Ben Nitt’s One Word Poem Competition

I thought it would be fun, being the new chap on the block, so to speak, if I held a little competition amongst the Collective to come up with a One Word Poem. The idea occurred to when nibbling on a fairy cake that I had baked to Mother’s recipe. They’re a delicious light and fluffy cake and it’s making sure the butter is at room temperature prior to mixing that makes all the difference. Florence Ethelwell, from two doors down, insists that that’s just rubbish, but her fairy cakes ain’t a patch on Mother’s as they tend to cling a little to the palette and feel rather claggy.

I could go on for days about the virtues of Mother’s fairy cakes, and as I’m not really doing much at the moment I think I might just … only joking. The rules are simple, which is just as well taking the participants into consideration. One word and I’ll also ask them to explain their entry (that’s not an euphemism) before considering my verdict.

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Self explanatory man. We need revolution and we need it now before the human race can evolve further. Listen man, I don’t wanna go into some diatribe over one word, yeah. You either dig or you don’t.

Verdict: Terry, this is very interesting. You’re right of course, it is self explanatory and I feel this is definitely a contender.

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Drew - piss flaps

Like I wanna be bothered to play these stupid fucking games. What you fink I’m seven or somfink man. This whole fucking idea is gash.

Verdict: Young lady, and I use that term very loosely, very loosely indeed, I’m afraid ‘piss flaps’ whatever the blazes they may be, are in fact two words and as such I’m having to disqualify you from the competition. Furthermore I didn’t really want to say anything but you seem to have an attitude problem. It’s a shame Mother isn’t around to sort you out with a nice sensible outfit from Marks and Spencer. Prancing around showing the whole world and its wife your belly button. Have you no shame? And wearing that flouncy little skirt. I’ve no desire to know what colour knickers you’re wearing. You young girls make me all unnecessary and queasy. It’s a good job Mother doesn’t know that I’m now associated with girls like you or it would kill her. Is that what you want? Eh? Killing Mother. Mother killer. Having the death of a sweet innocent old lady on your conscious?

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Dick - bollocks

Me I love that word. Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks. It rolls off the tongue and is brilliant. Brilliant bollocks. Bollocky bollocks and bollocks and more bollocks. So I reckon it’s in the bag for me: a) ‘cos I’m a poetry genius, b) ‘cos I’m the dog’s bollocks. Time to hand over the prize yer great Northern poofty. I hope it’s not cheese, or a pebble. I won a pebble once, only it turned out to be an old bit of chewing gum.

Verdict: God help me.

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Cath - I’m not entering this little competition (the only word that comes to my mind is gin) but Ben, sweetie, you’ve got to be brutally cuntish. Think of this as practise for your Poetry Surgery. This lot are a bunch of wankers. Tell ‘em so. Remember, this is your editor speaking. Put them in their place. They’re a gaggle of fuck wits and make sure they know it.

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Paul - serendipitous

Well I picked up a book and opened it at a random page, closed my eyes and pointed to a word. I thought it rather cool.

Verdict: We are supposed to be having a little competition for fun. A little One Word Poem competition, not who can be the biggest ponce competition. I suppose you’re feeling rather pleased with yourself. I’m just not having this - oh I just casually picked up a book and stumbled across this word fortuitously. Mother would send you to bed without your tea for being stuck so far up your own arse you need a ladder, the fire brigade, and a champion tug of war team to pull you back out, and I certainly don’t find you very clever.

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Charlotte - Cuddles

I spoke to your mother last night and she said that if I really wanted to pull at your heart strings I should dedicate something to Cuddlebumkins the teddy bear. Well my One Word Poem is Cuddles. Poor Cuddlebumkins, who had an argument with a food processor and lost. Poor, poor Cuddlebumkins of a thousand thousand pieces. So sad. Boo hoo.

Verdict: YOU FUCKING COW. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. You’re a whore and a slut and I bet your lady’s bits smells like a haddock’s arse. You definitely ain’t winning. Jessica Christ! Why did I ever agree to join this lot.

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Tom - sock

I just like socks. Socks is poetry to me.

Verdict: THE WINNER OF THE ONE WORD POEM COMPETITION IS TOM. It’s total rubbish but the rest of you are an relentless bunch of cunts. I didn’t really want to use such a rude word but Cath insisted. Mother would be so disappointed that I’ve developed such a potty mouth. She always said I’d end up no good, and it certainly looks as if I’m heading in that direction. Sorry Mother - I’ll fetch the Yardley’s soap and you can wash my mouth out. I much prefer the taste of Yardley’s to Lifeboy, although Palmolive isn’t so bad. Luckily we’ve no computer at home so she won’t be reading this trash, and besides, I told her I had a job at the penguin relocation department of Hackney Borough Council. Bless her, she thinks I’m handing out chocolate biscuits to the great unwashed.