Month: March 1993

Writing 25 years later, this piece seems in extraordinarily bad taste.

Not only did the death of Princess Diana transform her overnight from being a valid butt of jokes to being more or less untouchable with comedy…

…but in any case I suspect that any jokes about bulimia would be considered poor taste now.

Back in the 1990s though, this quickie often had the audience in raptures – it ran and ran. That’s what sick humour can do.

Here’s the quickie lyric – short and not at all sweet:

SHE AIN’T HEAVY, SHE’S BULIMIC

(Sickie Quickie to the Tune of “He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother”)

The colon’s long,

With many a winding turn;

The dinners that you prepare,

Should get there.

But the food,

Isn’t staying down at all;

She ain’t heavy,

She’s bulimic.

In May of that year, I paired the lyric with a short sketch, thus:

EATING DISORDERS

(A quickie sketch plus quickie song)

NOSH AND THROW

VIDAL:Hello.  My name’s Vidal Sassoon; and I’ve always been a great admirer of this scrawny cow.

DIANA:My name’s Princess Di; and Vidal Sassoon makes me throw up.

VIDAL:Still. Business is business.  So putting our differences aside, we’ve developed this wonderful new calorie controlled diet.

(Holds up sample)

It’s called “Nosh……

DIANA:…..and Throw”.

SHE AIN’T HEAVY, SHE’S BULIMIC

(Sickie Quickie to the Tune of “He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother”)

The colon’s long,

With many a winding turn;

The dinners that you prepare,

Should get there.

But the food,

Isn’t staying down at all;

She ain’t heavy,

She’s bulimic.

The lyric was sometimes paired as above, sometimes with other sketches or skits that made it seem more topical, but it ran in the show on and off for years.

Here is another version of the lyric from April 1995 with a story about the then Lady Althorp, Di’s sister-in-law, who apparently was also bulimic.

EATING DISORDERS – LADY ALTHORPE REMIX
(A quickie sketch plus quickie song)

KEEP IT IN THE FAMILY

INTERVIEWER: Lady Althorpe, do eating disorders run in your family?

LADY A: No, but noses run in our family.

INTERVIEWER: That is an extremely old joke, Lady Althorpe.

LADY A: I know, but you can’t keep a good joke down.

INTERVIEWER: I see. And of course, you can’t keep a good meal down either.

SHE AIN’T HEAVY, SHE’S BULIMIC
(Sickie Quickie to the Tune of “He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother”)

The colon’s long,
With many a winding turn;
The dinners that you prepare,
Should get there.

But the food,
Isn’t staying down at all;
She ain’t heavy,
She’s bulimic.

OUTRO

LADY A: That’s really sick humour, you know.

INTERVIEWER: I know.

Below is a vid showing the Hollies performing “He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother”:

This link – click here – will show you the Hollies lyrics.

My lean run of form was to come to an end after this one – a week later I wrote a corker – but this lyric, like the several that preceded it, was missing the mark for the show.

Writing in March 2018, I realise that the notion of Italian politics being in a total mess is always topical and therefore (in a way) never topical.

WAKE YE UP SIGNORE AMATO

 (To the Tune of “Wake Me Up Before You Go Go”)

 

Lines to be sung correspondingly by the corrupt and the law enforcers.  Yehs, yehs to be provided by yourselves.

 

VERSE 1

Corrupting Italy, reacting bitterly, corrupting Italy, reacting bitterly

You put the kickback into my hand,

They’re on the make down Naples and up in Milan;

Corruption spreading the land,

A state of pay that Ancient Romans would understand.

Di Pietro, he’s no fool,

With his metro-politan rules;

This skulduggery we know ain’t right,

You’ve made a buggery and Italy is in the shite.

 

CHORUS 1

Wake ye up Signore Amato, else your government must departo,

Wake ye up Signore Amato, don’t want to miss it when you nail that heist;

On the make with lots of Dagos, Eyetie Government’s move we prego,

On the make with lots of Dagos, take me grafting tonight,

I wanna get that bribe, yeh yeh yeh.

 

VERSE 2

You took the job from Bettino Craxi,

He’s on a graft charge now he spends all day in the Jacksy;

You tried to keep your voce sotto,

You’re in a worse mess than Canal Cafe Risotto.

Watch the English say we’re daft,

They distinguish us for our graft;

They’ll be laughing, so effetely,

Greasy palming, English just do more discretely (absurd Masonic handshakes).

 

CHORUS 2

Shake them up Signore Amato, or the crowds’ll throw you ripe tomatoes,

Shake them up Signore Amato, don’t want to miss it when you nail that bribe;

Shake them up before you go broke, Or the Eyeties’ll want a new bloke,

Shake them up before you go broke, or this is election year,

Like almost every year.

Below is a vid of Wham singing Wake Me Up Before You Go Go – to read the lyrics too you need to click through to the vid here instead:

Another one that I don’t think was used, although I rather like this one.

The US troops dropped some inappropriate stuff in an attempt to provide relief to/for the Bosnian Muslims.

I think I covered the matter with subtlety and grace.

I GOT BACON

(To the Tune of “I Got Rhythm”)

 

INTRO – US TROOP

In this fast and troubled world,

We sometimes lose our crates;

Of food intended for,

Muslims in Bosnia.

Do do do do do do do do

 

VERSE 1 – BOSNIAN MUSLIMS, RUMMAGING THROUGH CRATES

I got bacon,

I got pork chops,

I got crackling,

Who could ask for anything more?

I got matzos,

Kosher bagels,

Hebrew prayer books,

Will they send us anything more?

 

MIDDLE BIT 1 – US TROOP

Old man Clinton, sent the poor food,

We dropped more food,

In the Serb village next door.

 

VERSE 2 – BACK TO BOSNIAN MUSLIMS, RUMMAGING THROUGH CRATES

I got books by,

Salman Rushdie, (rubs head)

Heavy reading,

Will those jerks send anything more?

 

MIDDLE BIT 2 – A BOSNIAN MUSLIM

Old man Clinton, please deny us,

Don’t supply us,

With this weighty crap no more.

 

VERSE 3 – BOSNIAN MUSLIMS

I got headaches,

Crate hit my bonce,

I’ve concussion,

Can’t remember anything more,

Can’t remember anything more.

(Silence – exit stage looking confused and bemused)

Below is The Happenings version of I Got Rhythm on vid:

Click here for the lyrics for the above vid.

My lean run of writing continued into early March. I still had plenty of material in the show because I had written some corkers over Christmas and into January that were running and running.

This one was about the band Suede which must have been the most heavily hyped band since…

…the previously most heavily hyped band.

Anyway, here is the quickie, which understandably didn’t make the cut.

NEW SUEDE TUNES

(A quickie to the Tune of “Blue Suede Shoes”)

 

INTRO

And now, the band rock journalists have all been talking about;

The greatest band since………the last band we said was the greatest band;

The band you’ve all been waiting for;

Here they are, the one, the only:

Suede.

 

THE SONG

Well it’s:

One heap of money,

Two boring shows,

Three all screw the groupie,

Then go catch doses,

So don’t you,

Egg on those new Suede tunes,

Overhype anything,

But stay offa those new Suede tunes.

Below is a vid showing Elvis Presley singing Blue Suede Shoes:

Click here for the lyrics of Blue Suede Shoes.

Just in case the whole Suede thing passed you by…

…I mean, even I bought the album and they are said to have been the first of the 1990s Britpop sensations so Suede must have been hyped bigly…

…below is a vid of Suede singing Animal Nitrate:

I was going through a rich seam of unusable ideas at that time – late February to early March 1993 – perhaps the longest string of unused items in my whole NewsRevue writing (so-called) career.

I have a feeling that Janie and I took a long weekend in the Derbyshire peaks around that time, doing some walking in freezing temperatures and that I wrote a few of these duds there. Proof positive that I need warmth and comfort in order to be funny.

This lyric has some good lines; I think it is a good read. But it does not have performance quality to it.

ZAIRE OF THE BRAT

(To the Tune of “The Year Of The Cat”)

VERSE 1

Like an extra from a James Bond movie,

In a toque made of pure leopard’s skin;

He goes strolling through the crowds like Butelesi,

Contemplating a sin.

Now his name’s Mobutu and he may well shoot you,

If you say his country is in strife;

Don’t bother asking for resignations,

He’s the President for life,

In Zaire of the brat.

VERSE 2

In Kinshasa people don’t ask questions,

When he takes other’s wives for kicks;

Despite the rise of AIDS and such infections,

In the Zairian sticks.

Been allowed to stay ‘cos the USA,

Had maintained Mobutu by mistake;

George Bush was pushed and now Bill Clinton’s,

Leaving fire in his wake,

For this Zairian brat.

MIDDLE BIT

He’ll be overthrown ideally,

In Kinshasa by a more liberal team;

He speaks in poor French and Swahili,

Liked Ceausescu and reads Machiavelli,

He’s a Zairian brat.

VERSE 3

So this chief Mobutu Sese Seko,

Is an African man we should watch;

With his glass of pink Champagne in Belgian Congo,

He’s completely lost touch.

Since the sanctions came he’s not been the same,

‘Cos he knows he ought to be afraid;

Katanga, Zabanga, and he’s thrown over,

But for now he’s going to stay,

In Zaire of the brat.

Zaire of the brat.

I tried an update of this lyric, dated 23 May 1997, which I’m pretty sure also remained unused in NewsRevue:

ZAIRE OF THE BRATS
(To the Tune of “The Year Of The Cat”)

VERSE 1

Like an extra from a James Bond movie,
In a toque made of pure leopard’s skin;
He goes strolling through the crowds like Butelesi,
Contemplating a sin.
Now his name’s Mobutu and he don’t like Hutus,
Or Tutsis in his land of strife;
Don’t bother asking for resignations,
Thinks he’s President for life,
In Zaire of the brat.

VERSE 2

In Kinshasa people don’t ask questions,
They just pray that a change leads to peace;
Despite the rise of AIDS and such infections,
Amongst the poor Congolese.
Laurent Kabila is a wheeler dealer,
Let us hope he’s not a big mistake;
Off goes Mobutu with his prostate cancer,
Leaving fire in his wake,
In Zaire of the brats.

MIDDLE BIT

He’s been overthrown ideally,
In Kinshasa by Kabila and crew;
Who speak in English and Swahili,
Like Ceausescu and read Machiavelli,
Just more Zairean brats?

VERSE 3

So this chief Mobutu Sese Seko,
Is an African man on the skids;
With his glass of pink Champagne now in Morocco,
He’s not got long to live.
With his cancer such a pain in the crutch,
Perhaps a victim of a voodoo curse;
Katanga, Zabanga, and he’s thrown over,
For better or for worse,
In Zaire of the brats.
Zaire of the brats.

Below is a very good live vid of Al Stewart singing “Year Of The Cat”:

Click here to read the lyrics of Year Of The Cat.

I’m pretty sure this one wasn’t used and I’m pretty sure that it’s lack of performance makes sense.

It reads better than it sings…

…and it doesn’t read all that well.

In later years, ideas of this kind, which flatter to deceive when they first come to mind, would sit on the jotter for years or for ever with just a few key words waiting for inspiration.

YOUNG ROGUES

(To the Tune of “Young Girl”)

 

INTRO – PC PLOD

Young rogues, offend all the time, delinquency is Britain’s top crime;

Tory old fogues will punish young rogues.

 

VERSE 1 – A TORY MINISTER (e.g. THE PM)

With all the charms of Atilla,

We’ve bred the outcasts of our youth;

We Tories do believe a short sharp shock behind the lock,

Will make these youngsters less uncouth.

 

CHORUS 1 – STILL THE TORY

Oh, oh, oh, young rogues, have got out of line,

We’ll build secure homes for them to serve time;

Read the Sun rogues, we should hang young rogues.

 

VERSE 2 – AN ANGLICAN MINISTER

Beneath their striped shirts and face masks,

They just are babies in disguise;

And as we know Tory policy is villainy,

The clergy wants to sympathise.

 

CHORUS 2 – STILL THE SOFT ANGLICAN

Oh, oh, oh, young rogues, are misunderstood,

And God believes all villains are good,

So have fun rogues, we forgive young rogues.

 

VERSE 3 – BACK TO THE PLOD

We take kids home to their mamas,

Who don’t care where their children are;

We want the law to make parents pay for kids affray,

Cos their misdeeds are down to pa.

 

CHORUS 3 – ALL THREE

Oh, oh, oh, young rogues, and juvenile crime,

We always claim “getting worse at this time”,

We can’t unfurl, the cause of young rogues.

Young rogues must follow our lead,

We teach them conflict, we teach them greed,

Do our dung vogues inspire the young rogues?

Below is a vid of Gary Puckett and the Union gap singing Young Girl:

Click here for the lyrics of Young Girl.