It was a fierce fight too the death. In a darkened korner in my 'umble abode,I was trying to strangle a four foot eel I had found in a bog hole. The eel was putting up a hell of a fight. It's flying tale had scent a statue of the child of Prague and a glass ball full of swirling snow to the floor. My seeking thumbs sought the eel's windpipe as I grasped it tightly behind the reptilian head. The eel snapped with it's sharp teeth and lashed and thrashed about like a python on red bull. "Hold still you bugger, 'till I strangle you" I yelled. In a retalatory gesture the eel wrapped it's slimy coils round my throat and began to try and strangle ME!. "Damn you, you slimy bugger" I croaked. It was every woman and eel for themselves. Foul smelling ooze and slime ran down my muscular arms and splattered on to my imperial puce gansey. Me and the eel were staring each other in the face, eyes bulging and tongues hanging out. I squeezed and squeezed, the eel squeezed back harder. Sweat was running down my red, bleezing wind burned face and trickling through my massive cleavage like a mountain stream. My drawers were threatening at any moment to slip down my plump, celluite thighs and fall-languidly round my swoolen ankles in a rumpled heap of red flannel. As I fought to get a better hold, on the wily eel my burnt umber brown hobnailed boots slipped-precociously on dog skitter, the eel flew out of my grasping hands and I fell on the broad of my back, breaking wind with grate ferocity and indeed, verocity as my ample derriere made contact with terra firma. Cashing in on my confusion, the eel tried to make good it's escape, by wriggling frantically towards the open door. "WHACK! I brought the frying pan down on the eel's big black head. The eel was stunned, it's tale began to vibrate like a mobile fone. WHACK, WHACK, WHACK!. The eel gave a quiver, a shiver and departed to what ever slimy heaven eel's go too. I stood there gasping and panting like an old dog. I was covered in slimy eel goo. I deposed myself by having a mug of tay at the kitchen table, then I cut the eel into inch long pieces, added a diced onion, a pinch of salt and pepper, a beau-K-garney and let the saucepan to simmer slowly on the back of the range. What a bounty the leviathan of the deep was, it would keep me and Bon Jovi going for a weak.
When the son was at it's zenith and even dragonflies were taking it easy, my Sun Bon Jovi staggered home from skool. The cub gave a grunt and hurled his skoolbag into the scullary like a bowling ball. I looked at the fertilised egg, now grown to boyhood. The cub looked-pensive, meditative and thoughtful. "Bon Jovi" I said "What's the matter?. You are couriously reticent and reserved for a cub who has just got out of skool on a wonderful day like to day". Bon Jovi cleaned his nose on his sleeve, gave a grunt and kicked the coal bucket, but remained silent.
"Bon Jovi" I said "I don't need to be a doctor or a psycho to know that you have something on your mind. As a woman of the world and surrounding districts, I would advice you to-vent. Give voice to your feelings. As a loving mother I can sea that you have issues and are seeking closure. Are you seeking closure Bon Jovi?" "YES, I am" roared the cub, "Closure of your big mouth. You kan't help" said Bon Jovi "No wan kan help, the truth is, I am--stricken". "Holy mother of God" I yelled "have you got the auld swine flu? I told you knot to take the pig to bed with you". Bon Jovi looked-wisfully out of the window, smiled a little bitter smile and said. "Yes, I am-stricken. Stricken by an on slaught of tender feelings. Stricken by la affair-de-la-hart. Stricken by -love, striken by-lamore and striken by the delightful, beautiful cuttie that goes by the name of--Deliah McSlaughter". "OH Bon Jovi!" I ejuclated, "You are in love. Just think, you are in love with wee Deliah McSlaughter and I am head over heels in love with Chuck Corona". "How dare you" yelled Bon Jovi. "How dare you compare the senile, sexual shennanins you and Chuck Corona have with the pure, undiluted virginal affections I have for the best wee cuttie in the world-Deliah McSlaughter". But love is love and as the son set in the West, I got the gramphone out, put on, "Some Henchanted Evening" and Bon Jovi and I sat staring out at the darkening bog, thinking of the one who had stole us hartes. When I went too bed, Bon Jovi was sitting with his teeth gritted, cutting the name, Deliah McSlaughter into his arm with a blunt penknife.
Ah, Lamore! You strike without warning, taking away the wit and leaving in it's place a rose-tinted do-lallyness akin too Nero and Juliet, Romeo and Jupiter and Ken and Deirdre from Kornation Street.
Get my letters to Gerry Anderson and books of poems from...
jpmcmenamin@gmail.com
And go now!--rite away too...
www.greatshowlastweekkid.blogspot.com
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