Limericks—By Fake Larry

Fake Larry here. Howyeh?

I’m taking over this area of the website for just a bit. It is indeed my birthday, but I’m afraid I must deprive you of the usual lyrical bollix from PJ-the-Poetess. I don’t mean to be an arsehole or anything; I’m just not comfortable with open displays of love and affection. 

Her stuff doesn’t even rhyme, for feck’s sake.

That said, I myself am quite literate, and I have written some brief verses for each of my bandmates, which you can read below.

But first, I’d like to talk about my absence from social media. Some of you seem to find this worrying. The thing is though, I just don’t like it. I’m not like the other lads. When I run into a negative comment about U2, I go into a rage. I turn green and inflate to twice my normal size. The buttons pop off me shirt and sometimes ricochet off me kids’ heads.

Yes, social media turns me into The Incredible Mulk.

Also, I can’t be arsed to waste time recording introductions to old Pere Ubu songs for our Pandora station. Were Pere Ubu really an influence on October? I have no recollection of any of us ever listening to them. I’m not suggesting that Edge is taking the piss; I’m just saying he used to have some Perry Como records in his bedroom and maybe he got confused.

But rest assured that when it’s time for me to play the drums on whatever experimental cacophony Bono and Edge have dreamed up, I’ll be there. And I’m looking forward to the pREVAGEN + sUPERYACHT tour, or whatever the fook we decide to call it. 

(You can’t see me, but I’m making that heart shape with my hands. Really. I am.)

Now. Poetry and Art:

Happy birthday to me. 

Larry out.