Hell’s Angel therapy

The lumberjack song was playing on repeat in my head. I had to do something about it, which in this case means changing the lyrics to suit a word play that my friend made: Hell’s Angel therapy.


I was feeling a bit down of late

Due to the self-doubt gnome’s rare breeding rate.

I could not sleep, I could not run,

I could not crack smile.

My good friend told me to have fun:

Hell’s Angel therapy for a while!


I was learning how to ride them bikes,

How to dress in leather with too many spikes.

I did some drugs, and sold them too,

Assaulted people with primal style.

I learned not to worry,

But put the road behind me by the mile.


Six months of therapy have gone and passed,

I can’t believe the number of friends I’ve amassed.

I killed some too, as they crossed the line,

But that was in the past.

Now I’ll live my life like a normie

And hope that it will last.

I’ll live my life like a normieeeeee,

And hope that it will last!


Barbarian eggplant vampire chutney

Some people say that limericks are the lazy person’s DIY solution to poetry. They might be correct, as I tend to be quite lazy and I wrote three just now. However, I like limericks, as the form and rhythm are beautiful, and I hope that a surprising topic choice ensures that they are something more than a bunch of clichés. Don’t pay any attention to the fact that the form is all over the place. Or to the fact that the rhymes are ham-fisted. Otherwise they’re pretty ok. Maybe.


I bought a car made of chutney.

The seats covers and seats, they were muttoney.

It drove fine in the cold,

But in May the blue mold,

Made it smell like an unwashed, old butt… -ney.


The comfy coffin of a vampire child,

Disowns all things brutal and wild.

He’s had flat screens installed

And you know he skype-called

His old-fashioned dad, now exiled.


A tomato, the one you eat with cheese,

Is “barbarian eggplant” in literal Chinese.

No wonder it’s red,

As it strikes its foes dead,

And steals their provisions with ease.