Bland On Bland – 2019 BBQ Day

The theme for this week’s JVG Radio Method poem is “2019 BBQ Day“.

Where does a year go?

The annual 3RRR BBQ Day show comes around all too soon.

The  photo on the right by Tim Chmielewski will give you all the information you really need about where the poem is headed.

 

No Ed Bates to provide the guitar backing ( he was trapped on Norfolk Island by a cyclone) but have a listen to how it went below…

 

To play this poem directly in your browser – just click the “play” button below:

2019 BBQ Day

From the time I started school
I was treated as a fool
No-one liked me and they weren’t afraid to show it
I had an ample girth
They used to ask when I’d give birth
I tried everything and prayed that I’d outgrow it

I was bullied, I was teased
I was beaten up and squeezed
An outcast; I suffered years of degradation
Then one night I met a Genie
After my twenty third martini
She said “I’m here to help you fix the situation”

I was shitting bricks
My mind must be playing tricks
Every time I had a sip she was there
She said “It was me who took a rump
And turned it onto Donald Trump
Even gave him fairy floss for hair”

I thought God, I must be pissed
Genies don’t exist
At least not in a bottle of Vermouth
Still she seemed to understand
Said “Your wish is my command”
Then she dived into my glass and that’s the truth

I woke up in a daze
Soaked in mayonnaise
I recall I’d begged the genie to make me hot
I meant ‘hot’ like Errol Flynn
Justin Bieber, even Sting
Not a bloody burger with the lot

Though it began as subcutaneous
Results were instantaneous
No longer was I viewed as a pariah
Those thugs, once so reactive
Found me curiously attractive
I went from ridiculed to an object of desire

All those pricks who used to beat me
Are now lining up to eat me
Can’t wait to get their tongues around my buns
I’m moist and full of spice
I’m naughty but I’m nice
When you’re done with me all that’s left is crumbs

Now I’m the main event
I drive them crazy with my scent
They drool as they scrape me off the grill
They sniff and ask ‘Is that Lacoste?
Paco Raban or Hugo Boss?
I say you’re very close, its aioli and dill

My pattie’s firm and round
I’m seasoned, finely ground
One look at me and people start to dribble
So I’m a little fatty
No worse than any other pattie
Go on, you know you’re dying for a nibble

I’m better than a snag
I’m pure beef mince in drag
Tomatoes, lettuce, onions fused with cheese
You see all the little tackers
All they’ve ever known is Maccas
Compared to Big Mac I’m Hercules

I’m fast and I’m all class
I’ve got bacon for an arse
One bite I guarantee you won’t forget us
I’m a bad boy, take a bite
I’ll satisfy your appetite
I think you’ll like what’s underneath my lettuce

I’m not like other treats
Won’t find me on Uber Eats
Eight hundred quarter pounders, neck to knees
Why not smother me in sauce
Barbeque of course
What’s to lose except arterial disease

Despite my name I am
Pure beefcake, not a ham
You’ll need both hands and a lot of self control
Girls have often said
They’d like to get me into bread
But I’m afraid they’ll have to make do with a roll

I hate it when some punk
Tries to maul me when they’re drunk
You know the type, only want you when they’re stinking
I’m the thing they try to grab
When they can’t score a kebab
It’s like Hollywood, what are these dickheads thinking?

But time it is a thief
And a burger’s life is brief
Too soon you’re colder than a Scotsman’s kilt
No-one wants a soggy bun
And once your beetroot starts to run
Your lettuce goes all limp and starts to wilt

So if you’re searching for a date
Someone to share your plate
I don’t care if you’re half baked, par boiled or crusted
If you’d like a little chat
Cut the cheese and chew the fat
I’ll be by the barbie rolling in the mustard

© Copyright 2019 Ian Bland

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Also have a listen to “Everything or Nothing”