Nasty Evil Ninja – A Poet???

Nasty Evil Ninja – A Poet???

I’ve had literally ‘a few’ people ask me about this lately.  For my sins, I am, in fact, a poet.  Or at least was…

It’s really where all this started.

I was forced to write a crappy poem at school in an English lesson in 1990.  So, after being bored silly with ‘Dulce Et Decorum Es’, I sat there and wrote this:

The Chicken

A funny thing happened
To me the other day,
I was walking along
Down an alleyway,
When a bloke in a hat
Said “Psst! Come over here!”
Showed me a chicken,
And whispered in my ear.
“Young lad, this chicken
Could change your life-
It could make you rich,
And pull you a wife.”

To an offer like that
I couldn’t say no,
Asked “How much?”
And hoped it was low.
“Fifty quid to you, son,”
He held up a hand,
“I can’t go any lower
‘Cause I bought it for a grand.”
I gave him the money,
Looked at the hen,
Turned to thank the man
But he was gone again.

So I was walking along
With a chick under my arm,
When I noticed that it
Was surprisingly calm.
I held it out,
And wobbled its’ head,
But it fell on the ground-
The chicken was dead!

I couldn’t believe it!
I just stared in surprise!
All along
He’d been telling me lies!
Now I’m fifty quid less,
With a motionless hen,
And I’m telling you this
So it won’t happen again.

It got a good reaction!  Hell, even Girls seemed to like it!

Of course, my teenage angst soon took over, and stuff got far more moody and twisted.

Most rhyming poems are crap.  They compromise what you’re trying to say because you’re more concerned with trying to find something that rhymes with ‘incandescent’ than just explaining how angry you are!  (Having said that, probably my two favourites DO rhyme, but meh – shup!)

I found people liked this moody non-rhyming stuff even more.  More importantly, Girls liked it!

I found this a bit strange, because most of my poems aren’t actually very nice!  It should also be noted here that I NEVER spend weeks writing a poem like some – mine all came out fast.  A bit like being sick.  I doubt many took me longer than 30 minutes in total (with no more edits after I declared it finished), which made it an excellent release for me.

I went through a period of several years where I’d  write out my latest poems and hand them out by request to several Girls.  I figured this poetry stuff could work!

This is my most published poem overall:


She is rape,
For she holds my heart against my will,
Her icy clutch
Freezing me from inside.
Her playful mind is warped
Like a lioness toying with her prey.
She sees my pain as nothing,
When her own life is desolate.
My joys will never excite her,
Though with my self-destruction
She grows strong enough to fade away.

Dark, huh?

My sister actually acted out one of my poems with her friends when she was at school, which is quite possibly better than being published in a book or magazine!  That was another comedy poem about three old ladies causing havoc in a supermarket, titled ‘Clean Up In Aisle Three’.

For now, though, I’ll leave you with one of my few poems I can remember instantly.  I think it’s got a great flow to it, and don’t feel the rhyme compromises the feel or the words.  And if you think this stuff is dark – you should see some of the lyrics I’ve written for my bands!

Lessons Learned From Scars

A fool to believe
If he wore on his sleeve
His heart – he could have it returned.
For his long drawn-out pain
Just what did he gain?
More scars and more lessons learned.
When she returned his kiss
He felt ultimate bliss
But never, since that long time ago
Did she show that she cared
Or was even aware
Of his pain which swallowed him whole.



Following on from my rant yesterday about everyones knee-jerk reaction to children grappling inside a ‘cage’, watching the news today confirmed why people are even thinking this way.

So what was todays ‘Get Nasty Evil Ninja Swearing And Wanting To Slap The Eyebrows Off People’ story?

School bans leather footballs from playground

*breathes deeply and counts to 10*

So, in case any of the little darlings in our schools get hurt whilst standing around in the areas where other children are playing ball games, schools across the UK have started to ban the use of traditional leather footballs in favour of sponge balls.

Yeah?!  I’ll tell you who’s got the fucking sponge balls!  YOU, YOU HEALTH & SAFETY COCK-NOSES!!!

We’re already shit at football in England, and now they’re taking away the realism of even learning to hone our skills in the playground?  Get real!

If you get hit in the head with a ball, then chances are you were playing in the same area as they were playing ball games.  Or playing the game yourself.  Either way it’s tough titty!

What next?  Ban kids from running around lest they have a little fliddy fall over and tear their petticoat?

Ban them from bending down or jumping?

Hopscotch?  Jumping on ONE leg?  Oh no no no!  They must now walk, trying to keep both feet on the floor and wearing a special helmet, elbow and knee pads!

Our kids are already getting more retarded with each year, so how the Hell is pandering to the lowest common denominator helping anyone?  Let the clumsy little bastards hurt themselves and they might learn not to do it again – don’t change the whole fucking World around them to make amends!

They already brought in a rule years ago that kids aren’t allowed to play conkers without first wearing protective goggles, games like British Bulldog was banned on the first day of every term all through my school life, and I’ve even heard from a friend in Canada that they’ve banned the netting on the backs of the goal in case kids ‘get tangled up in them’!?!

They can’t even do Sack Races in school sports days, incase they fall over…  Not that they’d be allowed to win or lose the race, anyway…

Do they still let kids do science lessons?  I’m sure craft lessons are long gone to stop them accidentally stabbing themselves or bludgeoning each other to death with cotton reels and crepe paper!

It’s time the fuck-tards in charge of Health and Safety accept that humans have been doing this crap for centuries without dying out.  Surely Judges and solicitors can get real and throw out cases on the grounds of Darwinism?

Yeah, the meek are inheriting the Earth, alright…

School Fights Part 3: Behind The Bike Sheds

School Fights Part 3: Behind The Bike Sheds

This was probably the biggest fight I ever had with anyone at school.

It was rather different to fighting Chompy The School Bully.

I think this one was a direct result of people knowing that I was fighting in tournaments and stuff, because the only reason he’s given to this day as to why he wanted to fight was: “I dunno, I just wanted a fight.”

Let’s call this one ‘Tompy’.  He was one of those ‘almost a friend’ type people – in the same class, we got on pretty well – but were never best friends or anything, nor had the will to be.  He was a known ruffian and fighter, and I guess considered one of The Hardest in the school.  He certainly was in his High School the year after we fought, anyway!

So I got the message sometime during the school day that “Tompy wants to fight you behind the bike sheds after school!”.

“Umm… why?”  I asked, thinking how I didn’t particularly want to have my brains bashed in.


“Err… OK then…”  Well, I could hardly find fault with his reasoning, could I?

People spent the rest of the day helpfully informing me how hard he was, and started to avoid the Dead Man Walking again.

After school I went to the bike sheds and he was there already, with an even bigger crowd than when I fought Chompy the year before.

“Are you ready?”  He asked me, as I put my bag down on the floor.

“Well… yeah…”  I told him, getting ready to get into all the “COME ON THEN!!” stuff again…


What the fuck was that?

It was him, smacking me with a right hook before I’d even finished speaking!

Ok then.  We got straight into it – both dancing about, much to the joy of the crowd.  I didn’t really want to be fighting still, but that first punch told me I either had to fight, let him kick the shit out of me, or cry like a baby and call it off and never live it down.

I was a hell of a lot better fighting by this stage, and was getting much nastier, having got into some more brutal styles of martial art.

Unfortunately, I was still shitting myself about fighting him, so I was holding back, and more fighting just to stay even and stop him killing me.  I don’t know why – guess it was just our good buddies Fear and Adrenaline Dump.  Street fighting is a whole new world away from organised competitions, and I was still pretty inexperienced about dealing with my own fear in a ‘real’ fight.

It was an impressive fight – we were using punches and kicks and everything else, and unlike Chompy, Tompy was hitting me hard and I was feeling it.

The fight is still a bit hazy to me, but I remember certain parts of it, either because I’d done something awesome, he’d hurt me, or something surreal was happening.

Now, in competitions, I was a kick specialist, and even to this day I’m an excellent kicker – even though, as back then, I prefer to use hand techniques.  He made the mistake of trying to take me on with kicks early on in the fight.  I remember after fielding a few of these (and this was probably the first time my sixth sense had kicked in during a fight), he tried a kick, but somehow I not only saw it coming, I actually jumped in the air over his leg and kicked down on top of his kick.  He never attempted another kick, and my confidence soared from that point.

A few times, we had to stop fighting because a Teacher was walking past on their way home, and we’d all wander off slowly then leg it back when they’d gone, and it was straight back to the fight.

I managed to grab his hair, intending to pull his head back and drop a hammer fist on his face (my current favourite Nasty Move), but couldn’t quite get his head back so the move failed.

He got me in a head lock, and was smacking me right in my mush with his other hand – fuck knows how he didn’t have my teeth out or break my nose!

Then he tried to throw me on the floor, and I got a hold and took him down but landed hard on my shoulder.  We both jumped back up and carried on.

Then, I remember clearly that I was stepping back for a bit of a breather, and threw out two super-fast left jabs.  Both connected with his nose, which spread out all over his face and gushed blood.  A few punches that I thought were gentle taps and all that damage from them!

He was still fighting, and seeing the damage to him, I’d gained total confidence in myself.  This was MY fight.  I was in control.  The fear had gone.

I asked him if he wanted to stop, to which he quickly said (just like Chompy had) “He wanted to stop – you all heard that!”

Fine by me – but I really was going to go for it after that!

For some fucked up reason, most people said he’d won that fight, and it wasn’t until a few years later when I spoke to those same people that they admitted I absolutely battered him!  I guess they were his mates, or wanted to stay on his good side as they went to his High School, and I went to mine.

All I know is that I was the one cleaning his blood off me that night, and I’d found out this time that I really could fight – and I was good!  Although that fall totally fucked up my shoulder, so it was probably good that the fight ended there, rather than not long after when I found I couldn’t raise my arm!!!

School Fights Part 2

School Fights Part 2

A few times, everyone had to very slowly walk away from the school, as a teacher left. As soon as the teacher had rounded a corner, the crowd eagerly rushed back to Ground Zero.

Finally, the Lollipop Lady left, and it was Fight Time.$plit/C_71_article_1111189_image_list_image_list_item_0_image.jpg

Having never done this before, I wasn’t really sure what happened to get things moving. We faced off against each other, and we took it in turns saying “COME ON THEN!!!!” at each other for a few minutes.

Neither of us was seemingly going to ‘come on’. Frankly, everyone else seemed to be getting a bit bored.

Some helpful soul in the crowd gave me a hearty shove in the back, propelling me towards Chompy like a hang-glider heading towards a mountain.

I got my hands in the way and gave him a good old shove. He returned the favour, asking me to “COME ON THEN!!!!!!!” even louder than before.

Another few long minutes of this passed.

It was becoming clear that this big hard bully who’d called me out for a fight, didn’t actually want to START the fight!

I decided to take the initiative. My Karate Competition Winning Move (yes, I had one, and it changed every few months – no, it was never the Crane Kick) at the time was a hefty old reverse lunge punch to the gut.

I dropped down and my lightning-fast fist went into the folds of flab on his belly, sinking deeper and deeper… and deeper… and deeper… and….

Surely I should have hit SOMETHING solid by now?

I must have been almost shoulder deep in the fuckers belly, and I still hadn’t hit anything solid! Usually people would be crumpled up and spewing on the floor, and the Judges would wave flags in my direction and yell “Point!”. All I got here was a muffled “Oomph!” from Chompy as I retrieved my hand!

He didn’t look happy about the whole affair though.

He came at me, making little “Uss! Uss!” noises every time he threw a punch. Ah – that would be his Boxing training! Whatever it was, it was fucking irritating, and something he had the piss ripped out of him for years afterwards… I suppose at least I hadn’t yelled out a bloodcurdling “KIAI!!!” when I punched him, or I may have got the same!

It’s funny how when you’re younger, you can smash each other in the face multiple times and cause no damage. There’s a line you cross somewhere between 16 and 21, when all of a sudden one smack in the mush is enough to end the fight in a shower of blood and snot. I guess fighting when young was more fun in that respect.

We both danced around – me doing the gay Karate freestyle bob, him wiggling his Station-from-Bill-&-Teds humungous ass and ‘Uss! Uss!’ing his little heart out.

The crowd was all excited, as we harmlessly bashed each others brains out with our fists.

I dropped down low to deliver my trademark sweep, when he gave me an opening… and promptly fell off the curb into the road.

He ‘uss’ed me with an uppercut right on my jaw just as I was struggling to get out of the path of the car that was coming down the road! The cheek!

I gave him a quick tomp on the side of the head as I got back out the road, and we reached a lull.

Big Ole Chompy was looking a bit worse for wear – not because of battle damage, but he was obviously only used to collecting other kids’ dinner money, not having to ‘uss!’ more than a few times.

“Do you want to stop?” I asked him.

“You heard him! He wants to stop!” He cried to the crowd, picking up his bag and waddling off up the street.

I blinked a few times, rubbed the tiny bruise on my jaw, accepted the pats on the back from everyone, and never got bullied again!

School Fights Part 1

School Fights Part 1

Believe it or not, even though I first started Martial Arts when I was 8 years old, I’ve only had two ‘real’ fights at school.

You may think this is because they all knew I was winning competitions and kicking ass, so they were all to scared to give me any hassle – but in actual fact I kept it all pretty quiet. Sure, I could have been bragging about it to everyone, but if you do that eventually someone will come along and say “I’m harder than you” and proceed to tear off limbs and other appendages and beat you to death with them.

It’s always better to let the Hard Guys get on with it – deep down they know that if they get beaten by a snotty nobody then their reputation is in tatters – and if they win it’s only to be expected.

I was always very skinny, and just above average height. I was good at sports, had a bit of a brain, liked a laugh, and so generally avoided the attention of Bullies.

Until the third year of Middle School (or Year 7 for you young whipper-snappers).

The biggest, fattest kid in the school – let’s call him Chompy, because he can’t have had time for many other activities – must have been bored with his current crop of cattle, so turned his attentions onto me.

He started pushing me around, and making threats, and generally trying to make my life as miserable as he could. It worked quite well, because behind my happy-go-lucky front, I was just another scared, insecure kid.

I told a few people he was bullying me, and had the usual advice of  ‘stand up to him’!

OK, I had the skills (probably), but this guy was about three times my size, and I was used to being the biggest in my weight category for competitions, so wasn’t too happy at the prospect of Chompy sitting on me. Plus the fact that Chompy had been taking Boxing lessons, and thought himself tastier than a lard sandwich.

I put up with it for a week or two – which seemed like an eternity at that age, before it finally came to a head in the middle of a classroom.

The teacher was out of the room, but the class was full, and Chompy said something to me to try and get the other scared kids to laugh at me, and I turned and walked away, across the middle of the classroom.

Suddenly I felt one of this big fuckers hooves whacking me in the back of the leg!

My expected thought of “Ow! Fetch Mummy!!!” didn’t come.

Rage did.

I’d had enough of that shit, so I turned back to face his huge moon-like sneering face, and as I did, brought my fist around in a right hook.

It connected hard with his temple. I’d hit a lot of heads by this time, but NONE like his. I swear my fist bounced back off his protective blubber as if I’d just hit a stack of tyres with a rubber mallet!

Time stood still, as all the air was sucked from the room by everyone watching.

I thought “Uh-oh!”.

He went a bit cross-eyed and sat on a desk behind him, going bright red like some kind of big bullying angry tomato. His whole body seemed to throb like a cartoon thumb that’s been hit with a hammer.

After what seemed like time to take at least three much-needed bowel movements, he spake thus:

“You’re dead you are, Cater!”

Thunder boomed and lightning lit the side of his face in a fun-house show of Doom (well, ok – I may have made that part up, but it may as well have).

The air came back into the room, to be replaced by lots of “Oooh”s and “Ahhh”s.

And so word spread, and everyone spent the rest of the day in eager anticipation of the David & Goliath Fight which was to happen after school…

Cuando Monos Vuelven De Mi Culo

Cuando Monos Vuelven De Mi Culo

Following on from my recent rant about people refusing to try ‘foreign food’…  Spanish (or “Ess-pan-yol” as we say in Birmingham) is the language out of the 7 I know to various degrees that I’ve found easiest to learn.

Unlike English and Japanese, and German-when-you-get-to-the-verbs, it all makes perfect sense!  Seriously, some of you reading this from outside the UK may not know (Un burro sabe mas que tu!) that even though Spanish is the worlds second biggest language and by far the easiest to learn, we get forced to learn French instead.

And I mean FORCED.

After 5 years of French in school, with some cunt-wig of a teacher bullying me, I finally managed to get out of it in favour of learning Spanish.  Ironically, this was after having also been forced to learn a year of German, and even more ironically it was only the Thick Kids who were given the option to learn Spanish!

How fucking retarded that those of us with the brians to be in top group were made to learn useless languages rather than the second biggest in the damn world???

Yes, I am still bitter, and with good reason.  I learnt more in six months of Spanish than I did in 5 years of French or a year of German (which itself was equal to 5 years of French, too).  OK, I wouldn’t mind going to Germany, and I listen to some German Industrial music, but fuck France!  When am I going to need that shit other than when I’ve downloaded a French film with the wrong subtitles???

*stares out of the window trying to remember the point of his blog*

Yes, so since school I didn’t need Spanish until a holiday when I was 27.  I brushed up on the basics, and sincerely think my holiday was vastly improved because I could struggle through the native language.  I just decided I’d better take a look at some basic phrases again, and was amazed at how quickly and easily it all came back to me!

Which brings me to another thing!  When looking at the online reviews of our hotel, one of the most common complaints was:

“The hotel staff only seem to speak basic English!”

You have GOT to be shitting me???

I can actually feel the sweet tides of Rage seeping through my body typing that statement out.



Scum like these idiots really should be banned from ever leaving their hometown!

I am horrifically embarrassed to be English when I’m abroad.  Oh my God, what if they think I’m like them???

One more reason to speak their lingo as much as I possibly can…

Oh, and for that little bit extra, I’ve finally found a truly excellent website that I thought disappeared years ago, which has, shall we say… more interesting phrases which may be useful:

Now, veta a la mierde!