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A poem about the real Olympics, where all deserve a gold medal.

God is dead. Darwin Dishwack killed him. That fight is over. In a world without religion, the preeminent atheist is bored. At his lowest ebb, he's willing to give anything to throw fists once again.

Have I gone mad?

and she was Sobranies and Bombay Sapphire gin;

By all accounts he was precisely the wrong kind of child for anything exciting to happen to.

It is good to be a satyr and a Saxon, a scholar and a sentimental fool in the same jumbled package, I think.

Andy found a way to live in heaven and on earth