Corruption, brown envelopes and too much fluoride!

Great shows last week kid. As the Newfoundland geese flew over your house for Summer, they could plainly hear Mr Coyle guldering, "Your drawers! That's a lie!" The goose on point duty, turned round and said, "Still at it! Just like last year, it's going to be an acrimonious Summer." And a decision was taken to dump on Mr Coyle, at every conceivable opportunity. To keep on the right side of the United Nations, the geese agreed to use the term, "defensive strike" but there could be collateral damage, so take care.
"Up Gortin!" yelled Tommy my cat, as he kicked a small, nondescript turnip through the window.
I beat a swagger stick against my jack boots and roared, "Achtung! Herr Bertie Ahern, Kaput!"
Tommy giggled and said, "Yes, old Bertie has resigned so he can spend more time with his brown envelopes."
"Corruption" I yelled, "runs through politicians like the word,"Bundoran", through a stick of rock!"
"Politicians are weak," said Tommy. "I blame property developers, speculators and too much fluoride in the drinking water."
"Rubbish!" I yelled. "Ever since the Greeks invented democracy and the kebab, greed has lead to the downfall of many a politician."
"FLUORIDE!" yelled Tommy.
"GREED!" I roared. A hoarse cough announced the arrival of Gregory,"London-erry" Campbell.
"Stop that noise!" roared Greg. "You'se is worse than a UUP convention."
"Dear Gregory," I said. "where do you stand on corruption? Are you for it, or again it?"
Gregory's face took on the complexion of a turkey and he roared, "By the sacred gates of London-erry, I detest greed and corruption with every bone in my Ulster/Scots body. The biggest, greediest, corrupter in Ulster today is Tubby Nolan. Time and time I ask him how much he earns and time after time he tells me to, get stuffed. The greed and avarice of Nolan is beyond belief. Steven Nolan, is a grasping, mercenary miser."
"He may be," said Tommy, "but he loves his mum and keeps 47 workers in a job at the prawn cocktail crisps factory in Nuneaton."
"Nuneaton?" screamed Gregory. "The fat boy is ALWAYS eating. By Lunday's flame retardant drawers, I would like to know the fat boy's salary."
I peered at Gregory through my eyebrows and said, "As a matter of fact, I happen to know an accountant at the BBC, who knows the salary of everyone at the BBC, including Tubby Nolan. For a wad of spondulicks this man would divulge Tubby's salary." Gregory turned his back and began stuffing money into a brown envelope from a tartan wallet while yelling hysterically, "I know it's wrong, but I have to know! I will become part of the brown envelope brigade, but I must know how much Tubby Nolan earns at the BBC.".
Two days later a letter arrived. Gregory tore it open with his Ulster/Scots teeth, gave a little cough and read, "Steven "Tubby" Nolan, receives a salary commensurate with any fat boy of the same talent, girth, weight, appetite and gluttonous tendencies."
Gregory gave a hoarse, Ulster/Scots shriek and yelled, "Hoist by my own captain Petard. If that brown envelope is traced back to me, Peter Robinson, will hang me out to dry, like a a pair of cheap knickers. CURSE TUBBY NOLAN! and my unnatural desire to know his salary. I ride now to London-erry to shout, "Shut that Gate! Shut That Gate! Look at the muck in here! SHUT THAT GATE!!!!"