Don't Irk Me!

Having kompleted my household chores, bye kicking all the rubbish on the floor out the door with my hobnailed boots. I got my bango down from on top of the press and plinked my way through all the works of Hi-Den and Poo-Geeny. Any idijt could play Hi-Den, but you have too have your wits about you to tangle with auld Poo-Geeny. Poo-Geeny is a crafty auld boy. He wool try and throw you off the sent bye changing from major to minor without so much as a hand signal. But I was up too Poo-Geeny's auld tricks and beat him at his own game. Teck-Neek. That's what music is all about. Teck-Neek. And when it comes to musical Teck-Neek, I am fare stuffed with it.
I kan rattle through any tune in the keys of A to Z.
Looking at the position of the son in the firament, I saw it would soon be time for my sun Bon Jovi to arrive home from Saint Judas skool his seat of learning. I quickly buttered too heels of a pan loaf with margerine and put the kettle on. I went too the door and scrutinised the horizon for any sign of my first born.
Suddenly! I saw a big head bobbing through the flora and fauna. It was my-SUN. It was the boy child who had-LEAPED from my fruitful lions at the first touch of the doctors foreceps.
I listened. The cub was singing. A frown crossed my beautiful face as the words drifted over the bog.
I harked my ears to the song the cub was guldering.
"MUM-MUM-MUM-MAH!
MUM-MUM-MUM-MAH!
MUM-MUM-MUM-MAH
I want to hold them, like they do in Texas plays.
Fold them, let them hit me raise it baby stay with me I love it.
Luck and no intuition play the cards with spades to start.
And after he's been hooked I'll play the one that's on his heart.
OH!-OH-OH-OH-OH-OH!
PA-PA-PA-POKER FACE.
PA-PA-PA-POKER FACE".
I ran and pulled the cub into the house. I shook the rascel and roared.
"How dare you show me up by roaring and guldering in front of the snipes and curlews in the bog".
The cub broke free and roared.
"Let go you ugly auld harridan, or I'll report you to Child Care".
"Listen boy" I roared.
"Don't you irk me today. I'm in no mood to be irked. Your incessant irking is getting on my nerves. So I'm warning you. Cut down on the irking or I'll brust your face".
Far from being chasened, the cub took up the fighting stance of the late, dead John L. Sullivan and began to dance around me.
"Come on big mouth" roared Bon Jovi.
"Put up your mitts. In my left fist I have thunder and in my rite fist I have lightening. Come on big mouth. Put up your mitts and lets see what a big man you are".
I immediately put my head on my chest. Raised my fists and shuffled around in the style of "Smoking" Joe Frazier.
Bon Jovi threw out a left. I parried it with my right. I threw a left. Bon Jovi danced away with a scornfull look on his ugly mug. We came together. Bon Jovi tried to head butt me. I pushed him off and tried a right uppercut. The cub danced into the corner. I followed with my head down. Bon Jovi hit me with a left right up the hooter and drew blood. I snorted and covered up. Bon Jovi, with a wicked snarl on his face came in for the kill. Slipped on the blood and fell on his arse. As Bon Jovi spaltered to his feet. I raised my hobnailed boot and gave him a terrible riser up the derriere. The cub went down. I grabbed him by the scruff off the neck and dragged him outside.
Bon Jovi yelled.
"Ref. Ref! The auld bag is holding".
I rammed Bon Jovi's big, round head into the water barrell. I kept Bon Jovi under the water, longer than is allowed by the Geneva Konvention. Then I pulled the cub out and threw him on the ground. Bon Jovi lay there like a drowned rat. I stood there gasping and panting. Blood was flowing freely from my swollen hooter.
Bon Jovi got slowly to his feet and stood there. A poor, bedraggled, pathetic wretch. A wave of pity ran through me. This was my sun. My only begotten-sun.
I looked into Bon Jovi's half drowned face and said-gently.
"I'm sorry Bon Jovi. But I warned you not to irk me. That is what you get for being irksome".
Bon Jovi bent over and vomited up half a bucket of water. Then the cub looked into my face. Soon the cub would say sorry. I would hug him and all would be well. Bon Jovi took a step forward until his nose was almost touching mine. Then the cub opened his mouth and guldered.
"IRK, IRK. IRK! You ugly auld bag"
Then the cub took off over the bog, with me after him. As the son set in the West and the heavy crows came home to roost.