Thursday 5 August 2010

SOME HANLIN!

Imagine my condensation when I picked up my stylish designer "Tuff Boy" hobnailed boots and found them knot fit for porpoise.
"Knackered!" laughed my sun Bon Jovi.
"Rosie's big size fourteens are knackered".
"Shut your gub, you demonic elf" I yelled.
"Only a gulpin of un-un-unpresulmptuous evil malignancy bordering on mischievous wickedness wood talk two his auld mammy like that".
"I told you two keep off the midden" roared Bon Jovi.
"Every thyme I look out the winda. There you are, standing on top of the midden like an auld red faced rooster. The dung has eaten through the souls of your big hobnailed boots and left you bare footed and bereft of footwear. Maybe now you wool sit dozing at the fire the way a big, fat stupid, doting auld bag should".
"Bye the Count of Monty Cristo" I yelled.
"How dare you bring aggrevation and- and-zelophobic trouble and stress to the portal of your mater".
"NICKERS!" roared Bon Jovi.
"Yes!-NICKERS!. Don't take your-your-irrational ire out on the lump of a cub. I fear you knot! I look into your big, red bleezer of a face and retort-NICKERS!".
"Bye the seven Spanish angels, I'll cut the big head of you" I roared.
And I reached for the scythe that was leaning up against the child of Prague and took a swing at the jet black imp from hell. Bon Jovi did an Ali shuffle. Leaped the half door like a donkey on Red Bull and disappeared into the wide blue yonder.
As the cub ran he yelled.
"Nickers two Rosie and her auld hobnailed boots".
I sighed and put on my auld wellingtons. After working out that the green wellington went on the rite foot and the black wellington went on the left foot, I toggled myself into my late mammies brown duffle coat and set off for Clougher.
I frog marched into Coochies the cobblers and yelled.
"ACHTUNG! ACHTUNG! Das boots. Das hobnailed boots. SCHNELL! SCHNELL!".
Auld Dynamo Coochie made a spalter to hide the polygenetic magazine he was reeding and cried.
"Rite away Mrs Ryan. Rite away. You take size 14, the biggest size we have in the shop?".
"JA!" I yelled. "SCHNELL! Das Boots. SCHNELL!, SCHNELL!".
Soon I was on my way home with the knew boots in a box the size of small coffin.
I entered my abode to the aroma of cullinary delights.
"Bon Jovi leapt up like a Jackeen in the box and said.
"You must be hungry mammy. When you were gone I made you five fried eggs, half a pound of streaky bacon, three and a half sausages and a veritable mound of fried bread".
With tears in my eyes I hugged my cub and said.
"Bon Jovi, you are a bon cabellero. A good amigo. Is my meel in the oven?"
"What meel?" said Bon Jovi.
"The meel you prepared for me" I said.
"Oh THAT meel" said Bon Jovi.
"You were away so long, I got hungry and ate it myself. Hard cheddar mater".
Once again I grabbed the scythe and yelled.
"You stinking, rotten excuse for a sun.
Bye the rivers of Babby-Lon I will sever your big, round head from your body".
I made a swipe with the scythe. The fruit of my lions scampered out the window and took off over the bog with me behind him.
"GULPIN!" I yelled.
"NICKERS!" roared Bon Jovi.
And so it went on 'till the gloom of the nite enveloped the both of us.
What a cub!
But he is some hanlin'.

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