MLAs must demonstrate they are hard workers.

Great show yesterday kid. The combined effort of you, Sean and Janet, helped quell a riot at Saint Jimmy's home for the old and infirm over a shortage of catheters. Old 98 year old Max Miller roared, " I stood toe to toe with Hitler, Albert Speers, Gorbals, Hess, Rommel and Hilda Brune and now, in the Autumn of my life, you expect me to go catheterless! Today, I stand proudly and unsteadily on this commode and cry, "Up with this, I shall not put!  I shall present myself today in the clinic in full dress uniform and demand that a catheter be inserted. If the answer is, NO!  I will stand smartly to attention, salute and pee my trousers, while singing, "It's a long way to Tipperary!" Old Max, was overpowered and taken off on a trolley while still roaring, "Even Hitler, for all his high spirited pranks, jolly japes and school boy foolishness, would not stand idly by and watch an old soldier pee his trousers!" 

Tommy my cat, prospective candidate for the Upper Bann constituency, read Mike Nesbitt's, new pamplet. "Going forward, while looking back" and said, "I see where Mike's coming from, but I've been there and the last bus out, is half past eleven in the morning!"

"The Back Woods!" I cried. "You talk of, the Back Woods in Tyrone and Fermanagh. Strange, weird tales emerge from the Back Woods. Not even the Discovery channel will venture in there. Did you not hear of the giant footsteps left by the Back Woods yeti?" 

"Rubbish!" cried Tommy. "It was merely Ken Maginnis, wearing a big pair of UDR boots."

I gazed at Tommy, as he sat on an upturned bucket, wearing a lovely, tartan, maternity dress, topped off with a snappy, red, Egyptian fez.

"Tommy," I said, "when you are elected by a veritable landslide in the next election, what do you plan to do?"

 "Hit the ground running," said Tommy. "First, I will put out a tender for the erection of a naughty step for Jim Allister. I will then propose, that ALL MLAs turn up for work at six o'clock  each morning, wearing overalls, or boilersuits. MLAS should look like real workers, not pampered pets.

Before MLAs leave the chamber at night, a small boy will smear dirt and grime over their faces. This, will demonstrate to the public and others, that MLAs  are as hardworking as coal miners, or ice cream men."

  "You're a hard task master Tommy cat" I said. "Hard as flint. Make buggers graft for their brass."   Tommy, drew himself up, put a clenched fist up in the air and roared,

"As the first cat elected to Stormont, I shall not pussy foot around!"     

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