Wednesday, 19 February 2025

I see Love scattered all around

 Well I've been triggered by a buzz saw in the neighbours garden

and I got up too soon,  I had to

later on, a phone hold music triggered me again

I was convulsing in my living room

Yes convulsing, like after a cop tazered me

YES REALLY

that's my life

Tinnitus is no fun

Anyway I had an idea for a poem a few weeks ago

So I'll try and put it down below

AND I noticed my belt was looser

I am only 18.5 stones now or 117 kilos if you are metric

For Yanks 18.5 stones is. 252 + 7pounds

259 pounds

Allegedly I weigh MORE than Trump, still

If I lost 2 more stones I'd be back to my Prime Weight

I used to be 16.4 when I used to weigh myself daily

In my computer room days

Though I left that job 25 years ago

So here's a poem


I see Love scattered all around (c)

By

Michael Casey

I see love scattered all around

the scattered toys everywhere

the ketchup on the wall, next to the ball of snot rubbed in

my daughter will be an artist that's for sure

the books half open with a toy as a bookmark 

a giraffe is really good to help you remember

what page you are at

a cat's tail is good too, but she ran away when you closed the book on her

a half eaten sandwich left of the floor, because Daisy has had enough

a streak of sick outside the back door by the kitchen

because being dizzy is children's alcohol, but too much spinning

and you puke before you can guide it down the drain

next door's dog was not quick enough, and so he's off to roll in the mud

the only way to remove child sick from his fur coat

badly drawn pictures of mom and dad in crayon on the fridge and washing machine

fridge magnets galore like a disease covering everything in the kitchen, even the oven door

shoes of every size and colour everywhere, and a clump of cat's fur ball too

important letters scattered everywhere with crayon drawings of fish on them

the wife's bra with clasp broken is behind the sofa, and scratch marks too

you swear  it was the cat who scratched to back of sofa so much

and a few hooks from the curtain behind the sofa are missing too

Deny everything that's what parents do

at least the neighbours did not get to enjoy the floor show on the carpet

so lets see what the Future brings, let's hope we still have the baby car seat 

somewhere




if i were, again

Wednesday, 5 June 2024

IF I WERE. well worth repeating

Friday 28 January 2022

If I were (c) by Michael Casey

 I've been on the sofa chilling as the tv was claimed by somebody else

So I woke up I suppose I was asleep, anyway dashed to the bathroom

But this is in my head, despite the SCREAMING from Tinnitus


If I were (c) 

By 

Michael Casey


If I were Black  would you                              hate me

If I were White would you                              hate me too

If I were Straight would you                           hate me

If I were Gay        would you.                          hate me too

If I were a Christian would you                        hate me

If I were a Jew.          would you                       hate me too

If I were a Muslim     would you                       hate me

If I were of No Faith   would you                      hate me too

If I was Right             would you                      hate me

If I were Left              would you                      hate me too

If I was Political          would you                     hate me

If I was total UNPolitical   would you              hate me too          

If I was a Prude           would you                    hate me                    

If I was a Nudist.         would you                    hate me too

And If I were battered and bleeding in the gutter would you be a Good Samaritan

And if I were Jesus, would you Crucify me again

BUT

 Love is Always Better than Hate

And despite the Tinnitus screaming in my head constantly

I beg Mary to ask her Son Jesus, Bring Peace on Earth Again

AMEN




shaded area means you have read me, at least once

Tuesday, 18 February 2025

How God cries in English and Russian

 I just stumbled over this

The Russian translation

so I translated it back to English

THIS is not a perfect way

as any Linguist will tell you

However the piece from 7 years ago has power

or I thought so anyway

So here it is

you can hunt out the better English for yourselves

Friday, April 6, 2018

How God cries

 

How God Cries ©

TO

Michael Casey

 

So here we are on April 5 , 2018, and the Russian spy poisoning saga continues, with London now overtaking New York in murders. So I was wondering if I should comment or write a "Cry Poem", if sarcasm would work, if oceans of tears would help, if David Lammy would become a magician and help his constituents defeat the evil that swirls around them. We also have a 78 year old man, two robbers in the night, one robber dead, the other one driving away in his van. So the news is all very sad.

 

I have my own bittersweet news that I hope will have a happy ending, with the help of God and two police officers. They say that when solving problems, you should use the Augustine method or a 360-degree assessment, but how does God feel? As I speak, Rainbow is singing "Bless Me, Bless Me."

 

So I do this to try to see God's point of view as I have stated it. While some will call it heresy, I say to them: GROW UP. Perhaps that is what God might say.

 

I cried for Mother Russia when the pure evil of the Nazis descended upon your land, Maria prayed for you constantly while you were all shivering in the cold. When you liberated the entire East, I understood why you needed a buffer zone after what Hitler did to you.

 

I can understand the strengths and the values, and the nobility of hope, the anti-Nazi hope, and I see such a liberal West. But my children, when did you sell your soul? Why didn't you understand that sharing is Christian, and all other faiths believe in sharing and caring for the weak. This communism began as freedom of spirit, freedom from tyranny, very noble, all the angels applauded. But then everything went wrong, one master was replaced by another hypocritical master.

 

What happened to my churches, freedom to believe, the only faith was unbelief. And what did it lead to, sadness and no joy. Cheating in sports, which was advertised as a new religion, we must cheat in sports so that the masses will be proud of it. You consider people as cattle and treat them so that they can be milked. Then the wealth is sold to people who leave mother Russia, and no wonder people have fewer and fewer children. Fewer children is a sure sign of unhappiness. And Mary cries, she cries, Mary cries because she loves mother Russia.

 

Man makes more weapons, more ways to destroy this Eden created for you all. North Korea should sing more and make toys, real toys, not threaten everyone. I cry tears, oceans of tears, the angels have gone mad. What happened to my children, all my children. My tears merge with the oceans, like the melting polar ice caps, all unnecessary because of greed. Polar bears keep me company as I walk this Good Earth, my joy that I created for my children, to share with all my children.

 

Hunger rages and no one cares, Angels cry and whales wail their songs, in harmony Angels and whales cry. It is too hard for the whales, so in sorrow they throw themselves on the shore, their sad songs drive them crazy.

 

America, which began with so much hope when Columbus set sail, has just broken my heart even more. Drugs are polluting the veins of the people, and it is such a crying shame. Mary holds the hands of the dying and those trying to free themselves from all this poison, she sheds more tears. Then overseas, the man who would have been Caesar spits and stares into the mirror of popular television, while the whole world watches all his many disasters. Vanity, oh vanity, where is the real Christian charity?

 

Malice seems to be the key word, Love and Mercy are abandoned, and where is Hope. Where is Love, it seems to be hidden under a bushel, and neither a grain of rice is divided, nor bread is baked, nor broken.

 

Maybe God is dead, maybe I am talking to myself, people do not exist, my Creation does not exist. Should I make it all disappear? Do such people deserve hope?

 

And yet I hear prayers, I hear a tiny whisper , someone prayed for this poisoned Russian girl to live. Why because she had the same name as the man's mother, for that reason alone. Perhaps more prayers will emerge from the Darkness, prayers of hope and love, perhaps people will understand that even God can run out of patience. God's Omega will sooner or later raise the alarm: "Humanity, your time is up."

 

God's creation is beautiful and worth saving. Mother Russia should be honest enough to change her future, like she did 100 years ago. Russia and the US could reach for the stars together, on this Starry Starry Night, they could see if they could reach the Angel Café. China could rebuild America's infrastructure, just like they once built the railroads with the Irish.

 

On a starry night people could give up drugs and use their imagination instead . But I feel a chill, is this Satan crawling out of his pit of freezing Love, crawling over corrupting virgins? No one will Pray over Pain, has humanity gone mad? Where is the love? Mary says the Rosary , can the world join in? Is the rosary a prayer circle or a noose that humanity chooses to hang itself with?

 

A shooting star passes overhead, one dying man prays, an old Russian who survived the Nazis, he prays, he prays. He prays with hope and love, Mary joins him, the angels too, all of heaven prays with the dying Russian man. He does not pray for his own soul, he prays for the soul of his dear mother, his dear Mother Russia, he has hope and love in his heart as his body dies. He loves Mother Russia, if only she could be what she should be, better than North Korea, and better than China or even the United States.

 

An old Russian man dies, and Saint Michael himself takes him to Heaven, God gives him vodka and English tea. Where there is Prayer, there is Hope, and God stands next to us. So we should all pray, hope, and try not to worry, as Padre Pio said.


Пятница, 6 апреля 2018 г.

Как плачет Бог

 

Как плачет Бог ©

К

Майкл Кейси

 

Итак, наступило 5 апреля 2018 года, и сага об отравлении российскими шпионами продолжается: Лондон опережает Нью-Йорк по количеству убийств. Поэтому я задавался вопросом, должен ли я прокомментировать или написать «Стихотворение плача», сработает ли сарказм, помогут ли океаны слез, станет ли Дэвид Ламми волшебником и поможет своим избирателям победить зло, которое кружится вокруг. У нас также есть 78-летний мужчина, ночью двое грабителей, один грабитель погиб, другой уехал на своем фургоне. Так что новости все очень печальные.

 

У меня тоже есть свои горькие и сладкие новости, которые, надеюсь, будут иметь счастливый конец, с помощью Бога и двух полицейских. Они говорят , что при решении проблем следует использовать метод Августина или оценку на 360 градусов, но что чувствует Бог? Пока я говорю, Радуга поет «Благослови меня, благослови меня».

 

Вот я и делаю, чтобы попытаться увидеть точку зрения Бога, озвученную мной. Хотя некоторые назовут это ересью, я им скажу: ВЫРАСТЫВАЙТЕ. Возможно, именно это и мог бы сказать Бог.

 

Я плакала о Матери-России, когда чистое нацистское зло обрушилось на вашу землю, Мария постоянно молилась за вас, пока вы все дрожали от холода. Когда вы освободили весь Восток, я понял, почему вам нужна была буферная зона после того, что с вами сделал Гитлер.

 

Я могу понять сильные стороны и ценности, а также благородство надежды, антинацистскую надежду, и я вижу такой либеральный Запад. Но дети мои, когда вы продали свою душу? Почему вы не поняли, что делиться – это христианин, а все другие конфессии верят в то, что нужно делиться и заботиться о слабых. Этот коммунизм начался как свобода духа, свобода от тирании, очень благородная, все ангелы аплодировали. Но потом всё пошло не так, одного мастера сменил другой лицемерный мастер.

 

Что случилось с моими церквями, свобода верить, единственной верой было неверие. И к чему это привело, к печали и отсутствию радости. Обман в спорте, который рекламировался как новая религия, мы должны обманывать в спорте, чтобы массы гордились им. Вы считаете людей скотом и обращаетесь с ними так, чтобы их доили. Затем богатства распродаются людям, которые покидают мать- Россию, и неудивительно, что люди рожают все меньше и меньше детей. Меньше детей – верный признак несчастья. И Мария плачет, она плачет, Мария плачет, потому что любит матушку Россию.

 

Человек создает больше оружия, больше способов разрушить этот Эдем, созданный для всех вас. Северной Корее следует больше петь и делать игрушки, настоящие игрушки, а не угрожать всем подряд. Я плачу слезами, океанами слез, ангелы обезумели. Что стало с моими детьми, со всеми моими детьми. Мои слёзы сливаются с океанами, как тают полярные шапки, всё из-за жадности не нужно. Белые медведи составляют мне компанию, пока я иду по этой Доброй Земле, моей радости, которую я создал для своих детей, чтобы поделиться ими со всеми своими детьми.

 

Бушует голод, и никому нет дела, Ангелы плачут и киты стенают своими песнями, в гармонии плачут Ангелы и киты. Это слишком тяжело для китов, поэтому в печали они выбрасываются на берег, их печальные песни сводят их с ума.

 

Америка, которая началась с такой большой надеждой, когда Колумб отплыл, только что разбила мне сердце еще больше. Наркотики загрязняют вены людей, и это такой вопиющий позор. Мэри держит за руки умирающих и тех, кто пытается освободиться от всего этого яда, она проливает еще больше слез. Затем за границей человек, который мог бы стать Цезарем, плюет и смотрит в зеркало популярного телевидения, в то время как весь мир наблюдает за всеми его многочисленными бедствиями. Тщеславие, о тщеславие, где же настоящая христианская благотворительность?

 

Злоба, кажется, является ключевым словом, Любовь и Милосердие оставлены, и где Надежда. Где Любовь, она словно спрятана под спудом, и ни рисовым зернышком не делят, ни хлеб не пекут, ни ломают.

 

Может быть, Бог умер, может быть, я говорю сам с собой, людей нет, моего Творения не существует. Должен ли я заставить все это исчезнуть? Заслуживают ли такие люди надежды?

 

И все же я слышу молитвы, я слышу крошечный шепот , кто-то молился, чтобы эта отравленная русская девушка жила. Почему потому, что у нее было то же имя, что и у матери мужчины, только по этой причине. Возможно, из Тьмы появится больше молитв, молитв надежды и любви, возможно, люди поймут, что даже у Бога может закончиться терпение. Божья Омега рано или поздно поднимет тревогу: «Человечество, ваше время истекло».

 

Творение Божие прекрасно и достойно спасения. Мать-Россия должна быть достаточно честной, чтобы изменить свое будущее, как это произошло 100 лет назад. Россия и США могли бы вместе дотянуться до звезд, в эту Звездную Звездную Ночь, они могли бы посмотреть, смогут ли они добраться до Кафе Ангел. Китай мог бы восстановить инфраструктуру Америки так же, как они когда-то строили железные дороги вместе с ирландцами.

 

Звездную ночь люди могли бы отказаться от наркотиков и вместо этого использовать свое воображение . Но я чувствую озноб, неужели это сатана вылезает из своей ямы, леденящей Любовь, ползая по развращающим девам? Никто не будет Молиться над Болью, человечество сошло с ума? Где же любовь? Мария произносит Розарий , может ли мир присоединиться? Четки — это молитвенный круг или петля, на которой человечество предпочитает вешаться?

 

Падающая звезда пролетает над головой, один умирающий молится, это старый русский, переживший нацистов, он молится, он молится. Он молится с надеждой и любовью, к нему присоединилась Мария, ангелы тоже, все небо молится вместе с умирающим русским человеком. Он молится не за свою душу, он молится за душу своей дорогой матери, своей дорогой Матери-России, в его сердце надежда и любовь, когда его тело умирает. Он любит Россию-матушку, если бы она только могла быть такой, какой должна быть, лучше, чем Северная Корея, и лучше, чем Китай или даже США.

 

Умирает старый русский человек, и святой Михаил сам приводит его на Небеса, Бог подает ему водку и английский чай. Где Молитва, там и Надежда, и Бог стоит рядом с нами. Поэтому нам всем следует молиться, надеяться и стараться не волноваться, как говорил Падре Пио.

 






 


1000 Russian files downloaded this week

1000 Russian files downloaded this week

so if they are spread about

is that 5000 or 10000 Russian readers for my rubbish

am I corrupting them to the Good Side

away from the Darkness of Putin

Let's hope so

At the moment they are Drawing Lots for another's clothes

there is NO other way to describe it

RARE is the word

Russia used to be Christian

now it seems PUTIN has corrupted even that

which all goes back to Fatima and 1917

My head is screaming I popped out to the post office

and the cold air set my headoff again

Headoff is not a Russian in Saudi by the way

But they are Laughing their Head Off at Trump

Watch BBC Russia editor on TV, they would learn a lot

LearnaLot should be at the USA State Department

if it exists still

TRUMP us having a yard sale 

WHY

To get Trillions to Give away to Billionaire

Meanwhile

EGGS

are scrambled



Monday, 17 February 2025

5160 Tinnitus horrors plus Trump's clubs

5160 Tinnitus horrors

the noise off the chart, but winter is ending

so I hope it lessons, the cold atmosphere affecting my head

had to cancel a BT and pee sample sessions for my kidneys

i was so horrible with tears streaming from my eyes

but you are all bored with all of this

SO

thank you German speakers for piling in on on site

you could buy books on Amazon as souvenirs

so I can pass it on to my daughters

2 daughters at University is an expensive hobby

meanwhile I continue annoying the Russians

In the vain hope they remove Putin

though Trump needs removing too

He's gone KING crazy

The Master Race and all that

WASPs rule, I think I'll puke

The Irish and the Chinese built the Railroads in USA by the way

However I do believe in my Rosary

When you never sleep and Tinnitus is your mistress

the Rosary is essential

So I know Russia will be changed

I just don't know when

So all of you reading this on every continent

Keep the Faith

Whatever your Faith is

Because Putin's Evil should never be allowed to win

And Trump is a passing shadow, like that Wordsworth poem

here's my Trump Golf story


Playing a Round with Donald Trump

Playing a Round with Donald Trump ©

By

Michael Casey

Well it had to happen, Donald had swept in and offered Cake for Everybody, then he disappeared and I got no cake. Let them Eat Cake, was what that French Lady said, and look what happened to her. It was not TOP SECRET it was all over tv, after Donald was counted out 37 times, which is a bit like that French film from the 60s. Film buffs go check it out.

So, I said to Rodger who knew all about swings, you should challenge him. Rodger declined gracefully, he had to wash the CPNEC van after all. Then I thought you know what I’ll challenge the Old Fraud myself, though all I know is that golfers have dimples on their balls. I was going to ring a lady and ask does Donald have dimples on his, only she said she’d signed a non-disclosure agreement.

Donald replied in crayon, a note pushed through my letter box, wrapped in a red baseball hat, used, it had strands on his hair in it. I was going to have it DNA tested, my friend Carol works down the Path Lab. When Carol is not testing my Pee for Ckd he has a side-line of Paternity testing.

I send an email to the Chinese email address inside Donald’s baseball cap, and they would pass on my reply.  Yes, Donald would battle my stand-in as I cannot get around a lot what with all my illnesses. Little did he know, who would swing for me, only my man from the Pharmacy. Mr Pharma Man himself.

Donald sent a plane to pick up my man, and when he arrived Donald Trump mocked him openly. Just wait till wants something for the weekend, no Pharmacy in the whole of the UK would welcome him.

Donald teed off, Pharma Man waited then with one almighty stroke a Hole in One. Then while Donald had a few strokes to finish the first hole, Pharmacy Man was on the phone discussing piles and how to threat them, Donald being so close gave Pharmacy Man a few ideas on Pile Drivers.

Donald smiled, beginner’s luck, I built this course. Pharmacy Man, put his phone back again, as Donald hit the ball with all his might, it actually landed on the green. Though Donald fell over all red faced, and the Secret Service had to give him Oxygen. Pharmacy Man moon walked backwards, and spun around in slow motion, and hit a 2nd Hole in One. Then took his phone out to discuss laxatives, as Donald got up and took four more stokes to get in it the hole.

Donald was livid by now, just who are you. I’m the Pharmacy Man said the Pharmacy Man showing Donald a picture of himself and his Lady Wife standing behind the counter of his Corner Pharmacy shop opposite the Pub and the Building Society and by the Electrical store. The Pharmacy man smiled, he may be small in stature but as far as Pharmacy was concerned he knew it all. His Golf was not too bad either as he had played every golf course in the whole of Ireland and a good few in England. 30 years plus experience, of Pharmacy and swinging his golf club.

Donald strode to the 3rd tee, the Pharmacy man reaching into his golf bag and brought out a flask of tea, Indian of course. Plus, a sandwich, all the time consulting on the phone had made him peckish. Donald gripped his club and swung it, missed the ball and brought up a clump of earth. The Pharmacy Man smiled knowingly, I can recommend Eye Drops, that might help you. Donald took 7 shots to get it in the hole, and yes the Pharmacy Man did it in one, another Hole in One.

At the fourth Donald was red faced and livid, just tell me, who the&&&& are you really? I’m the Pharmacy Man, replied the Pharmacy man smiling with a twinkle in his eye. The Pharmacy man was on his phone again, organising a Charity Event, and would Donald like to donate a set of clubs, as clearly he was not having any luck with those one. Donald swung, and fell over backwards into a bunker, 8 shots for that hole. The Pharmacy man, another hole in one.

At the 5th Donald offered 1000dollars if the Pharmacy Man would take two shots, but the Pharmacy Man replied, INTEGRITY cannot be bought, as he moon walked backwards and hit a 5th Hole in One. Donald screamed YOU CANNOT BE SERIOUS

And attacked the ball, he got it in two. So at least his shots were better, though the Pharmacy man did say, there’s a Lady I know who could help you with your Anger Management, she’s 82 but she knows everything about Calming. Donald was livid and screamed, the Secret Service had to restrain him and give him Oxygen.

At the 6th there were bunkers everywhere, Secret Service hiding in them too. Pharmacy Man said “looks tricky” as he put his reading glasses on. Trump skipped around the tee he was so happy, perhaps maybe Pharmacy Man would not hole it in one. So, Trump swung first and landed in a bunker, his ball bouncing off a Secret Service Man’s head. But Trump did not care, he had a feeling the Pharmacy Man would be Human. Just one moment, I have to take this call. It was his grandchild, he had to ask how was Primary School, then after pulling a face on his phone.   The Pharmacy Man swung for it, wriggling like a worm as he swung. Of course, another Hole in One. Trump’s face turned all the colours of the Rainbow, that reminds me Gay Pride is coming to Birmingham remarked the Pharmacy Man, the Lord Mayor is Gay, Andy Street, and he’ll be dancing in the street too, maybe you should pay a Visit.

The Secret Service formed a huddle around Trump, like an American Football play. The 7th was a long fairway, with trees at every side, Trump had to decide, should he use a big driver or what, he had plenty of drivers, a failed President always had plenty. So, Trump plumped himself up to his full height and swung, the Secret Service lined up behind to catch him. I should have worn my high heels said the Pharmacy Man, as he swung. It was going to be a Hole in One, but a squirrel grabbed his ball, bit it and dropped it in the Hole. Trump was Triumphant, Like 4th of July, he wanted to kiss the Secret Service, and none are Ladies.

 See, no Hole in One. Actually, Under the Rules of Golf, Page 467, paragraph 1B. It is a valid shot. Trump was apoplectic, He demanded somebody look it up. But calmly the Pharmacy Man explained. Chapter and Verse. How can you know it, how can you know it, Trump screamed. I’m a Pharmacy Man explained the Pharmacy Man, How many books do you think I’ve read just to get Qualified? A book on Golf was lying around on at our Honeymoon Hotel years ago. And my Wife suggested I get out in the Fresh Air, all the time spent behind the counter of a Pharmacy would make me a Dull Man. So that’s why I took up Golf in the first place. Something Trivial to take my mind off the serious stuff, PHARMACY.

But as I’m a Gentleman, I’ll take the shot again. Could you do it with your Eyes Closed Shut asked Trump sarcastically. So, Pharmacy Man closed his eyes, and took a shot again. Another Hole in one. My wife has taught me so much, and as she always says Eyes Closed Shut it always better, once you know the lay of the land. You should listen to your Wife, Donald.

8th hole coming up, a dog leg, 2 shots if you were a PGA champion. No way on God’s little green earth would Pharmacy Man get a hole in one. Trump was crying now, his fake tan being washed away, but at least Pharmacy Man would never get a hole in one. Can we walk from tee to the green so I can picture it in my head, asked the Pharmacy Man. So, they walked to the green and back, as Pharmacy man asked his wife what were they having for tea, and to save some for him, he’d have it cold when he finally got home. Putting his phone away, Pharmacy stood well back, as if he was playing cricket, and then he took a run at the ball and swung his club. The ball went high into the sky, like a rocket from Kim in North Korea, a seagull swerved to avoid being hit. The ball came down and rolled along the green and stopped at the lip of the hole, without falling in. Trump got a message from Secret Service stationed there, Trump cried. His makeup in tatters. But then a second later the ball dropped in. The Secret Service had to restrain Trump yet again.

Who in God’s Name are you? I’m just a Pharmacy Man, but I’m a very lucky man, as I have such a great Lady. So long as she can hear my voice she’s happy. Ok, 9th Hole before we start the return 9 holes to the Club House. I’ll give you a million dollars cash, if you just drop a shot, begged Trump. One million dollars, that’s what Elizabeth Taylor said, but really she did not want the part, remarked Pharmacy Man.

As Pharmacy Man walked to the 9th tee, he rung his wife yet again. These free minutes are so good on our mobile plan, you are so clever my darling wife, and the Pharmacy Man blew a kiss down the phone. Trump swung for the Pharmacy Man, and it took all the Secret Service to restrain him. But calmly the Pharmacy Man winked at Trump and hit another hole in one. You know this course is a little boring to me, but it does match you perfectly Mr Trump.

 9 holes in one, is that not proof enough for you, you LOST you LOST you LOST. In 2020 Election, what kind of substances are you taking? Maybe you should change your Pharmacist, I could squeeze you on my list, I assume you have a decent doctor already.

The Secret Service carried a Rabid Trump away, so the Pharmacy Man took a free helicopter back, he was home in time for tea after all. Trump could shove his dimpled balls up his backside 3 times a day with water.

p.s Super Tuesday is not a girl….

pps. somebody said I won fancy Marriot pillows in an email, plus a set of clubs

the pillows would be nice, I’d donate the clubs to the real pharmacy man

and what has TRUMP done for USA. these past 4 years

NOTHING just lie and moan about HIMSELF

has he created any jobs?

VOTE accordingly on Nov 5th, Bonfire Night over here in UK

@@@@@@

well have you all got buyers remorse now?

my readers, everywhere


Sunday, 16 February 2025

The Common Room


The Common Room. again

somebody was reading this, iit made me laugh so here is The Common Room again

Wednesday, 25 October 2017

the common room

The Common Room (c)ByMichael Casey
What are you sniggering at? You are worse than a child, I have to mark this drivel, you would think if they got to Cambridge they would have least learnt how to write, they’d know how to string a sentence together. Or at least make it interesting. This one will get an F, and F is the appropriate letter I should begin with for this drivel. If his Daddy paid for all the best schools perhaps he should have bought his a Dictionary too. Or at least paid for a French mistress who could have taught him English in his gap year. At least they leave a few cases of the 69 at the Porters lodge. He’s a decent sort, he told me to be really rigorous when marking his son’s papers. If only the French mistress was as rigorous and taught him a bit of English in the gap year.
You are smirking now, I’ll have to gather myself up from my chair and see what exactly you are reading. Oh, that 300 and Not OUT, a cricket magazine  or something. I would ask Jeffrey Archer to pop in and explain how to write  page turning prose, only he’s gone off with Andrew Graham Dixon and some Italian bloke to have dinner. I despair of the youth of today, they can’t string a sentence together, what they write reads like an obituary. Shakespeare should inspire them, or Charles Dickens, or that Little Woman, or rather the book Little Women, they should have Pride and no Prejudice in what they read and then write about. Instead its cut and *&***((ing paste, do they think we are stupid, WE ARE CAMBRIDGE DONS after all.
Yes I will have a Cuban cigar, and I know you really did steal them from Fidel, help yourself to some of the 69 while I light this monster. We are the last bastion of good taste here at Singing Anvil College, we really were founded by a blacksmith 100s of years ago. We are known as the SAC college because of all the ale stored underneath the chapel. That bastard you are reading stole the idea and used it in his butchered version of the baker and the undertaker story, The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, my big fat hairy Cambridge arse.
You are still sniggering, is he really any good? Or does he just make lots of money from his books, even though his writing is horse manure, if I’m being polite. So he’s written over a million words, but is undiscovered, like a pearl of great price but you’ve lost the shovel and the map marking the spot. So he’s just a bit of a cult, yes I said cult. So who exactly reads him? Only Dons in Cracow Poland. But the Poles have a funny sense of humour.
But what do you see in him. He’s fat and silver haired and wears shades, mainly to hide his ugly mug. His structure is like an outside toilet, big and strong with the odour of something quite right, if I ever met the daft brush I’ll give him a bottle of something. No not a bottle of the 69, it would be wasted on him, maybe some cheap perfume for men, or failing that some Jeyes Fluid disinfectant to dab behind his ears.
He just teases and half tells a story and then expects us to finish it for ourselves. I say he’s just a lazy writer, or has run out of steam. You don’t think so? If a girl and a boy are alone then he should tell us what happens, it’s more like a Bollywood film and he just leads us a merry dance. I want more detail. He uses a metaphor. She weighed up his evidence, she assessed the power repeatedly, she smiles and gently glowed, and she in turn gave him a stiff sentence, or was it a stiff drink. Or knowing your writer it’s always  a pint of Stella Artois. The only thing sophisticated about his writing is the Stella Artois.
I know, but he’s big in Poland. Only Amazon don’t publish in Polish, the irony of it all, now that is amusing to me. I better mark some more of these useless bastards’ essays. And yes of course I do want to read 300 and Not Out when you have finished with it. He may be a totally useless writer but at least he entertains me, otherwise I’d have to read Harry Potter to my grandchildren.
Some say he’s really a Don at that crappy University, up the road, you know Oxford. He just pretends to be a moron, when really he’s an Oxford Don, though how do you tell the difference? The moron is better educated. Wasn’t there something in a Tom Sharpe book years ago about a writer who had somebody else pretend to be him to do all the publicity. While he stayed in some house of ill repute, like the House of Lords or something? Well whoever really is this Michael Casey I just hope that someday he gets discovered  then he can bequest all his money to our college. The SAC college wine cellar needs replenishment, those bastards from Porterhouse College tunnelling into the cellar and stole a load of the 69. Is there no honour any more?
With that it’s just after midnight, so go to bed with your wives and lovers and mistresses And if its 3 to the power of one its far cheaper, though for the mathematicians out there, you are in for a very exciting night, 3 to the power of one, is your favourite equation after all.  And if you don’t know what this fat silver haired writer in shades means by that, I’m sure your girl will enjoy explaining it to you. 
See no wonder Cambridge Dons hate me, though one brother really went to Cambridge and another to Oxford. Me I was just more common, as common as a Common room. 

– October 04, 2021

I see Love scattered all around

 Well I've been triggered by a buzz saw in the neighbours garden and I got up too soon,  I had to later on, a phone hold music triggered...