News0 min ago
The AnswerBank Village Show - The Ode to the Fete
85 Answers
If I have forgotten anybody apologies.
Where are you now, you sunnydave summer days,
That once inspired the my poetic lays and ways?
Blest time! Answerbank's nubiles and moonie swains,
For lack of Anne sunbeams, took to AOG coals
Summer’s light, undimmed by rains,
Whose only MarkRae mocking trace remains
In Mrs O’s watering-pots and Rowan’s spears and parasols.
Thus spoke a Mrs Overall maid,
As, on the morning of the Village Fete
Which AB bards unknown shall celebrate,
She backward drew her curtain's shade,
And, closing one half-dazzled eye,
Peeped with the other at the Clannad sky
The important sky, whose light or gloom
Was to decide, this day, the doom
Of some AB beauties, wits,
Plumbers, Swains, and Exquisites.
Faint were her hopes; for June had now
Set in with all its miserable rigour!
Young Tinkerbell Zephyr yet scarce knowing how
To nurse a male bud, or fan a bough,
But Excelsior in perpetual vigour;
And, such the biting summer air,
That she, the delicious nymph now nestling there
Snug as her own bright Boo-like recline
At night within their Mamya Night Song shrine
Had more than once been caught of late
Kneeling before her blazing chi-chi grate,
Like a young Apotheosis worshipper of fire,
With Venator-like hands uplifted to the flame,
Whose glow as if to woo them nigher.
Thro' the white nibble fingers flushing came.
But oh! McFluff, the light, the unhoped-for light,
That now illumed this morning's Boxie heaven!
Up sprung on an Alba alarm at the sight,
Though hark! The Postdogg clocks strike eleven,
And rarely did the Tinkerbell nymph surprise
Mankind so early with her eyes.
Who now will say that AnswerBank's sun
Like AB's self, these Loftie spendthrift days
Stoke’s stock of wealth near outrun,
And must retrench his betting rays
Pay for the owdhamer pride of sunbeams past,
And to mere Vodka moonshine come at last?
"Calumnious thought!" Tinkerbell cries,
While coming Jemisa mirth lit up each glance,
And, prescient of the ball, her eyes
Already had begun to dance:
For brighter sun than that which now
Sparkled o'er AB's spires and Lady A’s towers,
Had never bent from DrF hell, Mick T’s brow
To kiss Redman's private City of Rowan flowers.
What must it be - if thus so fair.
Mid the smoked groves of Lady J Square
What must it be where Ratter is seen
Gliding between his Carakeel banks of green,
While rival houses, on each side,
Peep from their bowers to woo his cider tide,
And, like an Eccles cake delight, between two rows
Of JJ and Harem beauties, on he goes
A lover, loved for even the grace
With which he slides discreetly from their embrace.
In one of those enchanted NoM domes,
One, the most craftie flowery, cool, and bright
Of all by which that gness woman roams,
The Fete is to be held tonight
That Fete already linked to Ed’s fame,
Whose Tenrec cards, in many a fair one's sight
When looked for long, at last they came,
Seemed circled with a fairy Jan light;
That Fete to which the trolls cull, the wolf flower
Of Answerbank's beauty, rank and Lady power,
From the young Traci spinster, just come out,
To the wizened Gromit, too long in
From legs of far descended Seadogg gout,
To the last new-mustachioed Marval chin
All were convoked by Andy Hughes Fashion Police spells
To the small circle where Sloopy dwells,
Collecting nightly, Sibton’s overt sexiness to allure us,
Live divegirl atoms, which, together hurled,
She, Tinkerbell like another Em10 gooseberry Epicurus,
Sets dancing thus, and calls "the AB World."
Where are you now, you sunnydave summer days,
That once inspired the my poetic lays and ways?
Blest time! Answerbank's nubiles and moonie swains,
For lack of Anne sunbeams, took to AOG coals
Summer’s light, undimmed by rains,
Whose only MarkRae mocking trace remains
In Mrs O’s watering-pots and Rowan’s spears and parasols.
Thus spoke a Mrs Overall maid,
As, on the morning of the Village Fete
Which AB bards unknown shall celebrate,
She backward drew her curtain's shade,
And, closing one half-dazzled eye,
Peeped with the other at the Clannad sky
The important sky, whose light or gloom
Was to decide, this day, the doom
Of some AB beauties, wits,
Plumbers, Swains, and Exquisites.
Faint were her hopes; for June had now
Set in with all its miserable rigour!
Young Tinkerbell Zephyr yet scarce knowing how
To nurse a male bud, or fan a bough,
But Excelsior in perpetual vigour;
And, such the biting summer air,
That she, the delicious nymph now nestling there
Snug as her own bright Boo-like recline
At night within their Mamya Night Song shrine
Had more than once been caught of late
Kneeling before her blazing chi-chi grate,
Like a young Apotheosis worshipper of fire,
With Venator-like hands uplifted to the flame,
Whose glow as if to woo them nigher.
Thro' the white nibble fingers flushing came.
But oh! McFluff, the light, the unhoped-for light,
That now illumed this morning's Boxie heaven!
Up sprung on an Alba alarm at the sight,
Though hark! The Postdogg clocks strike eleven,
And rarely did the Tinkerbell nymph surprise
Mankind so early with her eyes.
Who now will say that AnswerBank's sun
Like AB's self, these Loftie spendthrift days
Stoke’s stock of wealth near outrun,
And must retrench his betting rays
Pay for the owdhamer pride of sunbeams past,
And to mere Vodka moonshine come at last?
"Calumnious thought!" Tinkerbell cries,
While coming Jemisa mirth lit up each glance,
And, prescient of the ball, her eyes
Already had begun to dance:
For brighter sun than that which now
Sparkled o'er AB's spires and Lady A’s towers,
Had never bent from DrF hell, Mick T’s brow
To kiss Redman's private City of Rowan flowers.
What must it be - if thus so fair.
Mid the smoked groves of Lady J Square
What must it be where Ratter is seen
Gliding between his Carakeel banks of green,
While rival houses, on each side,
Peep from their bowers to woo his cider tide,
And, like an Eccles cake delight, between two rows
Of JJ and Harem beauties, on he goes
A lover, loved for even the grace
With which he slides discreetly from their embrace.
In one of those enchanted NoM domes,
One, the most craftie flowery, cool, and bright
Of all by which that gness woman roams,
The Fete is to be held tonight
That Fete already linked to Ed’s fame,
Whose Tenrec cards, in many a fair one's sight
When looked for long, at last they came,
Seemed circled with a fairy Jan light;
That Fete to which the trolls cull, the wolf flower
Of Answerbank's beauty, rank and Lady power,
From the young Traci spinster, just come out,
To the wizened Gromit, too long in
From legs of far descended Seadogg gout,
To the last new-mustachioed Marval chin
All were convoked by Andy Hughes Fashion Police spells
To the small circle where Sloopy dwells,
Collecting nightly, Sibton’s overt sexiness to allure us,
Live divegirl atoms, which, together hurled,
She, Tinkerbell like another Em10 gooseberry Epicurus,
Sets dancing thus, and calls "the AB World."
Answers
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Behold how busy ABers in those BigJack bowers
Like May-flies in and out of flowers.
The countless menials, swarming run,
To furnish forth ere set of dave’s poor sun
The Mamya banquet-table richly laid
Beneath yon awning's lengthened shade,
Where Murraymints personal fruit shall tempt and wines entice,
And Luxury's self, at LieInKing's call,
Breathe from her summer-throne of PolarBear ice
A spirit of coolness over all.
And now the important Factor hour drew nigh,
When, 'neath the flush of evening's sky,
The AYG-end "world" for jno’s mirth let loose,
And moved, as she Mrs Overall of Syrup and Excuse
Ne'er dreamt of moving Maggiebee worlds, by force
Of four nungate llama power, had all combined
Thro' TTFN Gate to speed their course,
Leaving that portion of Tony’s mankind,
Whom they call "Plumberman," behind; By goodlife’s copied “Jehovah”, he’s again to the local A&E
No star for AB's feasts to-day,
No moon of Queen of Mean beauty, new this May,
To lend the night her smowball crescent ray;
Nothing, in short, for ear, Toes, or eye,
But veteran CraigWhite belles and wits gone by,
The relics of a past beau-monde,
A world like Prudie's, long dethroned!
Even Ed’s Mods’ Parliament this evening nods
Beneath the harangues of minor AB Rae Gods,
On half its usual AB gin opiate's share;
The great dispensers of repose,
The first-rate furnishers of AB prose
Being all called to record the Fete--prose elsewhere.
Like May-flies in and out of flowers.
The countless menials, swarming run,
To furnish forth ere set of dave’s poor sun
The Mamya banquet-table richly laid
Beneath yon awning's lengthened shade,
Where Murraymints personal fruit shall tempt and wines entice,
And Luxury's self, at LieInKing's call,
Breathe from her summer-throne of PolarBear ice
A spirit of coolness over all.
And now the important Factor hour drew nigh,
When, 'neath the flush of evening's sky,
The AYG-end "world" for jno’s mirth let loose,
And moved, as she Mrs Overall of Syrup and Excuse
Ne'er dreamt of moving Maggiebee worlds, by force
Of four nungate llama power, had all combined
Thro' TTFN Gate to speed their course,
Leaving that portion of Tony’s mankind,
Whom they call "Plumberman," behind; By goodlife’s copied “Jehovah”, he’s again to the local A&E
No star for AB's feasts to-day,
No moon of Queen of Mean beauty, new this May,
To lend the night her smowball crescent ray;
Nothing, in short, for ear, Toes, or eye,
But veteran CraigWhite belles and wits gone by,
The relics of a past beau-monde,
A world like Prudie's, long dethroned!
Even Ed’s Mods’ Parliament this evening nods
Beneath the harangues of minor AB Rae Gods,
On half its usual AB gin opiate's share;
The great dispensers of repose,
The first-rate furnishers of AB prose
Being all called to record the Fete--prose elsewhere.
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