Paul Holland's Maximum Extreme Poetry

A glamorous lifestyle paid for by a life as a funny-man was inevitable for Paul Holland. Brought up a Catholic Paul thought his use of fruit for carnal pleasure would bar him from the top job as Pope. If only he'd have known they'd let a Nazi in he might have stuck it out. As it was a few too many tastes of the priest's veiny-rod-of-guilt led to a quick conversion to athiesm.

Born in Cyprus he has lived in the Middle East, America and Barnsley. He has no ethnic-minority friends but claims he is not a racist. He knows three openly gay people and that makes him feel better.

A mighty journalist he has been reported for racism to the Press Complaints Commission for his hilarious piece on Eastern European purse snatchers. He was found not-guilty - he maintains he is not a racist.

Although most of this is fiction Paul did study medicine at Cambridge and he did do an MA thesis on Planet of the Apes. He fancied Zira.

Paul writes song lyrics, poems - anything to express his deep seated perversity and lack of moral fibre.

From songs about the Queen's lady-garden to mock-rock laments on the all-too-often neglected subject of glamrock paedophelia he goes where wiser men dare not.

If he was a Top Trump card his strength would be Size Of Liver: Amazonian, 300/300. But his weakness would be Love of Fruit: Not Right 5/1,000.

If he was a type of body-hair he would be a rogue pube, probably seen sprouting from a fore-arm.