BON JOVI'S ENTREPRENURIAL PLANS

Yesterday morning beeing a brite, sonny day in the extremity. Found me lolling-languidly over a rusty gait.
With my ample bisum on one side of the gait and my volatile, voluptuous rear on the other side.
I was, as the laws of Newton state balancing the gravitational pull twixt bisum and derriere.
I was arrayed in puce gansey, white drindle skirt, embroidered with lambs a leaping in pleasant,pasturised surroundings. My turned down wellingtons took their colour from the lime, that most erotic of fruits.
My plump round, red face peeped out of my flowing mass of tangled red hare. I had used lipstick to elongate my mouth, Ah-La, Jack Nicholson as the Joker in Batman. I looked good and I new it.
Men hate a woman with a wee gub. Thanks to my lipsticking, my smile spread from ear to 'ere.
I looked around me with my deep green occulars. What beauty! The cunt'ry lay before me like a Constable canvas. Filled with rural, rustic romantism I huskly entoned.
"These are my mountains and this is my glen".
Atchung! Above the swaying flora and fauna, I saw the big bobbing head of my sun Bon Jovi. My cub. The lite of my life. He, who had hatched from a fertilsed egg and sprang from my lions like a veritable jack-in-the-box.
As my sun bounded towards me like a Pampas bull. I disengaged myself from the gait and ran to meet him.
What a material site. As mother and sun ran with out stretched arms towards each other. Bon Jovi was running so fast. The stream of snotters from his nose were flying back and forwards, like a manical pendulum. Then we met. The cub thundered into me and sent me on the broad of my back. My white drindle skirt was lavioushly splattered with cow skitter.
"Bon Jovi" I enthused.
"Where have you bean a wandering, on this exquite, harmonic sonny day?"
Bon Jovi broke wind with the delicate, decorum of a hangel and roared.
"I have bean navigating the bog. Prior to turning it into Clougher International airport when I grow up".
I looked at the lump of a cub with maternal awe. What a brane must be housed in that big, round head. The cub was an entrepreneurial entepreneur bordering on entrepreneurialism. This cub, standing in the nettles, with two snottery candles hanging from his nose wool be another Richard Branson.
"Bon Jovi" I cried.
"You have been touched. Touched by the hand of fate. You shall in thyme my boy be as rich as Croesus, the king of Linda. Tell me my bon-a-me" I said.
"What shall you do with the riches, that you will acrew".
"Bon Jovi blue his nose with his fingers. Sending two ethermal trails of snotters drifting over the bog like thistle down and replied.
"When the spondulects start rolling in. I can knot be encumbered. I can knot be encumbered by, morons, cretans or head the balls. So the first thing I shall do is confine you to a Hi security home for old bags. I must be focused. I can not have some old head bangers yelling, Bon Jovi this and Bon Jovi that. As a captain of industry, I must cast aside all that could be a hinderance to me in my quest for money. So when the lolly starts rolling in, you shall be taken, by force to a secure, room with bars on the window. Time permitting, I may visit you every Kristmas. So you kan give me my Kristmas box".
I grabbed the errant entepreneur by the scruff off the neck and roared.
"Here's your Kristmas box for the next fore years"
And I boxed the ears of the prodigious sun. Bon Jovi broke away and ran off yelling.
"auld ugly, fat bag. Auld red-faced Rosie. The laughing stock of Clougher and surrounding districts".
I yelled, "By the sacred simmet of saint Martha" And took off after the gross gulpin. As I was getting into my stride. My fashionable lime green wellingtons slipped on cow skitter and I fell on the broad of my back. I fear I will never get the skitter off my white drindle skirt!.
I shall of course prey to the patron saint of lost causes and use plenty of Daz. But skitter is the devil to shift when it gets ground in.