Auntie Brenda’s Pheasant

Once I got a birthday present 

From my Auntie Brenda’s pheasant 

Eagerly I tore the wrapping 

And barely stopped myself from crapping 

For there within the pile of shredding 

Kicking Elvis Presley’s head in 

Was a troop of ballerinas 

All called Anne or Sue or Tina. 


Gracefully they danced the conga 

In one line which grew much longer 

’Til it stretched to Timbuktu 

Then tragically it split in two 

And then in four and then in eight 

Dividing at a startling rate 

Until the infinite divisions 

Formed a cloud upon my vision. 


Then from this fog without a doubt 

Sprang a million Brussels sprouts 

And all of them they had one leg 

And said they wanted me to beg 

The Emperor Sprout’s benevolent brother 

To issue them each with another; 

Only he was so empowered 

To hand out limbs to such a crowd. 


But I said "No, you foolish veggies, 

If you look behind those hedges 

You will find a million legs 

Requiring sprouts like toast needs eggs." 

And then I fled to avoid the rush 

As every sprout leapt o’er a bush, 

And to save my precious bacon 

When they found out they’d been taken. 


So I ran, I ran, I ran, 

I ran into a strawberry flan. 

I bounced against its textured sponge 

Which splattered me with cream and gunge 

And as I wiped it from my eye 

A poultry healer I did spy 

Who asked me if I’d seen a drake 

Who’d gone down with a stomach ache. 


I said I had not seen this fowl 

And at this he began to howl 

"If you don’t find this sickly mallard 

I shall sing a woeful ballad 

One which will dismay you so 

That for my patient you will go." 

I said, "I shall do no such thing." 

The poultry man began to sing. 


But as he hit the opening bar 

He got knocked down by a car 

Which from the door there did alight 

A wretched looking Israelite 

Whose beard was made from curtain tassels 

That once hung in Windsor Castle. 

Awkwardly he held a plaice 

Which he slapped across my face. 


"Congratulations," he proclaimed, 

"You’re the winner of the game 

You entered in a shop of ties. 

I must present you with your prize." 

He handed me a bunch of grapes 

Of rich and rare assorted shapes. 

I picked one which bore great resemblance 

To the fourth of Zeppelin’s emblems. 


The skin then split, the flesh it parted, 

From it shoals of mullet darted 

Fleeing from a mad old woman 

Who the devil she did summon. 

Before me stood the Prince of Darkness 

Gnawing on a mongoose carcass. 

He said "This tastes a little coarse, 

Do you have some tartare sauce?" 


I put my hand inside my jacket 

And produced a little packet 

Of the relish he required 

That I’d nicked when feeling tired 

In the Burger King in Wapping 

After doing lots of shopping 

For some trousers and a dress 

And toilet rolls - but I digress. 


So Satan took the condiment 

And on it he did compliment 

And said it made his meal right tasty 

And that he’d been much too hasty 

To condemn so many souls 

To watching endless games of bowls 

In a poky little cell 

’Cos that’s what happens down in hell. 


He raised his hand and thus decreed 

That all these sinners should be freed 

And mankind should not face temptation 

And risk eternal damnation, 

But one man called Egbert Moles 

Said that he liked watching bowls 

And why should his joy be denied 

By Satan changing to divine. 


Then God said "It’s OK young man, 

Come up to heaven. Here you can 

Watch bowls all night and every day, 

It’s all the same here anyway. 

Since Satan’s ceased to be a cad 

I’ll have a go at being bad. 

I’ll drink and smoke and shag the chicks 

And over use the asterisk."* 


(*A crime of which many writers are guilty.) 




And with that God gave me a beer 

Then kicked me firmly in the rear. 

I landed face first in a middin 

Which an auctioneer was bidding 

For the highest price he could 

From a crowd of planks of wood 

Who seemed to be a bit dismayed 

As in the steaming heap I laid. 


Five pounds, ten pounds, twenty, fifty, 

The planks of wood were getting nifty. 

One hundred, two hundred, three hundred, four, 

They all were jumping on the floor. 

A thousand pounds and rising fast, 

The auctioneer he was aghast. 

The bidding passed a million pounds 

And showed no sign of slowing down. 


Finally the hammer fell 

Upon the dung heap and its smell 

For a billion squillion quid 

Which a pine wood plank had bid. 

It stepped up forth and with a grin it 

Claimed the heap and all within it, 

Then I knew this plank of wealth 

Had only gone and bought myself. 


Bound in chains I was dragged away 

To labour in the docking bay 

Of an interstellar cruiser 

That my plank bought down the boozer. 

All day long I parked the shuttles 

Of important high-brow Yuttles, 

These were creatures from Uranus 

That the planks of wood deemed famous. 


By night I had to serve the wine 

As plank and Yuttle wined and dined 

And as they engaged in conversation 

I listened with great consternation 

To their devious cunning plot 

To raid the Earth of all it’s got. 

Their final goal was, I did find, 

The genocide of all mankind. 


To put an end to their alliance 

I announced with great defiance 

That I had an aunt in Crewe 

Who could chop planks right in two 

And she could brew a deadly potion 

Which smelled a bit like sun tan lotion 

And made extra-terrestrial beings 

Mutate into bathroom ceilings. 


Planks and Yuttles turned and stared 

At this audacious slave who’d dared 

To cause them this impediment 

With such a most unlikely aunt. 

Thankfully they bought my story, 

I think they found it rather gory, 

Back to space they fled in terror 

From their most unfortunate error. 


They left me lying on a hill top 

Where the sheep danced to some hip hop 

Music that the shepherd 

Played upon a descant leopard. 

Then a Spanish chef approached 

And grabbed the shepherd by the throat. 

He said "This music scares my kettle, 

Can you play some heavy metal?" 


Obligingly the shepherd shook 

His lengthy curly handled crook 

And on the spotted cat he played 

Motorhead’s Ace Of Spades

The sheep went wild and shook their heads 

And tore their fleecy coats to shreds 

’Til all the hill top was knee deep 

In wool and frantic naked sheep. 


I tried to walk but slipped and stumbled 

In the mass of wool I tumbled, 

Down the hill side I did roll 

Until I hit a sack of coal. 

The Spanish chef then caught me up 

And said I looked a bit fed up 

So he would cook some aubergines 

That we could eat with ruptured spleens. 


From the skies he hailed a pigeon 

Which he told to fetch his kitchen. 

I said "You should not really go 

To all this trouble for me, you know." 

But then the faithful bird returned 

And said "Your kitchen has been burned 

By your careless daughter Florence, 

But you can claim on the insurance." 


The Spanish chef began to cry, 

The pigeon pecked him in the thigh, 

"As I was flying back this way 

I stopped off at a Take-Away. 

They had no aubergine and spleens 

And so I nipped behind the scenes 

And slipped their kitchen ’eath my wing 

And that is what to you I bring." 


It dropped the kitchen on the ground. 

We stepped inside and there we found 

The biggest pile of oregano 

Made entirely from Meccano. 

Amazed, I stared without a word 

Upon this splendid model herb 

Of gears and levers, cogs and wheels, 

The ideal seasoning for a meal. 


And as I gazed in wonderment 

The chef performed a sacrament. 

He blessed the oregano pile 

And prayed it never be defiled. 

The oregano then responded, 

"Chef and herb have now been bonded, 

You must enter my machinery 

And become part of my scenery." 


Clockwork leaves then opened wide, 

The Spanish chef then stepped inside. 

The opening closed with just a squelch 

And then the herb discharged a belch. 

Once more it spoke, this time to me 

"I hope that you can also see 

That we two must be joined together, 

I shall have you, come whatever." 


"No," I said, "I’ll never follow 

That poor chef that you’ve just swallowed. 

Surely it is most absurd, 

A chef being eaten by a herb!" 

I turned towards the kitchen door 

And found that it was there no more. 

I looked around and was most shocked 

To notice every exit blocked. 


And then the pile began to crawl, 

I backed away into the wall. 

Closer still, inexorably 

My nemesis crept up to me, 

Robot arms thrust out at speed 

And grasped me by the wrists and feet. 

Then suddenly I did remember - 

I don’t have an Auntie Brenda. 



Shitespace | Stories

copyright © Shitespace 1994 - 2023

terms | privacy | cookies | contact