Bono's Browser Battle

[Bono is pressurised to choose between his beloved Mozilla Firefox and the new Internet Explorer 7 web browser, much like other people are currently doing here and here and here]

"People," says Bono, "come gather around.
Admire the sheen of my nice leather trousers.
War is upon us and we must decide
The better of two mighty web browsers.

See Firefox, she's a lady my friends,
Smooth and sexy, with gracious curves.
Her cool interface with tabbed browsing and such
Earns her respect she richly deserves.
Offering thousands of useful extensions,
She's the smart way to surf the net.
But now it appears her unstoppable rise
Could be hurt by a Microsoft threat

What's that, you say, has he gone crazy?
Internet Explorer is yesterday's news
But no, they've reshaped it and added new functions
In a shamefully transparent ruse.
Because haven't we seen these features before:
Tabbed browsing, integrated search box?
RSS support, proper privacy protection;
That's right: they've been copied from Firefox.

Now I'm just a man who wears sunglasses indoors
But I'll always speak up for a worthy cause.
And I point the finger at Bill Gates and co
And say to them: people aren't stupid you know,
They'll see what you've done and laugh in your face
You've fallen behind in the web browser race.
Firefox is faster and cleaner and sweeter,
So take my advice: leave IE7 in beta."

Britney's Nightmares

[As a real popstar poet, Britney Spears certainly doesn't need me to write a bizarre confessional poem on her behalf. But here's one anyway]



Last night I dreamt of Debbie Gibson again
Like a warning from out of the blue.
"All glory is fleeting," she said with a snarl
Then beat me to death with a shoe.
In another recurring nightmare,
I'm back on the Mickey Mouse Club.
Christina and Justin dance naked with Donald
While I'm giving Goofy a back rub.

I can't explain these horrible dreams
Maybe I've been watching too much telly:
Gruesome movies like The Evil Dead,
Hellraiser and From Justin to Kelly.
My husband provides neither comfort nor joy,
He only loves beer, pot and poker night.
Apart from his skill at sporting crap facial hair
He's as useful as an ashtray on a motorbike.

Perhaps the dreams are trying to tell me
Don't waste your life with this jerk.
Send him on his way with a tiny lump sum
And get yo' big ass back to work.
So I must reclaim my own destiny
Propel myself into the light.
Conquer the demons that trouble my sleep
And drop Kevin from a very great height.

Rod's Models, Inc

[Behind the scenes of the business that keeps Rod Stewart in leggy lovelies. Normal service will be resumed soon.]

Last year I got a part-time job
I was broke and obliged to do it.
Working in a hi-tech factory,
Churning out wives for Rod Stewart

All long blonde hair and legs designed
To travel down for miles.
Ample breasts and perfect teeth
Fixed into perma-smiles.

Sometimes he'd turn up unannounced
To inspect his latest bride
With Ronnie Wood from the Rolling Stones
Strapped loyally to his side.

He'd croak at us in his husky voice:
"Take a bit of meat off the hip.
Extend these calves by an inch or two
And remove the personality chip."

If he wasn't pleased he'd take you aside
And cast you a long-nosed look
Then sing an insipid inspiring tune
From The Great American Songbook.

Rod wasn't a bad boss all in all
And he certainly paid enough.
This summer I'm stuck making bedroom toys
For some girl named Hilary Duff.

Smurf When You're Winning

[In which Robbie Williams is attacked by a vengeful gang of small blue men. Or maybe it's just his conscience talking?]

So I'm basking by the pool of my L.A. home,
Enjoying the wonder of being alone
But tempted to give in and pick up the phone
And call for a dog to come bury my bone.

When all of a sudden I'm under attack
As two tiny creatures jump onto my back
And squeak "Now we've got you, you arrogant twat,
You're coming on tour with the rest of Take That!"

"Never!" I cry once I gather my breath,
"You'll not consign me to a fate worse than death."
I grab my assailants around their blue necks,
And stamp on them, making a terrible mess.

But as I prepare to sit back and laze
Another small figure appears through the haze.
And fixing me with a cold steely gaze,
He charges at me with his toothpick raised.

"You won't get away!" he screams with a bark,
"From Gary and Howard and Jason and Mark."
So I swipe his pick and drive it straight through his heart
And his fragile blue body just crumbles apart.

Just as I start to think everything's cool,
The biggest one yet climbs out of the pool
And laughs "Don't you get it, you ignorant fool,
We never give up, that's the Holy Smurf rule!"

By now I am thoroughly tired of this shit
And as it's quite clear that they're not going to quit,
I promise I'll send them a video clip
Since when they've all left me alone for a bit...