In addition to writing original songs for all my shows, I also write comedic and non-comedic essays and poems for magazines.
If you would like to feature me on your website or magazine, please hit me up on the "Contact" page.
A submission for my creative writing course in 2018
Why did she continue to spend her lonely Tuesday nights here? Her "friends" didn't really enjoy her company, they merely tolerated it, and honestly, isn't that a harsher slap in the face than just being ignored totally? So, as usual, she'd excuse herself to the smokers room when she didn't really want a cigarette, but it was a good excuse to get away from them for a moment.
Thin tendrils of smoke slid down her throat and wrapped themselves around her alveoli like skeletal hands popping bubble wrap. She stared at her own hands, trying to make sense of the lines that were there, not that those lines had done her any favours. Her future had turned out rather more bleak than what had been predicted by those lines as a girl.
She returned and the party had left without her, of course. But no matter, she easily made friends with strangers, preferred them in fact. Each new face was a new opportunity to be someone different, someone charming, interesting, faultless. And then, when the bottles ran dry they could forget each other. That's how she liked it, these temporary relationships.
Single malt liquor made her tongue wag in glorious round-about ways, spouting million-mile-a-minute words that fell on drunk ears that would hear everything and nothing.
Fine, if no one would hear her she would resolve to silently argue with herself. She told herself that nobody wanted to listen to her whiskey laden words and that nobody wants to kiss her grey lips because they flap too fast and obnoxiously. And that no one likes a mouth so big that they can see inside their alcohol filled stomach like some boozy, self-hating grouper.
There's no hope now, so she'll pick some similarly self-hating kindred to share her sheets for the night. Her usual last ditch effort to fill the holes that gape within her. But self sabotage is an artform don't you know? And a hard-learnt one at that.
ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?
Original composition for the show Skank-tified
My parents were righteous, and tried to raise me so
And for a good 11 years, I gave it a red hot go
I sang hymns and read verses, I hoped my faith would grow
But though I tried the spirit died and something grew below
I started to find it all incredibly … dull
In fact it made me wanna put a bullet through my skull
I’m so sorry Jesus, you’re just such a bore
So I'll hang up my crucifix and just become a whore.
Sneaking boys out through the backdoor, I was a master
Deleting browser history, I’ll bet you I'm faster
My mum and dad became concerned so then they called the Pastor
He tried to get my demons out, oh what a disaster
So my Mother taught me to let the good Lord in,
but Pornhub said say thank you and to always wipe my chin.
So there's a conflict of interest, I wonder who will win?
Well I masturbate, so heaven’s gates will never let me in.
Kicked out of home, nowhere to go, so moved into the city,
I found a club not far from there and dolled myself up pretty,
I got on my knees, I had a crowd to please, and the job is nitty gritty
But it’s quite a task to shake your ass and also shake your titties
Are you not entertained x 4
So my mummy and daddy would roll over in their … urns
To know I get up on that pole and a give the crowd a turn
And the rest of my family on their behalf are quite concerned
But really needn't worry because here is what I’ve learned
Don’t walk barefoot in the private rooms, they’re very sticky
And balding men in track pants always smell the worst they’re icky
Slap 'em on the face when they ask to change a fifty
And the bouncer who works on Wednesday nights - avoid him he’s quite shifty
Are you not entertained? X 4
And you may judge me for my sins of which there are plenty
But I know if god was watching he’d surely through some twenties
But are you not entertained x 4