ConFab Cabaret – the hairy one

Last night was Malvern’s fourth ConFab Cabaret (“the hairy one”). What a night! Actually, it could have been subtitled “audience participation” as well because there was such scope for singing, chanting, voting and being involved – including a brief outburst Happy Birthday for me, which was unexpected but very lovely (and cake! Mmm!). Thank you all!

I signed-up for an open mic slot with an audience chorus poem on Badgers and, for the official Fox Pops, we made an audience-created poem: choice of subjects were 1 ) Morgan motor cars, 2 ) ConFab Cabaret itself and 3 ) Donkeys. Donkeys won by a massive cheer. The audience then had the remainder of part one and the interval to create their masterpiece lines. As part two began I sat on the floor (so I could see by the under-counter fairy lights), spread out all the slips of paper and sellotaped them into the poem below. I think finale of part one act Fanny Libido’s innuendo may have rubbed off on the audience’s collective subconsciences. All the lines below, including title, were from the audience. If any are missing it’s because they didn’t make it back to me or they seemed to be utterly inebriated and non-ass-related (I couldn’t make heads nor tails of a couple).

 

That’s Not Where You Pin The Tail

Little Donkey, little Donkey, more popular than ConFab Cabaret
for, in a previous time,
muffin the mule was considered a crime.

Shoe that donkey
that well-heeled mule
send the bill to the
ConFab Cabaret school
call me Fanny and give me more Dick!
The donkey’s plonker is, of course,
longer than a milkman’s horse!
And suspiciously well-endowed.
I wish I was hung like a donkey!
Get off my back!
No, it’s not a carrot I’m a donkey.
Mule school or donkey paddock?
Too much muscle in that bustle was Fanny Craddock!

My name is Earl, I am a donkey
and my legs are kind of wonky.
His middle name was Bonky.
And my donkey was rather wonky as he wrestled with my weight.

Donkey sounds
like monkey.

When I grow old I’ll buy a donkey,
and you know I’ll call her Trossachs.
He was as stubborn as his ass.
I might run the 60th anniversary Worcestershire Beacon race
on Saturday 12th October … like a donkey!
Kids sitting high upon the saddle.
Donkey up above St Ann’s
carrying Victorian water cures.
Donkey had a fat ass
On the floor
and went eey-or
E-or, e-or

Every evening, donkeys watch dressage;
every morning, they twitch rhythmically
as they chew on thistles.

 

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