Name Ownership

Name Ownership ©

By Michael Casey

God created Man and then taking a rib he created Woman. If the Feminists were talking to you they would say, God created Useful then created Useless, Man being Useless. Men are just rattles holding seeds ready for Women to nurture. There is power in words and in names, if we can name something then we are not afraid of it and we are not in awe of it.

During the war when Britain had its back against the wall and at one point it really looked as if the Nazis would win Comedy helped lift people’s spirits. George Formby and the like raised morale when it really needed a lift. You can mock somebody so they are not as frightening, Hitler did look like Charlie Chaplin so immediately he was mocked for this, though Charlie was love. Mockery and Satire takes people’s power away. We have just had the Tory Party Conference and today Theresa May is at a crossroads, she is mocked everywhere. It’s the cross that Politicians have to carry, if they want to be in the Public Eye.

Me, I’m the fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham nothing could be simpler, except there is somebody of the same name  who is NOT me, he’s clever and is from Dublin, he is far older and far more serious and he has a PhD. I just have a used bus ticket to my name, and an unlucky lottery ticket. There is also a Monk called Michael Casey too, he isn’t me either. That’s why I attach stupid photos of myself to the writing, so you know exactly who I am, though you should all be able to tell who I am by my writing style.

Hey you, fattie with your shades on, are you the fat Casey writer or the clever Dublin one? If its outside a kebab shop it’s probably me, or if I’m carrying two plastic bags full of equally balanced shopping. I have to balance out the weight as my surgery scars can really hurt if I carry too much shopping. By calling me fattie you may me ordinary, and show familiarity, as if you know me. That way you can own me, just as you can call Prince William baldie, to show you’ll not touch your forelock for him or any Royals.

Use of language levels the playing field, use of slang really levels the playing field. When you have that class reunion after 25 years you’ll  find who the real people are and who are the ones to avoid. The ones who detest their school nicknames should be avoided. I never had a nickname at school, maybe it was because I was so strong and killed people on the Rugby field, we had to bury 3 people just behind the girls’ changing rooms, but don’t tell the Police. That was a joke just in case any Boris out there thinks I’m Evil.

A nick name does not have to mean lack of respect, it can mean the reverse, it is a badge of honour. Gas was the nickname for one of the lads from my class 1B in first year, why gas? Because of his ASS, he farted non stop for 5 years. We even had the Gas board come in as they thought it was a mains gas problem. It was just his bad diet as his dad had a kebab shop and he lived on kebabs. He wasn’t fat though as he always ran everywhere, as if he had jet propulsion, he was just trying to hide the fact that the smell was coming from him. I heard when he grew up he got a double First in Chemistry from Cambridge and later went into perfume trade in Paris. The girlfriends he had were all models, it must have been his animal attraction, or just his stink, or perfumes I mean.

We all have power with our words, we can lift people up or knock them down. I choose to lift people up, by making you all laugh in over 26 countries all over the world. I’m happy if you laugh at me, if Boris in Kiev and cousin Boris in Kracow think I’m just that fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham England. Because you own me with your laughter and I own you with me words.

 I’ll finish with a heart warming story the Borises will enjoy. My dad was coming home from work from the steelworks on a dark Winter’s Night, he was wearing a Russian army style coat to keep him warm. Just as he was outside the Undertakers he let a nuclear sounding explosion of a fart go off into the air. A black lady in front of him screamed and jumped 2 feet into the air, she thought the end of the world had come. The Undertaker looked out of his window and was going to claim a corpse, but the black lady was still alive.My dad just chuckled like Muttley from Wacky Races and continued up the road home. Leaving a shocked black lady behind him, and a disappointed undertaker.