His HOD i.e. Head of a Donkey Replies

My name is Messiah DePhallus Snodgrass. I am six feet tall
three feet wide, two inches deep and so well-endowed
I have to hold my hose with  both hands like a firefighter
each time  I make water in the rest rooms of the myriad pubs
I frequent day and night here in the city of Liverpoool.

I am the best thing that has happened to British theatre
since Harold Pinter, John Osbourne, Peter Hall and Kenneth
Branaugh put together. My name, I repeat,  is Messiah De....

But my students and one fuzzy-wuzzy from Bongo-bongo land
who we made the mistake of employing here in Hope Place
nicknamed me Elymas the Sorcerer, Belzebub, Abbadon
and Caligula. He also incited my students to call me Nebuchadnezzar
behind my back insinuating by that name that there is something
technically wrong with my mental equipment
or that I am a megalomaniac or bullet-headed psychopath,  both of which I am not.

I am only an ill-tempered  bully and occasional  bruiser
and minor sadist all of which started when my wife
left me for my bestfriend, a fucking bankmanager.
My bullying is an act I put on to frighten people
and make my presence felt. But at heart, deep inside me
I am tender, loving soul and a caring father. You can ask
my two daughters. You can ask also my new wife.Not my ex!
My ex was a bullet-headed psycopath. I nearly suffocated
her to death, one heineken-suffused evening,  with a pillow.

But deep inside me, I am not a cruel man. I must confess
though that sometimes I  can be a bit obnoxious,
if not obdurate and pugnacious. Especially in argument.
That is because I am afraid of people finding out
how little I know, how shallow I truly am. You see
I am working class, came into academics through backdoor
Used to be a clown, very gifted I must tell you, a stand up comedian
and a drag queen at many nightclubs in the Midlands.
My father was a bailiff. Very thick as well. My mother an undertaker,
my grandfather? A mortician. My great-great grandfather
was the legendary Cecil Rhodes after whom Northern
and Southern Rhodesia i.e. Zambia and Zimbabwe were named.
He was an arsehole though, a cunt,  and I feel ashamed
of way he treated the fuzzy-wuzzies on the Matabele Hills...
 
( What the fuck was I talking about….O, I remember! Myself!!!!!)
 
I was born in Smethick, Birmingham, in the year 1945
I changed it though, to 1954, through a false affidavit,
because as an actor, I dread the day I will lose my youth
my sex appeal, my charismatic magnetism, and my long hippie hair.
As I speak my hair is falling, my hippie hair line fading
like my  grime-crusted blue jeans. My pubic hair is also graying
day by day.  That is why  I dye it every other day  
with Morgan’s Hair dye. Made in India. The fruits of our great empire
on which the sun will never set because God cannot trust
an Englishman in the dark. Such a secular race! Had to invent cricket
to remind themselves of eternity. What the hell was I saying...

I think I have had too much beer this afternoon and , yes, 
even though my armpit smells like a sulphur factory
and my fingernails green and dark with dirt and dust
and my skull   filled with the substance of the colon
I am still the HOD here. Do you not know what that means?
Head of Department! But the coon calls me Head of a Donkey
because he thinks my head is oblong, my face triangular
my teeth, when I laugh,  like that of crocodile and my mouth 
like the anus  of a dead horse. I am the HOD for christ’s sake!

I like a little strawberry, hashish and ganja now and then
But I am not junkie. I have a mane and I love my mane  
as much  as I love my twelve inch cock which I play with
every two hours.  I am a child of the sixties and will  always
remain there in the sixties  until I die. Even my remains
will remain in the sixties. There are times when I think
that I am human and other times when I think that I am God.

But the times that I think that I am God are more
than the times when  I think I am human. I have an office
here in Hope Place which the students and the coon
from Bongo bongo land have christened Caligula’s Palace.

Nobody trusts me. They say my administration
is manipulative,  my style of leadership draconian.
That I pitch my colleagues against each other.
Knock their heads together like two eggs for my breakfast.
Undermine their work, their teaching and research.
Run them down in front of students in the pubs:
The Cracke, The Pilgrim, Kirkland, Casablanca

They say I am unprofessional, but, who cares!
My vision here is to make sure that every year
there are bums sitting on these seats and that I can pay
my mortgage,  my children’s school fees and my alimony.
That’s it. As for that fuzzy wuzzy from bongo-bongo land
The earlier I get rid of him from here, the greater my ease of mind.
Where is he? I hear he is hiding somewhere in this building
Playing with himself while pretending he is writing poetry.
Where the hell, is he? Security! Tell that black motherfucker…
what’s his fucking name, to report here immediately.

Playing cat and mouse with that nigger makes me feel good.
After him, who else shall I play with? O, the poof who calls
himself Elf  Woodworm. Half man , half animal.
Looks like a satyr. After him who: Desire Bodicea Scullery.
I will humpy-dumpty her. Oh, I just forgot. There is Rosimond.
Small and short like the Xmas turkey in whose entrails
I lost my virginity at fifteen. My family still ate it though.
Used my juices as the stuffing. Everybody enjoyed it. 
It will improve the race. I am the Alpha and Omega  of Hope Place.
I, Messiah Dephallus Snodgrass. The Furhrer of Liverpool.
My hero is Mussolini. My spiritual and political godfather,
Mossley. I will live forever. Signed: I, Messiah DePhallus Snodgrass.