Why the Brits set fire to everything on November 5th

For those who don’t know, today (November 5th) is the anniversary of the Gunpowder Plot in 1605 which fortunately failed to blow up the British Parliament at the time, although in more recent centuries there have been many who thought it was a shame the plot failed.

Why the Brits set fire to everything on November 5th

Guy Fawkes, I want a word with you…

What really irks some of us is because Guy Fawkes and his cohorts failed to pull off their Plot, we have been plagued ever since by the Brits’ need to gloat over its failure by engaging in barbaric practices. This includes burning stuffed bean bags adorned with images of “The Guy” (i.e. the unfortunate Mr Fawkes) on top of bonfires…

…and letting off noisy fireworks that terrify small children, dogs, cats, horses and wildlife.

At around the same time those not hiding under furniture are expected to tuck into burnt sausages, burgers, baked potatoes etc. cooked on or in bonfires built from a year’s worth of junk and garden crap to further celebrate our Guy’s dismal failure at lighting up anything other than his cigar if he was lucky.

Here, then, is a tribute to our d*ckhead Guy and the chaotic tradition he created…

Fireworks Night

Guy Fawkes, I want a word with you
You bumbling, clumsy nit wit
The fact you failed what the Plot entailed
Has left us really paying for it.

Had you got blowing Parliament up
Done properly in the first place
We’d not have had to suffer each
November’s noisy fart race.

For 400 years and plus by now
We’ve had to try to put right
Your stupid, crass ineptitude
By setting fire to cordite.

Now if that weren’t just bad enough
There’s all that crap food fervour
While barbecues and fires burn
Cheap sausages and burgers.

You eat them in the dark of course
In buns or rolls a-blazing
But burn your hands on one end
While the other end is freezing.

And soon the lovely little Tommy
Steps in dog sh*t in the gloom
Tracks it into your Mercedes
Leaving everlasting fumes.

Then young Mildred grasps a sparkler
By the wrong end when aflame
Screams with fright and pain, poor Mildred
Off you go to the Emergency Room.

When eventually you get back home
Wondering why your shed’s a-glow
You realise your neighbour’s fireworks
Turned it into a bonfire show.

As I said, my dear old Guy Fawkes
You have much to answer for
Had you managed to blow it all up
At least this sh*te we could ignore.

Have you read your Huff Post today?

Mischieverse is coming…

Excerpted from “Mischieverse: rude humour that sort-of rhymes”

by Suzan St Maur
to be published in 2017
© Suzan St Maur 2016-2017

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