Mission Acomplished

A tragedy of monumental, Machiavellian, machinations has bee-fallen me.
A tragedy of Greek peforations is the only way to descriptively, describe the horrorendous hanlin which was fated by fate to bee-fall me.
I wool now state the facts in a clear and transpicious manner.
I was in my frontal garden. I was enraged in boiling a cauldren of drawers.
I was using a nobbly, black-thorn stick to circulate and motivate the under garments.
I was arrayed in spick and span hob-nailed boots and a kakhi German world war one grate coat.
My suspences were aroused when I saw my sun Bon Jovi galloping like a wilderbeest through the bog and roaring like a demented donkey.
The cub ran towards me, too streams of snotters flying behind him in the wind and roared.
"Oh Mammy, I bring tidings of grate perplezity and termididy.
The cubs at skool say, a graphic,pornographic, caricature of you adorns the second cuticle in stall too at the men's toilet and slash house in Clougher".
"DOUGHNUTS AND DUMPLINS" I yelled.
"Prepare my steed" I cried.
Today I ride to Clougher to rite the rongs which have been preputated on my person by person, or persons unknown".
"Do you want me for back-up?" cried Bon Jovi.
"KNOW!" I cried empatically.
"You stay and stir the drawers".
Soon I was on my way too Clougher, bent over the handle bars of my bicycle like Frankie Dee-Tori.
When I reached the defecation containment unit I leaped off my bike and ran into the men's innconvenance.
Three men were standing at stalls having a slash.
"GET OUT!" I yelled
"And do that in the street like real men, don't be cowering in 'ere like old women".
I threw open the door to stall too and stood there shocked to the kore in horrific amazement.
"MERDE! MERDE! MERDE!" I screamed in the tiled construction manufactoried excuviously for slashing and defication.
THERE! on the wall was a large crayon drawing depicting the Bridget Bar-Doo of Clougher, Rosie Ryan.
In the drawing I was bent over like a cow displaying a massive aera of red flannel drawers.
The artist had added numerous gingham patches to my red flannelled, plump ars--derriere.
I was looking behind me with a sultry expression on my big, plump, red face.
Underneath rote in large block capitals was rote,
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.
Driven mad by intorable menthol anguish I ran outside tearing my hare and rendering my garments.
There in front of me stood a massive digger. I leaped into the cab, turned her on and soon Clougher toilet looked like Soddem and Begorragh.
Knot one stone was left upon a stone, or a stool upon a stool.
"MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!" I yelled as I rode out of Clougher like Clint Eastwood.
Don't meddle with she who is,
ROSIE RYAN xxx