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?