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35 There's A Walrus In My Soup
There's A Walrus In My Soup - Print Email PDF 
Posted by bretta 15/06/2008


» There's A Walrus In...

(from C&G 151 – June 2008)
Hi there pop pickers and welcome to another Goodies Music Review.
Last time around, we left your music reviewers Emperor Caligula <aka Brett Allender> and Peaches Stiletto <aka Linda Kay> merrily wobbling along to The Cricklewood Shakedown at the disco, totally oblivious to the fact that the next random selection from the jukebox would be one from SleepalongaMax Volume 98 that would drone on for a little while (just a month or two) and get them shaking alright in a combination of horror, rage, frustration and agony.
Peaches tried in vain to put her fingers in her ears, only to have the bloke next to her spill the ice from his drink down her back, giving her soggy knickers and forcing her to shake the water out of her jeans. She then kept stepping with her wet feet on the electric lead of a malfunctioning strobe light, so now she is stuck doing the Disco Heave until she either collapses from exhaustion or turns into a teapot.
Meanwhile the Emperor managed to strut off out along the street in his buttonless shirt, bathplug necklace and super-tight jeans; however he might be wishing that he'd stayed to put up with Maxie as his carrot-motif undies have proved to be a real turn-on for big Black Pudding Bertha. Ooh she can shake, like an earthquake, so the Emperor is in danger of being shattered into a thousand tiny little pieces (or splattered into one very large flat piece) if she shakes her "boom" a bit too vigorously and topples over onto him!
Therefore we'd better shake a leg and rescue them from those bad vibes by crossing over to Ye Olde Shepherds restaurant and your dispirited DJs with their music review of "THERE'S A WALRUS IN MY SOUP" by The Goodies
"There's A Walrus In My Soup" can only be heard on the 70's album "The Goodies Beastly Record"
Lyrics: sung by Bill
[sigh] There's a little restaurant, that lonely losers love to haunt
Sitting at the corner table, able, to think of all the girls that got away
I softly start to cry, as the waiter passes by
And in his ear as I pull him near to me, you'll hear me sadly sigh
[sigh … sigh]
Waiter, waiter, there's a walrus in my soup
Tell me what am I to do, there is not enough for two
Waiter, waiter, my spirits start to droop
My baby's gone and left me with a walrus in my soup
All together now …
Waiter, waiter, there's a walrus in my soup
Yesterday an okapi, leapt into my morning tea
Waiter, waiter, how low can they stoop?
My baby's gone and left me with a walrus in my soup
Oh I haven't got a crab, in my shishkebab
I haven't got a poodle, in my apple strudel
Or a Shetland pony, in my minestrone
Or an albatross, in my Worcester sauce
And I haven't got a bustard in my custard, no!
Waiter, waiter, there's a walrus in my …
I haven't got a vole, in my sausage roll
Or a blue hyena, in my semolina
And I haven't got a cougar in my nougat, no!
Waiter, waiter, there's a walrus in my soup, oop, boop de boop.
(Peaches Stiletto):
Poor Bill . . . he woefully mourns the loss of a conniving former girlfriend as he cries over his walrus-infested soup, but let's step back and take a look at the bigger picture. Is Bill really the target of her wrath? If, in fact, his former girlfriend is the perpetrator who put the tusked marine mammal in her unsuspecting ex-beau's consomme, isn't it possible the real target or her spite is . . . the restaurant itself? Think about it! Who is the one to suffer for this animalistic prank? Surely the health inspector, not to mention PETA, would be up in arms over such a claim. Could it be that the atmosphere of this haunt for lonely losers was so depressing that she vowed to bring it down once and for all? Such a vindictive act . . . causing poor little Bill to ramble on in rhyme about other fortunate non-victimized creatures who haven't been so traumatized as to become a garnish in a goulash. I mean, anyone who can reduce a human being to utter such ramblings as "I haven't got a parrot in my glass of claret, or an antelope in my cantaloup, or a big baboon in my macaroon, or a chimpanzee in my fricassee, or a . . . well, you get the idea . . . should be subject to the strictest punishment permissible. And then there's the backlash if the establishment should think Bill himself smuggled in the hapless pinniped and accuse him of entrapment by claiming he "found" the walrus in his soup, sweetening the story by claiming increased emotional trauma after the breakup with this "alleged" baby. Unfortunately for Bill, it seems the culprit may not be so easy to track down, since there's apparently been more than one girl who got away in his history. So the question remains, who's to blame? And what becomes of the poor walrus who's the innocent victim in this sordid tale? Is he doomed to do the backstroke in a bowl of Heinz Lentil soup for the rest of his days? Or will it become a trend where everyone will want one? A sage question that only thyme will tell.
(Emperor Caligula):
At this little restaurant that lonely losers love to haunt, this crooning old-style melody gently takes us back to the long-distant music hall days of 78rpm vinyl records, fine dining, civilised manners and high society. More to the point though, it takes us back eons to the days when all of those "waiter there's a fly in my soup" jokes were actually fresh, interesting and funny and hadn't been done to death millions of times over by untalented, pathetic so-called comedians (like me!). So seeing as we're going back to good old days of Bill's morose meals, laments over lost loves and strange rhyming critters which aren't in his gluttonous menu after all, perhaps the poor harried waiter chappy just might have used some of these fresh, interesting and thoroughly groansome responses to Bill's wail of "Waiter, waiter, there's a walrus in my soup": "Don't worry Sir, the polar bear in your main course will get him.", "Sorry sir, I must have forgotten it when I removed the other three.", "Yes Sir, it's the rotting meat that attracts them.", "Yes Sir, it's the fly's day off" or how about "Yes Sir, that's the manager, the last customer was a witch doctor." Bu-boom! Everyone a stinker, er winner …!
My own response if someone was loony enough to appoint me as Head Waiter would be "Tusk tusk Sir, please stop your blubbering about that girl. Ivory about you and that fat old Sea Vitch, so just flipper out of your thoughts and whisker memory away for good! Besides I Am The Walrus and that thing in your soup is actually a Beatle. Go on, say it … 'Waiter, there's a beetle in my soup.' … Surely not Sir, it must be one of those vitamin bees you hear so much about! Or no, it couldn't be Sir, the cook used them all in the raisin bread. Or no it's not Sir, it's just a piece of dirt that looks like one, Or how about yes Sir, he's committed insecticide! … just try to stop me (mwahahaaa!) … "
Using the Black Pudding Rating System:
IIII Officially Amazing (Peaches Stiletto)
IIII Officially Amazing (Emperor Caligula)
IIIII - Superstar.
IIII - Officially Amazing.
III   - Goody Goody Yum Yum.
II    - Fair-y Punkmother.
I     - Tripe on t' pikelets.

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