DAVID BATEMAN LAZY BASTARD I’m a lazy bastard. Always miss my morning call. Every time I try to start, I always seem to stall. Activity rebounds on me, like spitting in a squall. He who gets up from his bed is heading for a fall. I can’t hold down a steady job to earn the wherewithal. I trawl through all the want-ads: I trawl and trawl and trawl: One day I’ll find one saying, “Lazy git required, to sprawl,” Or I’ll advertise myself and tell them “No job is too small.” Is it nature? Is it nurture? Is it something in my gall? Did aliens abduct me when I’d barely learnt to crawl? Did they tamper with my brain so as to hold me in their thrall? Well, even if they did, I can’t be bothered to recall. Even going down the pub seems such a bloody haul: The thought of walking thirty yards can make the prospect pall, So don’t worry if you see me slumped and furtive by a wall: I’m loitering with no intent of anything at all. Back to TUT Samples Back to The Ugly Tree The Library