too late to write something new so here's some Lucky Dips

 too late to write something new so here's some Lucky Dips

 but there are 1000s of pieces here to read if you look for yourselves

Keep on swimming down as Doreen said in Finding Nemo.

I'd like EVERY nation to read my stuff, Google Translates if you ask it.

I think the humour travels as over 40 countries have looked at my stuff

It would be nice if I hit the MASS MARKET in each country, so tell everybody on Facebook, and you own country's Media. It would be nice to earn a few bob for my daughters...

30 years Slaving Over a Typewriter ©

By 

Michael Casey

Hello from Birmingham the Centre of The Universe, just up the road from Stratford and Shakespeare, I've been writing 30 years now. Mainly Comedy or Humour, you don't expect as many laughs if it is Humour. I even have 13 books on Amazon Kindle plus 2 Translations.

So how do I get noticed and get a small column in the Press online? I would offer to sleep with Editors but I'm 110kilos and very hairy, with 2 metres of scars, up and down both legs and a fabulous Pirate scar where the heart surgeon did a quadruple. It sounds a bit like figure skating but with masks and lots of blood. Thankfully I was fast asleep in the land on nod.

I would send you my Elevator Advert, but only the other day a Chinese Elevator fabrication company sent me beautiful pictures of their Elevators. They had obviously stumbled over my Elevator Ad somewhere in cyberspace. I should add that I have a Chinese connection already, I met and married the Shanghai cleaner in the old people's home. It was love over a vacuum cleaner nearly 20 years ago. Now we have bilingual daughters, one of whom wants to be a Doctor, she said Pathologist, I said at least you won't kill anybody. The other younger daughter may become the next Julie Walters, we actually live just a few hundred metres from where she used to live.

I have been annoying Russian publications with my elevator advert earlier in the day, I should have mentioned my ballet connection. When I first met my wife I was positively vetted, I instinctively want to cross my legs when I say that, positively vetted by my wife's then best friend. A Chinese ballerina from the Birmingham Royal Ballet, I was vetted by her in the Queens Tavern the only straight bar in the Gay/Chinese Quarter in Birmingham. Somehow I forgot to mention it to the Russians, as I was rushin to finish. I did send them a translation in Russian of an entire book.

So I hope I have grabbed your attention, I should say that I got 21,000 readers in Polish when I uploaded some stories to my website in the Polish language. And that was in just 3 weeks by word of mouth. It may just be that only foreigners like me, I did marry a foreigner after all......

thanks for your  patience you can google  "michaelgcasey" and look for the fat guy in shades with the silver hair and then you'll find even more worth ignoring.

Cheers

Michael Casey  

50 Shades of Michael ©

By

 Michael Casey

I first met Michael at the bus stop, he was back combing his bushy eyebrows in the reflection by the bus time table. Applying a bit of spit on the them as well to hold them down. How could I an impressionable woman resist, it was all too much for me, I started to have palpitations. I had to hold onto the bus stop for support. The eyebrows were just so, so magnificent, he reminded me of a werewolf, so manly, so handsome, how could I resist him.

On the bus I followed him and sat next to him, I was intoxicated by his manly aroma, a mixture of Brut and sweaty socks. I gave him the once over as the bus trundled along the road in the rain. His broad shoulders and his even bigger belly were so overwhelming, I could barely breath, he was irresistible.

My breathing became laboured and heavy, Michael looked at me, with concern in his hazel coloured eyes, the eyes the eyes, he was the man with the child in his eyes. He was too much, I just had to have him. I started to breath more heavily, I was having an asthma attack, brought on by pure lust, how could Michael do this to me.

I reached into my bag for my inhaler, I placed it between my lips, but it was Michael who I wanted and needed, he and he alone could give me what I wanted and needed and MUST have. He asked me was I ok, speaking to me sent my pulse rate soaring. My head spun, he was speaking to me, he was speaking to me, it was all too much. I fainted and my body slumped against his.

I could feel his pulse against mine, Michael whispered in my ear, he asked could he do anything? He asked could he do anything. YES YES YES. Kiss me I whispered, so he did. I was in Heaven, a man a real man was kissing me, a man who wore Brut and had sweaty socks, not to mention the shoulders and the brushed back eyebrows, topped off with the Winnie the Pooh like tummy. I was tingling all over as he kissed me.

We got off the bus together in Old Forge and Singing Anvil, he knew what I wanted and I would not take no for an answer. I gave him my business card Tracy Rogers, lingerie designer. He told me he was a cross dresser and did I make his size, I laughed, he was so funny. He then told me he was a film reviewer for Hungry Wolf a lads magazine.

We went into the Trader for a pint and a natter, I explained my job and he explained his. We felt at ease with each other, as if we had known each other for years. He was everything  I had ever wanted in a man. He said looks did not matter, so long as I could make him laugh, though designer lingerie did help.

It was wanton, I had never picked a man up at a bus stop before, but life was short, my last boyfriend had ran off with the girl from the takeaway. I had never suspected, though he always seemed to get extra rice. So now to find a real man was too much of an opportunity to pass on.

In the bedroom, socks and pants littered the floor, but at least the sheets were John Lewis Egyptian cotton extra soft ones, and they were fresh on that day. Michael had a washing machine and knew how to use it. He also knew how to use what God had given him, and boy oh boy was I glad of that. As for me, he liked what I gave and gave and gave again and again.

Three hours later we stopped for some tea and crumpet, sex had made us hungry, and Michael did have Warbuton’s crumpet and PG  tips. So we had crumpet after we had had crumpet, and we share sex tips while we had our PG tips. I glowed and Michael was just Michael.

So we carried on again, it was as if Michael had Duracell batteries in him, long lasting and never fading. As for me, I was glad I had taken a chance at the bus stop, he was an animal, but the kind I wanted and needed and must have. 50 shades of Michael, I had heard there was some obscure film called 50 shades of something or another, but I had 50 shades of Michael which was much much better.

I told Michael I enjoyed all sorts of things in the bedroom, so he smiled and poured a bottle of Guinness  all over my body. I thought it was beer shampoo or something, until he started to lick it off. It was the first time I’d done such  a thing, it was wanton but I loved it, we both loved it.

I told Michael that he was my best lover ever, that we were so wanton, he could do anything he liked to me. As I said we were so wanton he went to the kitchen and made wanton soup, we fed each other soup, and what spilt on our bodies was licked off by us. Prawn crackers were spread over our bodies and we ate from our bodies. So much better than anything from Sex and the City.

We had so many plans, things to do, things to eat, we’d never use plates again. It was prefect, perfect lust, and perfect food. 50 shades of Michael, I was such a lucky girl, such a lucky girl.

Then I woke up it had all been a dream, but why did I smell of Guinness and have prawn crackers in my hair?    

A Brief History of Pain ©

By

Michael Casey

Well it is 2.30am on 20^th Feb 2018, and after a good family day tonight I am all alone with just Pain for company. I’ve had to get up as I’m in so much pain and lying down just hurts. My left shoulder feels like I’ve been stabbed, after 5 or six such stabbings and screaming out in pain at the top of my voice I’ve decided to get out of bed.

I had been congratulating myself because its several weeks since I last had to get up in the middle of the night due to pain. I was thinking about dialing 999 but they’ll just say take pain killers. The pain is so severe some times you’d welcome the sight of the undertaker, yes it’s not Micky Mouse pain.

During the day nobody sees your pain, you just stroll like John Travolta to the shops and have a joke with the workers, ok bore them while they smile through gritted teeth at your inane humour. They don’t see you run out of energy like the bunny rabbit with the rubbish batteries in as in the adverts.

They don’t hear you scream for the Movelat, it works in 5 minutes you know. So this is my life. Not pain all the time, but too much of the time. Pain appears like a mugger at a time and place and location on my body of its choosing. Some days left hip, some days right hip, some days my back. Some days I have a limp others I do not. On good days I’m a very fast walker, as I used to be all my life till 2013.

It is all so random. That’s why it is so annoying, I never know when I’ll be screaming in pain, or just mildly discomforted. Its a merry go round of pain, up and down and around and around, with just a bit of Tinnitus as occasional accompaniment. Yes I do have many good days but I have too many days overshadowed by pain. Not forgetting the occasional stabbing pain to the heart which is not a heart attack, and when I did call 999 that time and spent a night in hospital, they did not really know the cause.

So as I wait for sleep to overpower me so I can chance lying down, please understand what it is like for me. But more importantly think about people in far more pain, like your old granddad, and try and have some patience and love for them when they are having bad days.

This has been a brief history of pain, I hope it explains why I choose to act the fool, especially when I write.

A Korean Christmas Carol ©

By

 Michael Casey

Vincent was a little child in Seoul, he had been learning English at school, so the teacher decided to read a Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens to the class as Christmas was approaching. The teacher Mr Michael confessed that he had listened to it on the radio after Midnight Mass at Saint Patricks after he’d thrown snowballs at Danny Moylan. And there was another Vincent there who defended himself with his umbrella. Vincent  laughed at the mention of his name.

So Vincent  fell asleep with the Tale fresh in his head. But Vincent was worried because they had a noisy neighbour called Kim who was always letting off fireworks, one had even smashed their bedroom window. As Vincent drifted off to sleep the world news with Douglas Stewart reporting was on the BBC world service, A Christmas Carol was going to be next but Vincent fell asleep as it began.

The Ghost of Christmas past came first, this was a beautiful Korean girl smiling and singing Kpop songs. Vincent smiled in his sleep. Korea was one big happy family then. Just singing and nice dancing, no marching, just laughter, real laughter and nobody carrying notebooks in their hand.

Vincent was so happy he even chuckled in his sleep. Mr Michael his teacher was right Charles Dickens was the BEST. Well in the English language anyway. Then clouds appeared and walls and noise and stamping and unfriendly fireworks appeared. Half the land sung Kpop the other half, just marched like robots with a smile that was fixed with fear hidden in their eyes. Half had technology  and lights, the other half had no roads, no street lights just dim dim dark life.

One half had food galore and had the Korean Dream and Samsung really was king, the other just seemed sad but pretended to be happy by shouting a lot. They marched a lot too,  to stay warm as their homes were so cold. Only the army mattered, not the people not the poor, not the sick, not the uneducated, not the least of Korea’s brethren. Only the army mattered.

One half got poorer and poorer and sick and turning into skeletons and ghosts. But all the time they cheered for the Emperor in his new clothes. While the people in that half became more and more naked, building a giant Golden Ox which was the name of the nuclear missile, though some thought it was a great hotel. But really inside it was a hanger for the greatest nuclear weapon ever. And still the people in that side clapped and carried notebooks to record the Emperor’s every word. As their clothes fell off their backs and they were more and more naked.  Some even dying as they marched for their Emperor.

Vincent started to cry in his sleep, why couldn’t the Emperor just vanish like in fairy tales. The Ghost of Christmas present was a newsreader shouting and shouting, threatening and threatening. There was no hope and love in her voice, just anger. Wasn’t Christmas supposed to be about Love and Hope and a Future. Vincent screamed and sat bolt upright in his bed he was so scared, his parents came running and comforted him. Then with his head resting on his mother’s breast he fell asleep. His mother switched off the radio, why was he listening to BBC World service, he should listen to more Kpop it was Christmas after all.

Vincent slept on the Ghost of Christmas Future appeared, it was a scruffy monk with mittens, the monk showed Korea, all Korea in ruins, mushroom clouds drifting in the sky. Seoul was in ruins, millions were dead, the North was a wasteland. The Emperor was trapped in his bunker far beneath the Subway, 100s of metres underground. But even the Emperor knew his half  was destroyed  just as much as the  other half. The food would run out and the air would run out, maybe he’d last  3 months, but then he would be entombed, just like an Egyptian King. Nobody would bother to dig him out, but at least HE had felt no pain as the entire country was vaporised.

There was a knocking at his office door, a scruffy monk in mittens  appeared, the Emperor raised his gun to shoot the monk. The monk laughed, I’m dead already, 1968 was the year I went to Heaven. As for you only Hell awaits, I’ve come to show you a vision of Hell. Vincent screamed in his sleep but his mother did not come to comfort him. Vincent watched frozen as the scruffy monk in mittens placed his hand on the Emperor’s head. The Emperor screamed and convulsed in pain, he peed his pants and poohed simultaneously, then he vomited.

The scruffy monk, then said, that is  but a vision, this is what it really feels like, much much worse than being vaporised in a nuclear war. So the monk continued to hold his hand on the emperor’s head, in one second the Emperor felt an eternity of pain. Hell is the absence of God’s Love. The Emperor fell to his knees and begged for forgiveness, if only he could turn back the clock, if only, if only.   

Vincent woke up  sweating, he could not speak.  He grabbed his Rosary, Mr Michael had explained that the Rosary was Mary’s Nuclear weapons. And with the Rosary you could defeat the Devil himself. So Vincent said his Rosary and went to sleep happy and safe. The funny thing was that his radio was still on. The end of A Christmas Carol was being told.  Scrooge repents and leads a good life and knows how to Celebrate the Joy of Christmas.

As Vincent fell asleep a News Flash North Korean was ended all its Nuclear ambitions and Putin himself would visit on  Christmas Day to sign a deal to ship all nuclear material over the border to Russia. And how did this come about ?  The Christmas Disco in Heaven was KPop that year and the 100,000 Korean Martyrs had asked the scruffy monk to Save Korea not just for Christmas but for always.

So he really had slipped out to pay the Emperor a visit. He also visited Putin too telling him to grab his place in History before his heart attack. When Putin heard this he decided to do as the scruffy monk suggested. Though the monk did put his hand on Putin’s chest, telling him he could live till he was 100 if he retired, being President is really stressful.  The scruffy monk also paid a visit to the White House, all he said to Trump was Be Humble when Putin rings you, and then you retire immediately as after saving the world everything else is a waste of your time.

Vincent woke up and it was snowing in Seoul, church bells were ringing, Korea would be One again, as for the scruffy monk in mittens, he got back in time to hear George Michael singing the Ave Maria, Merry Christmas Korea, all and one Korea.

A Trip to the Dentist (c)

By Michael Casey

My daughter decided that her teeth were not good enough so she had braces fitted, so now we have something to tease her about, for a few years. I told her that her uncle had a gap between his teeth, it meant you'd travel a lot, that's what grannie, my mum used to say. It's true too my brother was like a gypsie, travelling far and wide. As for my daughter, I think she's been to Shanghai 6 times now, so her gap between her teeth has proved she's an international traveller. So once the gap disappears thanks to the braces maybe I'll have to pay for less international air tickets, or grannie in Shanghai will start to visit us instead.

So as the trip to the dentist, or should I say orthodontist was on a school day I had to attend with her, which feels like a waste of my time, but they do have BBC news channel on tv in the waiting room. So I walked all the way to her school and waited in the sunshine outside. That used to be no big deal but post quadruple heart bypass with arthritis returning I have to pace myself. So I walked up the hill, then had a rest while I watched the traffic and enjoyed the pollution before heading downhill again towards the school.

Now it is a known fact that if you stay still in one position long enough you will see the whole world, a bit like how mariners navigate if you think about it. So I stood at the corner of the street waiting for my daughter to leave school, and who did I see over the road on his phone, only Mr Singh who used to own the corner shop where I used to live 30 years ago. It appears his hard work has paid off and he now lives in a £750,000 house. He is actually immortalised in The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, but he'll have to buy a copy of the book to see if he can spot himself or his actions.

Pretty Indian girls jogged past in one direction then another, they may have even been Mr Singh's granddaughters. Then I could see a gardener walking towards me with his “napsac” on his back, and his tools strapped to his body. It was my neighbour Brian, so I said hello and explained what I was doing hanging around a street corner, looking like a well-dressed criminal casing  or should I say Caseying a house. Though I do look at www.rightmove.co.uk often, dreaming of the day I can have a bigger house in the posh area near my daughters' school.

My daughter emerged from her school, thankfully it’s in the top 1% of schools in the country, it’s a grammar school in all but name. In fact it’s so good the head has been asked to go over the field and assist the boy's school, so she's now the head of both schools. Me and my daughter had plenty of time, we could have even walked to the dentists, though I soon decided my body could not cope with that, so we sat and chatted at the bus stop. The bus sailed past as we talked, so we waited 10 minutes then the next one arrived.

My daughter told me that she discovered that her orthodontist went to her school, my daughter was also musing about being a dentist. I just told her only do it if she could hold her breath, a lifetime of having bad breath in your face, no wonder they wear masks. So while my daughter had the braces tightened I watched BBC news channel, though I did think Kwickfit might have been closer, it was similar work, spanners and so forth.

Time passed quickly, my daughter told me she'd been away 25 mins, I thought it was only 10, so I must have been enjoying myself, I just hope my daughter did too. Looking at my watch I suggested we dive into the pub on the  way back to school. They had a meal deal, two meals for  £10 I had spotted it on the outward journey. Though it turned out we'd only have time for a drink and a huge pack of crisps each. On the bus back to school/pub the driver was unique. He had curly hair and big dangly ear rings on, plus stick on nails and a bra. He was in drag. Or that may have been his normal attire.

Once in the pub I needed the toilet, I couldn't use the toilet in the church opposite the dentist as they locked them up. Toilets only available on Sundays. I was tempted to pee in the Holy Water fonts. Instead on the bus I just dared not sit down, in case the extra pressure caused me to erupt like a water font. So finding the pub toilet was like being in a haunted house going up and down and round and around, while trying to keep my legs crossed at the same time. I was relieved to say the least. Then my daughter had followed my lead, so I had to look for her too, a fool searching for a fool.

We waited to be served and the barmaid raised half an eyebrow, it was not quite like a Saint Trinians girl with Arthur Dayley, but my daughter is very tall. As time was now pressing we both had a drink and some crisps, before my daughter grabbed her school bag and dashed back to school. As for me I jumped on the next bus and went back home via Aldi, as I did need to buy some sprouts for the wife.