Great show yesterday kid.
A great show which cocked a snoot at convention,drove a coach and horses through laws and regulations and proved beyond all reasonable doubt that all your fantastic tales are Cock and Bull stories.
The heavy machine gun, Snow White and falling into a bath; all figments of an over active imagination.
Cut down on the Cheddar at night kid. Go back to the old,tried and tested, hot water bottle filled with vodka. SMIRNOFF, for a good nights sleep!
Suddenly Tommy my cat ran in wearing a black cassock and a white dog collar and yelled,
"Prepare thee ye sinners, the end is NIGH! Does not the good book state,
'And when that time comes there shall be wars and rumours of wars.'
That refers to the Middle East, which is a tinder box ready to explode.
The bible goes on,
'The dead shall rise from their graves and walk among the living.'
A clear reference to Michael McGimpsey if I ever heard one.
'Strange sights shall be seen in the sky.'
That's Daniel O'Donnell mooning over Ireland.
'False prophets shall appear.'
That's Jordie Tuft to a T.
'When that time comes, woe to she, or HE who has a bun in the oven.
Don't turn back, not even for your coat.
The No Ticket, No Tote policy shall be relaxed.'
Apart from that," said Tommy, "the day will be very warm with spits and spots of fire and brimstone appearing almost everywhere."
I leaped to my feet, threw my Scientology loyalty card into the fire and yelled,
"It was good for my mamma
It was good for my pappa
That old time religion is good enough for ME!"
THEN,all we could do was-wait,and while we were waiting we got on with our lives.
That theory has worked up to now.
If it ain't broke, don't fix it!
Wednesday, 30 March 2011
Tuesday, 29 March 2011
A Question Of Degrees
Great show yesterday kid.
A great show which tackled the last great taboo of our time,'What to do with your compost box?'
Tommy my cat cut the top of his egg with a Syrian scimitar and said,
"Ground breaking stuff. What do you think Mr Coyle should do with his compost box?"
I ripped out the front window, threw it through the back window and yelled,
"Mr Coyle should climb into his compost box, pull some straw in behind him and then get his good friend Joe to hammer on a lid using six inch nails."
"A bit harsh," said Tommy,as he buttered a hot Belgium toasted soldier.
"A bit harsh my uncle Pedro's burro!" I cried. "Then, Mr Coyle, still in the box, should be floated out to sea to deter Somalian pirates."
"I can see where you're coming from," said Tommy,"and you should get back there as soon as possible before the men with the white coats come looking for you."
"Bulgarian bananas!" I roared,as I ran upstairs and rolled under the bed. As a child I always preferred the lower bunk.
"Soon ol' four o'clock rolled around.
You finally lay your burden down."
"NADINE! honey is that you?" I yelled to the girl across the street.
"NADINE! honey is that you?"
"That's not Nadine Coyle," said Tubby Nolan,coming out from an "Eat your weight in blubber for a tenner" joint.
"Hey,Tubby, my main man," I said. "what's up? What's happening? You never come back to the projects no more."
"I'm trying to leave my past behind," said Tubby.
"The word in the hood is that Queen's University are thinking of bestowing a degree on me."
"Well, well,well," I said. "Little Tubby Nolan all grown up and doing the town.
You think the man at Queen's university is going to waste a degree on YOU?
FOOL! The only degree you gonna' get,FOOL,is the third degree from Matt Baggott and all the boys and girls at the PSNI."
THE PSNI, they can really make you cry
They got big rubber hoses and the old pepper spray
They will probe you like aliens, 'till night turns to day
Down at the ol' PSNI
The old PSNI.
I love them old PSNI.
NOW CONTAINING 30% CATHOLICS.
A great show which tackled the last great taboo of our time,'What to do with your compost box?'
Tommy my cat cut the top of his egg with a Syrian scimitar and said,
"Ground breaking stuff. What do you think Mr Coyle should do with his compost box?"
I ripped out the front window, threw it through the back window and yelled,
"Mr Coyle should climb into his compost box, pull some straw in behind him and then get his good friend Joe to hammer on a lid using six inch nails."
"A bit harsh," said Tommy,as he buttered a hot Belgium toasted soldier.
"A bit harsh my uncle Pedro's burro!" I cried. "Then, Mr Coyle, still in the box, should be floated out to sea to deter Somalian pirates."
"I can see where you're coming from," said Tommy,"and you should get back there as soon as possible before the men with the white coats come looking for you."
"Bulgarian bananas!" I roared,as I ran upstairs and rolled under the bed. As a child I always preferred the lower bunk.
"Soon ol' four o'clock rolled around.
You finally lay your burden down."
"NADINE! honey is that you?" I yelled to the girl across the street.
"NADINE! honey is that you?"
"That's not Nadine Coyle," said Tubby Nolan,coming out from an "Eat your weight in blubber for a tenner" joint.
"Hey,Tubby, my main man," I said. "what's up? What's happening? You never come back to the projects no more."
"I'm trying to leave my past behind," said Tubby.
"The word in the hood is that Queen's University are thinking of bestowing a degree on me."
"Well, well,well," I said. "Little Tubby Nolan all grown up and doing the town.
You think the man at Queen's university is going to waste a degree on YOU?
FOOL! The only degree you gonna' get,FOOL,is the third degree from Matt Baggott and all the boys and girls at the PSNI."
THE PSNI, they can really make you cry
They got big rubber hoses and the old pepper spray
They will probe you like aliens, 'till night turns to day
Down at the ol' PSNI
The old PSNI.
I love them old PSNI.
NOW CONTAINING 30% CATHOLICS.
Monday, 28 March 2011
WE DON'T CARE
Great shows last week kid.
Great shows which blared out from the cabs of hundreds of dung-spreaders as they scattered animal defecation far and wide like veritable confetti.
"Dung-spreader," said Tommy my cat. "What a great name that is. It does what it says on the tin."
"Just think Tommy," I said,"everything we eat comes from dung."
"With the exception of beans and peas," said Tommy,"which come from a can."
"Don't be a pedantic pussy," I said. "People don't like to be corrected by a fly cat like what you is."
"I think," said Tommy with a superior smirk,"that should be,corrected by a fly cat like what I AM!"
In the twinkling of an eye I constructed a court out of wooden pallets and sticky-backed plastic. I placed Tommy in the dock and roared,
"Tommy cat, would you be happy to see Martin McGuinness as first minister?"
Tommy pursed his lips, made an arch of his paws and said,
"I'm glad you asked me that question. If I can refer you to a speech I made in 1986, the reality is......"
I threw a shovel of gravel on my desk and roared,
"Answer the question! Don't stand there like a poor man's Michael Howard. Martin McGuinness, first minister, YES or NO?"
"In what context are you using the words yes or no?" said Tommy.
"ANSWER THE QUESTION!" I yelled. "I DEMAND YOU ANSWER THE QUESTION-NIGH!"
Then came the Perry Mason moment. Tommy broke down.
"I DON'T CARE!" screamed Tommy. "Do you hear me? As sure as God made little green epaulettes, I DON'T CARE! I don't care if the first minister is,Martin McGuinness, Peter Robinson or the wino in the cardboard box. It won't make any difference to MY life."
So there you have it, people of Ulster. It took a humble cat to point out what THE REALITY IS!
We, the people of ULSTER, DON'T CARE!!!
Great shows which blared out from the cabs of hundreds of dung-spreaders as they scattered animal defecation far and wide like veritable confetti.
"Dung-spreader," said Tommy my cat. "What a great name that is. It does what it says on the tin."
"Just think Tommy," I said,"everything we eat comes from dung."
"With the exception of beans and peas," said Tommy,"which come from a can."
"Don't be a pedantic pussy," I said. "People don't like to be corrected by a fly cat like what you is."
"I think," said Tommy with a superior smirk,"that should be,corrected by a fly cat like what I AM!"
In the twinkling of an eye I constructed a court out of wooden pallets and sticky-backed plastic. I placed Tommy in the dock and roared,
"Tommy cat, would you be happy to see Martin McGuinness as first minister?"
Tommy pursed his lips, made an arch of his paws and said,
"I'm glad you asked me that question. If I can refer you to a speech I made in 1986, the reality is......"
I threw a shovel of gravel on my desk and roared,
"Answer the question! Don't stand there like a poor man's Michael Howard. Martin McGuinness, first minister, YES or NO?"
"In what context are you using the words yes or no?" said Tommy.
"ANSWER THE QUESTION!" I yelled. "I DEMAND YOU ANSWER THE QUESTION-NIGH!"
Then came the Perry Mason moment. Tommy broke down.
"I DON'T CARE!" screamed Tommy. "Do you hear me? As sure as God made little green epaulettes, I DON'T CARE! I don't care if the first minister is,Martin McGuinness, Peter Robinson or the wino in the cardboard box. It won't make any difference to MY life."
So there you have it, people of Ulster. It took a humble cat to point out what THE REALITY IS!
We, the people of ULSTER, DON'T CARE!!!
Wednesday, 23 March 2011
CURIOUS CHICKENS
Great show yesterday kid.
A great show which solved the age old question,
Why did the chicken cross the road? Tommy my cat and I were shocked, amazed, and greatly perplexed to find it was all down to our old friend, good old fashioned curiosity.
Tommy jumped off his little pink,Triang tricycle and said, "For more years than I care to remember,I have studied the various emotions a chicken can display on its face. I have seen, hate, love, sadness, lust, envy,awful,awful envy, greed, exasperation and petulance, but I have NEVER seen a chicken display even an iota of curiosity on its visage."
"Which is why chickens make such good poker players," I said.
"All over the world,gambling casinos bar chickens from playing any game of chance."
"The things you learn," muttered Tommy,"when you talk to a premier head-banger."
Tommy delicately picked up the latest copy of "HEAT" magazine, crossed one scrawny leg languidly over the other and said,
"According to this article by Martha Carney, John Wayne walked the way he did because of baby rash. CHRONIC,INCURABLE,baby rash," roared Tommy, "that increased in severity and intensity as the years went by!"
I threw the heel of a pan loaf like a Frisbee at my latest ginger-haired hostage and screamed,
"And yet, knowing that, John Marion Wayne goes and picks a career that involves lots of horse riding!"
"Don't get on to me!" roared Tommy."Take it up with Martha Carney."
"I will!" I yelled. "When I'm on Newsnight Review giving a critique on the charcoal drawings and brass monkey rubbings of Steven Nolan."
"Tubby Nolan can kiss my ass!" yelled Tommy.
"Thank you Tommy!" boomed Tubby and the oval one stuck his massive head in the window and kissed Tommy on the bum.
"UGH!" shrieked Tommy. "I'll never be able to look at my rear in the face again."
While Tommy ran for the scrubbing brush and Lifebuoy soap, the rotund,
un-debonair, debauchee ran away as fast as his little,fat legs would carry him.
Any man who would kiss a cat's ass, has NO boundaries,which is why, I have no hesitation in naming Tubby Nolan, BOUNDER OF THE WEEK!
A great show which solved the age old question,
Why did the chicken cross the road? Tommy my cat and I were shocked, amazed, and greatly perplexed to find it was all down to our old friend, good old fashioned curiosity.
Tommy jumped off his little pink,Triang tricycle and said, "For more years than I care to remember,I have studied the various emotions a chicken can display on its face. I have seen, hate, love, sadness, lust, envy,awful,awful envy, greed, exasperation and petulance, but I have NEVER seen a chicken display even an iota of curiosity on its visage."
"Which is why chickens make such good poker players," I said.
"All over the world,gambling casinos bar chickens from playing any game of chance."
"The things you learn," muttered Tommy,"when you talk to a premier head-banger."
Tommy delicately picked up the latest copy of "HEAT" magazine, crossed one scrawny leg languidly over the other and said,
"According to this article by Martha Carney, John Wayne walked the way he did because of baby rash. CHRONIC,INCURABLE,baby rash," roared Tommy, "that increased in severity and intensity as the years went by!"
I threw the heel of a pan loaf like a Frisbee at my latest ginger-haired hostage and screamed,
"And yet, knowing that, John Marion Wayne goes and picks a career that involves lots of horse riding!"
"Don't get on to me!" roared Tommy."Take it up with Martha Carney."
"I will!" I yelled. "When I'm on Newsnight Review giving a critique on the charcoal drawings and brass monkey rubbings of Steven Nolan."
"Tubby Nolan can kiss my ass!" yelled Tommy.
"Thank you Tommy!" boomed Tubby and the oval one stuck his massive head in the window and kissed Tommy on the bum.
"UGH!" shrieked Tommy. "I'll never be able to look at my rear in the face again."
While Tommy ran for the scrubbing brush and Lifebuoy soap, the rotund,
un-debonair, debauchee ran away as fast as his little,fat legs would carry him.
Any man who would kiss a cat's ass, has NO boundaries,which is why, I have no hesitation in naming Tubby Nolan, BOUNDER OF THE WEEK!
Tuesday, 22 March 2011
A Great St. Patrick's Day
Great Saint Patrick's Day show kid and kudos to Mr Coyle for wearing the long, ragged,green gansy. Janet and Emma wore something green too,but it was discreet, very discreet.
"That crazy,mixed-up music has got me in a tizzy!" yelled Tommy my cat.
"I don't know if I should dance,sing,or yodel."
"Some early gardeners would agree with you," I said. "As they hear the strange music drift out of the kitchen window they find themselves digging with the wrong foot."
"You can do strange things with a CD," said Tommy,looking at me oddly.
I pursed my lips,wiggled my hips and replied,
"Well,try it sideways first Tommy,you'll never get a doctor to come out on Saint Patrick's Day."
"There are some people," said Tommy,"Kate Bush and Jordie Tuft being two,who believe if you play a CD backwards you can hear messages from the dead."
"Who wants to listen to Michael McGimpsey?" I cried. "Now slip into these old,ragged,torn,dirty clothes. You and I are going to the big parade as, Ireland Bankrupt and Broke but ready to Boke."
Never again! My head is killing me. Tommy looked at me with two red eyes and said,
"How did you get out of the Holy Lands last night?"
"By the heels," I groaned. "Some kind student who is studying alcohol, drugs and tobacco pulled me home by the heels."
"I saw a policeman give you a right batter," giggled Tommy.
I turned into Ronnie Flanagan and said in a dead, monotone voice,
"I have no recollection of having received any such batter."
"That old guff may have fooled Nuala O'Loane," said Tommy, "but it don't fool me!"
And the horrible feline hit me over the head with a bog oak shillelagh harvested in the bogs around Drumquin by none other that Seamus Heaney himself!
Tommy is lethal with the shillelagh. He gets his stance right,never takes his eyes from the noggin and always follows through.
"That crazy,mixed-up music has got me in a tizzy!" yelled Tommy my cat.
"I don't know if I should dance,sing,or yodel."
"Some early gardeners would agree with you," I said. "As they hear the strange music drift out of the kitchen window they find themselves digging with the wrong foot."
"You can do strange things with a CD," said Tommy,looking at me oddly.
I pursed my lips,wiggled my hips and replied,
"Well,try it sideways first Tommy,you'll never get a doctor to come out on Saint Patrick's Day."
"There are some people," said Tommy,"Kate Bush and Jordie Tuft being two,who believe if you play a CD backwards you can hear messages from the dead."
"Who wants to listen to Michael McGimpsey?" I cried. "Now slip into these old,ragged,torn,dirty clothes. You and I are going to the big parade as, Ireland Bankrupt and Broke but ready to Boke."
Never again! My head is killing me. Tommy looked at me with two red eyes and said,
"How did you get out of the Holy Lands last night?"
"By the heels," I groaned. "Some kind student who is studying alcohol, drugs and tobacco pulled me home by the heels."
"I saw a policeman give you a right batter," giggled Tommy.
I turned into Ronnie Flanagan and said in a dead, monotone voice,
"I have no recollection of having received any such batter."
"That old guff may have fooled Nuala O'Loane," said Tommy, "but it don't fool me!"
And the horrible feline hit me over the head with a bog oak shillelagh harvested in the bogs around Drumquin by none other that Seamus Heaney himself!
Tommy is lethal with the shillelagh. He gets his stance right,never takes his eyes from the noggin and always follows through.
Monday, 21 March 2011
A CLOSE SHAVE
Great shows last week kid.
Tommy my cat and I greatly enjoyed the "NEW", improved Gerry Show NOW containing 47% Spring-fresh,lemon aroma. How lucky you are,compared to poor Jim Davidson, who cancelled the play he wrote and starred in due to lack of interest.
The play is called,"Stand up and be counted." It is centered around an aging, racist comedian played by Jim. Jim said to Mohammad Muldoon, editor of the Messenger,
"It's a bit of a stretch playing a big mouthed racist, but I worked like a white man to get it right."
Tommy attracted my attention by pulling out the velcro waistband of my prototyle, space-age,aluminium slacks and pouring in five gallons of thick,Canadian molasses.
"Attend me scurvy knave!" yelled Tommy. "Why have the amalgamated union of winos and newts not taken off their red noses?"
I yelled, "PERUVIAN PLUMS!" and fired off a salvo of Motherwell molluscs in the general direction of the pertinacious pussy.
Then Tommy,scardy cat that he is,ran to the United Nations and got them to issue a no flight zone over his head. The horrible feline had Gadaffied me.
I went into my tent where I pondered and farted for ten hours.
On Friday Tommy and I donned matching harris tweed suits and went to Bushmills to see how whiskey is made. As we watched swearing,sweating men roll big barrels up a ramp,Tommy grabbed me by the harris tweed and yelled,
"Look at barrel five! Does it not look familiar?"
"Stall the distilling!" I cried. "Among your massive casks is one known as Tubby Nolan. Release him! Release him-NIGH!" I roared.
"PHEW!!!" said Tubby. "That was a close shave. I was standing minding my own business when two men threw me to the ground and began to roll me away."
"I have told you before Tubby," I said, "a man of your size and girth needs to keep on the move to avoid being thrown into the back of a wheelie-bin lorry,or hoisted into the hold of a foreign ship."
"I'm off to Stormount!" Yelled Tubby.
"I am the only persecuted minority left in Ulster."
Tubby lumberd off yelling,
"What do I want?
R.E.S.P.E.C.T.
When do I want it?
NIGH!!!!"
Respect from Sammy Wilson? I think the plump one is peeing up the wrong tree!
Tommy my cat and I greatly enjoyed the "NEW", improved Gerry Show NOW containing 47% Spring-fresh,lemon aroma. How lucky you are,compared to poor Jim Davidson, who cancelled the play he wrote and starred in due to lack of interest.
The play is called,"Stand up and be counted." It is centered around an aging, racist comedian played by Jim. Jim said to Mohammad Muldoon, editor of the Messenger,
"It's a bit of a stretch playing a big mouthed racist, but I worked like a white man to get it right."
Tommy attracted my attention by pulling out the velcro waistband of my prototyle, space-age,aluminium slacks and pouring in five gallons of thick,Canadian molasses.
"Attend me scurvy knave!" yelled Tommy. "Why have the amalgamated union of winos and newts not taken off their red noses?"
I yelled, "PERUVIAN PLUMS!" and fired off a salvo of Motherwell molluscs in the general direction of the pertinacious pussy.
Then Tommy,scardy cat that he is,ran to the United Nations and got them to issue a no flight zone over his head. The horrible feline had Gadaffied me.
I went into my tent where I pondered and farted for ten hours.
On Friday Tommy and I donned matching harris tweed suits and went to Bushmills to see how whiskey is made. As we watched swearing,sweating men roll big barrels up a ramp,Tommy grabbed me by the harris tweed and yelled,
"Look at barrel five! Does it not look familiar?"
"Stall the distilling!" I cried. "Among your massive casks is one known as Tubby Nolan. Release him! Release him-NIGH!" I roared.
"PHEW!!!" said Tubby. "That was a close shave. I was standing minding my own business when two men threw me to the ground and began to roll me away."
"I have told you before Tubby," I said, "a man of your size and girth needs to keep on the move to avoid being thrown into the back of a wheelie-bin lorry,or hoisted into the hold of a foreign ship."
"I'm off to Stormount!" Yelled Tubby.
"I am the only persecuted minority left in Ulster."
Tubby lumberd off yelling,
"What do I want?
R.E.S.P.E.C.T.
When do I want it?
NIGH!!!!"
Respect from Sammy Wilson? I think the plump one is peeing up the wrong tree!
Tuesday, 15 March 2011
Death Warmed up
Great show yesterday kid.
A great show which rewrote the rules for great shows everywhere. Tommy my cat looked at me by focusing his eyes on my person and said,
"May I compliment you on your untiring efforts to make extreme ugliness chic and fashionable."
"Thanks kid," I said,"one day every woman will look like me."
"You look," said Tommy,"like death warmed up. I greatly admire your ambition to make zombieism acceptable to women on a low budget."
I hitched up my shroud and said,
"The essence of a pretty woman is a grey face,grimacing out of a black duffle coat.
Stella McCartney wants to copy my designs. We are hoping to sign up supermodel Kate Moss,if we can get the fag out of her gub."
"Jolly good show!" said Tommy,turning to go.
"OH TOMMY," I cried,"before you go,there is something I wish to bring up with you.
Please refrain from secreting old tuna tins under your mattress."
"OK!" said Tommy."OH, before you go there is something I wish to bring up with YOU."
And the filthy feline vomited profusely over my carpet slippers for four minutes and twenty-nine seconds. Shocked beyond belief I stood in a large lagoon of cat puke,my bedroom slippers full to the gunnels.As the cat made good his escape I roared,
"You dirty rat.You dirty,stinking,rotten-RAT!"
Tommy stuck up two finger behind his back and went on his merry way. Then the postman looked at my carpet slippers and said,
"Are YOU pregnant? That's the worse case of morning sickness I have ever seen!"
And all because the lady likes milk in her tay.
A great show which rewrote the rules for great shows everywhere. Tommy my cat looked at me by focusing his eyes on my person and said,
"May I compliment you on your untiring efforts to make extreme ugliness chic and fashionable."
"Thanks kid," I said,"one day every woman will look like me."
"You look," said Tommy,"like death warmed up. I greatly admire your ambition to make zombieism acceptable to women on a low budget."
I hitched up my shroud and said,
"The essence of a pretty woman is a grey face,grimacing out of a black duffle coat.
Stella McCartney wants to copy my designs. We are hoping to sign up supermodel Kate Moss,if we can get the fag out of her gub."
"Jolly good show!" said Tommy,turning to go.
"OH TOMMY," I cried,"before you go,there is something I wish to bring up with you.
Please refrain from secreting old tuna tins under your mattress."
"OK!" said Tommy."OH, before you go there is something I wish to bring up with YOU."
And the filthy feline vomited profusely over my carpet slippers for four minutes and twenty-nine seconds. Shocked beyond belief I stood in a large lagoon of cat puke,my bedroom slippers full to the gunnels.As the cat made good his escape I roared,
"You dirty rat.You dirty,stinking,rotten-RAT!"
Tommy stuck up two finger behind his back and went on his merry way. Then the postman looked at my carpet slippers and said,
"Are YOU pregnant? That's the worse case of morning sickness I have ever seen!"
And all because the lady likes milk in her tay.
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