An Ode to Gordon Ramsay (Yep, More Bad Poetry)

Gordon fucking Ramsay sure is a fucking prick
All his fucking swearing makes me fucking sick
His use of fucking curse words drives me fucking mad
He thinks he’s fucking macho, it’s really fucking sad

You’re just a fucking cook, you foul-mouthed fucking twat
You don’t impress me one bit when you act like a fucking brat
Fuck this, fuck that, fuck me, fuck you - change the fucking script
It’s fucking quite pathetic to watch you come unzipped

Cooking is a task traditionally done by females
But they get by quite easily without any curse-word wails
Wanna hear my theory, about Gordon fucking Ramsay?
The swearing’s just a cover-up - to hide he’s fucking gay

Nothing wrong with being gay, accept it Gordon please
Stop your fucking swearing and do something special with peas
Try to be a nice guy - it surely wouldn’t hurt
Try coming out of the closet and cook in a frilly skirt

A Little Bit of (Bad) Poetry

A man smoked hand rolled cigarettes
But he was lazy as you can get
So he trained a lizard to lick the paper
Compared to a snake it was bound to be safer
The only problem he had with it
Was all his smokes tasted like lizard spit

One sad day his trained lizard died
The lazy smoker coughed and cried
“Now I’ll have do it all myself “
He cursed a bit…”Oh bloody hell”
He started to think of a different plan
While munching on a strawberry flan

He made a smoke - what an ordeal
“I’ve got it” he said “I’ll train an eel!”
After some thought and deliberation
His initial joy turned to consternation
“They’re slimy and slippery and live in water”
“Every smoke would taste like snotter”

Pretty soon he took up toking
A better proposition than just plain smoking
Only problem was it took more toil
That was something that made him boil
How to get stoned with minimum effort
He’d think of something - he was an expert

One day stoned, well out of his brain
Thinking of easier ways again and again
Maybe a snake wasn’t so bad an idea
To give his skins that saliva smear
Rolling was a chore he’d endure
But licking that glue, he wasn’t so sure

Zonked again, he captured a rattler
With a tongue just right for licking a rizla
He tried the snake out later that night
“Wonder if it’ll bite me?” Too fucking right!
Breathing his last he said to the snake
Go dig my grave, and organise my wake