Over-Enjoying A Blowtorch

Playing with a blowtorch isn’t big and isn’t clever.
It makes you feel amazing though, the greatest feeling ever.
You twist the little tap thing, which lets the propane out,
Which makes a rather pleasant hiss escaping from the spout,
And then you get your put your finger in a sort of gun position,
Thank God you’ve got a blowtorch, and squeeze on the ignition.
The gas explodes, a shade of blue, the spout begins to roar,
Your heart starts loudly pounding like it never has before.
You’re powerful, invincible, the master of the flame,
Hephaestus was the god of fire, but you deserve that name.
You know you’ll now be idolised and worshiped and revered,
But then you light a cigarette and burn off half your beard.

Wearing An Arse As A Helmet

I was wearing an arse as a helmet,
For reasons on which I won’t dwell.
The tightness was rather unpleasant,
But nothing compared to the smell.
The odour was fearsome and horrid,
Which wasn’t a massive surprise.
My stomach began minor spasms,
And I felt bile beginning to rise.
I thought a deep breath could be helpful,
So I opened my mouth and inhaled,
But my mouth was encased in the anus,
So the feelings of nausea prevailed.
I’ve smelt lots of things in my lifetime,
But this was the absolute worst.
I retched, and my muscles contracted,
And vomit came out in a burst.
The rectum was tight, as I’ve mentioned.
There wasn’t a whole lot of space,
So the puke merely bounced off the arse wall,
And spread itself over my face.
My up-chuck got into my eyebrows,
My vomit got into my ears,
My bilious sick stung my eyeballs,
And the barf mixed with mucous and tears.
This wasn’t a pleasant adventure,
But I think that I’ve learned something from it:
Do not wear an arse as a helmet –
If you must do, please try not to vomit.

Suburban Superhero

I can see in the dark.
So can you, with a torch.
It’s a power of which I don’t boast.

I shoot flames from my eyes
But we’ve got smoke alarms
So I can’t even use it for toast.

I possess super strength
But when people find out
They all make me carry their stuff.

I can run really fast
But I don’t see the point
As the train seems efficient enough.

My skin deflects bullets
Although, let’s be fair,
There’s not many shootings round here.

And my super-strong breath
Only really gets used
In the autumn, to keep the drive clear.

I can see straight through walls
Though I generally find
Walking round doesn’t take very long.

There’s a big one-way system
On the roads around here,
And I keep bloody getting it wrong.

Death To The Infidels

Death to the infidels, that’s what we cried
As we gathered our weapons aplenty,
A bow on my arm and a sword by my side
And a poison-tipped arrow or twenty.
My steed twixt my legs, I let go of the reins
As I pulled back my bow-string so tight,
For the potion that currently coursed through my veins
Had brought me Herculean might.
I fired off an arrow with glistening end
Soaked with venom I’d got from the druids,
And I vowed that I’d not rest an hour God did send
‘Til the ground shone with sticky red fluids.
The battle was frantic, a lot of men fell,
Soldiers valiant, noble and wise.
But we sent countless heathens straight down into Hell
As our dead rose up into the skies.
Eventually death came to all that were near,
And it seemed we’d concluded the violence,
So I pulled out a chair, put it down over here,
And sat there in solitary silence.

Punch The Villain, Arnie

Punch the villain, Arnie.
Fire the massive gun.
Have the wacky sidekick.
Watching you is fun.
Kiss the pretty lady.
Say the funny line.
Blow up all the baddies,
And everything is fine.

Oh! I Am So Strong!

Everyone stares when I go to the gym.
They’re thinking “One day I want muscles like him,
That bulge and have veins and look great in tight vests,
And that chest has to be one of Britain’s best chests”.
I follow a very strict training regime,
That’s worked out for me by my exercise team.
I follow it strictly with total adherence,
And that’s how I have this amazing appearance.

The Ageing Wrestler

I used to do a piledriver
And barely break a sweat –
My ligaments were healthy
And my legs weren’t buggered yet.
I’d leap from on the turnbuckles
And take folks down with ease,
Before I had that trouble
With the fluids in my knees.
My chokeslams were amazing,
I excelled in every hold,
And even though I’m still in shape
I’m getting rather old.
I’ve watched with silent sadness
A beloved friend of mine
Land badly in a cage match
And snap his brittle spine.
Every punch feels harder now,
I take more time to heal
The wrestling world will have to cope
Without me soon, I feel.
The time is soon approaching
When I’ll put away my boots
And they’ll stay there in the cupboard
With my one-piece spandex suits.
But long after I’ve left it
I’ll remember how it felt,
When I heard the crowds applauding
As I held aloft my belt.