Ooooh !  Look at all those hairy, sweaty men !  vs. The Battle of Marathon

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

(who by now is rolling over in her grave)

Mark Wallace
(who deserves to be sent to his grave, for this!)


The Battle of Marathon

The war of pop, with Elvis no more king
Such vulgar strains infernal harpies sing!
By millions, souls did gleeful Hades feed
for no more of the pain of ears that bleed.

Sang America's dipstick Prince, who envious saw
the fame of Jackson and his variable maw
and scorned his music and his fake un-tan
His ruin planned, to re-make him black man!

Now Scary's spouse, kicked out into the cold
by the loud-mouthed artless harridan and scold
To him said Prince: 'No matter that she sucks
so strong and tireless as electrolux

'Thine suffering hailed, took you the bitch to wive
So we'll take her down; with Jackson, Clarke, and Five'
'Who be this Clarke?'  Asked Jimmy; wit full half
'Well, Spears, in truth -- but that wouldn't get a laugh!'

A boon they called, nor Branson this denied
'Help us steal their strength!'  the plotters cried
'List well!'  boomed Branson  'Pin ye back thine lugs!
To rend their power, needs must pull their plugs!'

Thus heartened, Prince began to work his wiles
and wrought thick Jimmy, devious with smiles
'Thou'st seen the stuff and cash these freaks have got
If we play it right, we'll take them for the lot!

So Jimmy a press conference did hail
and wove his tale and wept, with face so pale
'The fame that they have gained, their life of glee
Was given to them by the likes of we!'

'No merit do these pop-stars truly hold
They merely take and take, with hearts so cold
Their time is over; no more should we give
No longer should we suffer them to live!'

'Hold on, hold on!'  Victoria, all aglow
'Thinkst thou hard enough?  Then come and have a go!
If think thee now our fame with sex was bought
best hold thine tongues, or I'll see thee in court!'

'Sod off, thou tart!'  the tabloids did reply
'No more thine glamour will confound our eye!
We'll treat thee now in manner which befits
-- Besides, we don't like birds with saggy tits!'

With tail between her legs Victoria fled
and charmed her deadhead husband in their bed
With tail between her lips she had her say
Consigned him thus emboldened to the fray

'It's, um, not right, is it?'  he gormless spake
and many tabloid ships fell in his wake
Blinded by his art to kick a ball
That he'd no brain, it mattered not at all

But Jimmy knew what magics Posh had wrought
His time with Scary Spice their wiles had taught
'Thou must not let the witch bend thee to wrong
'Tis time thou learned to wear the trousers long!'

He spoke with passion and of grace divine
Then bribed the pratt, to make him fall in line
'No longer dost thou need that dirty cow
when Page Three girls can tend to thine needs now!'

Now Halliwell, come at Victoria's call
Who knew before her boobs the press would fall
Her words reached to the press of every nation
'What we all need is more compromisation!'

The press all drooled and wrote the words she spoke
But Jimmy had prepared for such a stroke
'Thou hast no sweetness, oh angelic maid
Could it be thou art here because thou'rt paid?'

'Oh. bugger!'  Geri hung her head with shame
''Tis not my fault -- Victoria's to blame!
Perforce came I to stick in my big boot
for she handed me a great big pile of loot!'

'I would forgive, now thou hast seen thine tort'
Quoth Jimmy, to the girl who had been bought
'But let us leave thine fate to those on high
Pray clemency from Branson in the sky!'

'I'm really sorry!'  the piteous girl did wail
But Branson's voice boomed from beyond the veil
'Thou must be bloody kidding me, thou tart!
Get with it, lads, and rip the cow apart!'

A shove, and Geri fell into the throng
and to bloody shreds was torn afore too long
The pressmen all held on to gory pieces
as souvenirs for their nephews and nieces

Victoria off to Branson did she hie
'Oy, shitface, would'st thou like to tell me why
thou'rt turned, when we have made thee so much dosh?
No bullshit now, because it just won't wash!'

'Dearest Posh, thine record sales are crap
To waken them needs must give them a slap
The money comes in piles of miles high
whene'er the public sees a pop star die!

'Know'st thou well the way to play the game
Fat Ginger's death will but augment thine fame
Thou see'st now my act was not in folly?
For soon shall we be rolling in the lolly!'

Thus satisfied, Victoria did depart
Awed by the Branson's canny business art
She did not hear the next words from his mouth
'I'll make much more, if all of them go South!'

A meeting of fair Athens' chiefs of war
A thousand words -- but such a bloody bore!
Forsooth, to stop this page from getting fat
I'll skip the lot with but one clause: 'Screw that!'

Suffice it said that pop-stars did align
With Spice Girls, Five, and Spears all of one mind
Against them real musicians did array
Even Floyd and Rea joined the fray

The rock stars quoth: 'We've had enough of this!
We may be bad, but that lot take the piss!
Draw the line of battle -- we'll not wince
E'en if allied with that fairy, Prince!'

Out in the wings the hour's eternal sway
Compelled to curses as the Spice Girls play
The long-haired yobs with tattooed arms prepare
Rock music to preserve by act of war!

First Prince, all finished on the can, arose
and squeezed a zit which had adorned his nose
His spindly arms uncovered, silken vest
and gloves and sequins -- Hell, you know the rest!

No weapon carried he, nor needed more
Twixt he and battle he would keep a door!
At last there came the cry -- The battle call!
So Prince ran back and hid inside the stall!

'Hold on a sec!'  came mighty Branson's roar
'Before you start, let me do one thing more!
Leave me work my will with the daft sods
I'm pretty sure I can cut down the odds!'

Away he hied, to confound the pop army
Said unto them: 'Thou lot must all be barmy!
'Can'st not face the Rock with power of Spice
For thou hast not yet made a sacrifice!'

'The Gods must be appeased before thou fight
If thou dost wish to call on their might!
Know'st thee now that onus is upon her
Who lovest most and worships the Madonna!'

'Here, hang about!'  quoth Sporty, all a'quiver
'How can we be sure that she'll deliver?'
But the others did not listen, they did strike!
Soon Sporty was impaled upon a dyke... Pike!  (Damn that Frued!)

Madonna, looked she down from mythic London
Once harked their cries for aid, retorted 'Pardon?
So what if thou hast offed my stalker Spice?
I still think'st not the rest of thee are nice!

'None of thee have a tit that's worth a look
Thou never would'st have got into my book
By using innuendo to gain fame
thou gave real sluts like me a dirty name!'

'Oh, shit!'  quoth Vicky, turning thence to fiveive
'Dost think that we'll get out of here alive?'
'Shit, Man!'  The Slimy One did cough and hack
As the heroic boys retreated, out the back.

Then Britney, looking on the nearing mob
Within her hands two cheap vibrators throb
Declared for all to hear, 'I'm quitting pop!
I'll sell my boobs to a computer shop!'

The rock stars heard her words and were appeased
She pleased them more when she dropped to her knees
But more of what she did thou must not know
for, dearest ones, this is a children's show.

The forces met -- with such a dreadful sound!
(Victoria chose to sing in the background)
Baby's was the first whose life would cease
No time for 'Duh's nor 'Beh's, nor e'en 'Tee-hee's!

That Baby died thus is a dreadful shame
No help from teenyboppers with her name
The outcome could have changed -- the Spices won
had her six thousand cousins joined the fun.

Then Scary rose; the loud, but heartless hag
'Let me go, I'll give thou each a shag!'
A giant woofer hit her, with a thud
The floors awash with silicon and blood.

Victoria stood alone, against an army
'Hold on!'  quoth Waters.  'Killing her is barmy!
Think for an instant who the cow did wed!
'Tis worse than death, to share that cretin's bed!'

When all agreed, they took off for a drink
But Waters from the field he did not shrink
With a mighty blow, took off Victoria's head
'Sorry.  I changed my mind.'  he simply said.

So ends this tale of tragedy and war
Although of pop-stars, there are always more
And as for Athens' fate, who gives a toss?
For Spice is dead -- believe me, that's no loss!



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