An Open Letter To Russell Brand

Dear Russell Brand

Oh Russell, oh Russell, let me comb your dark locks
Let me iron your y-fronts and treat your sex-pox
I shall sew on your jeans so they cut off your blood
And I’ll make you well known ‘mongst the brave and the good

Oh Russell, oh Russell, no more shall you pout
I’ll do it all for you, so you’ve time to doubt
Yes, sit there all lonely, oh Russell my dear
And maybe with time all will seem very clear

One night, when your head is reposing in sleep
I’ll abandon my knitting and slowly shall creep
I’ll cut off your hair, and your ears, and your nose
Your manhood and fingers and all of your toes

And, while you lie croaking, all bleeding and raw
All of a sudden you’ll see what we saw
Just before death comes, you’ll suddenly see
How without you, dear Russell, how good it will be

With your last dying words, your last lungful of breath
Perhaps you’ll repent, dear, repent and confess
To being annoying and squeaky and dull
And probably, secretly, even from Hull

Oh Russell, your funeral - no-one will come
Not even the vicar, not even your Mum
But your absence will merely develop your charm
And I doubt that society’ll sustain lasting harm.

Yours in expectation,

Minnie xxx