Saturday 12 June 2010

PICKED UP BY THE FUZZ

Oh the shame Gerry. Oh the ig-no me. Oh the disgrace. My sun Bon Jovi and me were nicked for shop lifting! We is knot crooks Gerry. There is
Ex-ten-u-ating circumstances witch I must inform you off. The cub needed trousers Gerry. His old one's were only held together by the odd fibre and the power of prayer. Sew on Fryday morning, brite and early, Bon Jovi and me hit the Hi road two Clougher.
As we strolled along I commented on the wide range of bird life and the different varieties of flora and fauna. As I was commenting on a particulary lush bunch of Sue-Lugs Bon Jovi exploded.
"In the name of God" roared the cub.
"Wool you keep your big yapper shut. All you have done since we left home is, YAP! YAP! YAP!"
"How darest thou" I yelled
"Is that any way for a mail off spring too talk two one's mater? Another outburst like that my lad and you'll be picking your teeth up off the road".
Bon Jovi threw off his coat. Leaped out to the middle of the road and roared.
"Bring it on! Bring it on big mouth. By the hot fires of hell, I wool shut that big gub of yours wance and for all".
I struggled out of my late mammies brown duffle coat. Put up my fists and yelled.
"Bye the sacret hart of saint John Plunket I'll nock you into the middle of next weak you gulpin".
The fight was on. Bon Jovi and I circled each other warily. I threw out a searching rite. Bon Jovi parried it. Bon Jovi came back with a left that grazed my temple.
I had my head on my chest. Bon Jovi's fists hung low. The cub was trying to make a fool of me. I let go a hay-maker. Bon Jovi skipped back and did an Ali shuffle in front of a whin bush.
We came together, our heads clashed and we backed away. I rushed at the cub and ran straight in to a left hook up the kisser. I spat out blood and too teeth. Bon Jovi smiled above his bobbing, weaving fists.
We came together again and Bon Jovi unleashed a flurry of punches into my bread basket. I gasped and panted. I was getting it tite. Bon Jovi came in for the kill. Slipped on cow skitter and I got him with an uppercut rite on the point of his dirty chin. The cub went down like a bag of spuds. I sat panting on the verge until the cub came round. We then continued on our way to Clougher-in silence.
"The colour of these trousers is lovat" said wee Maggie McSpoon who works in Patel's haber-dashery.
"Do try them on Bon Jovi" I enthused.
"They wood complaiment your puce gansey exquitely".
As Bon Jovi was trying on the knew trousers. The old trousers gave up the ghost and fell apart. Maggie McSpoon gingerly picked up the remmants of the old trousers with a pear of tongs and ran out to the back yard to put them in the bin. The up shot was . I payed for the knew lovat trousers and Bon Jovi wore them home.
THEN! CALAMITY! As Bon Jovi and me walked past Clougher city limits. The arse of Bon Jovi's knew trousers began to squeel like a stuck pig.
Soon six police cars roared too a halt and Bon Jovi and me was surrounded by a gang of PICKS, PEES, PIERS, or what ever the hell the RUC call themselves these days. Mother and sun was arrested and held in Hi security confinement. I protested us innonence.
The police brought in wee Maggie Mc Spoon and she said, I had payed for the lovat trousers, but she had knot taken the security tag from the lovat trousers.
The police threw me and Bon Jovi out and banged the big gait behind us.
"High Columbo" I roared.
"How about an apology and a lift home?"
I was told to move along, or we wood be nicked again.
I don't no who I'm madder at, the police or wee Maggie McSpoon. Needless two say a sharp letter is on its way to auld David Ford, the minister for piece and injustice.
But the lovat trousers look lovely on the cub.
They really bring out the colour of his dung brown eyes.
I is-Rosie Ryan. XXX

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