A Faux Pas

Great shows last week Kid, great shows, which even as we speak, are making their way through the vast cold dark Universe to bring joy and comfort to little aliens, who live thousands of light-and in some cases, heavy years from us. How the little aliens will laugh and shake their green tentacles, (I said-tentacles) when they hear old Jordie!
On Monday morning I got up early to prepare the living room for the great show. First, I chased everyone out who thought my home was a public convenience, then I showed the winos the door. The winos slurred, "Nice Door!" and went back to sleep again. AH, to sleep, perchance to shake as the DTs invade their nervous system. On a plain, pine table sat three new radios. One radio to listen to the great show and two for backup. All I could do now was-wait. I hung myself up behind the door and thought of cabbages and kings.
HARK! The pitter-patter of Tommy my cat's little paws coming down the stairs. Tommy appeared dressed all in white.
"And what are you supposed to be," I cried,"an angel?"
"No." said Tommy. "I'm a happy Goth."
Tommy squinted at me and roared,
"HOI!"
"Are you talking to me?" I said.
Tommy yelled, "YES! I am talking to the frizzy, permed, old ratbag hanging behind the door.
I want you," said Tommy, "to cast, what you laughingly call your mind, back to the Gerry show on Friday."
I gave my head four taps with Maxwell's silver hammer and said,
"Done! Now what do you want to know?"
"You may remember," said Tommy,"that I missed part of the show due to being...."
"Hefted," I said. "Yes, I remember you running upstairs, wearing a gold suit and matching fedora hat. You looked like a feline pimp."
"Be that as it may," said Tommy. "When I was coming back down the stairs, did I hear Gerry and old Jordie play a game of, Deal Or No Deal?"
"Deal Or No Deal," I scoffed. "You must be off your rocking horse. Gerry would never play, Deal Or No Deal with old Jordie."
"I'm not so sure," said Tommy. "I thought I heard old Jordie roaring something about phoning the-banker.".
In the silence that followed, you could have heard a tower block collapse.
"Listen, Tommy," I whispered. "This is all very hush-hush. On the Friday show, old Jordie made, what the residents of the Malone road call, a faux pas."
"Ah!" said Tommy. "A fopas. A rare, exotic very expensive little dog."
"NO" I yelled. "Old Jordie made a mistake. He said something he didn't mean to say.
All weekend the big cheeses at the BBC and Noel Thompson have been busy reeling in the words that went floating off into the ether. When all the words were captured, the BBC put them in a washing machine, turned on the "Soiled washing" programme and washed the words with a soap powder that is both NEW and IMPROVED!"
"I like old Jordie," said Tommy. "Old Jordie calls a spade a spade and a bucket some thing to carry water in."
Listen Kid, if I were you,I would put it all behind me,like Tubby Nolan does with most of his fat. Listen not to Hugo Duncan preaching the gospel of the wheel barrow. It is not all in front of you. It is all behind you. Let it lie Kid. Let it lie.
Do not wake up screaming with the image of Jordie Tuft haunting you like Gasper the ghost.
Gasper is a brother of Casper the ghost, but Gasper likes the odd cigarette. The odd cigarette. Let's not fool ourselves, Gasper the ghost is a chain smoker. Many people hear the clink of Gasper's chains as they lie on their death bed. Smoking can seriously damage your health and it leaves your net curtains looking like the Dead Sea scrolls. I know! Oh boy do I know. I live in a beige house. "Ha' you gotta light boy Ha' you gotta light?"
The singing postman, why does he never appear on Celebrity Big Brother? Being dead could well be the answer.