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One quick strike against political correctness

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Rasta monkey

My Golliwog

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When GOF was just a little boy,
His possessions very few,
A teddy bear, a pedal car,
And neither one was new.

My Dad was not a healthy man,
The War of course did that,
We'd visit him in hospital,
At Heidelberg Repat.

He'd while away his time in there,
Making toys, and learning skills,
Fabric Donald Ducks,
Stuffed with kapok fills.

Dad made me a golliwog,
Knitted, with pretty stripes,
Little gof had something new,
His world felt just so right.

As years passed, Golly was,
Symbolically for me,
A memory of both hardship,
And the strength of family.

And then with just a single stroke,
Of bureaucratic pen,
They told me I could never call him
Golliwog again.

He used to be in my dictionary,
Somewhere 'tween golf and gore,
But Golly got removed somehow,
'Cause he offended modern lore.

Some snivelling little self appointed
Arbiter of my tongue,
Decided Golly was racist,
And unsuitable for the young.

They messed around with innocence,
And purity of thought.
And furnished it with ugliness
Where previous there was nought.

Well stuff ya political correctness,
You Hitler wannabees,
My colourful little friend will always be
My GOLLIWOG to me.

(Ed;  The 1957 Oxford dictionary;
"Golliwog  n quaint black doll of formal pattern with fuzzy black hair."

Words per se are not racist.  It is the intent with which they are used which make them thus)

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Poisoning pigeons in the park

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"Tom Lehrer is the most brilliant song satirist ever recorded."

Not my words, and nothing more needs to be added.  

GOF would like to acknowledge Tom Lehrers recent 80th birthday by sharing his song lyrics, in a celebration of political incorrectness.


Spring is here, a-suh-puh-ring is here.
Life is skittles and life is beer.
I think the loveliest time of the year is the spring.
I do, don't you? 'Course you do.
But there's one thing that makes spring complete for me,
And makes ev'ry Sunday a treat for me.

All the world seems in tune
On a spring afternoon,
When we're poisoning pigeons in the park.
Ev'ry Sunday you'll see
My sweetheart and me,
As we poison the pigeons in the park.

When they see us coming, the birdies all try an' hide,
But they still go for peanuts when coated with cyanide.
The sun's shining bright,
Ev'rything seems all right,
When we're poisoning pigeons in the park.


We've gained notoriety,
And caused much anxiety
In the Audubon Society
With our games.
They call it impiety,
And lack of propriety,
And quite a variety
Of unpleasant names.
But it's not against any religion
To want to dispose of a pigeon.

So if Sunday you're free,
Why don't you come with me,
And we'll poison the pigeons in the park.
And maybe we'll do
In a squirrel or two,
While we're poisoning pigeons in the park.

We'll murder them{ all }amid laughter and merriment.
Except for the few we take home to experiment.
My pulse will be quickenin'
With each drop of strychnine
We feed to a pigeon.
It just takes a smidgen!
To poison a pigeon in the park.

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