Outrage Sunday 211 elegy for Jamie Oliver

Carried through many nations and over Gage Roads
You arrived, bruvva, to be squashed in Shenton Park
So I present you with a herby tribute of death
And speak in vain to your pasta dishes
Your fortune has carried you, yourself, on a plank
Alas, poor bruvva, your pans are non-stick
Now in the ministry, nevertheless, these things which in the custom kitchen of ancestors
Are pan-fried tribute to no more bites
Receive, organic sauce dripping, leaves from sweeping
And forever, bruvva, hale and pukka.
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(With apologies for any inconvienience to Catallus).

This entry was posted in Uncategorisable Worsts. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Outrage Sunday 211 elegy for Jamie Oliver

  1. Misspent Yoof says:

    You forgot to use the word “cunt”.

    Like

  2. you'll get wet says:

    Didn’t he have a show called The Naked Wombat, Eats Herbs and Leaves?

    Like

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