A WILE STORM

Deer Gerry and all my deer, deer fiends at radio Foul, what a Sam Magee storm we is going through.
My sun Bon Jovi and me is fare foundered.
Us under-carriages have bean in cold storage for daze.
The big question is, wool they still work when the thaw comes?
I suppose its a case of Kay-Sir-Ah-Sir-Ah.
The Winter scenery is nice, but too hell with the scenery, if icicles are hanging where they have never hung before.
Know Pan loaf has come up my lane for fore daze.
Its at thymes like these that one's thoughts turn to cannibalism. Bon Jovi has grate big meaty legs on him.
I wonder wood it be a sin?. Sure the cub could get through life with wan leg!
And I no that Bon Jovi is eyeing me up as nourishment.
Last nite the cub said I was strutting about like a big turkey.
Where is it all going to end Gerry?. I blame auld Al Gore for giving the weather the green lite to go hay-wire.
How is all at radio Foul Gerry?. I hope all appendages are a counted for.
The wee boy wood be sus-ceptable to frost bite. His under-carriage is so close to the ground.
Fill him up Gerry. Fill the wee boy up with aunty freeze.
All we kan do Gerry is hang on Sloopy. Mark my words, people wool be eaten before this cauld hanlin' is over.
The wildlife is stalking me and Bon Jovi. We can't go out because of ravenous weasels, stoats, wolves and grizzly bares.
Those who frequently break wind in bed have an advantage in weather like this.
Nature has equipted them with their own hot air blower.
Thank goodness I am a frequent farter as is my dinner, I mean my sun Bon Jovi.
Hang on Sloopy, is my advice Gerry.
This too shall pass.
But the number of people eaten could well be legion.
I hope you have your, you no what well lagged.
I must go Gerry, Bon Jovi is lurking with intent in the scullary.
Put that hatchet down you gulpin!
Rosie Ryan xxx