Sinister: The Thought Of Walking's Quite Absurd

[Rob Foster]

Jesus and his rubber twat bomb, 

No sooner than you can say "Grade Is A Cunt" than someone's given him a
job.  I'm impressed, I don't know how he did it but Mr Morris is back on
our screens - oh shit, you know, this reminds me of the time I [crash... 
Squark] what the?

Hang on, something's just flown into my window


Oh my, look who it is.  Yep, thought so, his beaks a bit bent 'cause of my
window, he's a bit winded but I think he'll live.

Right well, [what, oh] Mr Parrot has asked me to inform you of what he's
been doing for such a long time.  Hang on, I'll translate.

"Well, no sooner had I finished my 18th book "Poems for Lovers and Pretty
Twee Things - I'm Not Gay You Know" my publisher threw a grand party for
me, very nice.  But as always, I love the lavish things in life, I got
drunk on a mixture of Pimms, Absinth and After Eight Cheesy Poofs (TM); and
as is often the way these days, I ended up in some birds bedroom, doing the
'beast with four wings.'  The bitch told me she was on the pill, AND that
she was over 16.  Would you Adam and effin' Eve it, not only was she NOT 16
she was NOT on the pill.  So, there's me, two months later, shot gun
wedding with an egg in the oven.  What could I do?  If I tried to run away
her brothers would come for me and her arse hole father would probably make
sure that Rupert was going to be an only child.  Yeah, I know what you're
thinking - Rupert - she thought of it not me.  Named after a bear she used
to read about as a kid of some god-dam thing.  Anyway, I had to stay until
the sprog was old enough to fly away.  

So that's what I've been doing."

Well, there you go, our Poetry Parrot's a father, who'd of thought it.  I
mean, I thought he'd never be a dad, if you now what I mean.

Anyway, through this sorry time in a young parrots life he still found time
to give us this - happy spring time:

Love's Growth

I SCARCE believe my love to be so pure
As I had thought it was, 
Because it doth endure
Vicissitude, and season, as the grass;
Methinks I lied all Winter, when I swore,
My love was infinite, if Spring make it more.
But if this medicine, love, which cures all sorrow
With more, not only be no quintessence,
But mixt of all stuffs, painting soul, or sense,
And of the Sun his working vigour borrow,
Love's not so pure, and abstract, as they use 
To say, which have no Mistress but their Muse,
But as all else, being elemented too,
Love sometimes would contemplate, sometimes do.

And yet no greater, but more eminent,
Love by the Spring is grown;
As, in the firmament,
Start by the Sun are not enlarg'd, but shown.
Gentle love deeds, as blossoms on a bough,
>From love's awakened root do bud out now.
If, as in water stirr'd more circles be 
Produc'd by one, love such additions take, 
Those like so many spheres, but one heaven make,
For they are all concentric unto thee;
And though each Spring do add to love new heat,
As princes do in times of action get
New taxes, and remit them not in peace, 
No Winter shall abate the spring's increase.
Nor must wit
Be colleague to religion, but be it.

I've said my good byes to the little fella and he's just flown off
muttering something about dropping in on a Wizard or something, a tiny
Wizard, erm, oh, a Narrow Wizard, yeah that's it.  

He also said that "I met Judy at a party for my 17th book release and to
the best of my knowledge she wasn't a dick slap, mind you, I was a little
bit drunk."  Just after he said that there was a long silence and he turned
pale!

PS, I think I remember Heatherxoxo, is it still wonderful being a girl?
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