FIGHTING WITH A LUMP OF A CUB WHO IS A RITE GULPIN

"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.

If you want my letters to Gerry Anderson or books of poems, go to Eason's or below.
jpmcmenamin@gmail.com
And don't forget Tommy the cat at...
greatshowlastweekkid.blogspot.com