Wednesday 6 January 2010

I Need Help!!!

Gerry, HELP! I need somebody. HELP! not just any body.
I have just brought my red flannel drawers in from the cloths line. And they are like a board. Hard as iron with inpregnated ice and frost.
It is imperative that these drawers are encircling my under-carriage by Hi - noon.
I have an annointment with the bank manager at wan oh clock. I am looking a loan to buy a knew wheel barrow. FAITH! may indeed move mountains. But it will knot shift the dung from my midden into my back garden.
Throw it out to your listeners. I am open to any subjections. BUT if auld Jordie comes on bumming about Jeyes Fluid,- hunt him. I wool KNOT pour corrosive Jeyes Fluid over my good red flannel drawers. That cost a King's Ester ransome in the Kay's katalogue. The drawers is sitting, of their own accord may I add, in front of a big roaring fire. Steam is rising. But as yet, I kan detect know dicernable softening in the rigid red flannel.
My sun Bon Jovi. He who sprang like a veritable Jack-In-The-Box from my lions on a barmy Summer nite some years ago, is laughing and making fun of me. My off-spring is calling me, Old Iron Drawers. Can you imagine it Gerry. The lump of a cub I have neutered and nourished from birth is called ME-his Mater-Old Iron Drawers! Usually I wood blame the parents. But in this case I think the fault lies with Bon Jovi. Who is a gulpin of unnatural evil and demonaic nature.
How can I face the bank manager without drawers? I planned to flutter my eye lashes. Wet my pouting moist red lips. And cross and uncross my two big plump blew veined legs. Hoping the bank manager wood be captivated and enraptured bye my femine charms and throw out the spondulects.
But two carry out my plan, I need drawers. Pliable drawers. Not hard drawers that is standing like a Henry Moore sculpture in front of my fire.
One though keeps going through my head. OH deer God in heaven.Wool I have to go-COMMANDO? I don't want to be known as Britney Speers round Clougher and surrounding districts. But I need the loan of £50. My wheel barrow is on it's last legs. Ever since the wheel fell off. If necessity dictites, I wool resort too doing a Sharon Stone. If a knew wheel barrow is at stake-I wool flash.And flash again and again-repeatly. I will flash the lights at HE!. I kan always tell it later in confussions.
Gerry put out an all points bulliton. Put out a TMD. Which stands for thaw my drawers. Some man or woman out there must have some knowledge of frosted drawers. And Gerry, should you read in the Clougher Jewish Chronicle about a case of-flashing. Remember, it was all done for a good cause and in the best possible taste.
TMD-THAW MY DRAWERS!
And now my water has frozen! And I was just going to cleanse my under-carriage with a scrubbing brush and a bar of Lifeboy soap. Gerry send round that Lativian boy, Molatov Cocktail to have a futter at my pipes.
Once again, your house bound honey, Rosie Ryan finds herself up shit creek without a paddle.And Gerry, spare a thought for the well off ladies. Who will find their build in bathroom bibby's iced up to the gunnels. THis is a wild tarra thyme for weeman. Imagine the number of weeman.. Who wool be squatting in front of the fire tonight. With basins of hot water. Doors securly bolted and locked and men and dogs banished as they go about their inimitable toiliteries.
Al Gore's a rite hoor!. From your housebound honey, Rosie Ryan xxx

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