alittlepoison

Tony Blair is blending some fruit for his morning Power Shake when his mind suddenly unravels… it is the near future following the American Presidential election and the ousting of the Bush administration in favour of Ralph Nader’s, Green Party.

Apple, celery, carrots, Kelly. David Kelly dead man now. Dead David Kelly slashed his wrists, carrots, celery, Kelly, ice cubes. Cherie, come there’s blood everywhere; blood shake pumping veins, thumping trains in Spain and help! Cherie, help, I’m all alone. I’m all to blame and I’m all alone.

Alone now, Cherie. Remember when my ideol-o-lolli-gee-oli-goligy came from my heart? Now she’s gone… he’s gone… is Bush, Cherie, Bush’s gone, he is, accursed heart. They’re voting soon, the votes’ll come calling. Celery, carrots, where’s my mango? Piling up slowly, pouring all over me, not a vote for me, none for my party. No one is coming, can you hear me darling, no one is coming to my birthday party!

Millions of millions are marching the streets … the blood at their feets … blood that I spilt on the banana nana banana ba-ba-ja, the Spaniards and Britons and ‘Stralians and death. A little Iraqi boy cursed me, his very last breath… b-b-bullets and carrots and watching the juice flow and Osama he’s somewhere in a Cave in the Algiers … we haven’t bombed no one for years … quick let’s plum them!

Oxford, Eton, beaten bruised fruit … What’s his name Johnny Johnny, they shooed his butt through too. Mustn’t say cuss words, sorry plum Mummy. Sorry bruised Bushy; must never eat Curry. Bomb Curry, eat fruit. Heart by-pass is pumping my blood - wrong way - blood pump out of wrists! Wrong way! Sorry Kelly, keep quiet … sorry TV B-B-C! No I’m not, ’cause I’m lying! Funny, funny, me, funny, me B-B-C!

(Singing) I’ve got the whole world in my hands; I’ve got the whole damn fruit bowl…

I’m gonna, banana, vote Conserve and plum jam the tanks. Wash on the banks of the shores of the Thatcher and Major and oops and oh no. Oh no. Methinks me’s the next! It’s me that’s the next … target - Bali bomb, not for long, Moro-co-can beans of my coffee … stop me - Casa-bab-blanca and fly a plane, apple plane, into my morning rye dry toast. Boast! But never admit that the terrorists win some limes. No limes.