Cutting Edge Comedy

Great show yesterday kid. A great show which sadly went unnoticed in Clougher, when a camel convey of aid from Sudan arrived in the town square. Soon the Clougherarians were arrayed in long,white night-dresses and Arab head gear. Saint Judas street looked like the old bazaar in Cairo. Unfortunately Rosie Ryan, the Miss Haversham of Clougher, arrived too late and had to make do with a sheepherder's smock and a pair of puce slippers with turned-up-toes, kindly donated by the ladies in the harem of the court of King Caractacus.Rosie turned the air blue and stomped off home, with the toes of her slippers staring up at her big, red, puce face. "What a hallion!" said Father Goodman, as he leapt on a camel and galloped down the street, shooting at his congregation with an imaginary colt 45.
Tommy my cat opened the last Ferrero Rocher, popped it into his mouth and said,
"I hold Mrs Brown, in the greatest esteem. There she is, a decent, christian woman trying to bring up her boys in a world of depravity and debauchery." I gave the thumbs up to Matt Baggott, who was wrestling with a run-a-way circus clown in the middle of the street and said, "It's always a sign of an early Spring when the clowns run away from the circus in January. BUT! getting back to Mrs Brown and her boys, that programme would NEVER have been commissioned by RTE when the Celtic Tiger was cock of the walk and tall buildings were springing up like Lego sets."
"I demand enlightenment!" cried Tommy. "Please clarify, in a transparent way, the reason behind your outrageous statement."
I climbed on to a Queen Ann computer desk and manoeuvred my gub up and down and from side to side to produce oratory. "Southern Ireland," I proclaimed, "is going through hard times. The country is broke and in debt to the eyes. The Celtic Tiger has gone! Slattery's goat has been restored to power. When a country is down, the first thing the people do is return to their roots. Ireland has returned to bogholes, famine, emigration, donkeys and the entertainment of long, long ago. "Mrs Brown's Boys" ticks all the boxes. It shows the Irish to be buckstupid and lacking the thinnest veneer of sophistication. Mrs Brown is a throw back to "Take the floor, The Kennedys of Castlerock and Walton's music--If you do feel like singing, do sing an Irish song. When the Celtic Tiger was in its prime," I yelled, "Mrs Brown's Boys would have been laughed out of RTE! But now, that's what the people want: A man dressed as a woman acting the fool and the English love it! They love it. Mrs Brown confirms all their stereotypical prejudices."
"How lucky are we," cried Tommy, "We live in Ulster, where comedy is cutting edge, new and exciting."
"Right on Bro.!" I yelled. "Let's drink to May McFedridge, Our William and Sketchy."