FRANTIC FRIDAY [FKABBA EDIT]

The long hot summer of 1976

dropped a Neutron Bomb on pop and incubated punk.

Abba met their Waterloo

and Johnny turned rotten right before our eyes;

puss, piss, vomit, spit, phlegm, mucus, sputum and

contrarian cockiness cranked up the colour

on the rebellion dial to 11.

The enduring memory of wedlock:

so many contrasting styles, so many complex emotions,

across multi-layered vocals,

heavy on digital verbs and synths,

on a bed of the pissiest lyrics you ever heard.

Fuck Abba.  

Beenyt and Alligator get married and then divorced

and then write a musical together and make a film

and one of them gets cancer and doesn't die,

so they get re-married.

Bits and pieces of Cher come apart on the set

and the entire metaphor has to be abandoned.

Mere mention of the A-word sets off a total recall,

A re-run of the winter of malcontent.

 Bilderberg makes Margaret head of wage restraint

Frankenstein's mother to Davos Man  

is thigh-deep in the intellectual sewerage

that drains from the free market stink tank.

Fuck Abba  

The world turns into custard cream

The Sixth mass extinction draws ever nearer.

The treadmill escalates towards the cliff edge.

A foul-smelling, family friendly

soundtrack blasts its putrefying Euro-toss...

Mamma Mia Here We Go Again...

my my mind control, how can we resist you?

Aaaarrrrgggghhhh!

Pick up the radio, crack it into a thousand pieces

with the largest boulder known to beast. 

Fuck Abba 

It triggers a warning: a self-administered yellow card,

as bright as the Segovian sun and as clear as climate change.

Time for a diversion, time to wake up,

in spite of all that that entails.

The BBC utters the fuzzwords: Novichok nerve agent

and for all the family.

Take a step back, complete a mental risk assessment,

take another step back, and then a deep breath,

and shout, proper shouting, like you used to, in the old days.

FUCK ABBA! FUCK ABBA!  FUCK ABBA!   

Whirl and whip up a frenzy, the frantic Friday feeling,

end of term, out of school, off on holiday

with the people you most hate...

-It's ok. It's not real. It's only a movie. 

Praise the heavens, thank the holy cow for friends.

 Administer the antidote.

Add lyrics and mix.

God Save the Queen and the fascist regime,  

they made you a moron, potential H-bomb...

BOOM! 

Pieces of eight all over the dual carriageway.

Nobody will get to the beach on time.

Least of all, the Gazans.