David McNarry's as mad as hell.

Great shows last week kid. I just heard the dreadful news that Mr Coyle lost his first communion money while out on a solitary, nocturnal stroll. All police leave has been cancelled in Derry and a helicopter, fitted with a metal detector, is patrolling the lonely highways and bye ways traversed by the night hawk. Mr. Coyle, heavily sedated, keeps mumbling in his sleep, "There was a big half crown, a bright silver shilling, two tanners and a threepenny bit. OH! and two farthings, from Mrs Doherty." Wee Sean, is not taking the loss well. He chased a grief counsellor away with a rolled-up copy of the Derry Journal. The doctor said wee Sean should be left alone to deal with his grief. Let's hope that someday, Mr Coyle, will find closure.
Tommy my cat, looked up from his shredded tweet, which contains 59% scaldie and said, "He's mad as hell and he's not going to take it anymore?"
"Of whom are you talking feline?" I yelled.
"David McNarry," said Tommy. "I saw him barging out of Stormount yelling, "Up with this I shall not put!"
"Dave boy," I said putting my arm around him, "What's up kid? Who has annoyed you?"
"Tom Elliott, that's who," yelled David. "Tom Elliott, our magnetic, silver-tongued leader, called me into his office and said, "McNarry, you have been spouting off to the press. That displeases me. You don't want to make me angry. You wouldn't like it when I'm angry. You are on the education committee. I am taking you off that committee. You have a big mouth McNarry. You are a viper in my bosom. I shall replace you on the education committee with someone who knows piles more about education than what you do. Go now and don't let the door hit you on the arse on your way out." I turned my baseball cap back to front, pulled up my hoodie and said, "And did McNarry take all that dogs' abuse from farmer Tom?"
"Well, yes and no," said Tommy. "When David McNarry reached the gates of Stormount, he turned around and roared, "Elliott, you sod buster, I hope the slurry in your tank takes on the consistency of congealed porridge and brusts the rivets on your dung spreader!"
"What a great come back!" I cried. "I must commit it to memory and then forget all about it."
Tommy cast a dirty look in the general direction of Iran and said, "How close Sinn Fein and the DUP have become. Did you see Peter Robinson and Martin McGuinness at the McKenna cup final on Saturday?"
"Ground breaking!" I yelled. "Historic! Mind you, Peter doesn't know much about Gaelic football. He kept leaping up and yelling, "HANDBALL!" and asking Martin, what time the fight started.".
"It was a very generous gesture by Peter Robinson," said Tommy. "McGuinness, will have to respond in kind."
I flicked a locust off the butter and said, "Martin said he will shake hands with the Queen and MAY attend a poppy day parade."
"It will take more that that!" said Tommy. "There is a rumour going round Stormount that, come July, Martin McGuinness, will beat a big orange drum as he leads a parade of black hats down the Garvaghy road."
Overcome with the historical significance of it all, I grabbed the clock off the wall and ran down the street yelling, "PEACE IN OUR TIME!!! PEACE IN OUR TIME!!!!"