Pinochet's Posthumous Poetry

Pinochet Well he did it, Augie, as we like to call him, finally popped his clogs. He didn’t have his day in court like Saddam, he didn’t get a really cool title like Idi Amin, he didn’t get to tell British Airways what a shower of cunts they are like Maggie, but he did get an Ulster fry for breakfast before he died, which was nice.

But the last thing Augie did before he died was pen his final poem, so we nicked it and are bringing you an exclusive, even before Hello gets the photos of the embalming:

"Me"

So here the final gasps I take,
I'm in the garden, with my rake,
Cleaning up the leaves that died
Like the people I refused to try.

And I just got a text from my old friend,
Asking if I could lend
Her my uniform when I croak,
I wrote back, "Maggie, was that a joke?"

But she didn’t bother answering me,
Or maybe she did, because you see,
It’s difficult to get a signal in my house,
Because it’s overrun with louse.

So there is only time for one quick stroke,
If only I could manage a poke,
But I put my back out killing plebs,
And now its over, Augie's dead.

You can see all this wonderful man's previous work in our regular feature
General Augusto Pinochet's Generally Awful Poetry