A guest blog by Jan Nieupjur.
Editors note: Jan is as mad as a box of frogs but we tolerate him in deference to his age and mental health issues ( a bit like the queen).
The smell of jeys fluid
brings to mind the pigman
resplendant in leather jerkin
(quintessential yeoman garb, favoured by crusaders I'm told)
teaching a ten year old me
to castrate piglets
as they lay in the haulm
in the shed beside the pond,
made mucky by Muscovy ducks, ugly birds
as, amid the squeals of porcine indignation,
the testicles, once freed by the snick of a scalpel
were condemned to
a bucket of said Jeys fluid
and then fed to the pigs no doubt
who didn't give a shit about
the ingredients of the gravy.
Were that now of course
the plump young testicles
would be placed gently in tubs of
garlic infused oil, in the farm shop,
then sold, erroniously described
as lambs bollocks
to the many middle eastern assylum seekers
who now till our land
until the Tories send them packing
to their deaths at the
hands of donald trump
on his present day crusade for the normalisation of insanity.
A crusader short of a jerkin
and less inteligent than a pigs testicle
a pigs testicle in a bucket of Jeys fluid.