Hubert & Smith's Poetry Corner #3 – baby hate special!
London is Funny's new bloggers, stand-up Andrea Hubert and writer Daniel Smith, are back. Over the next few months [let's see how it goes yeah? - Ed] they'll be slamming down some worldly wise poetry that pretty much nails the human condition.
Here's how it works – each fortnight, Daniel and Andrea set each other the task of writing a poem on a particular title.
And here's instalment 3, in which the pair invoke their nurturing side
Please Stop Making Me Lie About Your Baby’s Face
Title set by Hubert, poem written by Smith
Fortunately, I cannot have children,
Unfortunately, you're not quite so barren.
Cue your attempts to tease out my blessing,
Knowing full-well that your spawn is distressing.
You seem to have bred with a boglin or goat,
Or a dried apricot with the face of a scrot-um.
Under this light it looks highly distorted,
Really you should have just got it aborted.
But no, you will not just let me be silent,
Accept that your baby's aesthetically violent.
Bound as I am to say something nice,
You make me spout pleasant and contrary lies.
Things that make me want to puke
Title set by Smith, poem written by Hubert
I think I should just get this thing out of way,
And hope that you don't judge me much when I say:
That when I see twin babies fused at the head,
My brain makes me think "Wow, I wish I were dead."
It's the same sentiment that makes my lunch rise,
When you see a kid who hasn't got enough eyes,
And the one that he's blessed with just wobbles around,
Like a one of those Weebles that just won't fall down.
Or an adult in a suspiciously full nappy,
That hangs down too far to make anyone happy,
Yet he grins like that creepy plasticine dog Gromit,
Hang on, excuse me – I just have to vomit.
Look, I'll admit it IS cuter if they're completely identical,
But when one curls out of the other like a humanoid tentacle.
I just feel its kinder to let them die on the quiet,
And make sure you exercise and watch your diet.
So that next time you get yourself caught up the spout,
You don't produce something that looks like a trout,
That got caught in the jaws of a retarded poodle,
With a neck that's as strong as a wet ramen noodle.
Because noodle-necked twins have no chance in this life,
Of making good money or finding a wife,
Except if she's got issues that just won't go away,
Plus a fetish for only the most gruesome of threeways.
Smith note: "This was not the title Daniel gave Andrea. Daniel would never use the word ‘puke’, unless he was trying to rhyme with a word that rhymed with ‘puke’. As neither Andrea nor Daniel want to check their old emails, the actual title that was given to Andrea will never be known."
Hubert & Smith's Poetry Corner will return in two weeks