Moron vs Moron
(or: Jarvis would have said this so much better)

There are beatings abroad in the streets tonight
And kickings, and nuttings, and stabbings, and more
Knuckle-headed oaf against knuckle-headed oaf
Idiot on idiot, drunken bint slapping drunken bint

Outside the kebab shop, lairy wolves gobble lamb
Eyeing the competition like no-brained monsters
"Are you lookin' at my bird, you dirty facker?"
"Why don't you come here and say that, you cunt?"

The ritual: heads down, no nonsense charging
Dragging their dumb girths, the lumbering beasts
Belch seventeen pints into the doner-scented night
As they size each other up for a right good pasting

Kebabs onto concrete, thrown at the prissy feet of
Adoring white-stilettoed dolly birds, mini-skirted
To the point of no lewd imagination required
Freezing their tits off in the name of the skin game

"Hit him, Dwayne! Fackin' hit him! Knock him dahn!
He was starin' at my arse! He touched it! My arse!
That's your arse, Dwayne! Your fackin' arse!
Give him what for, lover. Give him bleedin' what for!"

"He was not! My Dave does not fancy yours!
Do you, Dave? Do you? Tell 'er, Dave! Tell 'er!
You're a bony slag, Denise! A bony fackin' slag!
Would be like humpin' a bleedin' bag of spanners!"

And so cat fight takes on git fight takes on
Helpless pubbers and E'd-up good time clubbers
The little that passes for brains gets splattered
Amongst the remains of slippery mutton stench

The men's fists are limp and useless, tanked up
On gassy lager, whisky chasers, roasted peanuts
They leave it to head-butting, groping, grunting
Near homoerotic, save for kicking and spitting

See the neanderthals in their natural environment
We marvel as evolution slides back to the caves
Words now too much for their addled constitutions
All thought thrown out for the dull thud of foreheads

"He's got a blade, Dave! He's got a bloody blade!"
The chaos stops short with a sickening squelch
As sharp Sheffield steel meets Fred Perry shirt
Meets hairy beer belly meets thick-set thug heart

Bring blues and twos and sirens if you must
Though sense would say leave the tableau there
With tottering totty knelt and cradling shaven head
As the victorious gorilla beats his chest in male pride

How I love the sound of violence on a sick summer night
Spewing out of gutters, rising up from greasy spoons
Yeah, so there's one dead moron, another behind bars
But it's a price worth paying for a little peace and quiet


Ani Smith said...

Fookin 'ell, mate, just another Friday night down the pub then.

xTx said...

i enjoyed this. it was like dancing with my mind.

Ani Smith said...

Bloody hell I just realised it's the fackin' Royle Family!

Ani Smith said...

Oh my god, you killed Dave!

You bastard!

An Unreliable Witness said...

Ani - I don't know any areas of London that are like this at pub chucking-out time. Ahem.

xTz - You have Friday night kebab-fuelled punch-ups in your mind? Wow. I am in awe.

Ani - Royle family? Royle family, my arse!

Ani - Hang on, I thought it was the Royle family, not South Park?

Ani Smith said...

Oooh baby XTZ ... very freudian!

An Unreliable Witness said...

xTz? That may have been a Freudian comment. Just sayin'. ;)

Ellie said...


Monkeypotpie said...

Real. This is real and i like it.

Also, I'm smashed.