A Good Spanking

Great show yesterday kid.
A great show which brought a wave of pride and hope to clocking hens all over Ulster. One old rooster, wings dragging in the dust, limped slowly away muttering,
"My work here is done."
The clocking hens looked pensively and sadly after him. They knew, they KNEW deep in their hearts, feathers and parson's noses that in spite of his promises he wouldn't ring back. Just chooks that pass in the night.
A nice dinner, bottle of wine, a little Barry White, SQUAWK!!! and it's, "wham-bamn and thank you mam."
Tommy my cat pirouetted into the room wearing a Barcelona football shirt and a pair of very revealing ballet tights. He did a twirl with his arms above his head and said,
"How silver-haired Paul Clarke is getting. Why,one might very well take him for Pamela Ballentine's brother. When dear Paul was reporting from Dublin on the Queen's visit, I must say he appeared very Tom O'Connorish."
"Frank Mitchell, nee, McCrory!" I yelled. "Frank Mitchell has driven Paul and Pammy old before their time with his infernal, ten best of this and ten best of that!"
"What a naughty little Lego man Frank is." said Tommy.
"Why,for two pins I would put him over my knee and spank him until his bum looked like a pink blancmange."
I looked at Tommy strangely and said, "Hold on! Hold on! Do you and Frank Mitchell think I'm stupid? If you want to spank Frank Mitchell, or if Frank Mitchell wants to spank you, it won't happen under my roof. I may be hidey behind the sofa when the rent man calls, but I am no Heidi Fleiss!"
Spanking indeed! I have a good mind to put that cat over my knee and beat him like a dirty hearth rug.