How To Explain The Blewness Of The Blew-Bells.

Deer Gerry, 'tis I, Rosie Ryan the enchanting, enchantress of the bog.
I heer some peeple were worried and pre-turbed that my son Bon Jovi and and me may have shuffled of this amoral coil. Fiddle-sticks and jelly beans.
Fie, Fie and thrice times-fie. Bon Jovi and me is thriving like too porkers and us bowls are as regular as Big Ben. Now you are in training to run from Belfast to Boston, why don't you slip into a wee pear of shorts and take a run up to sea me.
I wood make sure Bon Jovi was muzzled and tied up. The cub gets excited when he sea's strangers and usually goes for the jugular. Once he got used to your sent he wood be as playful as grizzly bare cub.
All of the cubs growling, snarling and lunging is mearly a defence mechanism to cover up his insecurity and chronic shyness.
"You should get out more Bon Jovi" I say.
"Meet people, make new friends".
But the cub seems quite happy to spent the day glowering out of a deep burrow he dug adjacent to the midden.
But I am not worried about he who used to be a fetus, both the doctor and the priest described Bon Jovi as, a hell of a cub.
Gerry, knowing my wild passion for Hi headucation it wool knot come as a surprise to you to no I am studying the ancient, Chinese language of mandolin. It is a facinating language in which vowels abound.
I am also working on a tapestry of the last supper,which depicts Judas as a
a red-arsed baboon.
Jesus is gnawing at the heel of a pan loaf and glaring at Judas with wild hate and loathing in his gentle, brown eyes.
Oh Gerry, deerest Gerry, I wish I could explain in graphite detail the exquitive beauty of the blew-bells.
The blew-bells are the blewest blew-bells I have ever clapped eyes on.
You should see the blew, so very, very blew, too blew for any kuman being to describe their blewness.
I wish there was something I could kompare to the blew of the blew-bells,
but there isn't.
I once had a pear of nickers in blew, the same blew, as the blew-bells.
"Send them up to me!" I hear you shout.
"So I two kan understand the blewness of the blew-bells".
"Alas Gerry my bon a me, they are no more. Wear and tear Gerry. Wear and tear. Alas, the words, wear and tear, could be subscribed on the tombstone of numerous pears of nickers.
Age alas, did wither them and the years condem.
I must flea deerest one, I sea Bon Jovi crawling out of his burrow seeking nourishment and substance.
Fair-well, Fair-well, my noble Prince.
From the fare'est of the fare,
ROSIE RYAN xxx