I Wish...

Last Night I saw a dream, and, finally it was completed before I was awake. And I did also remember the dream when I was awake, so that I could post this article for you.

I wish I could be a huge star,

Being photographed day after day.

My name in lights would be a delight,

In a huge big mansion I’d stay.

I’d bathe in milk, and drink Champagne,

Eat the cream filled chocolate eggs with steak.

I’d spend hours swimmin’ with women,

Somewhere abroad, in a lake.

And the director would shout out ACTION!

In my first film, I would play a mad nut.

I’d chop someone up with a big knife,

And the director would then shout out CUT!

When not at home, I’d stay in hotels,

Only the best that money could buy.

I’d have the penthouse on the eightieth floor,

Where the roof would be touching the sky.

Everyone would want to shake my hand,

Tell me I’m great and a wonderful chap.

I’d go on a chat-show to unplug my book,

Where I’ll say that it’s great to be back.

And the director would shout out, ACTION!

In one of my flicks I would play a comedian.

I’d have to dress up like an eunuch,

And the Director would then shout out, CUT!

I’d have to spend hours reading my lines,

To be word perfect for my first day on set.

I’d have to buy one of these holders,

In which to insert my costly cigarette.

And I’d have to say ‘Darling’, lots of times,

And throw the odd tantrum at will.

I’d have to become a chronic alcoholic,

And knock back the occasional pill.

And the Director would shout out, ACTION!

In one film I’d play a fat bastard.

I’d have wear a bulging false stomach,

And the Director would then shout out, CUT!

I’d have to get some mates together,

Mostly white, but also one black.

We’d be in the papers, (Great publicity),

And call ourselves the 'Brats' Pack'

Hours I’d have to spend in make-up,

As they applied the cement with a spade.

But when they started to pluck my eyebrows

I’d hit the ceiling and let out a howl.

And the Director would yell out, ACTION!

In my best film I would play a dead man.

They’d cover me over with planks of wood,

And the Director would then shout out CUT!

Maybe I would manage to win an Oscar,

For that film where I once played a sheep.

I’d pretend I didn’t know that I had won,

And on the stage, I’d break down and weep.

And I’d thank everyone for all they had done,

Even the lad who made us the tea.

My speech would last just over an hour,

Only ending when I needed a pee.

Then the Director would shout out CUT!

He’d be pulling his hair in a rage.

"Go to the roots, right this minute, you bugger!!"

"And get that annoying idiot off of the stage!!!"