Money For Old Rope

Great bald show yesterday kid. All over Ulster, slap-heads broke cover like snipe and poured their hearts out about their lack of thatch.
"At last," cried old, baldy Joe Pate, "I have found closure! No more sticking my head up the chimney when visitors call."
The exuberance of wee Kenny from Larne was beyond description. Wee Kenny pulled off the dry, dusty, ginger wig he had worn for 35 years and ran down the street yelling, "GO TO WORK ON AN EGG!"
All over Tyrone yesterday, old men could be seen lying over gates staring into fields. All hoping that Rhianna might turn up and loosen a button. That's what men do in Tyrone before they have a pee. They loosen a button. Zip on your fly? it makes no difference, you still, "loosen a button."
Tommy my cat knocked an arrow off my head with an apple and said,
"The recession is really beginning to bite. I saw a knife-grinder, a rag and bone man and a thin, pale, workhouse urchin today."
"OAKUM!" I yelled. "The future is, OAKUM!"
"What in the name of Rhianna's simmet is Oakum?" cried Tommy, as he launched a paper aeroplane in the general direction of Iran.
"OAKUM," I said, rolling the word round my mouth like a brandy ball, "Oakum is what you get when you unpick a rope. Oakum is fine hemp, just like human hair. Oakum is a sealant. Mixed with tar, or Chiver's thick-cut marmalade, oakum will seal any ship, pipe, or orifice leaking water."
Tommy mused, ruminated, pondered and said, "The word in the hood is, old Jordie stuffs his Christmas turkey with oakum. He says it keeps the juices in."
"Old Jordie is not as crazy as he looks," I said. "Way back in 1947 old Jordie invented the toothless comb for bald men." I went to the window, broke a pane of glass with my nose and shrieked,
"OAKUM! it's money for old rope!"