With the Olympics soon in Sydeny,
I have decided to rebel,
I'm convening the Fat Bastard Games,
Those fit people can go to Hell.
Events will not be necessary,
We'll decide them on the day,
Let's not get hung up on excercise,
Let the Fat Bastards have their way.
But medals will be plentiful,
Given out now and then,
Bugger the gold, silver, bronze,
Let's award down to ten.
Tenth will be the colour grey,
But not signifying last,
It is to signify athlete proportions,
And the shadows that they cast.
Ninth is signified by red,
A colour you can't disguise,
It pays homage to late night footy,
And the colour it makes your eyes
Eight is recognised with yellow,
A colour sure to please,
It reminds us of last nights pizza,
Covered in mozzarella cheese.
Seventh is a hue of green,
Taking pride of place,
It displays the six packs of last night,
And the current colour of your face.
Sixth is the purest kind of white,
The athlete's in good stead,
It recognises the effect of aspirin,
On a hung-over head.
Fifth is a beautiful beige,
Sure to make you smile,
The colour of the athlete's cushions,
When they are Unwashed for a while.
Fourth is shimmering brown cordouroy (?),
Making all feel fine,
To recognise the colour of the lounge,
Upon which most athletes recline.
Third is a wonderous tattered black,
The recipient can justly prance,
To symbolise the athlete's attire,
Of raggedy Nike track pants.
Second is holy lettered black,
To the winners circle to float,
It mirrors the holy athlete's baton,
Of the cable TV remote.
First is the most excellent amber,
It's allure shall never fail,
The colour is to remind us all,
Of our favourite ale.
Now the prizes are all organised,
I let out a stifled groan,
Fat Bastards will not compete -
We rarely leave our home.