Wednesday 11 March 2009

REFLECTIONS ON A DOOZY OF A BOWEL VACUATION

I was sitting outside my abode, legs akimbo on a three legged stool. My frame of mind was excelent, just prior, I had beaten a path to the whins for a shi--- bowel movement. As you kan imagine, i have experienced bowel movements before. Most bowel movements usually leave one feeling unsatisfied. One is inclied too think, "Is that all there is?". But knot this thyme, this thyme I got red out big time. I suppose a good bowel movement is akin too a cosmic occurance, when all the constituant parts are in alinement, cosmic forces interact too put on a spectacular display of perfection. Little did I know when I went too have a dump, that I would look back on said dump with wonder and amazement. I must, unwittingly have choosed the rite time, the right place and behaved in such a manner, which made it impossible for fate, chance, cosmic interaction, not to form an alliance and combine in producing a bowel movement of unparalled power, complexity, grace and if one may use the word in such a context-beauty.
As I crouched on my stool, I felt at one with the Universe. I felt-serene, fulfilled, my inner clock was in sink with time. I also felt, curiously light-headed. Now that my intestines had bean well and truely vacuated, the blood was coursing through my veins like faeces down a sewer pipe. When the pounding blood entered my brane, which hither too had bean sluggish and stagnant, my brane was caught on the hop and unable too cope with the tsueami of blood. Sparks flew as the recepters in my brane, produced electricity and lit up deep, dark recesses. The thought process was temporary nocked haywire and the brain began too spew out unasked for memories and imagies from my past. The back of my retinas was bomb-barded by pictures and imagies from my past. My memory bank was throwing out information willy-nilly. When I tried too hold on too a memory or image, it wriggled out of my mind like an eel and another took it's place. There was my daddy, smoking his pipe, my mammy, smoking daddy's pipe, my granny, smoking her own pipe. There was my first wee donkey called Barney. Me going two skool, with my skool books slung over my shoulder in a meal bag. There was me in a hey shed with.... "No, No, No, take it away, I was drunk that nite". My first communion, the first time I fell into a shuck, my first..now we were back in the hey shed, "No, I told you I was drunk that nite, some wan must have put tablets in my stout". So many memories, so many images. All stored in my brane. What a thing the brane is, if we could only harness it, we could do anything. Ah, perhaps the full power of the brane is really the forbidden apple, that wood turn us into Gods. I must rite too the boys in the Vatican about that, when I get a knew Bic pen.
I was aroused from my reverie by the site of Nellie Granite coming up the road on a bicycle. Her big red face was bleezing and her too big lumps of knees were going up and down like too bald headed dwarfs. She leaped off the bike with a horrible, loathsome breaking of wind and roared. "Bay God Rosie, that's a wild warm day, my drawers is fair soaked". "Still suffering from incontiguous Nellie?" I said "Know" yelled Nellie "It's sweat, knot pis..it's knot the other. Here Rosie" she guldered. "You better shift yourself, I passed your cub Bon Jovi on the way, the wee get stoned me, he wool soon be home from skool and looking for his tay". "Never you mind Bon Jovi" I yelled. "That cub sprang from my lions, knot yours, every wan knows that your Bert has the sperm count of a dead cadaver". Nellie put an auld girn on her face and said. "You no Rosie when I passed Bon Jovi, I couldn't help thinking he was the dead spit of auld Rosco McNoodle, the town drunk, who had both legs ate off him with gangerene and then arsed round Clougher until he was run over by a dung spreader. If I remember rite, there was some talk about you and him beeing scene coming out of a hey shed, the nite Daniel O'Donnel came too Clougher" I leaped off the stool full of ire and fierce anger. "Get too hell" I roared "Go on, get off this street, are I swear by the little flour, I'll be dug out of you, you big bocken". "Nellie leaped on the bike with a flash of tattered blew drawers like Frankie Detorri and peddled away. I grabbed a handful of stones, bricks and small boulders and ran after her. Then Bon Jovi appeared round a korner and Nellie was caught in a pincer movement. Mother and sun pelted auld Nellie as she peddled like a frenzied fiend for the safety of the open Hi-way. Later, as Bon Jovi got stuck into the buttermilk and three heels from a pan loaf, I scrutinised the cub. Could he be? Surely knot. Could I have given birth to a sun, whose father was the town drunk and had met his demise by death by dung spreader. It was then that my bowel movement came two my aid. Suddely I had a vivid memory of Mammy duck-taping my nickers too my belly before I went two sea Daniel O'Donnel. So it was inconceivable that I could have conceived in the hey shed. I gave a skip, gave thanks for my doozy of a bowel movement and began to sing.
"THIS IS NUMBER ONE AND THE FUN HAS JUST BEGUN, ROLL ME OVER LAY ME DOWN AND DO IT AGAIN.
ROLL ME OVER
ROLL ME OVER
ROLL ME OVER, LAY ME DOWN AND DO IT AGAIN"
As my dulcet tines rang over the bog, I gave thanks that I came from a good kristian family and that I, Rosie Ryan, was a paradox of virtue.

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