Snakes on Thom's Plane

[Imagining the theme tune to hotly-anticipated summer movie Snakes on a Plane, as sung by Thom Yorke of Radiohead to the melody of Street Spirit (Fade Out). For more SoaP-inspired songs, see here.]

Putrid serpent
Beneath an aisle seat.
Slithering poison
At 30,000 feet.
Seeking unsuspecting hands
In which to sink its evil fangs.

Breach the cockpit
The pilot sprawled there dead.
Boa constrictor
Wrapped tightly round his head.
Crushed his skull with brutal force,
Now we're flying way off course.

Snakes on a plane
They'll throttle and maim.
Snakes on a plane
It's happening again.

Bleeding, choking,
Passengers writhe in pain
Desperately sucking
The venom from their veins.
Listen to the children's cries
As cobras spit into their eyes.

Stewardess screaming
Is a doctor in the house?
But an anaconda
Has swallowed him like a mouse.
Surrounded by cold-blooded dangers
But Samuel L Jackson's gonna save us.

Snakes on a plane
Aero-reptile reign.
Sssnakes on a plane
Next time take the train.

You're Rubbish Mate

[An affectionate pastiche of hot new British singing sensation Lily Allen. She's a sassy lady whose songs are gravy]

I saw you walking through Brixton Market,
Carrying a pig in a rolled up carpet.
You were with some girl I hadn't seen before,
She seemed a few steps up from your usual whore.
I was on my bike so I didn't stop
But as you went in a smoking accessories shop
The hog in the rug stared me in the eyes
And said: 'look at the crap that this guy buys'.

That's the truth and now I see
You never were no good for me
On the bottom rung of society
'Cos you're rubbish mate and always will be.

So I've made it big no thanks to you
With a number one single and album at two.
My UK tour's doing wicked business
Which should keep me in coke from now until Christmas.
Even The Guardian's singing my praises,
Says I'm the freshest new talent in ages.
I'll never return to your sad situation,
But thanks for the lyrical inspiration.

That's the way it is you see,
I'm young and rich and wild and free.
You'll languish in obscurity
'Cos you're rubbish mate and always will be.

Too cool to be a Sugababe;
There's more to me than a MySpace page.
I'm riding the Chopper of destiny
But you're rubbish mate and always will be.

The Passion of Lindsay Lohan

[Former teen queen actress-cum-popstar Lindsay Lohan recounts a tale of artistic woe and spiritual triumph]

The Daily Show's always making out
That George Bush isn't clever
But I've got bigger fish to fry
So I'm like yeah, whatever.
See something happened recently
That really messed my head.
Scum sprayed graffiti on my house
And this is what it said:

'What's the point of Lindsay Lohan?
What does she have to give?
Why are decent people shot and killed
While Lindsay Lohan lives?
Has she ever made an album
You could sit through more than once?
Lets put her down across the town
In different colored fonts.'

This call to arms shot through my heart
Those cruel words really bugged me.
I'd always thought up to this point
That everybody loved me.
I told the maid to scrub it off
If her family wanted feeding.
But the next day to my disbelief
A new message appeared, reading:

'What's the point of Lindsay Lohan?
Where does her talent lie?
Won't she be completely screwed
When Judgement Day arrives?
What's the deal with Lindsay Lohan?
Just how did she get this far?
Which direction were we looking in
While she became a star?'

This time I was really mad
Oh boy, I'd had enough.
Who would twice befoul my sacred walls
But that bitch Hilary Duff?
So I called a gangsta pal of mine
Whose services don't come cheap
And had the whole Duff family
Dismembered in their sleep.

That's the point of Lindsay Lohan:
She's a girl who gets things done.
She swats her enemies like flies
But knows how to have fun.
So don't mess with Lindsay Lohan;
Bow down to her instead.
Or everyone you care about
Will end up bruised and dead.