14 Aug
Wash Your Mouth Out
A morning’s browsing, mainly in the J-Walk Blog and Bifurcated Rivets (great name) has left me immersed in words.
Or not, in the case of the One Word Movie which did the rounds of art festivals last year. This reveals a glimpse into the “collective psychology” of online cultures by showing patterns of word-image associations, as created by millions of people around the world.
Word-image associations?
Try Terence Trent D’Arby, he of the whatever-happened-to variety. If you really want to know, here is part of his recent biography.
Oh, and he now calls himself Sananda Francesco Maitreya.
Now think of ‘Jesus’.
Most of us will picture a long-haired, bearded sandle-wearing Caucasian hippie, possibly based on a Pre-Raphaelite painting.
However, for some not-very-literate marketeers it’s this puppet. 
Take His clothes off and enter “from the bottom”? Sounds rude to me, which leads me to say that even though my ability to swear is relatively unfettered, there are some words I just can’t say, and I rarely use foul language in writing – something to do with seeming permanence perhaps, plus the sense that, on paper, ‘you irremediably imperious bunyip‘ will be more effective than ‘you fucking knob’.
Indeed, and someone else with a surprising way with words was William Topaz McGonagall (died 1902), widely hailed as the writer of the worst poetry in the English language.
I particularly like his hitherto unpublished epic of The Faithful Dog Fido, which is, unfortunately, too long to reproduce here.
So instead, read out loud this wonderful ode written especially for Indonesian pembantus (charladies).
You can use it with great pleasure and ease
Without wasting any elbow grease;
And when washing the most dirty clothes
The sweat won’t be dripping off your nose
You can wash your clothes with little rubbing
And without scarcely any scrubbing;
And I tell you once again without any joke
There’s no soap can surpass Sunlight Soap;
And believe me, charwomen one and all,
I remain yours truly, the Poet McGonagall.
If you want more,
Here’s some stores.
If you think they’re quaint,
Then become a saint.
So there you have it.
Now you can shove it.
At least and without sorrow,
until tomorrow.
