THE FIERCE INTELLIGENCE OF BON JOVI

Chuck Corona my boyfriend and me stood on top of the midden like Venus and Appolo. We had our arms round each others wastes and were nibbling our respective ears like too buck goats eating ivy. I felt a shudder and a tremor travel through my slender, girlish 18 stone body as Chuck ran a rigid digit tantalizingly up the discs on my quivering spine. "Oh Chuck" I ejaculated, "please don't do that, or I shall turn into a veritable jelly and fall at your feet with a-plop".
Chuck leered at me-seductively with a mouthful of uneven nashers and said. "Mon a me, my petit gateau, zee finger up zee spine is bon-no?". "It is bon-aye" I cried. "But you know how highly tuned my erotic responses are. It is very naughty of you in the extreme, to tamper with my womanly urges with your tender groaping and Kama Sutra inspired futtering".
Chuck-leaped on me like a pole-kat, pulled up my azure blew gansey and began to tickle my protruding belly button. I shrieked like a ferret and went into fits of hysterical laughing, as blue fluff from my navel was expelled and blown away in the soft Summer breeze. "Will you stop your tickling Chuck" I shrieked, as gale after gale of falsetto giggles erupted from my pouting rose bud mouth. I was in a swoon-like state. I dug my hobnailed boots into the muck and mire to keep from falling. What a site we must have bean a top the midden, mail and female, clasped in the age old embrace of la-more. Adam and Eve, fighting over the granny smith. A seen as old as thyme itself. Man and woman, going through the ritual love dance that was but just a prelude to how's your father? is your mother still working?. Then, as I opened my jaws wide like a rattle snake to eat the neck of Chuck, I saw my boy child Bon Jovi coming home from skool through the bog. "Behold Chuck!" I cried "Yonder is the fruit of my lions, making his way home from his estemed seat of learning". Deer Chuck squinted with his deep set ferret eyes and said. "What does the boy have in his hand?. Why, I do believe it is a walking stick!". I gave a roar like a bull moose and shrieked, "Bon Jovi must be hurted. Why else wood he walk with the aid of a stick? Oh Chuck" I yelled "My only begotten sun must have broken his leg. Quick!" I yelled. "Tear up your shirt for bandages and bring me lots of hot water". By now, the fertilised egg was almost upon us. "Bon Jovi" I shrieked. "What ailes you? How many legs have you broken, that you must walk with the aid of a walking stick?". Bon Jovi stood glowering out of the weeds and nettles. He rubbed his nose on his sleeve, brainished the walking stick above his big, round cannonball head and said. "Fear knot, all my limbs are in an unfractured state. The walking stick is mearly an- affectation". "Oh Chuck" I roared "The cub has broken his affectation". "Know, know" said Chuck. "The cub is unhurt. An affectation is a, a, a,.....
"I think Chuck Corona" said Bon Jovi, "That you wood be wise to shut your big yapper, before you prove that you are as stupid as you look. Bon Jovi looked at me with his good eye and said. "An affectation is, assumption or striving after an appearance of what is not natural or real. In other words- pretence". "You wee gulpin" I roared "You scared the life out of me and you knot insured". "Tut-tut" said Bon Jovi "You really must get your nerves under control, or you will end up in a rubber room, bouncing of the walls like a squash ball" Only for Chuck holding me back by clutching the waste-band of my drawers, I wood have swung for the wee gulpin. Bon Jovi gave an auld hateful laugh and headed for the house, swinging the walking stick like Charlie Chaplin. When the cub neared the door, he turned round with an auld haughty air and said, "Oh bye the bye mater, next time you go into Clougher, be so good as to get me a top hat and a monacle". I stood there, open mouthed and speechless. Chuck held me close and I sobbed into his majenta gansey, "Oh Chuck, with all Bon Jovi's awful affectations, I feel I have given birth to little Lord Snooty". Who would be a mother? Not men that's for sure, they are too fly for that!.

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Bon Jovi's Opinion Of Uncle Gerry's Show

Deer Gerry, on banked holiday Monday the rain was pissi--pouring down, so me and my Sun Bon Jovi sat on too three legged stools two listen too your show. I roared and laughed and slapped my plump, maidenly knee, but Bon Jovi sat as still and as silent as the Spinx. "You never laughed Bon Jovi" I said "I thought you liked Gerry". "Of course I like Uncle Gerry" said the cub, "Uncle Gerry is a riter and a broadcaster, I was using the show as a form of headucation. I two may be a riter and a broadcaster, so I was picking up some tips". I marvelled again at the ambition that dwelt in that large, cannon-ball head. "How did Uncle Gerry do?" I asked. Bon Jovi crossed wan dirty and grazed knee over the other and said, "Quite good. I was impressed by his diction". "What's-diction Bon Jovi?" I asked "Diction" said Bon Jovi, "well, it's the foundation of speech. If your diction is up the Swanny, no wan no's what you're talking about". "What else did you like about Gerry" I said throwing too turf on too the fire and blowing my nose on the hem of my skirt. "I greatly admired Uncle Gerry's use of-nuance" said the cub. "What in under God is-nuance?" I said "Bon Jovi sighed and replied, "Nuance, is a delicate or subtle degree, or shade of difference. Imagine you were painting a barn door puce, you mite want too add a nuance of burnt umber two bring out the Hi-lites". "What will your books be about Bon Jovi" I asked. "The subjects wool be many and varied" said the cub and I plan to bring them out in trilogys of four" The cub looked at me and said, "If you're good and behave yourself, I mite well rite a book about you!". I clasped my hands too my bleezing face and cried. "Oh Bon Jovi wood you? And what wood the book be called?" Bon Jovi leant back, went into a state of 50% pondering and 50% ruminating and said. "I shall call the book, "The woman who made me the man I am today". "And how many books do you plan two rite Sun?" I asked "57" said Bon Jovi, "Yes, 57, if it was good enough for Heinz, it's good enough for me". "And tell me Bon Jovi" I said "What wool you do when you have the 57 books wrotten?" Bon Jovi looked at me with contempt and said, "What a stupid, ass-in-ine question. When I have rote my 57 books, I wool sit down on an armchair and reed them of course". I felt so--stupid. So stupid, thick and old. You no you're cubs growing up when he makes a complete fool of you, like what Bon Jovi just done to me. But just think.....

Bon Jovi Ryan, Author. And too think he sprang from my fruitfull lions!!!

Deer Fans, friends and familiars, 'tis indeed a pleasure two put pencil to jotter and correspond with youse through the art of calligrephy. Over the years I have told youse many things about myself, my Sun Bon Jovi and my boyfriend, Chuck Corona, who was asked to leave the Garda She-Cona in Dublin. Youse are aware and compes-mentas of my grate beauty, grace, poise and helagance. I model myself-dilligently on model Kate Moss. When I walk, I put wan hobnail boot gracefully in front of the other, as I was told too do in Kate's book, "How too walk down a kat-walk without taking a spalter". Of my only begetoon Sun Bon Jovi, what kan I say? Nature fertilised an egg and chose my womb, to shelter and nurter, he who in thyme would be kristened Bon Jovi, with a good splash of H2o and the laying on of hands. Every thyme I look at Bon Jovi's big head or sea his ring-worm spreading, I no I am blessed among women.

My boyfriend Chuck Corona is the lite of my life. I love every pox on his pox-marked face. Chuck is knot the tall, dark and handsome hero you wood read about in Mills and Boom. Chuck is low to the ground, squat and his hare stands up on his bullet head like a pork-a-pine. And yet, this man on the run from the Free State has stolen my hart and I love him like be-damned.

But I have talked about Chuck and Bon Jovi before. What I want to talk about today is.....Wait 'till I sprinkle the house with holy water, what I want too talk about today is--CLOUGHER!. Clougher is a neon lit city of sin, perversion, depravity and debauchery. Clougher, that sprawling city among the whins and rushes, is a plaice of demonic evil, pagan values and unholy shennagins. No wan no's the amount of futtering, grabbing and groaping that goes on in Clougher when the son goes down. Another thing about Clougher, it has more gulpins per square inch, that any other town in Ireland or surrounding districts. The fly boys in Clougher, hang round korners, smoking, cursing and abusing the passer-byes. You kan tell a fly Clougher boy, from the indents left on the back of his donkey jacket by the pebble-dash wall.

Their insults are legandery, take wee Boris McDump. Wee Boris had a row with the priest about catholic teeching. Boris asked the priest where the crowd got the baskets to take up the crumbs after Jesus fed the five thousand. The priest, who was stumped for an answer, told wee Boris to sling his hook. Some say he told Boris to, piss off, but I don't believe that. Boris immediately went and joined the Jewish religion. Now a male man who becomes a Jew, has too go through a wee intimate, opperation pertaining too the reproduction organs. People in the no, say that wee Boris went through the opperation with flying colours, he only screamed seven times. But when Boris got back on his feet and was walking splay-legged round Clougher, it was then he came in for the vulgar, foul-mouthed retric of the fly Clougher boys. As wee Boris walked slowly up the street, with his legs akimbo and his teeth gritted, wan of the fly Clougher boys roared out, "Here comes the croppie boy".

I myself have knot bean immune from the rude and mocking multitude. The other day, as I sauntered down the street too buy a pound of special mince. Wan of the gulpins began too bawl, "MAY HAND ON YER DRAWERS, MAY HAND ON YER DRAWERS".

I shuddered too a halt, I could knot believe my ears. ME? Rosie Ryan, a paradox of beauty, grace, poise, and sultry passion, was being harranged by a vulgar roar of, "MAY HAND ON YER DRAWERS, MAY HAND ON YER DRAWERS". People smirked as I stood there, with my plastic shopping bag in my hands, full of grate ire and anger and on the verge of brusting someone's face. I walked on, hoping the vulgar wretches had their fun, but-KNOW, "MAY HAND ON YER DRAWERS, MAY HAND ON YER DRAWERS" rang out over the accursed city of Clougher. I minced into the butchers, purchased a pound of special mince and made my way out again. "MAY HAND ON YER DRAWERS, MAY HAND ON YOUR DRAWERS". I noted where the sound was coming from and made a detour to come up behind the yelling gulpin. As I crept up too a korner, I heard the sound again, "MAY HAND ON YER DRAWERS,MAY HAND ON YER DRAWERS". I -leapt round the korner and grabbed the ruffian by the scruff of the neck. "BON JOVI!" I shrieked "MAMMY!" yelled the mystery voice who had guldered, "MAY HAND ON YER DRAWERS, MAY HAND ON YER DRAWERS". "I didn't no it was you mammy" snivelled Bon Jovi "I thought it was some old bag". I drove the cub home before me like a bulloch. Everytime he stopped, I came off him with a black-thorn stick. Oh the shame. Oh the indignity. To have one's own child, roar at one, "MAY HAND ON YER DRAWERS, MAY HAND ON YER DRAWERS".

No more watching Aunt and Deck for Bon Jovi, them too has got the cub ruined.

A Man Too Man Talk

I yelped like a long hare Lakeland terrier, as Chuck Corona, my Free State Casanove slurped at the nape of my slim, slender alabaster neck, like a feral Kat with a saucer of gold top milk. I arched my flexiable back like Madam Margaret Fontain, as Chuck's seeking nashers moved round to my shell-like lug wholes. As deer Chuck sucked, slurped and licked. my rite ear gave a POP-and I was cured from my partial deafness. "Oh Chuck" I simpered "If a this is love, it's a fabulous". Chuck leered into my visage like a sensual sytar and growled, like Barry White, "You're my first, you're my last, you're my-everything". "Oh Merci" I shrieked, in effluent Spanish. "Keep her lit" yelled Chuck. "Mamma Mia" I screamed.

"Mamma Mia-indeed!" said Bon Jovi, as he came round the haggard korner, catching me and Chuck in Fla-Grantie-De-Lecto. "Get into the house you gulpin" I roared "And stop creeping up on people and peeping at them like a peeping Tom". Bon Jovi stood with an auld smile on his face and said, "I think knot. I think it's thyme I had a man too man talk with your paramour-Chuck Corona". "Get into the house" I yelled "Or bye the sacred Hi-heels of Saint Angelina from Tuam Co Galway I'll brust you". "Know, Know" said Chuck "If Bon Jovi has something on his mind,I don't mind having it out with him man to man". Bon Jovi smirked and said "Don't pasturise me Chuck Corona. I don't need your premission to express myself at my own haggard. Now, before we begin Chuck Corona. let's get a few things strait, you are knot dealing with wan of your auld soft soap Free State boys. You are dealing with a hard headed lump of a cub from Tyrone. Us Tyronies don't go in for flim-flan. We call a spade a spade and a shovel a thing to dig with". "I understand Bon Jovi" said Chuck "So let's be having it, what's on your mind?" Bon Jovi strode up and down with his thumbs in his galluses and said. "I must warn you-AGAIN! that I am versed in all forms of law, civil law, kriminal law and even corperate law. I leared my trade bye watching Rumpole of the Bailey and Perry Mason. So, Chuck Corona, I put it to you, "What are your retentions towards this woman, Rosie Ryan? Come on, speak up, you're only dealing with a lump of a cub. It should be easy for you, a man who has tussled with Shane McGowan, Eamon Dumphy and even Pat Kenny on a Saturday nite". "My intentions towards your mother, Rosie Ryan are wholly honourable" said Chuck. Bon Jovi spun on his heel and said "And wood you call the cannodling that met the eye of this lump of a cub, when he turned the haggard korner ----honourable?" Chuck got a red face and began to stutter and bluster. "Get the hell into the house" I yelled "Or bye the seven holly wells in the seven parishes of Clougher, I'll swing for you, you wee get". Bon Jovi turned to a crowd of ducks and drakes who were watching and said, "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury--I rest my case". I fell too my knees, grabbed Chuck by the pleats on the fork of his trousers and wailed.. "Who is he? who is Bon Jovi-and why has he bean scent among us". Chuck stood white-faced and said, "I don't know, but I'll tell you wan thing, I'm going to confession on Saturday nite!".

THE BOG ELVIS

I gave my bisum a hike, adjusted the load carrying tension of my drawers with a jerk and gazed around my snug abode with a look of satisfied satisfaction on my girlish maidenly visage. All morning I had been dusting, sweeping, hovering and polishing my nick-nacks with the wino's last refuge-Brasso. The floor was spotless, devoid as it was of, fleas, lice, ticks, daddy-long-legs, slaters, small rodents and a heap of well gnawed bones that my Sun Bon Jovi had secreated in a darkened korner. "That's how a house should look" I muttered "A pristine envirement, where one kan relax and bring up a lump of a cub in sanity conditions, where the emphis is on Hi-Jean".

I went-greacefully too the half door to gaze out at the panarama vista that lay before my seeking oculars.

Ah, the beauty of nature. A gun metal blue mist hung over the purple mountains. A carpet of wild flours, a dancing profusion of colour and gaiety de-tour. Even the mundane held a secret beauty. The weathered wooden gait, an old rusty zinc bucket, the rounded contours of the midden. Generations of dung, piled up in a heap, to rot and fester. A breeding ground for nuterients that wood bulk up rhubarb like steroids. Beauty, beauty, beauty, too much beauty for one pear of oculars two take in. Then, in the barmy Summer air I heard a noise. I harked my lug-wholes. It was coming from the raised mound of whins, nettles and eggberries. Like an Indian scout, I crept towards the mound. I gently parted the eggberries and nearly kittled a kitten. There stood my Sun Bon Jovi, clutching a bisum shaft in loo of a microphone. The cub was going into frenzied gyrations. His legs were all a tremble and the contortions he was going through, must have put grate stress on the forkal region of his short grey trousers. Then he who has sprung from my lions, opened gis gub and began to bawl.

"WELL, LAWDY, LAWDY,LAWDY, MISS CLAUDY, WELL YOU SURE LOOK GOOD TO ME, PLEASE DON'T EXCITE ME BABY, CAUSE I'M IN MISERY".

I brust through the eggberries like a Pampas bull grabbed the miscreant by the scruff of the neck and roared. "What the hell are you up too boy? Secreating yourself in the flora and fauna and roaring like a constipated donkey". "Mien Gott!" screamed Bon Jovi "Kan the lump of a cub have know privacy? Must you dog my footsteps like a baliff or a bloodhound?" "You kan have all the privacy you like when I'm dead" I yelled "But as long as you sleep in a cardboard box in my house, I have the rite two no what you're up two".

"I'm practicing" yelled Bon Jovi. "Practicing for what?" I yelled "A guldering competion?" "If you must no" said Bon Jovi "I have applied to go on the X-Factor. I wool be billed as the Elvis from the bog and I wool wear overalls and wellingtons". I looked at the cub, so young, so innocent, so gullable, so-stupid. "Listen Bon Jovi" I said gently "You kan't sing, you just haven't got the voice. You are tone deaf and what to your ears sounds like singing, sounds like guldering to every one else". "Another dream shattered" muttered Bon Jovi, as he threw the bisum shaft from him. I put my arm round the cub and said "Singing's knot for you Sun, but yet you kan still live your dream. Later too-nite I wool rite a letter too Sir Alan Sugar and get you on the Apprentice show". Bon Jovi smiled and said "I'll need a knew soot" "Yes you wool" I said "And an attackie case" said Bon Jovi. I hugged him and said, "I wool get you the best attackie case that Clougher has too offer". We waked home arm in arm, Bon Jovi was kicking madly with his hobnailed boots and yelling. "You're fired! No, you're fired. No, I'm knot--you're-fired" I kissed the top of his head and thought, "I's a waste of an attackie case, but if it makes the cub happy".

Bon Jovi's answer to apathy.

Like any other fare midden, ah-fey with beauty, elegance, poise and grace, Monday morning found me out in the yard, boiling a cauldren of drawers that had bean used and abused. As the steaming cauldren hubbled and bubbled, bubbles of methane gas exploded sending putrid and toxic gasses into the klean morning air. I took a deep breath, covered my eyes with my arm and sprinted too the cauldren to give the boiling drawers a good stir with a big stick. I then retreated, monentry blinded and muttering, Mamma Mia".

Lokking down the lane, I saw he who was scent after me too do grate things. It was Bon Jovi, my only begotten Sun coming home from skool. I watched with pride in my eyes and love in my hart, as the cub lumbered up the lane. I marvelled at his athelitic gate. "Ah, Bon Jovi" I cried "My bon cabellero, just the man I want to see. Could you please explain my the socio, eco, fabric of society is breaking down and could you further render assistance, as to why there is a dearth of arts and kulture in Clougher city and surrounding districts. Bon Jovi gave the bubbling cauldren of drawers a wide bearth, looked at me-keenly with his good ocular and roared, "Apathy". "Apathy?" I echoed. "PLease explain in fuller detail and extensivity". Bon Jovi swatted the cloud of flies round his ringworm and said. "Take you for instance, always going on about no this and no that. May I refer you too the words of JCB when he said. "As knot what Clougher kan do for you, ask what YOU kan do for Clougher---and surrounding districts". "That's just ret-trick" I said "How could I put the tenents of what you say into practice?". "Easy" said Bon Jovi "If you want opera in Clougher, start an opera team, If you want bally, start a bally class yourself". "By gum" I said "You have hit the nail on the head, I wool hire the scout hall and teech bally too the youngesters of Clougher". "NOw, hauld on" yelled Bon Jovi. "I don't want too be made a laughing stock by you in a wee pear of drawers and you throwing up your big, gate posts of legs". "Listen boy" I roared "In my youth I was known far and wide for my leaping". Bon Jovi sniffed and said "I fear the next leap you wool do, is a feeble wan on too the undertakers table, to get that big red bleezer of a face of yours toned down" In the persuit that followed. many shucks were jumped, many curses filled the air, but he who is known as Bon Jovi, disappeared into the mist and fog.

Bon Jovi's plan to avert meteor collisions.

My Sun Bon Jovi came in from skool, threw his skool bag into the scullary, gave me a look of competous contempt, like what First Minister Peter Robinson mite bestow on second banana, Martin McGuiness and said. "Please attend too what I say, are you aware of inter-galactic travel, pertaining too metors, ass-roids, big lumps of frozen rock and the bric-brack of dust, gas and global structures?" I didn't like the tone of the cub so I replied, "I wood say I am as aware to what you are refering two as any cunt'ry woman bringing up a cub on her own". Bon Jovi scrutzised me and said, "Cast your mind back and think hard, because this wool be ritten up as a report in my skool jotter later, are you aware of a near collision between earth and a grate big boulder a few weeks ago?" "I is" I said, "It was in the papers and in the news. Paul Clarke said we were lucky to get away without a dunt". Bon Jovi walked up and down the room with his hands behind his back, suddenly spun round on his hobnailed boots, pointed an accusing finger at me and yelled, "And pray tell why I was knot informed!" "Why wood you be informed?" I said "You are just a lump of a cub, what could you do?" Bon Jovi sighed and muttered, "A prophet has know honour in his birth place". Then the cub roared. "Are you trying too incinerate that I am a dope? You may be surprised to no, that I have been working on such an eventuality. My cyphering proves that if everyone in China jumps off a chair when Nolan comes on, the earth could be steered klear of any galetic "A word by the way that comes from-milk) disaster". I looked at the cub in wonder and amazement, standing there in short grey trousers, maroon skool blazer and both his socks hanging round his ankles. What a brane must be bubbling and gurgling,creaking and groaning in that gigantic head. The cub was a foe-nomim, the word that Ivan Little could knot say. "What's for brunch?" said Bon Jovi, with all the a plum of Noel Coward. "Buttermilk" I said "and as many buttered heels from pan loaves as you kan manage". "Thank-YOU!" said the cub, in the clipped tones of the aristrocsy and Mark Carruthers. As the son set in the West, Bon Jovi, broke wind with grate delicasy and said. "Sorry if I lost my temper earlier old dear, but if you do hear on any near galetic disasters in the future, do give me the heads up old bean-right-tay-hoe". I gazed out the half door at the gloaming and muttered, "What has sprung out of my lions? Why have I bean chosen to be the mother of, The Special One? As the cub broke wind again, I looked up at the sky and said, "A genie, that's what he is. know wan in Ireland, has got a cub like what I have"I went indoor, two turn down the bed-cloths and place the po's in a stratigue position. The cub may be-"Special" but his aim isn't too good in the dark.