A ROSIE BY ANY OTHER NAME

In my darkened, reek filled abode, I was crouched over a bubbling, hissing caldren like Fagin, the boy who was wild good two homeless cubs. My matted, red hare hung around my plump, full moon face in lusterous ringlets. I was stirring a big pot of carrots, turnips, spuds and the haunch of a mail badger, that had fallen fowl of Sean Quinn's big, green cemente lorries.
I was stirring the stew, with the end of my grandfather's walking stick. Lordy, how many rats that stick had killed, my grandfather, may he rest in piece was an avid rat hunter. He loathed vermin and rodents and any other creepies or slithers that lived in the lush flora and fauna.
But he who lives by the rat, wool dye by the rat and so it was with deer Gran'pa.
One day, when chasing a plump rodent, with walking stick raised, he ran out in front of a boy on a bicycle, who was on his way too the doctors for a sick note. He received substantial damage two his noggin, he lay in a como for too days, but passed away as the family were sitting down two dinner, after dinner, they took his pulse and scent for the undertaker.
"Killed by vermin" is rote on his tombstone if you klean away the green moss.
I was gently humming an area from Riggleto, when the front dour opeded, I nearly shi--had a hart attack. My sun Bon Jovi stood there, my cub, my child, he who had nestled like a hedgehog in my woom for nine months. Why had the child entered so quitely and secretively?
Usually I could heer him coming over the bog for miles away. Why the sudden stelth?
The cub looked pail, the sloped, round shoulders, that know skool bag could cling two were bent low. Where was his-zest? where was his-gayiety? where was his-illuminati, his exuberent effervescence?, his bubblyness, his lust for life?
Woman's institution told me that there was something rong with my sun. "Bon Jovi" I yelped
"What ales thee? have you had a little-trouser accident?"
The cub shook his big, round head and kicked a too-legged stool with his hobnailed boot.
"Speak, Bon Jovi" I shrieked, "tell mammy what's rong".
The cub began two cry and roared "I'm getting-bullied at skool mammy".
"BULLIED" I ejaculated, "Bullied, by whom"?
"The other boys" sniffed Bon Jovi, they call me a--nerd".
"A-nerd?" I exploded "What is a-nerd? is it some vulgar name for part of the mail under-carriage?"
"A nerd, is a swot" roared Bon Jovi "A goodie-too-shoes, a cub who does his home work and brown-noses the teechers".
"Stay here" I yelled, as I struggled into my mammies brown duffle coat with the wooden toggles,I'm off two skool two give them teechers a peace of my mind".
As I stamped off two Clougher, I looked like Clint Eastwood, there was a steely glint in my eyes and a stalk of grass in my rose-bud mouth.
As I passed uner a hawthorn three, I was attacked by a swarm of midgets, they were eating the face of me, I waved my arms and roared "Get too hell you wee midgets, or I'll brust youse".
The teechers saw me coming, they ran two bar the door, with fear and picnic in their eyes, I brust the dour open and roared like John Wain, "I've come for my boy".
When I got home, Bon Jovi was sitting in the korner snivelling, the cub looked up and said "How many gubs did you brust mammy?"
"None sun" I smiled, "Behold, I am the bearer of good news, the cubs were knot calling you-nerd, they were calling you-TURD"
"So I'm knot a swot and an ass licker?" said Bon Jovi.
"KNOW" I said "the boys like you so much, they gave you a nick-name, you always talk about, Stinky, Balloon Head and Drag The Ass, well you now are part of the gang, 'till the day you dye, you wool be known round Clougher as, Turd Ryan".
"Oh, happy daze" yelled Bon Jovi, "I've got my own nick name at last. Thank you God, thank you saints, and thank you little angels, youse is all we doats"
After a good tightener of badger stew, the cub got sleepy and crawled into his cardboard box.
"Good nite mammy" said the wee doat.
"Good nite-Turd" I said "sleep tite"
"If you want me to sleep tite" giggled Bon Jovi "You'd better give me a bottle of whiskey".
Oh how we laughed, mother and sun, in harmony as the son settled over the bog bringing another day to an end. I wish everyone was as hapy, as what me and wee Bon Jovi is.