21 August 2012
I sit at my desk - and ideas won't come So I chew my pen, swing my chair, fidget and hum. The sly little bastards - those crafty ideas Have been teasing me daily for long friggin' years. So the blank paper waits - I am still uninspired, And all I got's older, and fat-arsed and tired... Until nature calls, and then bellows, then howls - How plots do gush forth when I open my bowels!
Oh....! Why do my best ideas come on the toilet.. The bog, the crapper, the throne? Right in the middle of a shit or a piddle: Sheer genius that leaves my mind blown! And there's nothing to write with On the sheets I wipe shite with I'm pooing - can't reach my iPhone! Oh, why do my best ideas come on the lav, In the one bloody place i'm alone?
I tried meditation, attended Pilates Took notebooks to night clubs, bar mitzvahs and parties I think my muse quit, has got laid or is dead So I'm on writer's block and it's 'off with his head!' I beg and implore it, I try to ignore it, My mojo's gone loco it's true. I'll fibre my diet, and when it's all quiet Hear me shout 'yes!' as I poo!
Oh....! Why do my best ideas come on the toilet.. The dunny, the potty, the Gents'? Right in the middle of a shit or a piddle: My shit-storming brainstorm's intense! As I sit like The Thinker Not one thought's a stinker All these nuggets of wisdom I write... Oh, why do my best ideas come on the lav, Can't beat it, so let there be shite!
Toilet Troubadour • Opuss № I