Some time ago, we had someone working with us called David Stabler. He wrote some weird stuff, and I’ve kept some of it, which I’ve reproduced here. Since this was first published on this site, David put his own name in a Google search, and he was extremely surprised to find this page.

THE COLLECTED WORKS OF DAVID STABLER

Former Inmate Of ‘That’ Asylum

Proof, if any were needed, of what ‘that place’ could do to your brain.

A Poem About August The Tenth

August the tenth. It's august the tenth.

What can you say about august the tenth?

Creme de menthe. Creme de menthe.

Sadly, all that will rhyme with august the tenth.

But August the tenth. August the tenth.

It's pikey pants' birthday on August the tenth.

August the tenth. O August the tenth.

What more can you say about august the tenth?

NOWT...(YAWN)

THE END

The Baggage Retrieval Song

I'm so worried about what's happening today

In the middle east, you know.

And I'm so worried about the baggage retrieval system they've got at Heathrow.

I'm so worried about the fashions today.

I don't think they're good for your feet.

And I'm so worried about the shows on TV that sometimes I want to repeat.

(I think there is a chorus missing, here)

I'm so worried about my hair falling out,

And the state of the world today.

And I'm so worried being so full of doubt about everything anyway.

I'm so worried about modern technology,

And im worried about all the things that they dump in the sea.

And I'm worried about the baggage retrieval system they've got at Heathrow.

I'm so worried about this very next verse.

It isn't the best that I've got.

And I'm so worried about whether i should go on or whether I shouldn't just stop.

I'm so worried about whether I'm spoiling this show.

And I'm worried about is there something that I ought to know.

And I'm worried about the baggage retrieval system they've got at Heathrow.

I'm so worried about whether I should have stopped then.

And I'm worried about driving everybody round the bend.

And I'm worried about the baggage retrieval system they've got at Heathrow.

 Baghdad, Baghdad Burning Bright

Baghdad, Baghdad burning bright

In the middle of the night

Because her policies are she-ite.

Baghdad, Baghdad burning bright

"This is Stubble signing off, War Poet, Baghdad...and remember this, folks: The war cannot get any verse...hahahahahahahauuuurgh"

I Wandered Lonely As A Camel

I wandered lonely as a camel forlorn among the dunes.

In the middle of the night I gazed up at the moon.

Was this the moon? It seemed to grow. Something was clearly wrong.

Alas, against a scud missile a camel's not so strong

Christmas Cheer

Now is the time for Christmas cheer,

When wallets are filled with nothing but fear,

For the bonus has dwindled to nothing this year.

But at least Paul Hindmarsh will buy us a beer.

And , what’s this? It's Jerry, in Jean Harlow gear.

He's off to kings cross, a moonlighting career

Soliciting solicitors, and if lucky, a peer.

And here's Rob and his underpants, feeling quite queer.

His sheep is nervous, protecting its rear.

And nobody else is sitting too near,

Whilst violence erupts. Oh dear, Oh dear!

DAF stabs Les in the ribs with a spear.

And Les wants to give him a bloody thick ear.

What’s become of the hokey-cokey this year?

Thank God it's the time of mistletoe and cheer.

A Day In The Life Of...

Mutt and Jeff blamed Steven.

Phil and Don blamed Claire.

And everyone blamed Nigel

'Cos Nigel was not there.

Then Mutt and Don blamed Jeff,

And Phil blamed Jeff and Don.

Claire accidentally blamed herself,

And so was shot at dawn.

Steven then blamed Jeff and Phil.

Their wives and children, too.

Mutt blamed Don's great-granny

Who died in '32.

Don blamed Salman Rushdi.

Jeff blamed the I.R.A.

I do not think this program

Will be fixed today!

Rough First Drafts Of Poetry - No. 3 - Wordsworth's 'Daffodils'

I wandered like a lone banana

Through the scrabbled fens.

I fell into a lurgy bush,

And there my story ends.

 Interesting Fact Number 345672

The brontosaurus and the giraffe are very good friends, although from very different periods in history.

 Herbert Fanshawe

Herbert Fanshawe is rotting away.

A grin bright blue with tooth decay.

His skin is a wonderful sweaty stained grey,

And gives off the stench of a ripening dead stray

Pus seeping out of his puce fingernails.

His nostrils seem like a highway for snails.

His sneezes are wetter than force-seven gales.

And the gas supply from his bowels never fails.

Edward's Gang And Henry's Gang

Edward's gang, and Henry's gang prepared to have a battle.

They limbered up, they limbered down, spread malicious tittle-tattle.

They loaded up with sticks and stones. They loaded up with liquor.

They posed around the town all week making their biceps thicker.

At last they met, up on the hill to glower viciously.

Then sadly, someone giggled so they all went home for tea.

Grey Day

Concrete-sky go away day.

Don't want to go out to play day.

Breakfast in bed on a tray day.

Distress, S. O. S. flares, Mayday.

A grey day.

Half A Bee

Half a bee, philosophically

Must ispso-facto, half not-be.

But can a bee be said to be

An entire bee

When half that bee is not a bee

Due to some ancient injury.

The Hippo - One I prepared Earlier (I wrote this at my first company and people complained)

O' see the little hippo skipping through the glade.

He stops to smell the daffodils and the jolly nightshade.

O' see the hippo's burrow snug beneath the ground

With baby hippos, one, two, three, sleeping safe and sound.

O' see the friendly poacher with his merry sack.

He spies the hippo's burrow and climbs down from his yak.

O' see the little hippo in his lonely hole

With baby hippos, one, two, three safe in a casserole.

Lines To The Person In This Poem

So what can you do

To get out of this poem?

You cannot escape.

This poem is your home.

You are trapped here forever

Within these confines.

A servant of rhyme

Imprisoned by lines.

You only exist

Within this small verse.

Outside, you will vanish.

But is that much worse?

 Salutations

May the bluebird of happiness visit you more often than the chicken of depression.

May the number of angels perched upon a pinhead always outnumber the walruses wrestling upon your fire-side rug...

May you be blessed with many camels. And may they all be housetrained.

May your elephants increase the richness of your household.

Nothing To Do

Nothing to do.

Well, not strictly true.

I've got a few odds,

And I've never had sods,

And I'm bored with this poem,

And I wanna go home

We All Survived The Nuclear Bomb

We all survived the nuclear bomb,

Bill and Frank and me.

Frank lost a leg, but never mind,

For bill quite soon had three.

I learned to fly, but feathered arms

Attracted lots of rats.

Imagine, then, how thrilled I was

When frank gave birth to cats.

It's Rare To Meet An Ocelot

It's rare to meet an ocelot

In college road these days.

You certainly won't spot a lot

In the bus queue near Gateways.

I thought i saw an ocelot.

Of course, I may be wrong.

It may be a non-ocelot

I glimpsed among the throng.

I thought its hat said 'ocelot'

As it shuffled up St. Anne's,

Where I've often come across a lot

Of meek orang utans.

And gibbons use the bus a lot.

Wombats, the Mirrabeau.

But did I spot an ocelot?

I guess I'll never know.

The Sad Tale Of Pamela And Roger's Son -----

Pamela's son had genes filled with talent.

Quick witted and sharp, brilliant and gallant.

He was just starting out on a wonderful life

When Roger decided he didn't want a wife.

So, instead of this person whose genius would treat us,

Pamela went out and aborted the foetus.

The Rather Silly Tale Of The Panda And The Jaguar

A Panda and a Jaguar were walking through the wood.

Said the Panda to the Jaguar, 'I hope you've brought some food'.

The Jaguar said nothing. He liked his friend, of course.

But he liked him more that evening, done with mint and apple sauce.

Peace

"What about Peace?" said the crowd at the door.

"Lets forget about killing and fighting and war.

Lets stop all this bloodshed and maiming and gore.

Nobody wants it. So whats it all for?"

Half a day later, that crowd was no more.

Political 'Pome' About Everybody-Knows-Where

May you never eat after the dogs are all done.

May you never be whipped with the butt of a gun.

May you never be sjambokked for crossing your street,

Or instantly branded a thief and a cheat.

May you never have silence as your next of kin.

May you never come second whenever you win.

May you never be woken by boots in the night.

May you never be missing before the first light.

Thoughts On Porcupines

How does the little porcupine proliferate his kind?

Obviously, for closeness they are not designed

To know his mate will hurt him at every twist and turn,

And that though he does not choose to, he will hurt her in return.

I'm surprised they do not falter, yet the species does not die.

Who would be a porcupine? Certainly, not I.

Ode To A 'Post-It' (Hmmm - How Bored Am I?)

There's a little yellow 'post-it' next to me.

It's got pencil marks and red marks made by me.

And I stuck it on my keyboard days ago.

But what it's any good for, I don't know.

Sometimes I think it should go in the bin.

But when I turn around it's there again.

It's a stubborn little 'post-it' but I know

That soon the day will dawn when it must go.

I'd Rather

Well, this weather is so crappy,

I'd rather change a baby's nappy

Than get up in the morning with a smile.

I'd rather sit upon a hedgehog,

Have dinner with a dead dog,

Or be convicted in a murder trial.

I'd rather kiss an anaconda,

Eat a fish called Wanda.

I'd prefer to be marooned and lost at sea.

I'd rather watch an hour of 'neighbours',

Wear lipstick in a gay bar.

But I wouldn't rather work for F.N.B.

The World Is Slowing Down

'The world is slowing down'

Said the Melancholy Clown,

'And I'm quite afraid that we shall all fall off.'

But the Politicians yawned,

And the Men in Suits all scorned.

And you should have heard the Churchy Folk all scoff.

When dawned that fateful day,

They all drifted clean away,

Quite ruining the Business Fiscal Year.

Then the world gave out a sigh,

And spun off into the sky,

And its Rain Forests gave out a mighty cheer.

Somnambulism Blues

Nothing much to do today.

Read the papers in the usual way.

Sat on the train, turning grey.

That sort of day.

Cant wait for winter, is it soon?

The rain comes down, well, how like June.

Incessant, wet, a rhythmic tune.

That sort of June

And nobody has much to say.

They read their papers, usual way.

Sit on the train, they've all turned grey.

That sort of grey.

A girl gets on, a man gets off.

Her hair is wet, he has a cough.

Her mascara does not mask enough.

That sort of girl.

We all dutifully gaze away

At nothing, at the passing grey,

Or read the papers, usual way.

That sort of way.

So life goes on in Black and White.

It really might as well be night.

You don't see Colours in this light.

That sort of light.

Nothing much to do today.

Read the papers in the usual way.

Sat on the train, turning grey.

That sort of day.

Terminal Disease

I have a Terminal Disease.

Let me out of here, please.

Let me out of Effing Bee.

It's not where I want to be,

Cos I'm going up the wall'

And no-one cares at all.

Sometimes I think I am a tree.

They keep peeing against me.

Woooops - here comes a wave again

Of Pink Aardvaarks thru my brain.

Wibbly woooblity nyip nyip nyip

Pzzzzzzzzzzipppbbbit.

Thingy

There is a huge whopping great green thingy

hanging over me.

It's the whoppingest great green thingy

You will ever see.

So with quivering of vocal chords,

And quavering of knee,

I say "Go away great green thingy,

Or you'll put me off my tea".

The Sad And Tragic Death Of Uncle Bill

Toilet, toilet, burning bright

In the middle of the night.

How it happened, no-one knows.

But from the bowl, a red flame glows.

How sad, and even sadder still

For fatally charred uncle Bill.

The Wonderful Wobbly Thing

"Its The Wonderful Wobbly Thing!"

The Peasants and Pheasants all sing.

"Forget about poverty, hunger and strife.

Don't fret over death, or the drabness of life.

For nothing else matters, all will be great,

Hunky-dory, and super - laid out on a plate.

Where there was winter, there will now be spring

Because of The Wonderful Wobbly Thing!"

At last The Wonderful Wobbly Thing came,

But it's Wobbler went wrong and so things stayed the same

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