Ever wondered where your biscuits go in the deep dark of night...?
#The Hobnob Goblin - A spoken word poem.
A disc.
Like Frodo, OH so desired to cherish the ring, there lives a thing for which my heart doth sing.
Golden like the sun, as rugged as a hobos chin, yet sweet to the senses, I have found the one ring, the one thing that has transformed my being.
For I’m a hob-nob goblin.
I fall weak for a week with the oats that I wallow in, and just the sweet, intoxicating smell gets me swallowing my saliva as I try not to follow in line with the other Hobnob goblins gobbling. Waddling through the hollows these fat, slobbering Hobnob goblins bobble in to each other as they consume and shut themselves in their quarters jibbering and jabbering crackling their McVities treats with delight.
At the Sorrow Inn - the place you can find the Hobnob goblins gobbling and waddling - we goblins call this home. Newcomers arrive, sallow, thin, unprepared for the oaty sin that their virginised chins are soon to invite in. Enter in, and it’s not long before your belly, hungry and hollow, thin from a hard day of running the rim of the fast paced, rat-race circle of living begins to fit in with the consumption of the goblins. “Have your biscuit, and join us in” the hanging door sign swings and sings.
BUT.
A word of caution to anyone tempted to ‘come on in’. Always check you’ve got cha-ching, for if your funds run thin you’ll be out on your ass so fast that you’ll have to call the medics in; and you’ll be shunned, no point borrowing from the Hobnob goblins laughing and huddling around you taunting with their slobbering, juddering, fat fleshy chins as the Hobnob goblins continue their gobbling.
For, we are a cruel breed. Us waddling, wobbling, slobbering, gobbling, cackling, jibbering, jabbering, huddling, taunting, laughing, swallowing, swinging and singing, gobbling Hobnob goblins.
END