Thursday, 30 April 2009

A Man Too Man Talk

I yelped like a long hare Lakeland terrier, as Chuck Corona, my Free State Casanove slurped at the nape of my slim, slender alabaster neck, like a feral Kat with a saucer of gold top milk. I arched my flexiable back like Madam Margaret Fontain, as Chuck's seeking nashers moved round to my shell-like lug wholes. As deer Chuck sucked, slurped and licked. my rite ear gave a POP-and I was cured from my partial deafness. "Oh Chuck" I simpered "If a this is love, it's a fabulous". Chuck leered into my visage like a sensual sytar and growled, like Barry White, "You're my first, you're my last, you're my-everything". "Oh Merci" I shrieked, in effluent Spanish. "Keep her lit" yelled Chuck. "Mamma Mia" I screamed.
"Mamma Mia-indeed!" said Bon Jovi, as he came round the haggard korner, catching me and Chuck in Fla-Grantie-De-Lecto. "Get into the house you gulpin" I roared "And stop creeping up on people and peeping at them like a peeping Tom". Bon Jovi stood with an auld smile on his face and said, "I think knot. I think it's thyme I had a man too man talk with your paramour-Chuck Corona". "Get into the house" I yelled "Or bye the sacred Hi-heels of Saint Angelina from Tuam Co Galway I'll brust you". "Know, Know" said Chuck "If Bon Jovi has something on his mind,I don't mind having it out with him man to man". Bon Jovi smirked and said "Don't pasturise me Chuck Corona. I don't need your premission to express myself at my own haggard. Now, before we begin Chuck Corona. let's get a few things strait, you are knot dealing with wan of your auld soft soap Free State boys. You are dealing with a hard headed lump of a cub from Tyrone. Us Tyronies don't go in for flim-flan. We call a spade a spade and a shovel a thing to dig with". "I understand Bon Jovi" said Chuck "So let's be having it, what's on your mind?" Bon Jovi strode up and down with his thumbs in his galluses and said. "I must warn you-AGAIN! that I am versed in all forms of law, civil law, kriminal law and even corperate law. I leared my trade bye watching Rumpole of the Bailey and Perry Mason. So, Chuck Corona, I put it to you, "What are your retentions towards this woman, Rosie Ryan? Come on, speak up, you're only dealing with a lump of a cub. It should be easy for you, a man who has tussled with Shane McGowan, Eamon Dumphy and even Pat Kenny on a Saturday nite". "My intentions towards your mother, Rosie Ryan are wholly honourable" said Chuck. Bon Jovi spun on his heel and said "And wood you call the cannodling that met the eye of this lump of a cub, when he turned the haggard korner ----honourable?" Chuck got a red face and began to stutter and bluster. "Get the hell into the house" I yelled "Or bye the seven holly wells in the seven parishes of Clougher, I'll swing for you, you wee get". Bon Jovi turned to a crowd of ducks and drakes who were watching and said, "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury--I rest my case". I fell too my knees, grabbed Chuck by the pleats on the fork of his trousers and wailed.. "Who is he? who is Bon Jovi-and why has he bean scent among us". Chuck stood white-faced and said, "I don't know, but I'll tell you wan thing, I'm going to confession on Saturday nite!".

Sunday, 26 April 2009


I gave my bisum a hike, adjusted the load carrying tension of my drawers with a jerk and gazed around my snug abode with a look of satisfied satisfaction on my girlish maidenly visage. All morning I had been dusting, sweeping, hovering and polishing my nick-nacks with the wino's last refuge-Brasso. The floor was spotless, devoid as it was of, fleas, lice, ticks, daddy-long-legs, slaters, small rodents and a heap of well gnawed bones that my Sun Bon Jovi had secreated in a darkened korner. "That's how a house should look" I muttered "A pristine envirement, where one kan relax and bring up a lump of a cub in sanity conditions, where the emphis is on Hi-Jean".
I went-greacefully too the half door to gaze out at the panarama vista that lay before my seeking oculars.
Ah, the beauty of nature. A gun metal blue mist hung over the purple mountains. A carpet of wild flours, a dancing profusion of colour and gaiety de-tour. Even the mundane held a secret beauty. The weathered wooden gait, an old rusty zinc bucket, the rounded contours of the midden. Generations of dung, piled up in a heap, to rot and fester. A breeding ground for nuterients that wood bulk up rhubarb like steroids. Beauty, beauty, beauty, too much beauty for one pear of oculars two take in. Then, in the barmy Summer air I heard a noise. I harked my lug-wholes. It was coming from the raised mound of whins, nettles and eggberries. Like an Indian scout, I crept towards the mound. I gently parted the eggberries and nearly kittled a kitten. There stood my Sun Bon Jovi, clutching a bisum shaft in loo of a microphone. The cub was going into frenzied gyrations. His legs were all a tremble and the contortions he was going through, must have put grate stress on the forkal region of his short grey trousers. Then he who has sprung from my lions, opened gis gub and began to bawl.
I brust through the eggberries like a Pampas bull grabbed the miscreant by the scruff of the neck and roared. "What the hell are you up too boy? Secreating yourself in the flora and fauna and roaring like a constipated donkey". "Mien Gott!" screamed Bon Jovi "Kan the lump of a cub have know privacy? Must you dog my footsteps like a baliff or a bloodhound?" "You kan have all the privacy you like when I'm dead" I yelled "But as long as you sleep in a cardboard box in my house, I have the rite two no what you're up two".
"I'm practicing" yelled Bon Jovi. "Practicing for what?" I yelled "A guldering competion?" "If you must no" said Bon Jovi "I have applied to go on the X-Factor. I wool be billed as the Elvis from the bog and I wool wear overalls and wellingtons". I looked at the cub, so young, so innocent, so gullable, so-stupid. "Listen Bon Jovi" I said gently "You kan't sing, you just haven't got the voice. You are tone deaf and what to your ears sounds like singing, sounds like guldering to every one else". "Another dream shattered" muttered Bon Jovi, as he threw the bisum shaft from him. I put my arm round the cub and said "Singing's knot for you Sun, but yet you kan still live your dream. Later too-nite I wool rite a letter too Sir Alan Sugar and get you on the Apprentice show". Bon Jovi smiled and said "I'll need a knew soot" "Yes you wool" I said "And an attackie case" said Bon Jovi. I hugged him and said, "I wool get you the best attackie case that Clougher has too offer". We waked home arm in arm, Bon Jovi was kicking madly with his hobnailed boots and yelling. "You're fired! No, you're fired. No, I'm knot--you're-fired" I kissed the top of his head and thought, "I's a waste of an attackie case, but if it makes the cub happy".

Sunday, 12 April 2009

Bon Jovi's answer to apathy.

Like any other fare midden, ah-fey with beauty, elegance, poise and grace, Monday morning found me out in the yard, boiling a cauldren of drawers that had bean used and abused. As the steaming cauldren hubbled and bubbled, bubbles of methane gas exploded sending putrid and toxic gasses into the klean morning air. I took a deep breath, covered my eyes with my arm and sprinted too the cauldren to give the boiling drawers a good stir with a big stick. I then retreated, monentry blinded and muttering, Mamma Mia".
Lokking down the lane, I saw he who was scent after me too do grate things. It was Bon Jovi, my only begotten Sun coming home from skool. I watched with pride in my eyes and love in my hart, as the cub lumbered up the lane. I marvelled at his athelitic gate. "Ah, Bon Jovi" I cried "My bon cabellero, just the man I want to see. Could you please explain my the socio, eco, fabric of society is breaking down and could you further render assistance, as to why there is a dearth of arts and kulture in Clougher city and surrounding districts. Bon Jovi gave the bubbling cauldren of drawers a wide bearth, looked at me-keenly with his good ocular and roared, "Apathy". "Apathy?" I echoed. "PLease explain in fuller detail and extensivity". Bon Jovi swatted the cloud of flies round his ringworm and said. "Take you for instance, always going on about no this and no that. May I refer you too the words of JCB when he said. "As knot what Clougher kan do for you, ask what YOU kan do for Clougher---and surrounding districts". "That's just ret-trick" I said "How could I put the tenents of what you say into practice?". "Easy" said Bon Jovi "If you want opera in Clougher, start an opera team, If you want bally, start a bally class yourself". "By gum" I said "You have hit the nail on the head, I wool hire the scout hall and teech bally too the youngesters of Clougher". "NOw, hauld on" yelled Bon Jovi. "I don't want too be made a laughing stock by you in a wee pear of drawers and you throwing up your big, gate posts of legs". "Listen boy" I roared "In my youth I was known far and wide for my leaping". Bon Jovi sniffed and said "I fear the next leap you wool do, is a feeble wan on too the undertakers table, to get that big red bleezer of a face of yours toned down" In the persuit that followed. many shucks were jumped, many curses filled the air, but he who is known as Bon Jovi, disappeared into the mist and fog.

Bon Jovi's plan to avert meteor collisions.

My Sun Bon Jovi came in from skool, threw his skool bag into the scullary, gave me a look of competous contempt, like what First Minister Peter Robinson mite bestow on second banana, Martin McGuiness and said. "Please attend too what I say, are you aware of inter-galactic travel, pertaining too metors, ass-roids, big lumps of frozen rock and the bric-brack of dust, gas and global structures?" I didn't like the tone of the cub so I replied, "I wood say I am as aware to what you are refering two as any cunt'ry woman bringing up a cub on her own". Bon Jovi scrutzised me and said, "Cast your mind back and think hard, because this wool be ritten up as a report in my skool jotter later, are you aware of a near collision between earth and a grate big boulder a few weeks ago?" "I is" I said, "It was in the papers and in the news. Paul Clarke said we were lucky to get away without a dunt". Bon Jovi walked up and down the room with his hands behind his back, suddenly spun round on his hobnailed boots, pointed an accusing finger at me and yelled, "And pray tell why I was knot informed!" "Why wood you be informed?" I said "You are just a lump of a cub, what could you do?" Bon Jovi sighed and muttered, "A prophet has know honour in his birth place". Then the cub roared. "Are you trying too incinerate that I am a dope? You may be surprised to no, that I have been working on such an eventuality. My cyphering proves that if everyone in China jumps off a chair when Nolan comes on, the earth could be steered klear of any galetic "A word by the way that comes from-milk) disaster". I looked at the cub in wonder and amazement, standing there in short grey trousers, maroon skool blazer and both his socks hanging round his ankles. What a brane must be bubbling and gurgling,creaking and groaning in that gigantic head. The cub was a foe-nomim, the word that Ivan Little could knot say. "What's for brunch?" said Bon Jovi, with all the a plum of Noel Coward. "Buttermilk" I said "and as many buttered heels from pan loaves as you kan manage". "Thank-YOU!" said the cub, in the clipped tones of the aristrocsy and Mark Carruthers. As the son set in the West, Bon Jovi, broke wind with grate delicasy and said. "Sorry if I lost my temper earlier old dear, but if you do hear on any near galetic disasters in the future, do give me the heads up old bean-right-tay-hoe". I gazed out the half door at the gloaming and muttered, "What has sprung out of my lions? Why have I bean chosen to be the mother of, The Special One? As the cub broke wind again, I looked up at the sky and said, "A genie, that's what he is. know wan in Ireland, has got a cub like what I have"I went indoor, two turn down the bed-cloths and place the po's in a stratigue position. The cub may be-"Special" but his aim isn't too good in the dark.

Why the hole world wants to be Irish.

As the clanging and tolling bells of St Judas church, drifted over the wind-swept March cunt'ry side, my Sun Bon Jovi came out of the scullary hiking up his tattered saffron kilt. The cub and me was on us way too the St Patrick's day parade in Clougher. Some years, Clougher gets as many as wan or too bands!. Bon Jovi checked for the 100th thyme that his drawers were on and said. "Well, this is the big wan, this is St Patrick's day". "It is Sun" I said. "This is the day that the hole world want's two be Irish". Bon Jovi stuch his middle finger up his hooter and said, "Why is that? why does everyone one to be Irish? What did the Irish every do that was so grate?". I rubbed on too handfulls of rouge and replied. "Ireland is a bastion on Arts and kulture. A land of riters, painters and poets. Take auld James Joyce, Jimmy rote too books, U-lises and Figgians wake and them too books sold millions of copies, but were never red by anyone". "What else did Ireland give to the world mammy?" asked the cub. "The art of knavery" I said, "Tie-foid, from Tie-Foid Marry, rickets, sticky out ears, mad cow disease, foul pest, swine fever and too top it all, the ear-brusting roar of the Irish Tenner. Count John McCormack" I said, "Could stand bawling in Antrim and people in Scotland could heer him clearly. Ireland" I said, "Is loved and adored by eskimo, cannon-ball, hutu and tutu and by every wan in America". "If Ireland is so grate" said Bon Jovi, "Why don't the yanks come and live here and pay taxes and help Brian Cown out in his thyme of need?". "Ireland" I said, is like--well, it's like Purgatory, a place or state where people stay for a while before moving on. Everyone likes to visit Ireland" I said "But know wan wants too live in it". "We'll never leave auld Ireland, won't we knot mammy" said Bon Jovi. "Never" I said "Never-Never. Come wind, rain, blizzard, we shall remain, for me are the PEOPLE!" "NO SURRENDER!" yelled Bon Jovi. "Don't go yelling that in Clougher Sun" I said "Or someone wool brust your gub!"

Bon Jovi and in vitro fertilization .

It was morning in the abode of Rosie Ryan. The March wind howled round the house, threatening, at any moment, to turn my idical, rural, rustic cottage into a heap of deb-ray. My Sun Bon Jovi was sitting crouched at the breakfast table, with the heel of a pan loaf clutched in his juvinile hand. I could tell from the furrowed brow and the grunts coming out of him, that the cub was firing up his mighty brane, for what every the day threw at him at skool. I looked at the crouching Einstein and marvelled again, that such prodigal had sprang from my lions. Suddenly, and without warning the cub spoke. Bon Jovi looked at me and roared. "What are we going too do about this in vitro fertilzation malarky then?" I reeled and clung on to the dresser, in shock, amazement and unbelief. "Where did you hear about that?" I yelled "Have you bean listening to Gerry Ryan again?" Bon Jovi gave a contempus snort and said, "Every wan knows about it, it's the talk of the playground at dinner time". Ashen faced, I lowed my slim, slender, trembling 18 stone body down on a bag of meal and stared at the cub. Bon Jovi, leaned back in his chair, put both hobnailed boots up on the table and said, "It seems to me, and do bear in mind that I'm only a lump of a cub, but it seems to me that when the sperm cell fuses with the female egg to form a zygote, it doesn't know when to stop and makes too many and that is why that woman in American had as many wains as octopuses have legs" "Never you mind about that sort of thing boy" I roared "You should be out breaking windows or throwing stones at the police, instead of sitting there talking about-ah-ah-wains and octo-pussies" "Oh contrer" said Bon Jovi. "I inhibit this world, so it's well being is of parmount importance to me. Did not, and korrect me if I'm rong, did knot Oscar Wild say, "You know Lady Herringbone, in victro fertilization reminds me for all the world of FRank Carson, it's the very devil to get any of them stopped". "GET OUT" I roared "GET THE HELL OUT OF THIS HOUSE, with your auld talk about eggs, fusing and octo-pussies. What does it matter to you how many sprogs a woman has?" "It matters a grate deal" roared Bon Jovi, let me remind you of the words of the late, grate Tony Hancock. Tony Hancock was ahead of his time, he was a genius, a prophet. Tony Hancock, said there will come a time, when there are so many people, that we will be squashed together, with our heads up in the air panting for air and only those with the biggest hooters will survive. It will be Darwins selection of the species all over again. Mind you, you don't have to worry, because when it comes to hooters, you have a honk that an aunt eater wood be proud off. I literally LEAPT off the bag of meel and stoned the wee gulpin all the way down the lane, Bon Jovi dodged them all and hid in the eggberries yelling, "Is it a bird? is it a plane? NO, it's Rosie Ryans grate big hooter!". JUst what scifintic piffle are those teechers teeching the wains at St Judas skool for young gentlemen and ladies?