The Spell of Judge Judy

I was sitting in my favourite sedan chair staring at the radio. I had the sound turned off, but behind the grill I could sense the gulderings and slabberings of Tubby Nolan. Upstairs, Tommy my cat was singing in the shower. I pinned back my ears with several thumb tacks and sat back to enjoy the melodic ditty that Tommy was singing.
"OH DEAR, WHAT CAN THE MATTER BE?
THREE OLD LADIES ARE LOCKED IN THE LAVATORY
THEY WERE THERE FROM MONDAY TILL SATURDAY
NOBODY KNEW THEY WERE THERE.
THE FIRST OLD LADY, HER NAME WAS MISS VICKERS
SHE CRIED, "HERE THEY GO!" AS SHE DROPPED HER OLD......."
I ran-literally, to the foot of our stairs and yelled,
"STOP THAT! STOP singing that filthy song! Just think what would happen, if the Pope, the Archbishop of Canterbury or Sean Coyle dropped in. What would they think?"
"They could always join in," said Tommy. "It's a free country."
I grabbed the soap-lathered feline and gave him a riser down the stairs.
Then Herbie the budgie, who hardly ever talks, yelled, "Time for Gerry!".
For the next hour and a half, Tommy and I sat engrossed, enraptured and entirely buck stupid.
Every time old Barney the wino held up the "APPLAUSE" sign we clapped like seals.
Before Wendy's first pip had time to pip, Tommy turned off the radio, by sticking a wet finger in the electrical socket and blowing all the fuses.
"What a great show Gerry put on!" cried Tommy.
"That was a great show that Gerry put on," I replied.
In the silence that followed, we could hear the high whine of brains in top gear coming from Hillsborough.
Tommy coughed and said, "Mr Coyle was in another 'flog them and hang them' mood today."
I got out of my sedan chair, hung by my finger and thumb from the naked light bulb in the ceiling and replied, "I am gravely concerned about Mr Coyle."
"Has lad gone do-lally like our Eli?" said Tommy.
"Mr Coyle," I yelled, "has fallen under the spell of a-woman, a small wrinkled, wizened woman, a woman with no sympathy, a woman with no pity, a woman who would demand the last ounce of flesh!"
"Who is this woman" cried Tommy.
"Katie Price?"
"Would that it were," I said. "Katie Price, aka-Jordon, may be a grasping, attention seeking strumpet, but she has two things going for her, her great love of tadpoles and small raccoons."
"Then who can the other woman BE"?" screamed Tommy.
I gulped and cried out, "The woman Mr Coyle has fallen under the spell off, is-Judge Judy."
"Well, bend me over and don't spare the sally rod!" cried Tommy. "Now it all makes sense. Mr Coyle's devotion to law and order, his great love for punishment and the way he walks around Derry wearing a Judge's black robe. We must save Mr Coyle!" cried Tommy. "We must save him from Judge Judy and indeed-from himself."
"There is only one cure!" I yelled. "And 'tis a terrible cure. Mr Coyle must be tied to a chair, his eyes propped open with match sticks, and then he must watch back to back esopides of, "SEX IN THE CITY."
"Eeh by gum!" cried Tommy. "It were watching, Sex in City that drove our Eli barmy."
"It must be done!" I yelled. "It is the only known antidote. The women in Sex and the City have no morals, no sense of right or wrong, no scruples, no conscience, no knickers. When Mr Coyle watches every episode of Sex in the City he will become a different man. He may give off himself freely to strangers. He may swear, curse, drink, smoke and throw litter on the pavements. He may drive like a lunatic and yell, "May hand on yer drawers!" to young ladies. But Mr Coyle will be a happier man, a more contented man, and in the fullness of time, a man with a police record."
"So let it be written, so let it be done!" yelled Tommy.
"But who is going to put Mr Coyle through the detoxification of Judge Judy?"
"Gerry Anderson!" I yelled. "The only man in Ireland who has every episode of Sex in the City is, Gerald Michael Anderson."
Tommy giggled and said, "I happen to know that Gerry has a big tattoo of Kim Cantrell on his back."
"How do you know that?" I yelled.
"Never you mind," giggled Tommy. "But I will say this, "You see some strange sights in the sauna baths."
Just then a nurse burst in, but wouldn't you know it, she left the screens at Tubby Nolan's house!
Oh, the ignominy. They've all got it--ignominy!