Big Nose Congo Adventure

(dedicated to a large-nosed RAF friend just after
he was posted to the Congo)

While bopping at a college ball
I met a man named James.
He was grooving in the shadows
To ‘Four Seasons in One Day.’

He smacked his chops with pleasure
As he downed a pint of piss,
Then gave a girl a moody stare -
The kind you can't resist.

She offered him her eager lips.
Her virgin knees grew weak.
But then she fell and screamed as
He attacked her with his beak.

Poor James was overcome with shame.
He'd only tried to kiss her.
But his gi-enormous conk had
Mashed her face into a blister.

And so his life continued,
With all pleasure sabotaged
By the oversized protuberance
That sat on his vis-age.

He took to sitting in the park,
Alone upon the grass.
He'd hide behind a bush and
Peck young ladies up the arse.

But one day as he pecked
A group of likely looking tarts,
He was accosted by a stranger -
A man with a moustache!

He said 'I'm from the RAF,
E.R. requires your services.
There's trouble in the Congo
With a horde of whirling dervishes.'

James scratched his hooter warily
And asked what was the catch.
Would he get a decent pension?
Would he have to grow a 'tash?

The RAF-man smiled cunningly
And swiftly raised a hand,
Then stabbed a hypodermic
Needle in his nasal glans.

When finally young James awoke
His head was racked with pain.
He was lying in the jungle
With his beak all bound in chains.

The RAF-man stood beside him
With a group of friendly soldiers.
He shouted the command out
That they execute their orders.

At first a moment's silence.
Then a rustling in the palms.
The enemy burst out from the trees.
The Captain cried 'To arms!'

They pulled back on the chains
To get his nostrils pointing east,
Then they tickled at his sniffer
And induced a mighty sneeze.

And out from James' boko
Flew a deadly nasal slime.
The natives all died painfully
In very little time.

Now James is Blighty's hero.
In the land there's no-one stauncher.
He's the world's first fully tested
Human chemical weapons launcher.











Our hero's conk is wrapped in chains
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Poem Study Notes:


This poem was written in around 2003, dedicated to a friend just posted to the Congo. A year or two later he returned, fortunately with his nose (and the rest of him) intact.

There is some doubt as to the truth of the finer details, described in this poem. Suffice to say that James has never actually denied that his 'beak was bound in chains' in the Congolese jungles.

For those who believe that this poem is nosist, nasist or nasalist, it should be pointed out that the poet himself is nasaly overly well-endowed (is it racist if a green man says all green people are stupid?)