Friday, 30 January 2009


"COME ON WITH THE DIGGER" yelled my only begotten sun Bon Jovi. "I spun round on my hobnailed boots, like a Balley-Rena and yelled, "SHUT YOUR MOUTH BOY". There he sat at the head of the table, with a big wooden spoon in his hand waiting for his dinner. "Listen" I roared "This road kill, pee's and spuds wool knot cook themselves, if you kan't wait, stick the heel from a pan loaf into that big mouth of yours". "Listen Mrs Dumbo" roared the wee get, let's get some ground rules here. You sit at home all day, farting and scratching your arse, all you have two do is feed the lump of a cub when he comes home from skool, surely, even a stupid, illiterate, head banger like you can understand that. So, once more I say unto you, "WHERE'S MY DINNER? COME ON WITH THE DIGGER". Brusting with grate ire I was just about to go at the cub when I happened to glance at a holy picture on the wall and saw a look of rebuke on the saintly face of the Little Flour. My bisum was heaving with rightous anger but I deposed myself by taking a few deep breaths. I turned the road killed stoat with a fork and stirred the pee's with a rigid digit. "Thymes have changed since you were an ugly wee sprog" went on Bon Jovi. "I attend a seat of learning, which qualify's me as a working cub. When you crawled out of a cave two go too skool, all you had two do was draw a picture of a house and learn how two spell kat. Thymes is changed, if you only new the amount of brane power I go through each day you wood be amazed. Take today for instance, this morning we got stuck into sums, we did adding, detraction, diversion and muli-cation. And don't get me started on the despictable point, that wee bugger keeps moving all over the place. You never no from wan day too the other, where to stick the despictable point. During play thyme" yelled the ugly wee gulpin, "I expanted more brane power by jumping, buck leaping, gallivanting and playing leap frog and the number of thymes I had too wipe my no's! I find that my snotters run copiously in the inclement weather. Then in the afternoon, the teecher, auld Miss "Turd Face" McGonnigle said, "Bon Jovi Ryan, stop playing with your snotters and come up too the big map and point to where Dublin is. But Dublin had moved from yesterday" yelled the cub. "That's knot Dublin" yelled Turd Face "That's Bundoran". "I beg too differ Miss" I said "When Orlando McTatters pointing out Dublin yesteray, it was here. If some wan moved Dublin, it's knot my fault" "SIT DOWN" she screeched "You're as stupid and thick as your auld mother" "WHAT!" I ejaculated "For too pins I wood jump on the bike and go down there and batter the big turd face of her" But once again, the Little Flour interjected with a look that seemed too say, "No, Don't, she's knot worth it" I ladeld out Bon Jovi's dinner and said, "Listen Sun, I know that skool is hard and I no how much it takes out of you, but you must control your temper, you must practice manners. You kan't expect to Lord it round here, like an Arabian Shriek, or a turbaned Sultana" "I no mammy" said the cub with his mouth full "I apoligise if I appeared short or uncouth, but headucation is important two me, I kan't box or play football, so headucation is the only avenue left to get me out of the getto of Clougher". I looked at the wee doat, crunching the femur of a stoat between his strong gnashers and a tsueami of mother's love filled my hart too over flowing, just like a po, after a good slash. I patted his big, round head and said, with tiers in my eyes, "You just do your best Sun, that's all you kan do and if the teecher keeps moving Dublin round the map, you just point two the West coast of Donegall and say, "This is-Dublin, because my mammy said so and when it comes too gynaecology, Rosie Ryan is in a class of her own". "The wee doat smiled, smacked his thick rubbery lips and said, "Mammy, this stoat is absoutootely delicious, what did you do too it? what little cullinary trick did you employ too get such-flavour, such-lightness, such, such-distinctiveness?" "Ah, Bon Jovi" I smiled "You do indeed have the palate of a Gor-May, if you must no, I left a little hair on the stoat too blend it with the secculent tender flesh".. "BRAVO" yelled Bon Jovi "You should send that little cullinary tip too Gorden Ramsey, the effing cook". "KNow way Hosay" I yelled "That auld brute done the dirty on his poor wife, I don't want him pawing and groaping at me". The son set in the West, as it is want too do, shadows lengthened, cawing crows flew home and we just sat there, mother and sun, fading into the darkness, as the sun set behind a hill.

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Saturday, 17 January 2009


Chuck Corona had his big strong hands around my neck and was throttling me. I struggled frantically and furiously, like a terrified rent boy in the clutches of the bald headed Boy George.
Chuck was growling like a black bare, I was whimpering like the dead and deseased Eartha Kitt when she was alive and at herself. Clumps of rushes were trampled, as the fierce struggle went on-down by the river side. Then, Chuck caught me under my newly shaved oxters and I felt my hobnailed boots leave terra firma. Chuck was as strong as a Pampas bull, he swung me round and round. My two hobnailed boots looked like an out of control kar-a-sell. I yelped, I shrieked, I guldered demurely and genteely. Black spots danced in front of my protruding oculars. My head was a mad whirly-jig of flashing images. I fought the vapors by pulling clumps of hare from Chuck's squat round head and trying to knee him in the ghoulies. With a mighty grunt and a ferocios breaking of wind, Chuck lifted me up in the air and threw me down on the wet rushes like a sack of spuds. I could feel the rank bog water seep through my sky blew gansey and permeate the grey simmet I took of my dead mammy before the coffin lid was nailed down. Waste knot, want knot, is the motto of us Ryan's. Chuck loomed over me, I gazed up at his raw, animal, savage mail beauty. The heavily cratered pox marked face, the broken nose, the too little glittering black eyes, covered by wan bushy eyebrow, the mouthful of uneven teeth, like tombstones in a cunt'ry graveyard. Chuck pursed his lips out, like a hen laying an egg and lowered them towards my feminine, rose bud mouth. Chuck's seeking rubbery lips met mine like a suction pump and threw every drop of saliva and drool out of my girlish mouth. I kicked, I flung, but 'twas all too know avail, I was lost, lost in the wonder and splender of-Lamore. My hart was leaping like a hungry canary in a cage. The blood was pounding in my head like the first signs of a stroke. My slender 18 stone body lay there supline as a boy with a broken back. Chuck kissed my cheeks, my mouth, my eyes, my nose, which saved me the bother of wiping it. I adjusted my girlish, maidenly body, which made the bog water gurgle seductively and wantonly. Chuck looked down at me, like the way man had bean looking at women since time began and mummered suggestively, "Rosie, wood you like a brandyball?" "Oh Chuck" I ejuclated, "A brandyball at this moment in time would be a joy of the utmost elegance and sophistication" Chuck and me lay in the wet rushes, crunching brandyballs with the utmost ease and contemtment. A snipe flying Hi in the air looked down at us, we looked up at the snipe, no communication passed between us and yet--we were all God's creatures, man, woman and snipe, all looking for love, happiness and a raison de'etra. I lifted myself up on wan elbow, which caused me to daintly break wind and make the bog water bubble. "Chuck" I simpered. "Yes, my deer" smiled Chuck. "Chuck" I repeated, "If you met a stranger, across a crowded room, how wood you describe she who is--Rosie Ryan?" "Chuck pursed his thick, rubbery lips, smiled like a boy who was having a stroke and replied. "Ah, how can mere man describe the beauty of a hangel? Your mane of red matted hare" said Chuck. "Your smile, would nock the Mona Lisa into a cocked hat. Your complection, only an out door girl could have a big wind blown bleezer like that, Your bust, like too bay windas, standing proud like the mountains of Mourne, or dumplings of gigantic size and mass. Your legs, too sturdy pillars of alabaster, tastefully motifed with blew viens in intrinsic swirlls and patterns that would do justice to the book of Kells. "Rosie Ryan IS-beauty" yelled Chuck. "The beauty of-Rosie Ryan is impossible to convey to mere-man. To any man who doubts the beauty of Rosie Ryan I say, Come and feast your eyes on her yourself and you will go away shaking your head and muttering, "In the name of God". "Oh you adorable wee doat" I trilled, kissing the gub off him and leaving him with more love bites than even Dracula could manage. Wen we came home, arm in arm, my sun Bon Jovi looked at us with an auld smirk on his face and said, "Well, well, well, if it isn't Romeo and Juliet, or should that be, Barbie and Ken". "Shut your face boy" I roared "and clean up the floor, I see you have bean disecting rodents and frogs again". "One must" said Bon Jovi "If one is to make one's name in the medical profession". "Bon Jovi" said Chuck. "Yes Chuck Corona" said Bon Jovi. "I was just wondering" said Chuck "If you, as the man of the house, have any objections to me going out with your mammy". Bon Jovi cleaned some mouse blood off his hands and said, "Knot at tall, I have bean trying to get her off my hands for years. But I thought fate was against me, what with the wild age she is and the big red bleezer of a face she has on her. Take her by all means, it wool save me having to put her into a home when she goes do-lally. But listen Chuck Corona, man to man, do the thing decent, take precautions, don't go showing up the lump of a cub before the neighbours, eh? that's a good chap". I lifted the poker and took after the wee gulpin, but I never did catch him, he's getting too fast for me, but I will bide my time and batter the big head of him when he is sleeping tonight. Old, with a big bleezer of a face am i? we will se who's face and ars derriere is bleezing tomorrow.

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