Please find below, the desperate entry that I hope will win me some fine, original artwork (and a crisp Scottish tenner, if such a thing exists), that would set off my newly decorated hall just right.
Ahem...
'Twas the night before Christmas, Roger stifled a yawn,
He coughed then he farted and he realised he’d gone,
To the place he’d created, the land of Beau Peep,
Where all of people were as simple as sheep.
He knew he was dreaming, without shadow of doubt,
When he saw poor old Beau kiss a pink brussel sprout,
Dennis was watching, laughing hard as you like
Riding ‘round Beau on a seven wheeled bike.
The Vulture, so lazy, he just stood around,
Looking for carrion, dead on the ground,
He looked to the left, where he saw a dead goat,
And discovered The Nomad in an outsized fur coat.
The Nomad stood still in a puddle of sweat,
Looking over at Abdul, who showed no regret,
At selling this coat, this one of a kind,
Made from Albino Yeti skin, to someone lacking sound mind.
Roger tried to awake, but stayed stuck in his dream,
Watching poor Hamish licking haggis ice-cream,
Egon laughed too at the sight of this Jock,
But soon he stopped laughing and fell into shock.
For there in his mess room, way way over there,
Was the Colonel sat naked upon Mad Pierre,
He hummed and he whistled, then started to chant,
And finally said “Egon, pass me the Sergeant”.
And so on a platter, (it’s a thing like a tray),
Came a roasted and basted and well seasoned Bidet,
Who looked at the Colonel, said “Enjoy your meal”,
Just as Roger awoke and said, “How bloody surreal!”
So the moral of this tired little, poor rhyming tale,
Is when your lacking ideas and you need out of jail,
It’s easy to think of a story for Peep,
Say “Bollocks” to trying, and just go to sleep.
I know it's not the best, but at least we can all imagine Mince tearing his hair out, correcting my punctuation, and have a laugh.
