Kon Man In Clougher!

Gerry, a highly contentious and dastardly hanlin' in Clougher on Sonday. Three kars beeping the horn drove into Clougher and a boy got out wearing a red cloak and a wee hat and said he was Pope Benny-dict on a secret visit.
Clougher went bee-serk. People left their dinner and thronged the street.
A boy with the Pope roared,
"Silence for his emminet, Pope Benny-dict"
The "Pope" leaped up on the back of a coal lorry and addressed the assembled multitude.
"People of Clougher and surrounding districts" he bellowed.
"Today I come before you, to stand behind you, to tell you something I know nothing about".
"UP THE POPE" yelled wee Nelly Hannigan, before she fell down in a holy swoon.
"You'se is all going to heaven" roared the "Pope".
"And all it wool cost you'se is a tenner. My people wool now walk among you'se. And I kan insure you that all money collected. Will go towards stone cladding on the Vatican.
If your eye sins" yelled the "Pope"
"It is probably lazy, so put a patch over it.
If your hand sins, stick it in your pocket.
"Pope" yelled auld Romano Nutter.
"Can I sit at the rite hand of God?"
"You kan surely" said the "Pope"
"Sure isn't there plenty of room.
"HEAVEN" bellowed the "Pope"
"Is like a big nite club. But there is a dress code. So no wellingtons or trainers-please!
Fall to your knees" yelled the "Pope"
"Fall to your knees for I am going to bless you'se".
Down the people fell onto the muddy street and the "Pope" raised his rite hand and yelled.
"Nommy pater et feelie McGoany. Tuttie fruti in sanctorem. Et into eyebrow et to cullybaccyum.
Fag-oh's cheap-oh in Drumquin a-um.
Saint Poot's. Saint Dodd's in storment-a-um
Gloria in pater noster Iron Brue-a-um.
Sanctos-Sanctos-Sanctos, thrice sanatorium"
Then Gerry a police kar came flying into Clougher and the "Pope" and his cohorts jumped into their kars and flew out of Clougher like bats out of hell.
He was a kon man Gerry. Some boy who came from the rong side of the tracks in Gortin.
So warn the peeple in Ingland Gerry. There is boys going about dressed up as the Pope.
If the Pope should nock at your door on a dark nite. Make him recite the seven deadly sins before you let him in. My son Bon Jovi and me was stung for twenty pounds. If I get my hands on that fake Pope I'll nock the auld papal bull out of him.
Apart from that Gerry, Clougher is very quite and muted at this time of year.
All my loving, I will give to-you!
Mrs Rosie Ryan XXX

Down With Dung Spreaders!

Gerry, please HARK to me.
I plan to burn a mound of Our Boy's and Ireland's Own's on Hi street in Clougher at three oh clock on Sonday.
I am protesting about the wild smell of dung spreaders. Wot is driving me and my sun Bon Jovi Do-Lally and bee-serk!
Dung spreaders is un-sanity Gerry. Highly and dangerously un-sanity!
Join me Gerry. Say--KNOW-too dung spreaders.
After the burning Bon Jovi wool mount a stool and give a rendering of, "Mother McCree" what wool stun all who heer it.
Mrs Rosie Ryan xxx
PS. And know fone call from Robinson or McGuinness wool stap ME!

Autumnal Greetings

Autumnal greetings Gerry, Rosie Ryan 'ere.
You have probably bean wandering how my sun Bon Jovi is doing. I am glad to retort that the cub is alive and kicking. He has just went back to skool to work on his thesis entitled, "Seamus Heaney, poet or proser?".
Its frightening to stand beside the cub when he is doing his homework. The top of his head gets scalding hot and steam comes out of his ears.
The cub is a fee-nominon Gerry. A one off. There wool never be another Bon Jovi Ryan. You can bet the farm on THAT!
How is you Gerry and all your kith and kin?
I hope's you'se is all jolly good and top whole.
Gerry, please play, "Daddy Cool" for poor wee Dinky McNacket who got locked in the freezer over nite at Moy Park chickens. Appendages have bean damaged Gerry. The doctors are working flat out to keep the amputations to a minium.
His wife wee Delma is climbing the walls screaming.
"It wasn't much, but it was mine!"
Our prayers go out to her as she waits for news in the snug in Murphy's public house.
I hope Gerry it makes you and Sean thankful for what you've got. You never miss it 'till its gone.
Saint Oliver Plunket said that before they cut the head off him.
Love, hugs and kisses from,
Mrs Rosie Ryan. xxx