RANDOLF'S RETURNby I. C. Shivers
*for John Lennon and "Randolf's Party"*
http://www.geocities.com/baby-lemonade/randolf.html
Chrisbus time again for all your good pals, Bernie, Dave, Nicky, Alice, Beddy, Freba, Viggy, Nigel, Alfred, Clive, Stan, Frenk, Tom, Harry, George, Harold, you're never alone with this lot. Older and wiser though they be, they oughtty know better but they don't, not a bit of it, cos it's chust the samed old same cheerup and cherry mince muzz wot makes it Chrispbut as were it was all those ones ago.
Too grey to go round to pound on one more softer head than they, our heroes and heroin, whun they might as well sit and grate late each ummer boot those days and whatnot, all gabby to falter bent doubly and toast by the fearside, white by cracky white, rheumy to gloomy in the one auld tomb of a room that would hold them all, Bernie, Dave, Nicky, Alice, Beddy and the rest.
And wot about Randolf? You might well ask. They did, and larfed along in doing, for it *was* them that did smite him with mighty blows, and killed him, you know.
"He warn't never raelly one of us," said Georgie, now a sickiatrist with a whacking hoose in town and amother wobbling by a brook. Nods all around, why wouldn't they believe it? Freba pummelled the pudding like she did then, and it was a smite to see.
"Never liked him, old soft head," said Beddy (and warn't she steel the cutest, tho you could stare til yer eyes fried). It was yet Randoob of witch she mummered, from a belonely Grimace passed.
By yestidy's snow more yellow mud froze, it was that too low when the other arose and shook his limbs and members. My, but he were worse for where! Off he wend to enjoin the party he through then.
Bernie sore him first, the lanky rubberneck; "Aww, gom, Ramboff, yer dead thutty-five yearn--" afore he was taken by the cuff and mangled goodly. Nicky, Dave, and Alice renounced him, pleading: "Hebby Khruschov, Remburb, you wouldn't off yer mates on Jesus' birfday, wood ye?" But he would, and he did, laying about him with menny a gibber and howl's-yer-father, til the most of them sad wadding in pubbles, never to breathe a word.
"Skrep shif ma blungo," chimed Reindeef, who being tardy fine year a- dead couldn't talk so gud, whiles poor Viggy quailed in a coroner. "Not me, Rambam, we used to fancy each udder, din we?" That so, gibed our hero, and made a hat and scarfed of Viggy on the spot.
Meddy Grimmble, Randolb, old pale bogie.