Wednesday 14 October 2009

The Necessities Of Life

Full of grate wrath and fierce chagrin. I held on too a shelf kontaining babbies nappies and adult rubber nickers.
"Korrect me if I'm rong" I yelled too the wee humpy nuck behind the counter.
"Did you just reform me that you have know SPECIAL! mince?"
"Yes I did" roared the wee nuck.
"Ordinary mince is good enough for the people of Clougher. But apperently ordinary mince is knot good enough for her majesty Rosie Ryan.
Apperently Rosie Ryan wool only eat-SPECIAL! mince. Well let me tell the highfalutin, rooting-tooting Rosie Ryan. YES! we have know special mince and from now on I won't be stocking toilet roll either".
Was I in a dream? Was my mind deranged by my irrepressible hunger for all things pertaining too Arts and Kulture?
"Know toilet roll?" I echoed.
"Know toilet roll" roared the wee gulpin .
"Know wee spams in tins. Know tee in bags.Know fingers made of fish. Know paper doiles and KNOW-SPECIAL MINCE!".
I clutched on too the shelf for support. A packet of adult rubber nickers fell too the floor. Groggily I looked down. Depicted on the front was an old grey haired grandfather playing with his grandchildren. A balloon above the grandfathers head said.
"Say goodbye to urine with a pear of "CRISP AND DRY" adult panties".
I was in a dream-like state. Bordering on hallucinogenic haliotis.
Suddenly a grate swell of anger rose up from my gurgling innards and I roared.
"What kind of huxter shop is this any way. Where a decent woman can knot get, as Walt Dissny mite say, The necessities of life?"
"It's a cunt'ry shop" yelled the wee nuck. "A cunt'ry shop for cunt'ry people. If you want SPECIAL! mince. Stick a bowler hat on a pound of ordinary mince. If you want toilet roll. We have a rack full of Ireland's Own and Our boys. And if you want paper tissues, use your finger and thumb like God intended".
"What is happening?" I yelled.
"Is Clougher slipping back into the dark ages?. Will strangers once again be pulled from donkeys and bicycles and end up in a Wicker man?"
A strange look came into the wee nucks eyes. His pupils diluted and a vein was throbbing in his thin, scrawny neck.
"GO" he hissed.
"Go, the night is coming on. You don't want to be in Clougher after sundown. Strange things happen in Clougher after dark. Strange, weird wonderful things happen. When the moon is peeping through the trees the bat swoops low and the twany owl goes.
To-Wit-Two-Woo.
You don't want to be in Clougher. When the people silently leave their homes and gather in the town square. Seeking whom they can devour.
GO!. Go now and don't stop until you reach the city limits. Remember the-city limits".
"Nutbush?" I said.
"Mind your own business" Said the wee nuck with an obscene, perverted sexual leer on his repulsive visage.
So I turned my back on Clougher. The sex capital of Europe and made my way back home. Where my sun Bon Jovi and the kat were already on their knees, waiting for me to say the rosary.

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