues like inflation,
But you need another reason to excuse your actions soon,
Because we know you think inflation’s something done to a balloon.

I want you to know I hate you, and all you represent,
And I’m sure there is an island, to which you could all be sent,
But we’re not allowed to do that, on account of human rights,
Which apparently you have, despite the last few nights.

To sum up, you say you’re out there, because your lives are shite,
But you’re not improving things by running wild at night.
If you hate your life so much, you could attempt to change it,
There are saintly people out there, who might help you to arrange it.

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