Canto the Second

In which the WGC meet Bryan McFadden, and act like spastics

And so to Wales, land of choral singing,
.And leeks, and sheep, and daffodils and dragons,
And birds who are as easy as they’re minging,
.And noods, who throws good beer away in flagons,
Our band advanced. The hills and vales were ringing
.With war-cries, as they bore down on McFadden’s
Vast mansion, which, by luck, g4orce had seen
The week before, in Okay magazine.

He saw them coming, on closed-circuit camera,
.While playing horrid torch-songs on his Steinbach;
They roared so loud, they could be heard in Bangor -
.The sound made Bryan shit his Calvin Klein slacks;
Mike, in particular, was puce with anger,
.“You limp-haired cunt!” he screamed, “Give us our Sign back!”
They brandished broken bottles of Corona,
(Bandy was also brandishing a boner).

“Let’s barrel through the window,” Shane suggested,
..“Like Heinze would, our mental Argie left-back”;
“That’s not advisable,” LB protested,
..“The shards of glass are a potential death-trap.”
Too late! They’d charged it, smashed it, and transgressed it;
.Then once they’d got their bearings, and their breath back,
Each man took up his allocated station -
It was a slick, efficient operation:

Bob was lookout, Ray was looking busy,
.Twenty-Sixth Of barked commands and strictures;
G4orce had a rest, cos he felt dizzy,
.Groundy wiped the CCTV pictures;
Andy got himself into a tizzy,
.And ran around the room, humping the fixtures;
While Shane, with gestures threatening and scary,
Pinned down McFadden, screaming, “WHERE’S OUR KERRY?”

“But wait -” squealed McFadden, “Fellas, please!
..I’ve only ever seen him on the telly!”
“You what?” said Shane, “Kerry Katona! She’s
..Your bloody ex!” and kicked him in the belly;
“I thought,” croaked Bryan, “You were Japanese,
..And when you said ‘Our Kerry’, meant 'R. Kelly.' "
“Who’s that?” asked Shane. McFadden gave a meagre smile:
“A US R&B artist, and paedophile.”

“Do I look like I’m laughing here?” Shane shouted,
..Impaling Bryan with his X-ray glare,
“Or fecking Japanese, while we’re about it?”
..“Look, gents,” McFadden said, “I don’t know where
Your precious Sign is – can you really doubt it?
..Look round you – I’m a bleedin’ millionaire!
If I desired a pub sign, then I’d buy one,
Or have one made, from peacock-skins and diamonds.”

“He’s right,” said Twenty-Sixth Of, “It’s not here.
.Why would Bryan McFadden steal our Sign?
In retrospect, this whole entire idea
.Was spasticated, flawed, and asinine.
So please accept, erm, Bryan, our sincere
.Apologies - we’re somewhat out of line.”
“No probs,” he said to his erstwhile inquisitors,
“It’s actually quite nice to have some visitors.

“Now, how about I sing you my new song?
..It’s gonna be a smash, top of the playlist -”
“Er, cheers,” said Bob, “But we’d best run along,”
..“How dare you!” screamed the twat, “I’m feckin’ A-list!”
And started crooning, like a soppy mong.
..“Shut up!” they yelled, “You Irish cnut!” (that’s racist).
He wouldn’t stop, though they beseeched and begged it,
So, panicking, they duffed him up, and pegged it.

Now rudderless, adrift in stormy seas,
.Tossed like a toy, amidst the briny foam,
Beleaguered, leagues from where they’re meant to be,
.Yet equally as far from port, and home,
Our bark, the Good Ship WGC,
.Drifts onto Failure’s shores, like Ian Woan.
And what is worse, its long-established unity,
Is threatened now by malcontent, and mutiny.

“Shane, you’re an arse,” snapped Twenty-Sixth Of May,
..“Well you’re a cnut,” Shane growled, “And thick, and fat.”
“Ah, feck you both ,” said Groundside, “And feck Ray”,
..“You’re cocks,” said Ray, “And Wobbly - you’re a twat.”
“Sod off,” said Bob, “And g4orce, you’re a gay” -
..At least the gang could all agree on that -
Big Andy, who’d been listening curiously,
Now caught the mood, and wanked more furiously.

I won’t transcribe the rest of what was said,
.Just put it down to anger, and to grief,
(Though no-one had a pop at K-Standred,
.’Cos they were all quite keen to keep their teeth).
Then Dave, who bleeds a different shade of red,
.And knows theft well, cos he too is a thief,
Cried, “Lads, I’ve got it! Fuck I’ve been a fool:
Something’s been nicked – let’s look in Liverpool!”