Astyages's Weblog

August 16, 2009

The Woeful Tale of Porky Joe

Filed under: Porky Joe — astyages @ 2:57 pm


The Woeful Tale of Porky Joe


Up in North Australia,

Where the crocodilligators grow

There lived a wild pig-shooter

By the name of Porky Joe.

Now Porky had a sheila

Who thought it was her right

To punish her errant husband

If he came in too late at night…


One evening on the grog, in town,

As men are wont to do

He bumped into a sheila

On his way out to the loo…

With thighs like traps of steel

And the biggest eyes of blue…

The cocky’s youngest daughter,

Whose name was Cindy-Lou.


Now Cindy was a young girl

And she thought it was no harm

As Porky grabbed a bottle of Bundy

And walked her out towards the barn.

And in Cindy-Lou’s young arms

Porky Joe quite forgot himself

He forgot his wife, Matilda,

His children… and his health!


Until at dawn the cock crowed

And he was jerked awake

With terrifying thoughts

Of the revenge his wife would take…

While Matilda had spent the night

Wracking her furious brain

For a means to punish Porky Joe,

So he would not do it again.


Quickly springing up and leaving

Cindy-Lou there in the hay

Porky Joe ran home directly,

Trying to think what he would say

Had anybody seen them…?

Or had they maybe overheard…?

And if anybody had seen,

Would they spread the word?


He decided that they would,

And he knew then he was doomed

To a life serving Matilda

While she lay idle in her room;

Attending her smallest whim,

Porky knew would be his fate

While he strove in vain for forgiveness

And she gave him only hate.


But as he opened his front door,

Much to his surprise,

Matilda brought his pipe and bowl…

He could not believe his eyes.

Showing nothing but concern

For the welfare of her man

She acted pleased to see him;

Revealing nothing of her plan…


Porky Joe was taken in by Matilda’s

Surprisingly pleasant manner

And finally he managed

To utter with a stammer,

“P-p-passed out in the barn behind the

Drover’s Arms after I’d cried ‘Ruth’”

She seemed happy to believe him;

As if he always told the truth…


But Matilda was not deceived

By Porky Joe’s transparent lie;

She’d smelled another woman’s scent

Upon him as she removed his tie

And wisely she said nothing

But dutifully she fed

Her hungry errant husband

And then sent him off to bed.


Then, as he slept quite soundly,

Free from any fears,

Matilda crept into her husband’s room

With an old-fashioned pair of shears…

She severed him from his manhood,

As suddenly from his dream

Porky Joe woke in a bloody puddle,

With an agonizing scream.


“Matilda, what have you done to me?”

He said, but it was clear

From his new soprano voice

And the blood upon the shears;

His wife had just castrated him;

And she’d thoroughly taken all…

He’d liked a game of snooker,

But now he’d neither stick nor ball.


But Joe realized where the fault lay;

And he knew it was all his own

He should never have taught Matilda

To use the shears and sharpening stone.

But the moral became clear to him

As Joe bled to death alone,

If you shit on your own doorstep,

It’s safer never to come home.


So come all you wild pig-shooters

And listen to my story

If you behave like Porky Joe

Your end will be quite gory.

And like Porky Joe, a-lying there

In all his blood and gore,

You’ll never go a-waltzing

Your Matilda any more…


 By DL Rowlands

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