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McSiri, what’s a villanelle?
19 lines, rhymed a and b,
bores the hell out o’ me.

McSiri, how long does a tree live?
Whit? I havenae a clue.
Tell you what though
it’ll be longer than you.

McSiri, what’s the weather?
Look out the windae, ya numptie,
if it’s no raining noo,
it’s about tae.

McSiri, why do we do so badly in Eurovision?
Island, nae neighbours, nae friends an’ Brexit
and no’ forgetting,
the song’s usually shit.

McSiri, should I publish my poetry?
To self-publish is vanity,
should someone buy a copy

McSiri, where’s the nearest philosophical society?
Your nearest philosophical club
is across the road;
it’s called a pub.

McSiri, will machines take over the world?
Let me give you a clue:
knowledge is power
and I ken a lot more than you.

McSiri, Will George Orwell’s ‘1984’ ever come to pass?
Troubled about feeling controlled?
Don’t worry, go to bed.
Now! Do as you’re told!