The MLAs

Well Kid, you've only gone and done it again. What a great show the Thursday show was! Tommy, my cat, who was wearing a mask to ward off Mexican swine flu and people stealing his false teeth, raised his fist in the air and yelled, "YESSSS! another great show, that's four in a row, how long can this winning streak go on for?" I turned off the radio by running sideways to the zoo and getting Steven the elephant to sit on it.

When I got home suffering from jet lag and hives in the oxters I looked at Tommy and said, "The amazing thing is, Gerry has to do everything himself. Mr Coyle is sitting with his feet up reading the paper and Emma and Janet are tee-heeing over some foul, disgusting smut on the Internet." "I found out what they were looking at," said Tommy. "It's a new site called, MLA's as you have never seen them before. Apparently Michael McGimspy gets a lot of hits. He sits nude looking over the back of a chair like Christine Keeler and a bubble above his head reads, "You have to laugh, don't you?" "I knew there was something about Michael McGimspy!" I yelled. "All the laughing, the chortling and going round Stormount dressed as a jester, with a balloon on a stick." I licked my lips, gazed at Tommy and said, "Is the back of the chair made from bamboo strips by any chance?" "No," said Tommy. "The back of the chair is made from solid oak." "Bummer!" I muttered, as I punched the face off myself for entertaining bad thoughts.

"There's too much of it going on!" I yelled. "Everything today is lewd, crude and rude." Tommy laughed and said, "What's got up your hooter, is that you ain't getting any." "How dare you!" I yelled. "You youngsters think you invented sex, well you didn't. It was the BBC. When I think back to the things old Doctor Cameron and Janet got up to, I still blush. I can close my eyes and hear that old trollop Janet saying, "You're tea's ready Doctor Cameron. Would you like it in the kitchen?" Would you like it in the kitchen indeed! That's when the country began to go down hill. Then we had Rumpole of the Bailey. The very name's a give-a-way. But by far the worst was old Jess Yates. There he was every Sunday, sitting leering behind his organ and saying things like, "This is for Mrs Bunty Slack, who has been-bedbound for two weeks. Sodom and Begorrah!" I yelled. "That's where the BBC has brought us." Tommy grabbed me, pushed me down on a cucumber green bean bag and said, "Calm down, calm down, have a nice cup of James Earl Ray Jones tea and I'll put on this DVD called, "Everything you wanted to know about Steven Nolan but were afraid to ask." Filth, pure-filth!"

All this and more have I seen from behind the tinted glasses of Peter Robinson. "Iris, Iris, get this snowman out of here, he is an abomination of an abominable snowman. And bring me in the Messenger, I want to see how my adopted child in Africa is doing."