Ask Tommy

Great solo show yesterday Kid. No co-pilot,your plane shot full of holes from flak from the general public, but just like Biggles,you stepped into the old crate, clutching your beloved teddy bear and put the red arrows to shame. Well done Kid. Get some chalk and go write your name in big letters on the John Hume bridge.
I looked out the window, yelled-YIKES! and ran out to the street, where Tommy my cat was asking everyone for money. I cooled down, when Tommy explained he was just pretending to be a Labour MP. Tommy spread a slice of bread on some Marmite and said,
"Gerry was flying solo today. I wonder where old 'hang 'em and flog 'em' was?"
"Don't be a precocious pussy," I said.
"It doesn't become you. Mr Coyle was probably indisposed."
Tommy gave a hateful giggle and said,
"Perhaps Mr Coyle was-deposed." And then the hard hearted feline began to sing,
"Mr Coyle regrets, he's unable to lunch today--Gerry."
"Listen, Tommy cat," I yelled,"if you don't stop your old cornerboy scoffing,you will get THIS!" and I punched myself right up the hooter to show Tommy what could well lie in store for him.
ACT TWO
"HERE!" I said. "HERE, is a five gallon drum of lard. Go round to Tubby Nolan's house and rub the lard into his massive, chaffed thighs. The oval one is crippled after the six mile charity run."
"That's not fair," cried Tommy. "Tubby Nolan's thighs start down at his ankles."
"I know they do," I cried. "Start at Tubby's ankles and work your way up until you hear him give a funny, high pitched giggle and put a collar on him to stop him licking the lard off."
Tommy glared and me and yelled,
"I'm taking umbrage. You are turning me into a sex worker. Well, listen to me vile features, I may very soon be working for Gerry. YES! Gerry! How do you like them apples, you repulsive old hag."
"YOU work for-Gerry," I scoffed.
"What could you do for Gerry that Mr Coyle doesn't already not bother to do?"
"Do you know Jonathan Simms?" asked Tommy.
"Never heard of him," I said. "Who is he? Some kind of ne'r-do-well?"
"NO, he is not!" yelled Tommy. "Jonathan Simms, the dear boy, has come up with a suggestion that I get my own slot on the Gerry show. I would be Gerry's feline expert and answer all questions relating to the feline of the species. I have vast knowledge relating to cats, kittens, fur balls, balls of wool, mice, kittling and I could inform the general public on how to groom a pussy without getting scratched."
"And just what would this slot be called?" I said.
"Gerry and I are discussing various names," said Tommy. "Tea time with Tommy,is the obvious choice, but Gerry and I are giving consideration to, "Ask the pussy, Tommy answers back, Feline Fine, Phone a pussy and my personal favourite,Thin or fat, phone Tommy cat."
I glanced slyly at Tommy and said,
"I have a title for your new radio slot."
"Oh do tell," gushed Tommy. "One is always so glad for input, even from wrinkly old bags like yourself. Do tell. What name have you come up with?"
"CATASTROPHE" I yelled and I grabbed the starstruck feline by the scruff of the neck and dragged him out to the back yard, where I gave myself a hell of a beating, just to show Tommy what could be in store for him.
A cat on radio? Who does Tommy think he is? Kat Deeley? Even Cat Stevens had the good sense to change his name.
"Ask the-pussy?" The mind boggles!