Justice for Janet

[A poem in which Janet Jackson contemplates the best way to promote her new album, 20 Y.O., in the face of post-Nipplegate indifference.]

Searching for a different angle,
Or maybe three like a scalene triangle;
Trying to avoid another scandal
To get my career back on track.
I'd posed in every known position,
Flashed my breast in a live transmission.
I needed an evil mathematician
To calculate a chart attack.

I met him at a costume party
Dressed as the fat one from Laurel and Hardy.
He said his name was Moriarty
And politely kissed my hand.
I explained my sales situation,
While he listened with great concentration.
Till his face lit up with inspiration
And he told me of his plan:

"We'll start the campaign with a good clean song,
In the promo vid you can keep your clothes on.
Support from radio won't be strong
But downloads should keep us afloat.
Then bang! - we'll release the dirty one,
With lyrics and visuals designed to stun.
You can writhe around on a naval gun,
Wearing nothing but a see-through coat."

"Oh Moriarty," I giggled with glee,
"You fell for my trap so perfectly.
I'm working undercover for the FCC,
And you're guilty of moral corruption.
I'm not Janet Jackson at all, you see,
But Sherlock Holmes, your old enemy.
Now the world will once again welcome me
And forgive my wardrobe malfunction."

Courtney's Brand Love

[A poem inspired by this story about British TV comedy presenter Russell Brand seducing 'rock chick' Courtney Love]

"Roll up, roll up, you gullible swines,"
Said the ragged Dickensian fop.
With his face like a rot-ridden spider plant,
I could see no incentive to stop.
"Excuse me," he grinned, as I tried to slip by,
"But aren't you the girl out of Hole?"
Then spouted a pun on this fact so filthy
I felt myself losing control.

"Listen you creep," I snarled in rage,
"Where the hell do you get off?
With your drainpipe jeans and messy black thatch,
You're nothing but a sex-crazed goth."
But then this Brand gave a wave of his hand
In a mystical magic maneouvre.
And cleared my head of all that I'd read
Of his unsavoury acts with a Hoover.

The beast transformed right before my eyes
To a Byronesque liquorice love god.
With caustic wit and untamed hair
Like a 21st Century Ken Dodd.
We rocked the hotel bed all night,
I was Spungen to his Vicious.
Then I tied a cravat round his big fat mouth
To mark this strange Brand 'delicious'.




tags: courtney love russell brand byron sid vicious delicious ken dodd