“Brother black shorts
As I stand before you tonight
We are on the brink of victory
Our policies are clear
Our policies are just
Our policies are fully laid out
In my book Wither England?
Price three and sixpence from all good booksellers

The trouble with you, Spode, is that just because you have succeeded in inducing a handful of half-wits to disfigure the London scene by going about in black shorts, you think you’re someone. You hear them shouting “Heil, Spode!” and you imagine it is the Voice of the People. That is where you make your bloomer. What the Voice of the People is actually saying is: “Look at that frightful ass Spode swanking about in footer bags! Did you ever in your life see such a perfect perisher?”

PG Wodehouse,
Nostradamus
PG Wodehouse

“Our policies are
1. The right, nay, the duty of every freeborn Englishman to grow his own potatoes.”

Black shorts, white socks
Pea brains, wee cocks
Flashing their knees
Love their mummies

PG Wodehouse
The new Nostradamus
A visionary of fascist fashion
Here to teach us

PG Wodehouse
The new Nostradamus
Who’d have thought the new Mein Kampf
Would be The Code of the Woosters

“2. An immediate ban on the import of foreign root vegetables into the United Kingdom.
and 3. The compulsory scientific measurement of all adult male knees.”

Balaclavas
Black pyjamas
White sheets, black knight
Jet black, dead white

PG Wodehouse
The new Nostradamus
The new nazis with knobbly knees
Are gonna make a fuss

PG Wodehouse
The new Nostradamus
When your wee legs hurt and you need more shirts
You got to get back on the bus

“Not for the true-born Englishman, the bony, angular knee of the so-called intellectual.
Not for him, the puffy knee of the criminal classes.
The British knee is firm, the British knee is muscular, the British knee is on the march!

His knees!”

music: Sweet Gene Vincent by Ian Dury & The Blockheads

see also:

Gie’s A Shot

Uri Geller