Rocks

If you manage to pull it out you, um, become King of the Fruits I guess.


Tonight at the pub quiz I learnt that Tolstoy had a really big beard. Seriously, dude looks like he stuck his face in a hedgehog. I bet the working title for 'War & Peace' was 'War, Peace, and My Awesome Beard' but the publishers made him change it.

Anyway, you may have noticed I added a 'reasons to read' thing in the sidebar. For those of you who have only recently become faithful followers of this my excellent blog, it's just quick links to some posts which Andrea & I consider worth reading. You'll notice that while this blog has over 230 posts in total (yeah, I know, who would've thought I had so much nothing to talk about) I have only listed 7 in the sidebar. This isn't some kind of quality/quantity ratio indicator, just a demonstration of my extreme self-restraint.

There was a paragraph here but it was pretty racist so I deleted it.

Andrea and I were also talking about which Google search phrases bring people to our respective blogs (you can check that kind of thing, you know). At the moment most of my Google referrals come from people searching for 'today is my birthday' (although 'enormous banana' and 'airplane hangover' have also brought in their fair share.) However, I was wondering if maybe my blog would experience a sudden jump in popularity should I include more commonly-searched Google terms. You know, things like transformer porn and real ninja attacks and swine zombies. If you think I missed something let me know.

We'll see.

Anyway, here's a poem. This is called Ode to The Rock, and is about a musician I used to know, who thought he was a-may-zing. The Rock was one of his nicknames. One of the other ones was The Shark.

Just imagine it's about a douchebag and you're delivering it in a really over-dramatic tone, and you'll more or less have a handle on it. (It's number 2 of a series: number 1 was very similar and called Ode to Tod, but I can't find it, and number 3 is still in the works.)


Ode to The Rock

You see him walk into the room; you see the ladies flock.
How lucky are we all to share a planet with the Rock!

When searching for a haven for your ship of love to dock,
Look no farther than the harbour of the ardour of the Rock!

Not a single pimple his face would dare to pock;
Smooth as a baby’s bottom is the surface of the Rock.

At the rainbow’s end of romance, he is that treasured crock
If not gold, you must admit he’s full of something, is the Rock.

When he’s in the room, common sense is out of stock
We all fall upon our faces at the altar of the Rock!

There’s nothing he can’t play, no musical door he can’t unlock
It’s theorised that Mozart had nothing on the Rock.

If he should stoop to look at me, my knees begin to knock
A rose by any other name is simply called, ‘the Rock.’

Our hands met on a pencil with an electric shock -
It could have been the carpet, but I think it was the Rock.

The other day he spoke to me! I cried out, “Stop the clock!
I want to stay forever in this moment with the Rock!”

He fixes everything, from leprosy to writer's block,
And every night I pray, “Hey, God…hand over to the Rock.”

I remember when the concept of true love I used to mock -
Then something smashed the window of my heart. It was... the Rock.