IS BON JOVI THE REINCARNATIONISM OF HITLER?

I was sitting in front of a smoky, turf fire,my lusturios mass of matted red hare, was hanging over my face like a koffessional kurtin. My too sturdy legs were akimbo, it's a position I adapt ofen, two stop trombones forming in the veins.
I was pondering deeply, as all good ponders do,I was thinking about the roof of the cistine chapel at the Vatican, I wondered if the knew pope, hair Bededict,wood slap on a couple of coats of white, emulsion paint,it's bean quite a while since it was done up. The last boy two have a go at her was Micky Angelo,a self employed painter and decorater. I suppose we'll soon no all about it, for a clatter of envelopes will arrive to pay for the emulsion paint.
I glanced askew at my sun and air Bon Jovi, the cub was sitting playing with his cardboard box of dead vermin and rodents. If that cub doesn't grow up two be a taxi-dermist I wool eat my puce hat with the peasent feather on it.
I looked at Bon Jovi with the love only a mother could no,the cub had painted a black moustache on a deceased stoat and was trying too comb its hare in the manner of one, Hare Hitler.
I red my throat, spat half a cup of flem into the ashes and said "Bon Jovi my petite marshmallow, "Why this morbid facisation with house painter and ditactor Adolf Hitler?"
Bon Jovi glared at me with his good eye and roared, "Because Hitler wouldn't take any auld guff and I'm knot going two take any auld guff either"
"But Bon Jovi" I riposted "Hare Hitler was a bad man, he started world war too".
"Al is miss-understood" yelled Bon Jovi "He was forced into it bye auld Churchill and the other gulpins. And he had two get a wild big army, so at least you kan't say he was a-loner. The police always say that all bad boys are loners, well Hitler was know loner, he was surrounded bye the SS and the Gee-stap-oh, when I grow up I'm going two be like hitler. First Clougher--then the-WORLD" yelled the cub, jumping two his feet and shooting his arm up in the heir.
I sat there, open-mouthed with agogness,what had I spawned from my lions? Had I given birth too the aunty-Christ? Wood that cub with the dead stoat in his hand be responsible for the-
Ah-pox-ah-lips? I ran, helter-skelty for a bottle of Lourdes wholly water and threw it round the minute dictater. The Poll-Pot of Clougher began too cry and crawled into his cardboard box.
I relaxed, it was just a wain trying two be fly. Just a cub trying too show off.
I picked up Vogue and got stuck into a fashion article, apparently, the bust wool be lower this year and apricot is the knew-black.
I was intruged to reed that nickers wood soon come with a wee pocket for a mobile fone and simmets were making a come back in Hollywood.
Then I became engrossed in an article about-thrush,I have always greatly loved the speckle-chested song bird.
I red on, oblivious two the gutteral sounds of a German drinking song coming from the cardboard box and the roars of--"We have vays of making you talk. For you-old woman, zee war is over" Just a cub, playing at beeing Hitler, what could be more normal?