Michael D's Only Worry.

Great shows last week kid. The subliminal message planted in the minds of Free Staters by Jordie Tuft, hidden in cooking -sherry -induced, yells, squawks, barks and animalistic mating cries, carried wee Michael D. over the winning line.
Old Jordie's subliminal message was, "The Old Dog For The Hard Road."
Tommy my cat, adjusted his comb-over and said, "Alas, Dana's 2% late surge was too little, too late. Senator Steven Norris, with the help of floaters did reasonably well. Gay Mitchell, may as well have stayed in the house. And Sean "The Bagman" Gallagher is still bewitched, bothered and bewildered. Here's to Michael D, the Barry O'Sullivan of Irish politics. Today, Michael D, has only one worry on his mind."
"And what would THAT be?" I yelled from the wardrobe, where I was pretending to be a coat hanger.
"His address," yelled Tommy. "Soon, Micheal D will live in a house called, THE ARAS!"
"In the name of the sacred brown envelope!" I cried. "Poor Michael D, must be as sick as Polly the parson."
Tommy stuck a wad of blue fluff into his navel and said, "It's the postman I feel sorry for. Imagine having to stuff thousands of letters through the letterbox of the Aras. I thank the good Lord that my house is called, "The Pissoir's Retreat."
As I came out of Easons clutching a copy of, "My wicked, wicked life" by Noel Beatty, I was just in time to see a confrontation between Tubby Nolan and the police. "Put the pie down Tubby and step away from it!" yelled Matt Baggott. "You'll never take me hungry copper!" roared Tubby.
"Shall I tazer the oval one Sir?" said constable Bluebottle.
"Are you mad?" yelled Matt Baggott. "Tubby is full of flamable gas! Do you want to start a roaring inferno?"
"I don't really care Sir," said constable Bluebottle. "I just want to fire my tazer gun."
As Tubby made good his escape with the pie, Matt Baggott gave constable Bluebottle a massive riser up the ARAS!