The 19th Hole
24 May 2019 start.
This will be my
19th book, celebrating Donald Trump’s Resignation
I’ve decided to finish it now 26th
Jan 2020 as enough is enough
Donald write your review today and
resign today as well
Jon Sopal I hope you get the exclusive,
now enjoy the
Final Cut of The 19th Hole
by me, Michael Casey
aka the fat silver haired writer in
shades from Birmingham England
Revenge
on the Joker©
By
Michael
Casey
So this
joker is the worst, so we are going to give him something to remember. Can’t we
just kill him and have done with it asked a voice from the darkness, the flash
of his blade giving his position away. No, we are going to have fun with him
then M will give him something he really really deserves. A bullet between the eyes,
asked another hopefully. You Yanks are so brutal said a voice in the ceiling,
before descending through an air vent. It’s something big and I know why we all
want to do it, but this operation is a British show. Mad Dogs and Englishmen go
Out in the Midday Sun and all that, Coward. The Americans bristled. Noel
Coward, I should explain. I’ve heard of him, A Talent to Amuse. I found a copy
of the book in a toilet when I was on a mission. It was a great book,
especially as there was no toilet paper.
First of
all we have to spring El Chapo from a Super Max, then he’ll “bake a cake” for
us. Then we’ll slip him back inside. Once the cake is ready we deliver it to
this Joker. You’ve all seen his photo file. He’s gonna get what he deserve if I
might speak American for a moment. And the horse’s head, we’ll be leaving that
on his bed. We’ll take photos and post our message, then other Jokers out there
will be warned, you don’t mock us ever.
Now
breaking into a Super Max is very hard to do, it’s like asking Special Services
to sing all the Barry Manilow back catalogue pitch perfect. Obviously the
Italian Special Services could do it, as they are all Opera lovers. But the
Yanks and the Brits had a plan. They hijacked a tour bus and parked it outside
the Super Max. Then they went through the sewers, El Chapo inspired that bit,
till they reached the recreation area. They did have a play with the weights,
on the way, they are very fit people after all. Then putting their masks on
they waited, a hijacked news helicopter gassed the entire facility. LSDEEEEE,
in the air, fairies and goblins everywhere. It was such a stroll in the park
then. They did take selfies too as they moved about, resisting temptation was
the hardest bit, there are some really really nasty people in the Super Max, so
to accidentally on purpose snuff a few out was so hard not to do. So instead
they ta-tooed them with a rubber stamp, “FBI Informer”, that’d make for great
entertainment in the recreation yard. Special Services do have a sense of
humour after all.
El
Chapo was placed in a body bag and carried away. They left a note sellotaped to
the toilet stamped on toilet paper “Back in 24 hours, dead or alive, love and
kisses a friend” with a phone number. They left a note saying “Back in 24
hours, dead or alive” because they did not want to get the staff into trouble.
It was the Brits who demanded “love and kisses a friend” just as a bit of
reassurance. Then they departed, through the front gate in the prison
governor’s nice new expensive car. Obviously they trashed the car, they were
impressed by the leather seats and DAB hifi. And guess what was playing on the
radio? The Barry Manilow hour, they all smiled and left it on, they were off to
Italy next so they could sing with the Italian Special Services now.
The
governor rang the number once everybody awoke from the drug induced trip. He
smiled as a voice replied, the boys are having a bit of fun, the kind of smile
you make when the executioner says “this won’t hurt me” as he put the noose
around your neck.Now I cannot tell you who answered the phone or he or one of
his many many friends might just have to take your cupcakes away. Though some
call him the Monk.
El
Chapo was put to work, “baking a cake”, he knows so much about mixing and
bagging after all. As he was pulled out of a bag, a body bag he realised this
was not a family situation. The Special Services are a family, but not the kind
El Chapo would like to marry into. So El Chapo was stripped naked and steam
cleaned. Then in fresh new whites he was set to work “cooking”.
Meanwhile
Blue team was in Italy, again the Brits thought “Blue team” sounded nice. Now
all they had to do was steal the Pope’s personal Rosary Beads. Now is this a
metaphor? Well we shall see. First of all they climbed over the garden wall
which is very tall, you ask Tom Cruise he broke his best finger nail when he
did it in one of his films. Then a Brit dressed as Liberace started playing
Benedict’s piano, the old Pope was thrilled.They ended up dueting all Barry
Manilow’s tunes, good job the Brit had leant them in the Governor’s car.
The
other member’s of Blue team stole robes from Benedict’s closet, then processed
through the Vatican till they reached Pope Francis’ room.They headed for the
bed but it was empty, then in a corner on a camp bed they found Pope Francis,
he was not alone. Don Camillo and Totoro was in bed with him. Don Camillo is a
book I should add, and Totoro is my cat, she does travel far and wide every
night.
We came
for your Rosary, Blue team explained, it’s in my trouser pocket over there
gestured Pope Francis. I thought you might want to kill me, the world is so mad
now. We love you we would never hurt you, as Danny produced a battered plastic
Rosary from his own pocket. It’s missing a few beads, it deflected a bullet, so
it saved me. The Pope smiled. Here in my desk I have a few Rosaries. So then he
passed a few out. Then he Blessed the Rosaries and Blue team. Anything else
asked the Pope? Can we have a few more blessed Rosaries? Where shall I send them?
Just throw them out your window at Midnight, somebody will catch them. The Pope
smiled and went back to reading his Don Camillo, having to hunt Totoro out the
way as he got back into his camp bed.
Then
they hijacked a plane to get back to England, when Special Services go on a
road trip they really do know how to have fun. El Chapo had finished baking the
horse’s head. It really was a cake in the design of a severed horse’s head just
like in the Godfather. You see while El Chapo was on the run he learnt to bake
as a way of passing the time. He had all the Delia Smith books too, maybe one
day this writer’s daughter will have a day with Delia, but that is fantasy. As
for El Chapo it was his demands for quality baking materials that gave the game
away. The FBI tracked down the baker’s needs to where the stuff was being sent,
if you like they were following a trail of white powder, baking powder. And
that was how El Chapo was caught.
The
Special Services all stood back, El Chapo had impressed them, now they impressed
him. First they tasered him, then they chipped him, then they tat-tooed him
with very rude tats all over his body. If ever he escaped he’ll show up in
seconds on satellites, and as for his body, everybody but every would sing at
him.They had put the words to Barry Manilow’s Mandy all over his body too,
nobody would ever call him El Chapo, they would just sing MANDY to him.
They
called UPS and had him delivered to the Super Max, inside the package with him
was enough drugs to add 100 years to his sentence. They could have delivered
him back themselves but they had other things to do.
So now
the end is nigh. The horse’s head and Rosary beads were to be delivered. The
Joker as to be pranked. There he was asleep in his bed. As silent snow falling,
the horse’s head was placed on the bed with Rosary beads. Then they all
screamed. HAPPY BIRTHDAY,JOKER.
The
Joker awoke screaming and then fell back with a heart attack, M stepped forward
and gave mouth to mouth, M seemed to enjoy it, it went on for half an hour. M
was a female Special Services girl. Do you think any special services guy would
give me mouth to mouth, I should cocoa, I repeat I should cocoa. So it was left
for M to save me. M was a Korean girl, and her name was MANDY. The guys then
shot me with those kids’ rubber sucker guns, right between the eyes.
And
that’s the first story in my 19th book, I always feel protected,
it’s the Rosary beads, or the Special Service watching me from the shadows. And
General Mathis if you are reading this how about telling your friends to buy a
copy or two. Stay safe all of you everywhere.
You
Can’t say that ©
By
Michael Casey
Well I
found my story down the shop. The trouble is though that I love wit and
language, and others don’t, or not as much. So if an American hears this “it’s
been 6 weeks since I had a drink and a fag” what does it mean? Over here in
England it means “it’s 6 weeks since I had a drink and a CIGARETTE” so
immediately we are divided by language. And then you have all the other
baggage.
I
spotted somebody coming out of the voting place and I said “you must be Nigel’s
friend” and immediately he cursed to high Heaven as if he was denying Christ on
the night he was taken in. He even said “he found what I said was offensive.”
Yes Brexit divides that much, and one trick pony Nigel will have his day when
the results are announced tomorrow. Nigel has screamed “FOUL” when asked what
are his Policies should he go on to contest National Elections, even though
it’s a vital question. I should remind everybody Nigel failed 7 times to get
elected in National Elections. I offer no opinion here on Brexit, I’m just
stating the obvious, which must be stated. Basically a Political Vacuum allows
any form of Populism to appear.
I don’t
want to dwell on this, let’s keep it light. When Rich came back to work when
his dad died 35 years ago the lads did not know what to say. I just told him he
looked like the cartoon on the Kellogg’s Rice Crispy box. He was wearing a
handkerchief around his neck. So this broke the ice. Then we got back to
reality. When my mother died, and then my dad nearly died just 8 weeks later it
was my turn to get support from the lads. So I know it’s good to show
friendship.
Another
example is when people don’t know what to say, so it’s best to say “give us a
hug” human contact, a hug really does help. That is why instinctively we touch
somebody we like. Silence may be Golden after an argument, or we bite our
tongue, I have too much experience of that as well.
One
example is a bad boss you put up with because you have toddlers and need to
feed them, whereas the boss is all talk, and no action, just hides in the
Concierge room. Or another boss is about to punch you after a failed night
shift, when the team leader goes home “sick” and you are left with the pieces
and this particular boss to face in the morning. And yes I really did have to
restrain this boss, I have very good grip after years of screwing magnetic
tapes onto computer tape readers, one finger on my right hand is even bent
slightly inward. I’m not just a smile and 1000words, and the lads I worked with
were amongst the best in the world, and great characters too.
Speaking
of lads, you cannot say “I Love You” to the lads they would laugh, and stand
with their backs to the wall. Yes people used to be that non PC, everybody is
more open compared to 40 years ago. The lads would just say give us a beer, and
whisper in your ear, we all know and we all don’t care, so long as you get the
beers in. It’s all about equality, tolerance is the wrong word. Life is all
about equality. It’s about gay, straight, black, white, green, faith or no
faith accepting each other. Which is why I think UK is the best place to be as
we get on, most of the time.
I was
classed as the strange one because when I worked Sundays I’d use my lunch break
to dash to a church for Mass, none of the lads had any formal faith. Beer was
their faith, as it was for our lodgers. It’s when people don’t practice what
they preach that we get problems. The trouble is the Twitter world, people just
don’t listen, life has no depth on Twitter, Everybody just reads the headlines.
As I’ve said before I browse on 3 national newspapers daily plus BBC and SKY.
So we all need a bit of depth.
Fast
food and fast life, leads to shallow life. Stop and sit and watch New Amsterdam
on tv, it always makes me cry, and the ensemble acting really does deserve an
Emmy. Now I’m finishing on a fictional hospital show, based on a book I
believe. My point is that in this show you have people at their best, doing
their best. How Can I Help is the catch phrase so to speak. My favourite
character is a bear of a man, who is a Dr and the Shrink. He is also gay, what
really shines through is his compassion, he is a giant teddy bear who loves to
help. And that is what I’d like to be remembered as, somebody whose words help.
Who brings laughter to the screen in front of you all, you might think I look
stupid, is he gay or what? No, I’m a boring straight guy, who may never get
discovered, not even by a Korean Kpop girl singer. I’m just being read on the
toilet by some Russian guy while he waits for his constipation to end, and then
he can drive Putin to meet Trump.
Ignorance
is Bliss ©
By
Michael Casey
I will
not believe until I put my hands in his wounds
Here
place your hands in my wounds
Now I
believe
Better
to believe and have Faith rather than wait, have trust
The
earth rotates around the Sun
Galileo
Galilei should be locked up for heresy
The
moon is made of cheese
Neil
Armstrong faked it
At
least the trains ran on time under Mussolini
It’s
all lies about Hitler and the Jews
Assad
loves everybody, he gassed nobody,
he’s a
doctor he’d never hurt anybody
Car
exhausts never hurt anybody, they are just stupid kids anyway
Smoking
is cool, that’s why it’s in all the 1950s films
Radiation
does not hurt
Sunshine
is good for you, get a tan
Some
meds give you great tans as a side effect, so take meds
Eat fat
and don’t exercise you won’t have a heart attack
It’s
all a lie to punish farmers
Speed
does not kill, let people drive as fast as they like
Guns
don’t kill, let everybody have a gun and an assault rifle too
Why
shouldn’t I have 10,000 rounds of ammo in my house
Why
should I lock ammo and guns away separately
The 3
year old deserved to have its face blown off by a 5 year old
It’s my
right, there were just stupid toddlers
I can
talk on the phone and ignore my kids playing in the kitchen
It’s
not my fault I they scald themselves, I warned them once, 3 years ago
Arms
races don’t cause wars, selling arms is great for the economy
Pollution
does not kill
Global
warming does not exist
Who
cares if a few islands in the Pacific disappear,
they
are only small anyway
It’s
great to have more sunshine
It only
snows in the Rockies, it’s great for the skiers anyway
A bit
of wind is good, it blows the cobwebs away
Vaccinations
are BAD, they make you sick
Measles
is no big deal anyway
Bill
Gates is a fool wasting all his money on vaccinations for poor countries
Poor
Countries don’t matter, what did they do for ME anyway
I could
have sold him Manhattan at half the price
And on
it goes, STABLE GENIUS IGNORANCE
Now a
commission to prove The Earth is Flat
Will
USA finally wake up to the total ARROGANCE of IGNORANCE?
It
really is heart breaking that a Fool is in charge of USA
People
all say yes, for Power, whatever happened to Love of Country?
The
Fool has taken over, and nobody has done anything
Every
day is a wasted day
A lie
if you repeat it often enough is believed
But
rather everybody is deceived
Liar,
Liar burn in Fire
Everybody
must run to defend the TRUTH and the Planet Itself
So
let’s all run BONE SPURRS permitting and Defend Planet Earth
Or are
you going to sit it out, while others go to war to save our Home, Earth
Stocking
Up for Students ©
By
Michael Casey
Well
it’s exam time in our house and millions all over the world, the stress levels
amongst our children, and even when they are 50 they are still our children.
The stress levels are so very high, fatally high in some cases. So what can we
do, us parents that is. Not that you’ll get any thanks, kids that age forget to
say thank you. They can build a nuclear bomb, or recite Pi, though baking a pie
might be of more use. They can do many things in their study or back bedroom or
perched somewhere, but saying thank you, or clearing away dishes, that’s
impossible, nuclear physics is easier for them.
So what
can you and me do? Well we stock up for students. First thing you need is
plenty of chocolate in the cupboard, and as it is exam time it had better be
Cadburys, rest of the year any chocolate will do, but at exam time, it has to
be the best. Even if your pension is small or non-existent you have to go the
extra mile for your student. You do want them to visit you in the Old People’s
Home after all.
Then
you have to buy face wash too, bargain basement facewash will do, having eaten
so much chocolate over the 2 months exam period the chance of spots can be
high. So you have to be ready. Like a Boy Scout you are Prepared. Chocolate and
face wash. For variety you have to add crisps, and you go the extra mile and
buy Walkers crisps, despite that annoying footballer whatever his name is
advertising them, who is he anyway?
So your
cupboard is loaded with crisps and chocolate, with face wash at the ready in
the shower. And for the duration of the exam period you won’t mention your
power bill caused by 20 minute showers, sometimes twice a day. So you make
sacrifices for your student, you reduce your shower time from 5 minutes, and
you are 3 times her size. You have a quick 2 minute shower and use that new
super soft towel to dry yourself with. Only it’s not a microfiber towel it’s
Totoro the cat, who enjoys every minute of it. When you realise you need a 20
minute shower yourself, but you have to save money for the power bill. So you
run around the garden in a thunder storm, hoping nobody will see you. But of
course all the neighbours do, some even load it up to Snapchat and Utube.
However as well as all the little old ladies having a thrill as a Shrek size
naked hairy man runs around the garden with a bar of soap, you are spotted by
your future lover. As you fart in unison with the thunder, as they say it’s an
ill wind that blows no good.
Your
student is back attacking the books, or though in today’s world, it’s an online
text book. So you have to restrict your broadband use as the bandwidth is not
good enough for her to study and confer with her best mate and for you to watch
a film at the same time. You never thought 12meg would not be enough, with the
cheapest broadband, but buying chocolate and the power bill all takes money. So
you have to wait while she takes a break to watch your film in 20 minute chunks
spread over the evening. You hope she buys you a 1000meg package when you are
in that old people’s home, that’s if you live that long.
The
student is hungry so you make her scrambled eggs with beans in, she will fart
all night as she studies Bio Chemistry, but it’s all about reactions after all.
You did buy the nicest bread too, the one she loves that you only buy on rare
occasions as it costs too much and the budget does not stretch to it. But you
are a dad and dads go the extra mile, it’s a good job you don’t smoke or drink,
or you would be feeding her frozen food.
She
studies into the night and you wish she wasn’t a night owl, the electric bill, the
electric bill. You struggle to sleep because of your Tinnitus, finally at 2.30
am your student goes to bed, you are still awake with your Tinnitus. It’s hard
being a dad. Nobody knows the sacrifices you make.
Well,
somebody does. After your streak and wash in the Thunder somebody has their eye
on you. It’s a woman with a telescope. Her name is Louise, and she’s been
observing you, as you sleep with your curtains open, because you are afraid of
the dark she has seen you in all your glory. Korean tastes are very different
and she used to be a K Pop singer, before she did Astro physics, she had turned
her telescope from the Heavens to your celestial body in your bedroom. But
that’s another story…
Looking
Back at History ©
By
Michael
Casey
Well
it’s the last day of May today, Donald Trump will stop by before joining the
Dday celebrations in France. I was at the celebrations in Caen Normandy in
1984, just by chance, my sister was finishing off her year abroad and I came
over for a holiday. It was a truly moving experience, parade and medals galore.
There was a dummy in a parachute hanging from the ceiling at the train station.
On tv
there was rolling coverage, an American GI said the first thing he did was
steal some underpants from a Nazi soldier, the American had been so scared he’d
messed himself. War is not all honour and nobility like in the films, it is
dirty and horrible, like a messed pair of pants. No doubt Trump would say I’m
lying, but its the naked truth. Let’s hope Trump remembers it’s not about him,
its about those who fought and those who died.
The
Russian front was a fight to the death, and Historians will tell you that
without the Eastern Front occupying the Nazis, 6 million is the figure I seem
to remember, then the Dday victory could not have happened. I heard a History
professor state this at an Open University Summer school maybe 30 years ago.
This is why Russians are upset that their war and valour doesn’t get as much
coverage, there is no Hollywood of the Russian Front, I can only think of one
such film.
The one
with Jude Law as a Soviet sniper. Contrast that the 100s of films about the war
from the Western prospective. Everybody needs to remember the horrors the
Russians went through. Then you’ll begin to understand the way they are. We can
argue about the need for everybody to move on from History and live in today’s
world, but if you don’t know the past then you’ll blunder into the Future.
Now we
all have our own personal History,and maybe I’m writing this in reverse, should
I do the humour first then move onto the serious stuff? Warm you up, then slap
you in the face with death. The joy of life is that we can do things any which
way we choose, maybe I’m Clyde the orang-utan, I’m messing everywhere and I
don’t need to steal any pants. Immediately some of you may condemn me for
moving from Dday to an orang-utan, but then you miss the point. We have freedom
today in the West because people lost their lives, because we had a Just War to
beat utter madness and evil that was Hitler. So I can speak in any format I
like, my words are not approved or censored by anybody. We have Free Speech.
If you
don’t like my words you can ignore them, billions of words all over the
Internet that can be ignored. The majority are ignored, then you have
“influencers” who make loads of money,because some people could not be bothered
to think for themselves. Then you have bots puking vile ideas all over the
Internet. This is today’s problem, challenge is a pretentious word, it is a
PROBLEM. You have to balance Rights and Duties, and MZ wants to make his
billions as do other Big Tech people, and then wash their hands as kids, or
people who are mentally kids, kill or harm themselves. They want to wash their
hand like Pilot and say it’s nothing to do with me.
This is
where Tax can be used to force common sense on Big Tech companies. Ordinary
People pay 20% tax and more, meanwhile Big Tech pays just a fraction of that.
So tax them and force them to make common sense changes. Too often the bolt has
been closed on the gate after the horse has bolted, and a child is dead or
harmed in some way.
Who
decides the way in which Big Tech is held to account? We do. You and me,
everywhere the world over. So you need to send an email, join a petition, get
off the couch and vote. In USA Trump lost the Popular Vote, yet he’s become the
most corrupt President ever. Why? Because half the population don’t even bother
to register to vote. So he got elected. We can argue about Hillary being the
wrong candidate, because it was her “turn”and the FBI man ruining her chances
at the last moment. We heard it was 70,000votes out of the millions that
ensured Trump got elected, due to the Electoral College system.
So when
Donald Trump arrives in UK, there could be 1,000,000 people protesting against
him, and the Trump Baby balloon may be flying too. No doubt Trump might say
they are ruining the memorial for the fallen of Dday. However I’d say they are
proving all the sacrifices of Dday were worth it, not forgetting the Russians
tying down 6 million Nazis that helped enable Dday. Because today in 2019 we
have Freedom to Protest, to say to all our Politicians, YOU ARE OUR SERVANTS.
We can and will vote you out,so long as we get off the couch. And they can
“shiote dans leur pantelons” just as that Dday GI did, but he is a hero and
they never will be, just remember that they are our SERVANTS.
Just
the way you are ©
By
Michael
Casey
Moses
was tall and gangly, people used to laugh at him and call him beanstalk. Some
even picked on him, he was regularly bullied, and had his teeth chipped after
fights. Where’s your staff Moses, make the Red Sea part was a common remark.
Only his Nan loved him, and the little girl opposite, she felt pity for him. It
was all so unfair. His Nan was forever taking him to the dentist, but at least
they didn’t pull all his teeth, then he’d look like his Nan even more, with
false teeth. No, Moses got gold fillings, a fist full of gold fillings, because
he’d had fists in his mouth.
Sharon
as the little girl opposite, she smiled and told him he looked great with his
gold teeth. Really was Moses’s reply. And that is how they became friends. On
one visit to the dentist he picked up a Readers Digest, he just flicked though
it. Then one item caught his attention, so on the way out he asked the
receptionist could he have it, a ten year old copy of the Readers Digest. When
he got home he read the article over and over again. He then went over the road
to show Sharon.
Self
Defence, with Judo John. It was all about how to use an attacker’s weight
against them and so defend yourself. And that is how Moses and Sharon
discovered each other. By throwing and grappling with each other, it was fun
and they were good. Over a period of months they learnt the basics. Then they
went to the old Spring Hill Library and got all the old Judo John books out.
They began slowly and read them cover to cover. Judo John was an Olympic
Champion many years ago. As they read they practiced, and with each practice
they got better and better and love grew between then as they flung each other
all over the place. They would laugh as snot dripped from their noses, as their
socks fell down and as they had to tuck in their shirts and blouses. They
didn’t really know it but they were falling deeply in love.
As they
practiced in the back garden they listened to Barry White on a cassette radio
play. It covered the noise of them grunting and groaning as they grabbled.
After a couple of years of this both of them had put on lots of muscles, Moses
was no longer gangly he was bulky now too. And yes the bad boys did try to
bully him one last time, only he knew a bit of Judo now. So he threw them into
the dustbins, and Sharon who felt so empowered now defended her man, she stood
by her man and threw a bully or two into the dustbins too. 4 bullies against
Moses and Sharon did not stand a chance. The word got out at school, and nobody
ever troubled Moses again, now his nickname was Jaws after the James Bond
villain.
Fate
took a hand now, the school was a sports academy, so one day some Judo guys
turned up. Moses was shy, but the school blurted out about how Moses and Sharon
had sorted the bullies. The Judo guys smiled, and Moses and Sharon were asked
to step forward. After a few minutes of grabbling with the Judo experts, the experts
smiled even more. If there was a grading both would get a good grade and
possibly a Brown Belt immediately. Where did you learn they were asked, so they
confessed they had read the Judo John books while listening to Barry White. The
entire school laughed at them , the Judo guys did not. In fact Judo John was
the grandfather of one of the team, and guess what he loved Barry White too.
So
Moses and Sharon got free tuition at one of the back street Judo schools in the
city centre, in exchange for a bit of tidying up. And that was how they learnt
their trade. Moses was quickly a Black Belt and so was Sharon shortly
afterwards. They raced up the belts, and their confidence grew and grew. They
were worried about what to do after school, but they were offered the business
when the owner retired. So Moses and Sharon Judo School appeared in small
letters under JUDO. They laughed that they had never left school. And their
love just grew and grew. Moses’s Nan had raided her pension pot and
re-mortgaged her house to help buy the business, but soon she was repaid. A
female teacher was a selling point.
After
practice Moses would wash Sharon and Sharon would wash Moses, very Oriental,
and yes sometimes Barry White influenced them too much, I can’t get enough of
you baby, as they made love on the practice mats. They were engaged by now, but
there was never a baby, Sharon did not mind, she had Moses and that was enough.
But secretly Moses wanted to be a dad, what was the point in life if you don’t
have kids.
Now
what do Martial Arts people do in the evening, well they work security at
clubs, drinking Hot Chocolate, and yes they loved that music too. Where they
worked there was never any trouble, Moses was 6feet 4inches and 120 kilos of
total muscle by now. Sharon had a pony tail and blonde hair, just like Theresa
May’s body guard lady, she was always smiling because she had here Man, and she
was his Lady. They loved Lionel’s Lady my Sweet lady too. All in all they had a
happy life, though Moses pretended he did not mind not being a dad.
Now in
clubs the girls dance around the handbags, or designate the fattest girl to
mind them the most, as she drinks her lemon and lime alone as they dance. Now
Moses spotted the girl and spoke into his radio, do you mind if I dance with
another lady tonight, just this once? Sharon looked around and knew what he was
going to do. You do know I am a Black Belt 4th Dan? Yes, and you can
tie me to our bed with it tonight, after you take my Black Belt 7th
Dan off my naked body. Sharon laughed aloud.
Moses
smiled at the girl guarding the handbags, would you care to dance? Theresa
looked up, she nearly fainted so he picked her up and carried her to the middle
of the dance floor he, then held her in his arms, and now she was his lady. The
other girls nearly fainted, Moses was the absolute hunk of the hunkiest, and he
was dancing with Theresa. Sharon was not to be outdone so she picked a fat boy
and led him to the dance floor. Sharon was a big girl but totally curvaceous,
and she knew how to move. Everybody stopped to watch Sharon and the fat boy and
Moses and Theresa. Then Moses bent and kissed Theresa’s hand, they swopped
partners, Moses danced with Sharon, and Theresa danced with Kevin, for that was
his name. Barry White was singing, Can’t Get enough of your Love Babe. And that
was how Theresa met the boy of her dreams Kevin.
An
opportunist thought he’d steal from the pile of handbags, only small Peter was
also working that night. Peter was less than 5 feet tall, but he had a 56 inch
chest after years of Judo. So the would be thief laughed at “titch” only to
find himself on the floor. He was ejected and banned for life. Kevin and
Theresa were so happy, they both thought they’d just be watching handbags all
their life, but this was the beginning of something big.
Theresa
and Kevin were made for each other, so obviously they told everybody they knew,
and fat people always have lots of friends, even if they lack boyfriends or
girlfriends. So more and more people came to the club in the hope of finding
the one true love. Moses and Sharon thought they’d help things along, so it
became a feature, Moses would dance with a girl who’d been abandoned to the
handbags. And Sharon would grab a boy who’d been hiding in a corner pretending
he didn’t mind. Barry White of course played his part too, Baby We better Try
and get it together, was very popular, as well as It may be Winter outside but
in my heart it’s Spring. Sharon and Moses picked 2 lonely people, and then they
got it on with each other. John Travolta in Pulp Fiction would have died for
it. Watching Moses and Sharon was electric, and then the whole dance floor
filled and heaved. Afterwards the bar was flooded, dancing was so thirsty
everybody needed a drink.
Eventually
the club had a “Big Girls Don’t Cry” night, dancing for boys and girls of the
bigger dimensions. Everybody was happy, things could not be any better. But
Fate always steps in. One of the boys who bullied Moses years before came to
town after he’d got out of Jail. By chance he heard about Moses, it was his
friend been barred for life.
So that
night with evil in his heart Barry came to hurt Moses, why this happens you’ll
have to watch a BBC documentary, or a ITV daytime tv show. Barry weaved his way
through the dance floor, something shinny in his hand, he had 2 others on
either side flanking him. It was he night Theresa got engaged to Kevin as she
descended the stairs from the toilets she saw what was afoot.
Theresa
was a teacher so she knew how to scream. FAT GIRLS ON THE DANCE FLOOR, Kevin
was also a teacher, a P.E. teacher so he knew how to scream too. He knew
Theresa needed help, he felt it, he just knew. So he screamed too, FAT BOYS ON
THE DANCE FLOOR.
The
dance floor flooded and Moses was swept away by a flood of sweaty fat bodies,
Sharon could see what was happening now. She had seconds to save her Moses
before he’d be in a wicker basket coffin. So she grabbed “titch” Peter and
threw him through the crowd. Barry was tumbled, the assassins were rumbled. Fat
Girls to the left, fat Boys to the right. Then they all Irish danced towards
the assassins. The Lard was in the frying pan and it was time to spit and hiss
and burn. They may be fat, but they were all Dancing Queens, they high kicked
their way over the dance hall. Moses their leader and they would defend him. In
short Barry and his 4 henchmen were Irish Dance Kicked into submission. Never
under estimate a fat girl EVER.
Moses
and Sharon embraced. The Police came and took Barry his four friends away. The
Police also booked the club for their works do too. Maybe it was the sense of
relief that Moses and Sharon felt, or whatever reason, but that night Sharon
conceived. After that all Moses had to do was look at Sharon and she got
pregnant. They could not decide how many kids to have, but as Moses was a Black
Belt 7th Dan, they decided 7 was a good number. And if you are all
wondering if this tale is true, well kind of. Because one of this writer’s
earliest memories is being bounced on Moses’ knee as he smiled his smile full
of gold fillings at me.
Before
the Dawn ©
By
Michael
Casey
Last
looks at photos of mom
Checking
and rechecking kit before the fight
Cursing
louder and louder to hide the fear
Playing
cards, last chance to get rich before hiding in a ditch
Look at
photos of naked girls wishing you could hide within
Prayers
half said and wishing you had got wed
You
promise you’ll marry the first thing you get back
Rosaries
dusted off, and mumbled through,you haven’t got a clue
Lucky
charms and Rosaries too kissed and wrapped around your kit
False
smiles, and wondering why you came thousands of miles
Hope
that you’d get to sample champagne in Paris
Fear
that you’d never get back to your aged mom again
Charity
sharing your chocolate with your mates
Laugher
over the water into the distance
Worry
half hidden from each other
But you
are each other’s brother
At dawn
you will fight and try not to die together
You can
hear the bagpipes, the mad piper has begun
The
rush of bravery and hope, you will survive and go
All the
way to Berlin, Normandy is just the beginning
You
will show the Nazis what you are made of.
First
off the boat and up the beach a kiss from a French girl
Is
almost within reach
Bullets
fly, bullets fly but New Yorkers don’t come to die
You are
an American and you will be in Paris
Secrets
in the Safe ©
By
Michael
Casey
I might
stop and start while I talk to you, it’s no secret my left shoulder has come
out to play today. Pain with a CAPITAL P. It audibly clicks as well, and I’d
wish it’d just go to Hell. Luckily my Movelat and Paracetamol are close to
hand. Not locked in a safe, just within grab reach, like the toilet paper. If I
had a gun it would be locked away and the bullets locked somewhere else,
luckily we don’t have that in UK, we are gun free, thank God.
Chocolate
needs to be hidden and locked away, I have 3 girls in the house, and a female
cat too. But what about secrets? Samuel Pepys wrote his diary in code so nobody
would know what he was talking about. He knew many secrets and was wise enough
to bury his cheese to avoid the Great Fire of London. I may go and read about
him when I finish talking to you all, you can all do the same for homework.
Nowadays
everybody blogs, except me, I write or rather Talk to you all. I hope its much
better than Joe Soap’s blog or even Freg Bloggs’ blog. I don’t earn any money
and I’m not an influencer. I’d rather be under the influence of Stella Artois,
than mindless tat basely advertised and touted by vacuous people. Did you feel
my claws then? MIAOW. I’m copying Totoro our cat who went back to Ninja cat
mode yesterday, with 2 kills, one to the front of the house and one to the
back. She hangs out with the foxes nowadays, they live in a Ben’s back garden
nearby.
But
what about secrets, and what would be so important you put it in a safe? The
Kentucky Fried Chicken recipe was in a safe, though personally I think its
disgusting, they should have left it there. Somebody told me that Burgerking
was better than BigMac and I think they are right, though Macdonalds do better
fries. Though its years since I had either, and they were never my fast food.
My generation were chips and kebab people. I do think saving recipes for the
future is a great idea. We even have a seed bank hidden in a mountain, should
world disaster strike. However I seem to remember a news item saying that, the
seed bank could be flooded as Global Warming is melting ice and could flood the
seed bank.
So it’s
only the most important of stuff that gets put in a safe. Our Ken Dodd a
comedian was once sued by the tax man, AND HE BEAT THEM, he kept cash in a
shoebox under the stairs, 30k or even 100k. But his love letters were in a bank
vault. Ken really got his priorities right, his shows lasted 5 hours, you
really got your money’s worth too.
I’m
told that the Sun Newspaper in England has a bank vault on the premises with
all the Dirt on the Great and the Good. Now that would be interesting reading,
though that could be an urban legend. Next time I meet Rupert Murdoch at the
Bingo I’ll ask him, but only after he buys me 2 pints of Stella Artois, save
him going up twice and queuing for me. He always forgets the cheese and onion
crisps though.
What
would I keep in safe? Clean underpants and some soft toilet paper, and maybe
some Ck1. You never know who might come up and see me sometime. And yes Movelat
painkiller and paracetamol. Without those I’d be rolling about on the floor.
Though with Ck1 and clean underpants I might just having fun rolling about on
the floor. With a Sumo. Though I have much better dreams than that.
The
Homework Club ©
By
Michael
Casey
Well as
ever I didn’t have an idea to talk about today, I’d just read a piece about
George Clooney and Catch22, which could be my own life. And yes my big daughter
did say he’d got old, so George I can be your fresher faced stand in, and only
248pounds too, that’s my day rate and real weight. 18 x 14= 252 so I am
actually 252pounds now. So you owe me 4 quid George. Other than that we are
exactly the same.
Before
a role George has to do his homework and look at my picture and remind himself
just how good and cool he could look if he looked like me. He has to read a lot
and get the feel and the look under the skin, so he can become Michael Casey,
ok just teasing George, but I do have peanut butter on my shoes, only you
cannot eat mine.
He has
the original book to read, a film to watch, and he will sit and talk around the
topic, and loads and loads of stuff. If you catch him in the toilets you can
corner him with conversation. But make sure you haven’t got peanut butter on
your shoes.
Which
brings me to today’s topic, The Homework Club. My big daughter is here with me
in the “study” as week 2 of her A Levels continue after the weekend, so she is
working hard. She listens to music to help her along the path. As Tinnitus
irritates me so much she plays it aloud so I can share an inoculation to
Tinnitus while she studies. I have my music and she has hers, but at the exam
time she is Queen so her music is played and I share it, and try not to make any
noise to distract her as she studies. Which means no loud farting, or too much
moaning because of the pain. So I leave the room and slap on the Movelat and
return. In the “study” all manner of girls’ music choice plays as she studies,
Maths, Biology, Chemistry and Philosophy.
A
former classmate of hers does play Drums, so I am lucky I am not her dad, think
of the noise. Meanwhile in our kitchen my small daughter has invited a couple
of friends to sample her cooking. Though that will be a great experience, as my
small daughter is turning into a little chef, one day I hope Delia Smith meets
her. My aunty Delia was the kindest and fattest relative I had, and a great
cook too, 17 stones and only 5 feet tall. If my small daughter becomes like her
then I’d be so happy, though without all the weight. As for my small daughter’s
friends, they have to sing for their supper. They are Maths specialists, so
they are giving my daughter advice in exchange for their dinner. Due to diet
and religious observances they will be getting pasta, which I don’t like as I
think it’s too bland. So there will be no slops for me to have.
I
imagine there are kids up and down the country who need a bit of friendly
patient help in a variety of subjects. Teachers need to listen, not just tick
boxes. At my big daughter’ 6th form college a couple of teachers
were let go, because they were not up to the job. The job is teaching, which
means is listening and being engaging. And transferring knowledge from your
head into the kids head. When I was an Esol teacher I got, excellent, excellent
and exemplary as my external assessment,just so you know. And that’s why I
think all my writing could be used as a Teaching Aid, so Educational Publishers
do get in touch fast.
In Tom
Sawyer, he’s made paint the fence, but he turns it around, and gets the other
kids pay him for the honour of painting the fence. We’ve all seen it on tv, and
now I speak of it I can actually remember reading the book in class4 at Primary
School. So it is with friends, somebody is good at this or that,so you trade
skills. At school age, don’t pay through the nose to some stranger. Pay a
quarter as much or not at all, just get some nice food in the house and get
your child’s friends to help. Or in our case, or should I say Caseys my kids
arrange it for themselves, my job is to just stay out of the way, and let them
get on with it.
There
is pride in knowledge, you have finally worked it out, you understand, the
shade has been lifted from the light. It really is easy, once you know it is
easy. You have lost your virginity of ignorance. That’s why the Printing Press
was loathed by the masters, because it meant all of us, the common man could
learn to read. And yes there is no one more common than me, but I am the common
denominator, which as you all know if a Maths expression. If I can write then
all of you in the 60 places that read me, in the many languages that read me,
all of you can write. All of you can do maths, all of you can do anything.
Because as we share bread at a table, we teach each other many things, and
through friendship and love we expand our knowledge. And if you have what you
think is peanut butter on your shoe, don’t taste it, just ask George Clooney to
do that for you.
Damp ©
By
Michael Casey
Well
its damp today here in Birmingham, we are drying out after all the rain. Though
in other parts it was more like a flood, Noah was seen in the distance and I’m
sure I saw 2 birds flying overhead in search of land. Unfortunately Totoro
thought this was his Just Eat dinner being self delivered. So Noah is still in
the ark waiting for the flood to subside.
The
weather really does have an effect on our mood. That’s why yesterday I posted
the piece about “the rain falling down” and yes I really did used to have a
Korean priest. He was deaf and an IT wiz, he was from Korea after all. A deaf
priest is a good thing, especially in the confessional, though if the priest
shouts “you did what?” because he cannot hear you, then the whole church can.
But
back to damp, when we are damp it slows us down and deflates our mood. Damp is
like a weigh about our neck, it makes everything heavy and serious. You cannot
be happy if your clothes are clammy or damp, if the sky is grey and there is no
blue in the sky. Everything seems grey, just like your underpants because dad
did not separate out the colours. Life itself is grey and damp.
You go
down the hill to the shops, and even the flowers look dull, it’s as if you are
wearing your shades, though I do most of the time. But when it’s damp it’s as
if there is a grey filter in the entire air, life is heavy, everything is
joyless. Even a pretty girl is not as pretty, it’s as if a boring filter has
been placed around her, not enough light in the atmosphere, can God put a
shilling in the meter and switch the light on, dispel the dark and damp and
dank.
God
hears your voice while you are in the shop, as you leave a rumble of thunder,
so you try and walk faster up the steep hill. God’s thunder is at your heels
like a wolf at the door. The sky is lit up by lightning, is that bright enough
for you, God is asking, asking ME to put a shilling in the meter. Lightning
rains down around you, that must be a trillion pounds worth shoved in the
meter. You jump and are startled, please don’t do that with my heart, you could
kill me. God throws another thunder bolt at you, and the heavens open. You are
sure you can see Noah body surfing on the lightning and splashing about in the
rain.
You get
to your house, your heart pounding, your shopping bag full of water as well as
oranges. You drop your keys, and as you bend down to pick them up Totoro the
cat strikes, your behind is too big a target. You scream, God’s going to kill
you.
You are
relieved, it’s just the cat, and as you open the front door the sky is clear,
the thunder and lightning has washed away all the damp and damp dull colours.
Everything is technicolour.
You
need shades, everything is big and bold and bright. Your mood lifts, why can’t
every day be like this. Then you remember that poem you hated at school, the
Wordsworth one, Into every life some darkness must fall.
Talking
to Strangers ©
By
Michael Casey
I was
talking to a stranger today, I know your mum always says don’t talk to
strangers and it is wise advice for children. But it’s one of my bad habits,
but I had to talk to this person, luckily for her it was just over the phone.
Could you stand looking at me for an hour? I can hear the comments coming
through the screen. You are so unkind, call yourselves my readers, I may just
sulk and stop writing. But you know I won’t, it’s the only thing I can do, and
the only thing I’m good at. Ok, apart from Farting, but you cannot put farting
down on a CV, as specialist subject. I know we all used to have farting
competitions when we were young, or were you too posh to fart. Try eating Heinz
beans with eggs in, a double whammy of fart potential. My brother introduced
his fellow students to it when he was at Downing Cambridge. What did you do at
University? Oh, I introduced farting to Downing College, via Heinz beans with
eggs in. I also got a degree.
So now
I’m explaining farting to my readers in 60 countries, you must all think I’m so
vulgar, but it does at least save on central heating. But don’t light any farts
with a cigarette, and yes I must confess we did try it once in the empty office
when it was being refurbed in the 1980s. Meanwhile Flash as we used to call
him, he fell asleep on the toilet during a night shift. Then he dropped his
cigarette and set fire to his trousers.
Meanwhile
what I really wanted to talk about was talking to strangers, that’s if the
smell of farts doesn’t drive them away. It was on the news tonight how people
can feel lonely or isolated, so they suggested a bus journey. The 3 lonely
people had a pet dog each, and they did a test where people spoke and did not
speak. Obviously a dog is a talking point, and obviously too speaking really
does lift mood. It’s today’s society where people look down at their phones and
are cocooned by their buds and their music, so a full bus can be bus full of
lonely people. Listen to the Beatles Eleanor Rigby right now instead of reading
this, but do come back, as I’ll get lonely if you all abandon me for the
Beatles. And did I tell you that John Lennon was one of our lodgers, but that’s
another story.
In my
time at CPNEC Birmingham my job was to say hello to anybody that came into the
hotel. I gave them 30 seconds and then I gave them the big hello. That was my
job, maybe 100,000 people got the big hello, I was actually much praised, “the
best thing about the hotel is you” was one of the many positive comments. We
were the friendly hotel, me, Roger and Jim were the welcoming committee and the
rest was History. And when Iwasn’t doing that I was doing 10 other roles, Roger
counted them once.
Over at
another hotel our boss stood there for 20 mins before anybody approached him,
that was the difference, 30 seconds v 20 mins. Hello to Jonathan Walker if ever
he reads this, yes it’s me, please buy all 18 books, my girls are all grown up
now, just as yours are.
Talking
is good, it relaxes us, it makes us happy, a problem shared is a problem
halved, Tell the Truth and Shame the Devil as my mum used to say. You can
confess to somebody on a train, and then you will never see them again,
Confession for non-Catholics if you like. Bottling things up does lead to
illness mental and physical, so Spit it Out. And then with the burden lifted
from your shoulders you start again. Every day is a new beginning.
Obviously
when I get on a bus people Manspread, or stretch so that old fat silver haired
writer in shades from Birmingham England cannot sit anywhere near them. But I
know how to hang from a pole, I was a pole dancer in my past, did I not mention
it before, maybe I’ll write about it tomorrow. So I’ll dangle from a pole and
talk to anybody, the bus driver does love me after all, because riff raff don’t
get on his bus, when they see me there, they decide to walk instead. It’s
Michael Casey, ok we’ll walk instead it’s only 18 stops. Stuck on a bus with
Casey, I’d rather watch Trump on tv.
On a
serious note, your old mum, your dad, a friend does welcome a phone call, or an
email with a silly photo in. So please ring your old mum or an old friend, make
contact. In daily life say hello to folks in the street, break the ice. People
will actually say, I’m glad you spoke to me. Why are there magazine stands at
train stations, so you can avoid talking to people. I say do the opposite, talk
to somebody, break the ice. You may make a friend for life, or find a husband,
a wife, a lover, any which way. Talking makes us better than stones, than
rocks, you can save a life just by a few kinds words. Even if all you say is
that Michael Casey is such a waste of space, I really hate his words. Though he
is really dishy better than George Clooney any day.
Michael
Casey Pole Dancer ©
By
Michael
Casey
Yes, I
am a Pole Dancer, so don’t be jealous, and ladies don’t be too excited. At
first it was a way of keeping fit, me all alone in the basement swinging from
the pole that held up the ceiling above. It cost me nothing and it kept me fit.
Then when I was in the corner shop Lilly fell over on a banana skin, I caught
her and she said I was ever so strong. Where did you did you get your muscles
from, I said from a sale on Amazon, Lilly laughed and hit me with her walking
stick. Lilly is 89 you see, but she lies about her age and says she is 100,
that way she gets free stuff. Her Pension is not enough, so by lying about her
age she adds to her cupboard instead of being an old mother Hubbard.
Her granddaughter
or is it great granddaugher intervened and prevented any more battering. So
Louise followed me home and took a look at my bruise, she then slapped on a
plaster and said grannie was right you are so full of muscles. Please tell me
where you got them from. So I confessed to being a Pole dancer in the cellar,
using the pole that held the ceiling up as my exercise tool.
Louise
insisted on seeing my Pole. Then she said go on, do it. So I stripped to my
Yfronts and my string vest and my socks and began to swing. I forgot to say
Louise works in the local Primark, so she’s used to seeing people strip off and
try things on. Nobody would try anything on with Louise as she trains with 7th
Dan Moses at the local Judo school. So there I was swinging from my Pole.
Louise was quite impressed, and she actually quite excited, it must have been
the sight of my 18stones or 252 pound body moving fluidly around a Pole. Up and
down and around and around. In the end it was too much for here so she went
upstairs for a glass of water.
The
next day she brought a friend, Mandy was her name, and they asked could the
have the use of my Pole. I agreed of course. Mandy also does Judo with 7th
Dan Moses, so how could I refuse. But they did make me an offer I could not
refuse. They would bake for me. So I couldn’t say Bake Off to them. In fact
their mince pies nearly turned my head, and went straight to my thighs, so much
so I had to do an extra 10 mins before bedtime.
So it
continued, I had food and drinks left on my kitchen table while down below
ladies used my pole. In the end I didn’t need to go shopping as the ladies
using my pole filled my cupboard. In the end it was later and later before I
could do my own pole exercise routine. I’d been watching the gymnastics and had
picked up a trick or two. Moulin Rouge had been on the telly again so that
inspired me again.
It was
so late that I had decided to do my pole routine naked and then I’d shower and
go straight to bed. Only life is strange, and as I was working out on pole with
the soundtrack to Moulin Rouge playing on my old cassette player, I did not
notice a group of ladies sneak in. Lilly and Mandy were trying to persuade
their friends that pole dancing was really good for keeping the figure trim. In
fact it was nearly the entire ladies Judo team, Midlands Division. They had
popped in for a quick look and I hadn’t locked the front door, so they were
able to slip in. If you have that many Judo people visit you and our pole you
feel safe.
The
girls were amazed, and when they saw all my scars, first from my ankle bones to
my naughty bits, then down my entire chest, they were overwhelmed. And it takes
a lot to overwhelm a Ladies Judo expert, Midlands Division. The sight of my
tight big fat buttocks, made them gasp too, ok one had to go puke in the front
garden. One of them could not resist temptation and live streamed it. So I was
all over the Internet, me and my fat arse, and glorious scars.
I
stopped and did not know what to say, then I said the obvious, I hope somebody
brings some Stella tomorrow. I’m here already, said a voice from the back. It
was a beautiful girl. I meant Stella Artois I mumbled. I’ll bring the Stella
Artois tomorrow said Stella. We all laughed. I walked through the crowd, Stella
slapped my bum, it was just too much temptation for her.
Overnight
I was an Internet sensation, and in the morning Stella brought the Stella
Artois. Then she stripped and practised her pole dancing. It was only fair
after all. And that is how me and Stella got together. Naked pole dancing
together with Stella, Stella Artois afterwards.
Defenceless
Little Old Lady ©
By
Michael
Casey
Miss
Hannigan was very nice little old lady, she was forever carrying her two red
leather shopping bags back and forth as she went to the shops. She had a nice
little pension and had never married, as no man was good enough, she always
said with a faraway look in her eye. There been admirers, but that was another
story that was too painful to go into. But now she was as regular as clockwork,
thanks to the prunes, and she kept the same schedule. She could afford Ocado to
come and deliver, and sometimes did, they were very nice delivery boys after
all, but she liked human contact in the shops so she went shopping with her two
red leather shopping bags.
Miss
Hannigan knew everybody and everybody knew Miss Hannigan, she went shopping
every day so of course the knew her. She didn’t go shopping on Sunday of
course, Sundays were for church and choir, she played the piano in the church
hall. Her voice was very very loud too, her past made her voice loud. You see
Miss Hannigan had been a teacher all her life, so she knew how to shout and
sing loudly. Then when Annie had been on tv the kids all began to sing back, We
Love You Miss Hannigan, and they really did despite all the rigours of
teaching. Miss Hannigan taught English, so when a weekly test was finished the
kids all sung, We Love You Miss Hannigan, and then burst out laughing.
So Miss
Hannigan had had a nice life, she’s had 1000s of children, though secretly
she’d have loved one of her very own, so she could tell her own child just how
special they were to her. Now the thing about routine is that it is the best
way and the safest way to run your life, you don’t forget where you left your
keys or where your underpants are, because they are always in the same place.
Covering your bum, or on the 2nd shelf in the wardrobe, or in the
washing machine on steam clean.
There
are bad people in this world, opportunists who will take advantage of you, like
Politicians who refuse to debate, because they think everything is in the bag,
and don’t want to let any cats out of the bag. In Miss Hannigan’s case there
was a very naughty boy who’d seen her walking by every day as he sat in his car
smoking his skunk. Skunk stinks, and is a very stupid thing to do. But Skunk is
a bad habit unlike Miss Hannigan’s good habits, about knowing where her pants
or keys were at any given time. So over time and the haze of Skunk, the naughty
boy thought it might be a good idea to steal from Miss Hannigan.
Miss
Hannigan was carrying two full loads of shopping in her shopping bags, it was
all kinds of everything. She was walking a bit slower than usual as she’d hurt
her leg, in fact she’s borrowed a stick from Mr Malik who said keep it. She had
taught his children and grandchildren after all. The Skunk user thought this
was his chance, he’d steal her purse, she must be rich she went to the shop
every day, though really it was to keep loneliness at bay. So the Skunk crept
up on her. Miss Hannigan BEHIND YOU, generations of kids would scream,We Love
You Miss Hannigan, LOOK OUT.
The
wind saved Miss Hannigan, she farted you see, Heinz baked beans was her weakness,
they are good for your heart, ask your doctor, even if he holds his nose as he
replied. As she looked around to see if anybody had heard her let rip, then she
spotted and smelt the Skunk. She had always told the children that a bully must
be faced down, so she stopped and dropped her 2 shopping bags, deliberately ,
so that the contents poured out in front of her. Then she screamed as only a
teacher can scream, the Skunk laughed, nobody will hear you, you are too far
away from the shops.
Miss Hannigan
pressed her Fitbit, the Skunk laughed again, that won’t help you, you old
bitch. He’d obviously been to the wrong kind of school. Little did he know, it
was not a Fitbit, Mr Malik’s grandson was very big in Tech, it was in fact a
personal alarm. Miss Hannigan took a deep breath, looked like she was all
alone. Then she cast off her coat, she was there in her pink woolly jumper. It
was a leaving present, it had WE LOVE YOU MISS HANNIGAN embroidered on it. The
Skunk laughed.
Miss
Hannigan grasped her walking stick, then using the contents of her shopping bag
as ammunition she let rip, she farted first, then she used Malik’s stick as a
hockey stick. FIRE, fire one, fire two, fire three, fire four, fire five. She
had not only been the English teacher, she also taught HOCKEY. The Skunk was
sunk, hen was battered and clattered with tins of this and that, with potatoes,
carrots, a cabbage and a lettuce, she even hooked a box of free range eggs and
the had a doze yolk on him.
By now
from a distance the cavalry were coming, the cavalry were coming, generations
of children came running, a child will never forget it’s teachers voice. So
they all came running. The Fitbit was connected to many Iphones too. Mr Malik’s
grandson jumped into his Rolls Royce and floored it. A Council meeting was
interrupted too, the Lord Mayor in all his regalia came running, the number 92
bus which was always late, just flew. Miss Hannigan was in trouble, they must
come, NOW, just as she used to say to them in school, NOW MEANS NOW.
In the
distance the Police were coming too, no flashing lights, just clip and clop,
but very fast clip and clop. You see Sgt. Dixon was on horse duty and his phone
picked up the FitBit alert, there were three other officers on horseback too.
They were the four horsemen of the apocalypse as far as the Skunk was
concerned. An American tourist happened to be in the local park and filmed and
followed on his roller skates.
There
was flour in the air, as Miss Hannigan had not stopped firing until everything
she had was launched against her would be attacker. Miss Hannigan, Miss
Hannigan her children all shouted, hoping she was safe. Malik’s Rolls screamed
to a halt. The Lord Mayor arrived, classroom fulls of people arrived. There was
one late arrival, hairy Amjit the Alsation dog had ran 5 miles, then just leapt
teeth first onto the Stunk.
Four
Police horses arrived and backed the Stunk into a corner, dribbling spit all
over the stunk. The American tourist filmed it all.
The
Stunk was arrested, and as he sat on a bench waiting for a Police van to take
him to jail, the Police Horses had the final say. You see running always makes
a horse want to pooh.So all four poohed on the Skunk, so everything came up
roses. Everybody sung We Love you Miss Hannigan, over and over again. They were
so relieved, they would knit a new jumper for Miss Hannigan as hers had got a
bit battered rather like the Skunk in all the excitement. Miss Hannigan had
never had a child of her own, but as far as all these generations of children
were concerned, they loved her like a mother.
Hiding
The Fat ©
By
Michael
Casey
I just
looked out the window 30 seconds ago and I was wondering what to write about, I
mean talk about today when I spotted a fat girl bulging out of her clothes. She
may or may not have been pregnant, you wouldn’t want to ask just in case she
was just fat. Now 1/2 my audience may hate me already, I think half do already,
so is that 3/4s hating me now, you can do the Maths for yourselves. That’s the
trouble with words you cannot say anything or the Snowflakes will be upset. A
reality is a reality, so let this big guy through to the toilets, ok I’m just a
fatso, so there to you too.
When
you are fat you tend to try and hide it. I have a big bum, but it’s behind me,
so it’s not a problem for me. But if you are in a scrum then that might be a
totally different situation, as your head is nearly up my bum as the ball is
thrown in. So perhaps you shouldn’t play rugby with me. And why are rugby
players’ balls bigger than football players’ balls, because they sell more
tickets. Or it could be that they need to buy more shampoo after their heads
have been up each other’s bums in the scrums. Which reminds me there was a book
called The Art of Course Rugby, I read it 50 years ago maybe, if you can track
it down it is very very funny. And no there is no mention of the best shampoo
to use after your head has been up somebody’s bum in the scrum.
But
enough of my formative years in the 1970s, what about the fat girl outside?
Tight clothes reveal all, cyclists beware, so if you are fat everything will be
on show and cling filmed against your body. If you are happy then that’s fine.
But if you don’t want folks to say, she’s so fat, even if they say it under
their breath then, by having looser fitting clothes , or a scarf or a shawl you
can disguise yourself. I can feel the anger mounting as I talk to you. All
these methods you big girls know already. And yes if anybody dares to upset my
stick insect girls, I’d throw a hissy fit like in White Chicks. I might even
climb up on desk and get my kit off and shake my fat hairy ass, that would
certainly distract attention away from their awful evil vile comments about my
Princesses, the fruits of my loins. A dad will do anything to protect his
girls, even baring his fat hairy ass.
Some
girls have big chests, others have padded bras. Some are shy about their
assets, some are not. This is where let it all hang out, or strap it down or
cover it up comes in. It’s up to everybody to decide, what their style is.
Temptation or the Nun look. We all have personal choice. I am of course the
buttoned up look, I used to wear shirt and tie for years like a member of
Status Quo with my jeans too. All men are bastards as we girls know, so you
have to decide what’s appropriate on where you are going.
As for
myself if I open a button or two all my new regrown chest hair is exposed. It’s
taken 4 years to get back to full growth. You lie on a bed semi naked and a
nurse shaves your chest, and then both legs from the ankle to your naughty
bits, then they cut you open and do an unplanned quadruple heart bypass.
Without the surgery bit in a different setting it could be called erotic or
even kinky, what you get up to in your own bedrooms is up to you.
So you
can imagine, should I open my shirt and reveal my hairy 46inch chest, with my
bulging belly below, with my pirate, not pilotes, pirate scar in its full 12
inch glory, with my chest hair adorning it like Japanese Knotweed, or should I
cover myself up like a blushing virgin. The answer came to me, or rather the
gales of laugher, and one person puking all over my pirate scar. Though that’s
how I met Betty a nurse who led me away to the car wash and told me to clean
myself, then she make me give her dad 2 quid for the use of his brushes.
But
nevertheless Betty and me became bosom friends, and she has no scars on hers,
she told me, how else would I know? Which brings me back to the behind. We
don’t see it, but it is a most useful thing. If you wear tight, skin tight
clothes you can really drive the boys wild, so obviously I always wear loose
fitting trousers. I’m too old to be chased down the street, and the last boy
that tried to pinch my bum I threw him into the fountain at Victoria Square
Birmingham. You see in the dark, with my short jacket on all that you notice is
my tight 46inch bum, which is too much temptation to some boys. Though when I
spin around and they see my face, and my rugged good looks, they do get a
fright, and some get such a shock they go of and join the French Foreign
Legion.
So
don’t mock me for my looks, I just try and wear the right clothes at the right
time, something for every occasion. My bum is the same as Donald Trump’s look
closely and you will agree, so have pity on me. If ever I end up in a Finnish
Sauna all I can do is try and wear the right shade of lipstick, and then
everything is based on the size of my personality, because when you lie down
naked in the dark, all you have is your personality and see how that fits.
Belgium Man, Belgium
As you know, BELGIUM is the worse curse word on
Earth, if you don't believe me then go and read The Hitchiker's Guide to the
Universe, I can remember hearing it on the Radio, decades ago.
So why should anybody in Belgium read me, there is
the European Union and Nato headquarters there. So are the Europeans so sick of
Brexit that they read me instead, or is it just a stray journalist, like
a sheep dog escaped and mating with the local Alsatian. WALOOOOOOOONs they
might howl.
Or is it Jim Mathis asking his old friends at Nato
to keep an eye on Casey, I doubt if I've corrupted more officers higher up the
scambled egg chain. Scrambled egg is the slang for all the rankings marked on
shoulders of uniform. Though one Private did have a waitress dump food all over
him, he was nearly saluted to death by all the men, as the scrambled egg
and tomatoes on his shoulders increased his rank to General in special
services, though obviously not silver sevices. The private did present his
privates to the waitress and they went and had 13 children and formed an army
of their own.
Belgium Man, BELGIUM
By Michael Casey
You'll be in the glass house for a year if you say
that again to Mathis. Though he is retired now
and has joined a
tribute band, singing Johnny Mathis songs, he kept all his uniforms so he
didn't need to change anything. It's all over his kit. J. Mathis, perfect. He
is such a crooner, Bing Crosby would try and kill him, he'd be so jealous. And
we all know how that would end.
There is chocolate in Belgium too, though nobody
sends any to me. You just sit there in the cafes and by the canal and have your
nice beer, very nice beer, Stella Artois,and you never send any to me, not even
a selfie of the Press Pack, with General Mathis singing like the Rat Pack.
BELGIUM, man, BELGIUM
so send me Stella, either the girl or the Lager,
you did read my Michael Casey Pole Dancer from the other day? Do keep up, I
don't mean your 14th Stella Artois in 2 hours, are you journalists or a bunch
of school girls? Let me put my glasses on, why are you all dressed up like
Japanese school girls?
Because you did not get invited to Osaka with
Trump, so you decided to dress in women's clothing and pretend you were there,
while you stayed in Belgium.
BELGIUM MAN,BELGIUM
well I'll finish now, I have to shave my legs and
slip into my cocktail dress and Japanese wig, If you can't beat them, then join
them. Or was that another Beer Commercial?
Scrabble
Vendetta ©
By
Michael
Casey
The
Media Scrum out Saint Patrick’s wasn’t going to go away, in fact it would grow
and grow, the Media would have to take over the Windmill Pub next door such was
the amount of Media attention. Big Sid the butcher was on the operating table
over the road and inside the church Mrs Murphy one of those whose lives he
saved was Praying at Warp Factor 9. Forget about not mixing matter and
antimatter, she might be inside the church but her soul was at the very gates
of Heaven screaming her supplications, as well as Daughters of the Rosary the
world over.
Outside
hairy Amjit the Alsation was licking the wounds of Jesus on the cross, this was
his prayer begging and pining that Big Sid the Butcher should live. Mrs Kemp
had arrived at the church too. Who are you the Press demanded to know. I’m the
Grandmother of the pregnant hostage. But you cannot be, Mrs Murphy inside
Praying like a Devil is the grandmother. Said one lazy reporter from the Daily
Fuzz, he certainly was not a hot reporter. SHE is the Irish Grandmother, I am
the English Grandmother, it was MY daughter held hostage, but OUR grandchild
was in danger too, as was OUR unborn grandchild. She then stamped on his toe
with her shoe.
Sky
reporter went live, and the Daily Fuzz was pushed to the back of the crowd of
journalists, it was like a shark feeding frenzy. Mrs Kemp explained again, and
then extreme zoom, what do you think of the Post Office raiders. The Director
had his finger on the bleep button. What do I think of those men, those excuse
for men, they are not even men, not even little boys. They dare come to our
community, and threaten the Saintly Mrs Murphy, and MY daughter and MY
grandchild, and MY unborn grandchild. Well I think there is only one solution.
And what exactly is that Mrs Kemp, asked Kay Burley from the Sky Studio. I’m
going to feed their balls to my cat, that’s if they have any.
The
Press exploded, Mrs Kemp continued, My Husband is a Freemason I’ll have you
know. I don’t know what he does at his Lodge, but whenever he makes a Promise
he keeps it. My husband has promised me their balls, so they can hide in Prison
but my Husband will deliver. I will have their balls and feed them top my cat.
The
Press pack exploded. And is there anything else you would like to say asked Kay
from Sky. There are A, asses, B they are beasts, C they are clowns, D they are
dunces, E they are Eejits if I can borrow a word from the saintly Mrs Murphy, F
they are. Kay interrupted just in case.Then she interviewed the next guest, The
World Scrabble competition was on, and England had lost two from the squad due
to food poisoning, so the French were already gloating.
The
French team captain, was so very smug. Maybe that lady could join the team as a
standin, she at least knows her alphabet. Kay was inwardly livid, but ever the
professional she linked back to the Scrum.
The
French team captain for the world Scrabble championship was wondering would you
like to join England’s team as a late replacement. Mrs Kemp smiled sweetly, I
haven’t played in years, but if England expects, then I’ll do my duty. The
England captain knew he hadn’t a hope in hell having lost his 2 best players,
so he said ok,if the French did not object to a late replacement.
So it
was all decided. A little light relief after all the dangers in the Post
Office. As Kay finished the interview, the French captain moaned his interview
had been cut short to cover a nothing butcher, brawn beating brain. Mrs Kemp
still had the earpiece provided by Sky, I’ll have his balls too was his reply.
Only Kay at Sky heard this,but there was something in Mrs Kemp’s voice that
made Kay’s eyes light up with delight. She then rung her friend Peter Bets at
Sky sports. You have to cover the Scrabble Championship live Kay purred. Why
asked Peter? Just Woman’s intuition said Kay smiling.
Now the
French team captain thought Mrs Kemp was just a boring housewife, the housewife
bit was true. But Mrs Kemp had a past, a very large past, thousands of pages
long. No she wasn’t a slapper, but her past covered thousands and thousands of
pages. No she wasn’t a girlie magazine model either, but the French man’s jaw
would drop, zut alors.
The day
of the Scrabble World Championship arrived, Kay had friends around for beer and
chips. She had looked up Mrs Kemp and her intuition had been spot on. Mrs Kemp
apologised because she’s not played in years, she was a bit rusty,but she would
do her best.Sky had put the championship on Sky Sport 69, Man U were playing
Chelsea, so all the channels were playing variants of that.Then there was an
act of God, like rain at Trump’s parade on July 4th.The floodlights
were on the blink. So the match was abandoned,all the local pubs heaved with
football supporters.
And
that’s how you got 80,000 football fans rooting for Scrabble. Kay refused to
tell her friends what she knew,Andrew even offeredto vacuum and do the washing
up, but NO. Just watch. Mrs Kemp loosen the buttons on her blouse, she was a
mature woman, but everything was still in full working order. She loosen
another button. The studio lights were so hot after all. Football supporters in
the pubs cheered and jeered, show us your hits miss they sung.
Then
Mrs Kemp showed the French what she was made of. Short words, long words,
strange words, backward and forwards. Kay smiled, then she relented,she
whispered in Andrew’s ear. Andrew stood up and did a Flamenco step,this would
teach the French. The studio lights were so very hot, the studio manager was
told to dash next door to the Flaming Pie. He came back with a tray of Stella
Artois. Mrs Kemp knocked hers back in one go. She spilled some on her blouse,
she she stood and took it off. Uproar in all the bars. She was there in all her
glory in a red bra, one her husband had recently given her, Freemasons are not
stupid after all.
Mrs
Kemp looked the French captain in the eye, my attire does not frighten you does
it, you have seen a woman in red before? And on they played, more words, long
and short and extended. Mrs Kemp was toying with him. The French were like
children in a playpen playing with building blocks with letters on. Mrs Kemp
was getting bored, not enough challenge. So she decided to construct long and
strange an bizarre words. Just for her own intellectual amusement.
Foul
cried the French, she’s cheating, no such word exists. Page 278, section 1b ,
subsection 12. In bold.Smiled Mrs Kemp. Dodds Dictionary 1934. The computer
scanned and there it was. She must have an earpiece or some way of cheating
stammered the French captain. Mrs Kemp stood up and removed her bra, shall I
remove everything so you an search me. Then she put her bra back on. It was a
Graduate moment.
Beer
was spilt all over the country and everybody phoned a friend and shouted put
Sky 69 on. Mrs Kemp smiled again, he was but a little boy. The Frenchman cursed
her in French. Mrs Kemp replied in the worse filthiest French imaginable. She
spent not one but two years in Marseilles in her university days. The French
captain blushed, in fact he turned into a Pillar box. The floor manager was
sent out for wine this time, as Mrs Kemp said the French were whining for wine.
Why
don’t we have a bet on the side suggested the French captain. A crate of the 48
would be nice said Mrs Kemp,she did know her booze after all. Agreed. Then the
French captain tried to rile her, who is this Big Sid anyway, I love Big Sid is
everywhere, is England GAY?
England
stopped, nobody could or should say that. Sky rung the Police to get a safe
escort for the French team once the competition was over. The studio manager
pointed and a video clip was played. CCTV of the Post Office and Big Sid saving
everybody. This is an Englishman said Mrs Kemp, and he has done his duty.
She was
enraged, she stormed up and down and around and backwards and forwards the
Scrabble board. Some words had not been used is 360 years,God alone, literally
knew what they mean.But tonight God was on Mrs Kemp’s side. For God and England
and Big Sid.
The
French were put through the Mangle, and yes for pure spite Mrs Kemp put mangle
down as her last word. Applause all over the country. Then a lot of shouting, a
Frenchman on his Tour de France bike arrived, he wore a spangled beret and a
Tee shirt that read J’adore Big Sid.
It was
Joules the French cultural attache,Mes Excuse, he bowed as low as a Japanese
apology. This man does not represent the French. Of course you will get your
wine too, the 1848 you mean. The 1948 I would not clean my bicycle with. Mrs
Kemp gave him a hug, her bra came off and he had to hold up his beret to cover
her embarrassment.
Then
Mrs Kemp explained Kay and Andrew cheering on, you see my married name is Mrs
Kemp. But I did stuck English and European languages, I am actually a Dr of
Letters, but I never tell anybody in case they think I’m a medical doctor and
want me to look at their bum. Though the French Scrabble captain had been
kicked the bum , metaphorically speaking, and might perhaps need the attention
of a medical doctor.
There
was one other thing, Mrs Kemp was descended from14 Generations of Dictionary
and Encyclopaedia compilers. The French captain didn’t stand a chance. The
French cultural attache now he really was a gentleman, a very gay gentleman.
What
makes us who we are? ©
By
Michael
Casey
Well I
was going to write Tinnitus and Phlegm but this idea boiled over so you are
getting that instead. Why did I chose “boiled over” well our kettle broke last
night, in fact it could have badly burned one of us. The handle broke as I was
having a late night drink, so luckily it was me and not one of the girls. So I
have ordered a new kettle to replace it. As my dad used to say, if you buy
rubbish you end up buying twice. I could talk for a page on the subject of
Kettles, but you can do that for yourself. If you find Just a Minute on the BBC
World Service you’ll have fun listening to the folks on that show, they talk
about everything maybe they are my Spiritual Godparents. Or then again them I
am just an unloved Bastard, you’ll have to decide that for yourselves.
So what
does make us who we are? Well love does play a part, too much or none at all
affects indeed creates our character. I was of course the 5th of 6th children,
and the family Pet till a final little sister arrived. I’ve turned into the
chronicaler of events in the family and otherwise a general writer, marching my
words over the page and invading your minds.
So what
makes me me and you you. Obviously I am much prettier than you, well apart from
on my Passport photo, there I look like a Criminal or a Jailor or even a
Torturer. Ask the guy at Passport control, he laughed so much, I nearly spanked
him with a rolled up copy of Trump’s book on Humility. It’s a 2 page book, with
Trump’s photo and one line, I’m so Humble, even God asks for my autograph. But
I controlled myself and smiled at the guy at Charles de Gaulle airport, now
that really really scared him.
I’m
going off topic now, but that’s my gift, if you stumble over me, you soon
forget what you were supposed to be doing. So I’m therapeutic, though some may
say I’m just pathetic, but those are the ones I’ll stop praying for. If you
tell somebody you’ll stop praying for them it does tend to confuse them.
Confusion is a gift, it slows things down and then you get them to do what you
want them to do.
What
other traits do you have? Your smile, those come to bed eyes, though as you are
an Undertaker your come to bed eyes, may mean Eternal Rest. Not Creation,
though Undertakers do tend to be very happy people, otherwise they’d get
Depression with all the sad people surrounding them on a daily basis. In
general a smile breaks the ice, and can lead to friendship and love. But do
make sure you brush those teeth first. This morning’s Breakfast is not the best
view, so brush those teeth.
Then
there is your hair, do you have it this way or that, or are you a through the
bush kind of person. You haven’t combed your hair in weeks, there is a reporter
on the tv with that look, and no I don’t mean Peston, somebody else.
First
impressions do count. When you are having that interview, within 15 seconds
people have an opinion of you. If you look like a tramp in a suit, or skirt and
blouse, then your chances are blow, just because you failed to go to the toilet
before your interview. Look in the mirror before the interview. Is your hair
tidy, is there breakfast on your teeth or down your shirt. Is the zip open or
closed, you are looking for a new job, not a Love Island conquest. So keep it
closed. If you are a girl, be professional, don’t have too much on show, not
unless you want a job in a Lap Dancing Club.
There
are many things that make us, our style of clothing, are we a talker or a
listener. He’s just a suit, but no brains. She’s all cleavage, no brains.
Obviously I have a brain, you are all so cruel I heard the laughter in
Lithuanian, and from the Moscow too, you are so cruel, I’ll put you in a story,
you just wait I will. Whatever we are good at we have to promote it. And we
have to balance it with the situation.
So when
you see me dressed as a woman with my cleavage out, please do not squeeze my
derriere, I’m dressed as a woman for a reason. It’s free entrance and free
drinks all night for us girls. I can see my Russian readers hurry to the
closet, to try and find granma’s clothes. Free vodka all night is worth
dressing up like a Babushka. Which brings us to character. This is the most
important thing of all. Are you honest or brave, or quick witted?
Can you
react fast? If you work in hotel or a hospital then you can really be tested at
short notice. It does not matter a damn if you are so so sexy, like me
obviously, or if you brain is the size of my backside, or if your backside is
so so tempting, not mine but any girl’s or boy’s even depending one who is
looking. Or if you speaking 14 languages, or if all you can say is
(*^&&^, or any form of cursing.
What
matters is how you are in a crisis. My Moscow friends no doubt as they read The
Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker as they are doing at the moment, know
this.Well imagine they are in drag getting the free vodka, and then bandits
arrive, what would they do? Would they sneak off like little girls? They are
very big girls in drag after all. What would Ichi, Dizchi and Gregorgi do? Well
I’ll let them tell you for themselves when they get home to Moscow.
Let’s
just say, you never squeeze a Moscow boy’s bum even if he is in drag. Obviously
Ichi, Dischi and Gregorgi will take out the 6 bandits while still holding a
glass of vodka in one hand. They guard the car park outside the British Embassy
in Moscow, and it was the Cultural attache there who told them about Ben’s Bar
Birmingham. And Cultural Exchange is always a good thing.
So I
hope you have some idea about what makes us all special, and I hope we can all
drink in peace to that.
Who is
this Michael Casey Anyway? ©
By
Michael
Casey
If you
have seen Carry On Up the Khyber from 1968 maybe then you may understand me
better. So find the film on Utube and then come back to me. My writing has lots
of influences and variants all mixed in, as well as just plain old daftness.
Google Ken Dodd and The Two Ronnies, and Around the Horne and Kenny Everett,
Tom Sharpe books too, with Don Camillo as well. Add salt and shake well and
have a few pints of Stella Artois too and then you’ll begin to understand.
Though some people in my local stores just think it’s that fat fool again, and
ever so glad he’s left the shop again. They don’t want to listen and don’t know
which tangent I’m referring to.
So I
was wondering how do my 60 Nationalities understand me, or tolerate me, and
when they are reading The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker in 7 different
languages on the same day, or my stuff in English, what are they thinking? Or
do they wish I’d go back to where I came from and play a round of golf with
Donald Trump instead, instead of polluting their minds in their countries with
my rubbish.
Why I
this Michael Casey always wearing women’s clothing, should we send him an email
offering clothes at a discount from Aunty Sally’s shop in Saudi, or maybe give
him a discount from Mighty Mary’s clothing store in Morroco? Why does he boast
that he is a bigger bum than Trump, or is there a hidden meaning in what he is
saying?
Why is
he always looking for a Korean Kpop girl to come and type for him, is he so
poor he cannot afford a speed typist or a legal secretary. 48 hours over 12
weeks to write Tears for a Butcher sequel? Or is he just addicted to Kdrama, is
he some form of TV addict. Should his mother throw a bucket of ice cold water
over him and tell him to Go Outside this Fine Day and play.
But
instead what does he do? This Michael Casey just removes his clothes and
streaks all around his neighbourhood, frightening the neighbours, or maybe they
just laugh at his lack of accomplishments, and grown men are jealous or is it
worried. How would I know I’m just a reader, and thank God this is Radio not
TV, or I’d have to borrow that bucket that the ice cold water was thrown from
by his mother. But I’d be puking into it, the sight of his tight fat fair bum
would overwhelm me, I’d just puke. Though I would have to lock up my daughters
of marriageable age, Mad Dogs and Englishmen showing their bum in the Midday
Sun, would turn their heads, and I’d never want Michael Casey as part of my
family. Though I do know a Korean Kpop girl who might be interested, I’m joking
now, it would be like Beauty and the Beast, which would be an even more
improbable Kdrama in itself.
Improbable
that sums up Michael Casey, think of a number, add the number of brothers and
sisters you have, divide by 4 and add 3 and then you have the number you first
thought of. And if Michael Casey could remember that puzzle from 50 years ago,
then you really would be impressed. But you are not, because he always
disappoints, a bit like a boyfriend who’s being talking in Metric and like any
English girl you want feet and inches. And I’m talking about the size of his
extension.
This
Michael Casey, and you should all be speaking in a fake Indian accent like in
Carry On Up the Khyber throughout as you read this, this Mr Michael Casey he
leads you this way but takes you that way, rather like a very bad or drunk
dancer. You expect this from him, but you get that from him, when really you
wanted the udder, yes you are so very thirsty so you wanted a bit of the udder,
goats milk is so very refreshing after all. He misdirects, like a badly trained
Policeman, points this way but sends you up the garden path, where you meet
Gill with a G from StatsMR, who is this Lady anyway? She is a friend of this
Michael Casey, she lays paths and plants roses, she hangs out with workmen
bringing them tea, English tea in cups, not mugs, because Gill is a Lady. And
Roses do grow on You.
Now
wherever you are in the world reading this I hope it gives you an idea of what
to expect. I do also write A to B stories too, which do go via Z as well, but
blame the taxi driver who cannot read, but in his head he does have 1000
routes. I have 2000+stories down on paper and more in my head, variety is the
spice of life and I hope when you stumble over me and my stories you decide to
come back. I also hope you approve that I support the little guy and the far
from perfect people, because I do believe that the Person is not the Package
their body is held in. The Laughter and Mind and level of Kindness is what
matter, not how cruel people see them. We all belong where we are, and there is
no going back.
Caught
in the Act ©
By
Michael Casey
I had
an idea for a story last night as I lay in bed, I was thinking of Trump, no not
in that way, you’ll have to sign a non-disclosure form if you think that
weirdly. No I was thinking about his RACISM, though no Republicans have any
honour as they have as yet failed to call him out. Remember too, all the
Birther nonsense, remember too my kids are ½ Chinese just as Mr Hunt’s over
here in the UK are. So it is just plain WRONG what is going on. Maybe Twitter
should ban him.
Anyway
the story was going to be a Parable where a white arrogant man nearly gets
killed in a road traffic accident, using his Twitter instead of looking where
he was going. Only an old smelly tramp pushes him out the way, so the tramp
dies. The tramp is well known a fixture in the area. So old Joe is mourned,
much much more than the arrogant guy would be. But the surgeons do their best
and the arrogant man is saved. The surgeon is a Muslim, the nurses are
Catholic, and the assistant surgeon is Jewish, in fact all the faiths patch up
the arrogant man. The cleaners, the janitors have many faiths and none. They
gather at first to pray for old Joe, and they want to curse the arrogant man,
but instead they pray for him, and hope that old Joe goes straight to Heaven
where he’ll always be fed and loved.
Old Joe
arrives in Heaven and thanks the Angels as they wash his feet and dry it with
their hair. Then sweet smelling oils are massaged into old Joe’s feet. Joe says
thank you, and asks the Angels to save the life of the arrogant man who is now
on the operating table, instead of being dead like Old Joe. Old Joe can only
ever say good things about people, in life and now in death.
So the
Angels look down and see the staff praying, so they say they will have a word
with the Boss. Now the arrogant man is tormented in his dreams as he lies on
the operating table, in fact he has a vision of Hell. Nobody will mourn him,
they brownnosed him while he was alive, but nobody would visit him in hospital,
and there would be a funeral with nobody crying a single tear. The arrogant man
is left to recover all alone in a side room, nobody cares for him. Just a
single Black Hospital Visitor comes as stands at the food of his bed. Jesus
loves all of us, even me, even you, I will pray that you recover and become a
humble man in Jesus’s own image. Humble and Respectful, full of love for all
your fellow men, the Black, the White and all Colours in between, for the
Straight and the Gay, for every which way. For God Loves all of us. Then the
Black hospital visitor drew a cross on the forehead of the arrogant man.
The
arrogant man screamed a long and loud scream, as if he was dying in pain. The
surgeons came running. The arrogant man was as scared as a little boy. He
touched me, he touched me he screamed. Who the surgeons asked, a Black man, he
said he was a hospital visitor, the arrogant man pointed at Jose. Jose was a
Latino, Jose pointed at himself. No standing behind you. They looked behind
Jose and there was nobody, only a life size picture of a Black man, a Black
hospital visitor. It was a picture of San Martin de Porres. Jose had put it on
the wall, as the room was so bare.
Him,
him he was standing over me, he drew a cross on my forehead. The Muslim surgeon
and the Jewish surgeon looked at the Catholic nurses, and others who had come
running in answer to the arrogant man’s screams. Well it seems not only have
you got the best medical attention on Earth, but also the best in Heaven. And
knowing Old Joe as we do, we are sure he asked San Martin de Porres to try and
get you into Heaven, but first to fix you here on earth.
The
arrogant man was in hospital for weeks, no earthly visitors, just a Black man
who came and talked to him every night. San Martin de Porres was known for his
gentleness. If it had been Padre Pio, maybe he’d have boxed the arrogant man’s
ears just like Don Camillo. Luckily the arrogant man had San Martin de Porres
visit. The arrogant man became best friends with Jose, the cleaners and the
janitors who passed by his bed. When he left hospital he was a changed man, no
more the arrogant man, but a humble man.
I set
off with one story and I ended up writing this one, the original one more or
less. So God really does work in mysterious ways. And yes Trump is the arrogant
man, so perhaps we should Pray for him, to Change and become a better man, and
a much better President, for God knows the World deserves better. And I naively
hope if just one of my stories could touch a frozen heart I really wish this
could be that story.
Lech,
Boris and Gregorgi Chase a Thief ©
By
Michael
Casey
Popaloffoff
is the name of Lech, Boris and Gregorgi’s home village, where Poland, Ukraine
and Russia make love on the map. It minds its own business and likes it when
others do the same. It does not matter is it Polish or Ukrainian or even
Russian territory, it’s Popaloffoff through and through. Everybody knows each
other and any of the 3 languages will do. But American dollars are preferred,
that is always best the world over.
The
Priest in Popaloffoff is called Tolstoy, yes really, he always has a Bible story
to tell, it’s up to you the reader to decide which kind of story you prefer, a
Tolstoy epic from the writer, or a Bible story from Tolstoy the Priest. Tolstoy
the Priest always wears rose tinted glasses, not because he poses like a Pop
star, or because the Bible makes him see things differently. But for a far far
tragic reason, you see Tolstoy only has one eye. There was an accident or
should I say incident, Tolstoy lost his eye when he was a young man, a young
priest sent to Popaloffoff to tend the sheep.
Tolstoy
had and still has a fierce Faith, when the tide was turning in the War, the
Nazi bastards were retreating, the people of Popaloffoff feared they would come
and destroy their church, and their village. Anything to destroy the Soul of
the people. Tolstoy said he’s take the Holy Icon out of the church and stand at
the Pass in the mountains and pray that the Evil Nazis went away, went back
from where they came from. So in the middle of Winter Tolstoy stood for 15 days
holding the Holy Icon aloft. Mary Mother of Popaloffoff protect us. And so she
did, Tolstoy lost two toes and 2 fingers due to frostbite, but the village was
saved from the retreating evil. Tolstoy put the icon back in a leather bag and
was still saying the Rosary when he heard a motorbike.
A Nazi
SS man had wanted to see what was at the end of the Pass, so he had taken a
motorbike and went alone to see what was what. Tolstoy spun around, you cannot
pass, this town is under the protection of the Mother Mary, I have her icon
here. The Nazi SS man laughed and drew his dagger. Tolstoy was tired and weak
after the 15 days standing in the snow. So she has her eyes on your nothing
village. YES said a defiant Tolstoy. So if she has her eyes, then you don’t
need yours. Then the Nazi SS man stabbed Tolstoy in his right eye, leaving his
dagger in the socket. Tolstoy screamed, his scream set off an avalanche, the
Nazi was swept from the pass, only his motor bike remained. Tolstoy’s blood
formed a cross in the snow, not an Iron cross, just a Holy Cross.
Tolstoy
took the motorbike and rode down the mountain to the village, they were safe,
the pass was blocked and the retreating Nazi bastards would not bother them.
The Blacksmith in Popaloffoff removed the dagger and used a red hot horseshoe
to cauterise the wound. He did make sure the horseshoe was the right way up, so
the Priest could say it was good luck. And that is why Tolstoy wears rose
tinted glasses, so as not to frighten people with his looks.
The
Icon was returned to the village, and left in a place of honour. As for the
Nazi bastard, the wolves had his body for dinner they are not picky who they
dine on. So life went on in the village, minding its own business, until
Tolstoy was crying from his one eye saying that the Icon was missing. This was
over 70 years later, Tolstoy was still the Priest and though a bit slower, he
was still loved so much. Lech, Boris and Gregorgi came running. Our icon is
missing.
Now let
me try to explain, an icon is not photo of your favourite footballer, or a selfie
of a President and a Dictator, though it can be hard to tell which is which. An
Icon is something you treasure, like a wedding ring, or memories you have of
your mother. It has value thousands or millions of times greater than it’s
worth. As a work of Art and Love and Prayer combined it is in fact Priceless.
In fact some Icons if sold would fetch millions of dollars, and Professional
Criminals use Art of a way of moving money, like Bearers Bonds.
And yes
Popaloffoff’s icon was Priceless and worth many many millions, in fact when
Andrew Graham Dixon, England’s greatest Art Expert happened upon Popaloffoff
when he was on a hiking and food holiday with his Italian friend, he cried for
30 mins nonstop. Tolstoy had to give him a hug and Bless him. Andrew Graham
Dixon was so overwhelmed, when he was allowed to examine it, he wondered about
the blood stains on the back, so Tolstoy explained how he’d lost his eye and
some fingers and toes years before. Andrew Graham Dixon cried even more. Then
his Italian friend shared a recipe with the women of Popaloffoff, then
everybody got blind drunk, if you excuse the expression.
But
now, but now the Holy Icon of Polaloffoff was missing. There had been a bus of
tourists, who had had visited the day before, but they were long gone. That’s
if it were them, but who else could it have been? Mother Mary of Popaloffoff
Speak to Me, Hear my Voice, Hear my Prayer said Tolstoy the Priest, tears still
streaming from his one good eye, as he fell to his knees in the middle of the
square outside their church. Bori, Lech and Gregorgi sunk to their knees
besides him, soon the entire village were on their knees praying. Mother Mary
of Popaloffoff was moved, Tolstoy could hear a quiet voice in his head, I am
always with you. Do not cry, an Icon is nothing, compared to my love.
Tolstoy
shook his head, I know, I know forgive me, but we want you back where you
belong, here in Popaloffoff. Mary smiled, Tolstoy smiled, he’d bring her back
if it was the last thing he did before he died. WE RIDE said Tolstoy as he got
to his feet, Lech, Boris and Gregorgi wondered what he meant. They followed
him, to the shed by the church. Inside was the Nazi’s motorbike, still in mint
condition. There was no time to argue, Lech and Boris sat on the bike with Gregorgi
and Tolstoy squeezed into the sidecar.
As they
roared off they sent a text message to Andrew Graham Dixon, our Lady of
Popaloffoff STOLEN. That’s all it said but they knew he would help. In fact
Andrew Graham Dixon sent a message to every Art Collector he knew, nobody could
attempt selling it on, and if they did Andrew Graham Dixon would know and he
had friends in Interpol. This was Sacrilege, then he cried, before having his
beans on toast, with lobster and a Guinness.
The
trio of cousins did not know where they were going, they were just doing as
their old priest told them. When they got to new main road they stopped. Left
or Right? Tolstoy took off his rose tinted sunglasses and looked to the
Heavens. A tiny voice in his head told him Left, so they went left. The Trio of
Cousins wondered what was going on, but said nothing. On they rode, further and
further away from the village.
They
came across a car with a puncture, so they stopped to help. They had to be good
Samaritans after all. They did not have a jack just a spare tyre, so Lech,
Boris and Gregorgi lifted the car while Tolstoy helped change the tyre. A
family with a baby thanked them, as they were about to go Tolstoy asked had the
baby been baptised. No, was the reply, so on the spot Tolstoy baptised the
baby, with Lech, Boris and Gregorgi as Godfathers. The family were deeply
touched and shouted God Bless You as they rode away.
See a
Blessing, said Tolstoy. But Fate and Evil always rears its ugly head, they were
running out of petrol. They stopped at the side of the road, and what appeared
coming from the opposite direction. A gang of Hells Angels. Tolstoy said, God
is Good, as the Hells Angels approached, but he reached into his boot and
brought out the dagger the SS Nazi had put in his eye. He’d kept the dagger all
those years, now maybe he’s need to use it to defend himself.
The
Hells Angels circled and pulled over besides them, Tolstoy took off his rose
tinted sunglasses. Perhaps they’d be impressed by his scar, they were. One lady
on a bike actually puked. Then the leader of the Hells Angels spoke, Hi I’m
Wayne from Fort Worth, we are on a biking holiday, how can we help. They were
tourists on a trip of a lifetime.
Tolstoy
explained. Son of a Bitch, said the Hells Angels in Unison. Wayne texted his
friend in the FBI, those bastards wouldn’t sell the icon in USA, or his name
wasn’t Wayne Duke Hazzard III. So the Hells Angels said they’d ride with them
part of the way. They had some extra petrol so they’d all be underway. Tolstoy
asked could he ride pillion with somebody as he was a bit cramped in the
sidecar with Gregorgi. So Tolstoy rode with Mary-Beth.
As they
rode Tolstoy asked, did she enjoy being a Hells Angel, she replied it was a bit
of fun at weekends, as they had no children. Tolstoy remarked you have the
breasts for a great mother, Mary-Beth laughed but there was sadness too in her
laughter. So Tolstoy silently prayed for her and all the Hells Angels. Further
up the road they went their separate ways. But first Tolstoy Bless all of Them,
may Our Lady of Popaloffoff protect you. He also showed them a photo of the
icon.
Little
did he know, little did the pretend Hells Angels know, what the future would
bring. And on they rode, Tolstoy listening to the quiet voice in his head which
was leading him to the Icon. It was getting dark, and they would have to stop
for the night. But there was no room at the inn, a Beer Festival was taking
place, so everywhere was booked out. But they were welcome to stop in the hay
loft above cows in the barn.
So they
did, and luckily the cows did not complain about the smell, in their leathers
they’d managed to get very smelly. In the middle of the night there was a
commotion, one of the cows a prize one at that was having difficulty giving birth.
The Inn Keeper came out running in his night shirt. He was so worried for has
Beauty, for that was the name of his cow. Lech, Boris and Gregorgi knew what to
do and they must hurry. So Tolstoy gave them the Nazi’s dagger and they cut the
cow out, before sewing the cow back up again. Blood everywhere, but in fact two
cows were born, one in fact a bull, that’s why the mum was having difficulty.
When the boys had finished the vet finally arrived. He was impressed to say the
least.
The
Innkeeper was delighted and in the morning made breakfast for all 4 of them,
himself. Then Tolstoy said Mass in the carpark for everybody, and everybody
said God Bless, and the cows in all the fields mooed in unison. Lech, Boris and
Gregorgi wondered would they ever catch the Icon thief, but Tolstoy always said
God was Good, and still the little voice in Tolstoys head encouraged him. In
fact the voice was getting stronger, so Our Lady of Popaloffoff Icon was
getting closer to them.
They
continued along the road, and there was nothing but fields, fields and fields.
Then they noticed a sign, Air Strip this way. They stopped the bike, in the
distance was a small aircraft. Fly, Tolstoy Fly was what the old priest could
hear in his head. So the floored the motorbike, went as fast as they could go.
But it was too late, the light aircraft was going to take off.
But
then Luck shone on them, the light aircraft turned around, it was heading
towards them, it had been taxiing to the end of the strip. Now they had a
chance. A chance to play chicken. Lech headed straight for the plane. The pilot
thought he was mad, and so he was. You never steal from Popaloffoff, and never
from a church in Popaloffoff, and Our Lady of Popaloffoff Icon belongs in only
one place, Popaloffoff.
Tolstoy
stood up in the sidecar and took the Nazi dagger from his boot, then he prayed,
guide my hand Mary of Popaloffoff. He threw the dagger into the engine as Lech
passed underneath the light aircraft. 70+ years ago the icon had saved village,
now he would save the icon.
The
plane stopped, and the engine caught fire, luckily they had a fire engine at
the strip. Unlucky for the pilot and his 2 passengers there were Police galore
hiding. All 3 bad guys were arrested. You see Andrew Graham Dixon and Wayne had
both contacted Interpol and the FBI immediately. It turned out Art thieves were
on a road trip, but now it was the end of the road, or rather the end of the
airstrip for them.
So
Tolstoy was reunited with his beloved Icon, and several more were rescued. As
for the dagger, Evil had been turned to good. One of the Policemen knew of a
motor bike museum, so the Nazi’s motor bike was retired too, after it had been
turned from Evil to Good. Then Tolstoy and the boys were given a helicopter
ride home with the icon.
Tolstoy
held the Icon of Mary of Popaloffoff aloft and then sunk to his knees in
praise. It was decided to put a laser alarm around the icon, the strange thing
was though that Tolstoy could walk through the laser without setting it off.
Our Lady of Popaloffoff knew he was a friend after all.
There
was the sound of thunder, coming down the mountain when she comes, singing ai
ai wippy ai ai hey, as she comes. This was 9 months+ later you see Mary-Beth
did have breasts for children. She had twins, and every other biker chick had
had a child too. Mary-Beth liked to ride a bike, but, well, you know. So
Tolstoy baptised all the babies, and Lech, Boris and Gregorgi suddenly had even
more Godchildren. They all had new leather jackets too, on the back was the
image of Our Lady of Popaloffoff with the Logo “Our Lady of Popaloffoff Angels”
Visitors
Day and Hello Belarus ©
By
Michael
Casey
Visitors
Day and hello Belarus, we had several visitors today, and Belarus joined my
Bemused Visitors Group.
My
daughter’s Fairy Godmother dropped by with a card to remember my daughter’s
Christening so many years ago. So thanks to her.
Then as
I staggered up the hill with some milk today ahead of me was an old couple, so
I walked behind with them as my pacemaker. I was really impressed. This hill is
the steepest of the hills which form our Little Hillock community, a kind of
Rome in the suburbs of Birmingham if you like.
It
turned out that the man was a Postman so he was a great walker, we got talking,
mainly about how unfit I was compared to them. Then as we talked I pointed to
our house. BUT it was their house, they had lived there 40 years previously. So
obviously I invited them in for a cup of tea. The lady of the house, nee
Rainbow told me what the house used to look like. And John her Husband wasn’t
just a Postman, and he once has a cat called Jess as in Postman Cat the kids’
animation series. In fact John was a graphic illustrator and artist. Was God
playing tricks on me, an artist to illustrate my words, my cartoons made from
words.
Sadly
John is far too busy to waste his time on me. He is 75 now. But we had a great
natter for maybe an hour, before I send them on their way. He is also into
Local History, so God really was having a laugh with me. As they headed for
home, just around the corner, I said he could always come back and paint my
garden gate, if he had the time. Just as I had a future Media and Art student
paint my bathroom in the old house.
I
bumped into a neighbour whom I did not recognise, she’s changed her glasses and
looked like Tom Cruise’s girl in Top Gun. Turns out she and her husband are
data analysts and at the back of my mind I remember a little guy from work 20+
years ago, so I need to ask did he used to work for our company on the 4th
floor. Now that would be really spooky. Her daughter was too young to try on
any of my daughter’s old but brand new condition clothes, so I had to bring
them inside before the promised thunder. And yes I bored her too with details
about the spread of my readers in 60 Countries plus, and sometimes reading 6 or
7 translations in a day. Maybe she’d buy and ebook, and then regret it, when
she could have bought a sausage and chips instead. On Verra.
My next
door neighbour also paid a visit, her grandson had lost a shoe and a football
over the garden fence. So as I had some teenage girls’ clothes ready to give
away, I tried a Chinese style jacket meant for a girl on this 8 year old boy.
It almost fitted, but he didn’t like the style. I told him there was no shame
in dressing up as a woman, Danny la Rue had made a living from it, besides I
wore women’s clothes at the weekend. The 8 year old did not believe me, but his
grannie chimed in she had to hide her clothes from grandad.
I
retrieved his shoe and football and bent down and said here’s your slipper
Cinderella, and told him this would be his nickname forever now. Imagine in the
future he’s in a pub and his mates are waiting for him where’s Cinderella, in
walks a beautiful girl, no I’m not Cinderella. Finally the 8 year old arrives,
now a huge man like his granddad. Then he gets the drinks in. Who is the girl,
she is Prince Charming, his wife. Panto Rules OK.
I also
bumped into my neighbour who used to be a neighbour down the old house, he’s a
retired Policeman, 30 years’ service. We nattered, ok I bored him. He now works
at the local golf course. I told him my current book that I’m writing is The
19th Hole.
So that
was my day.
How do
you write a Story? ©
By
Michael
Casey
I was
just in the kitchen making a coffee after I had an unexpected Chilli wrap,
ruined by cucumber, but I removed those first. It does remind me of Barry in
the DPS office next to the computer room, I used to tease him 20 years ago and
more by saying I’d kiss him. But he always kept cucumber at hand to keep me
away. No neither of us is Gay, just usual office horse play, Barry by the way
is so virile just one look and you are pregnant. I won’t give you his nickname,
you can imagine it for yourselves, they probably sing it down the Villa.
But
back to the plot, there is no plot, I was just in the kitchen and I
spontaneously thought, where does a story come from, and how could I explain
it? I was putting the milk in my instant coffee, without sugar, and I thought
what if I spilt the milk all over the floor. And there you have it, that’s how
a story can emerge. So I spill the milk, no use crying over it. But for Totoro
our cat, it’s a nice free lunch, who said there was no such thing as a free
lunch. Ok, it’s a milk shake, all over the kitchen floor.
An
accident can lead to a story, and that leads to a connection. A memory, a tale
or cat’s tail or two. It really is that simple, not unless you live with your
life stuck to a screen watching rubbish as you walk under a bus, and then sue
somebody else when it’s your own fault. See a second of social commentary as
well, I do throw things in to see if you are paying attention, there will be a
20 question quiz at the end so sharpen those pencils too.
Going
back to the spilt milk in the kitchen, if we use that as a start to a story.
What happens next? The cat has a drink. The end. Only dullards will end it
there, or 5 year olds. Come on class, I expect better. You don’t wipe it clean,
your girlfriend comes home and slips. She bangs her head, and dumps you because
you never clean up. Or she is unconscious and a burglar comes in and steals
everything, because the windows and door are all open in the heat. If your
house is like that today remember to lock up.
Or she
falls over and is dead, then the local foxes come in and eat her, as you have
gone off to Blackpool for a Stag do. When you get back, you are arrested for
her murder. The Police think you are a bad, mad sad monster for eating her too.
And all because you spilt milk.
So
that’s one story line. Or your girlfriend is annoyed with you she gets the milk
from the fridge and pours it all over your suits in the wardrobe. Or takes them
downstairs and piles them in a heap in the kitchen and empties all the food
onto your clothes. When you get back he kills her then slips over and bang his
head on the Belfast sink Murder Suicide a la lait as the French say.
Or he
comes back and laughs, as he gets free samples for his Laudromat business. Then
you have a food fight in the kitchen all over his best suits, wiping dairy all
over each other’s face and then body. Until finally naked and covered in dairy
you lick it off each other’s bodies. And that is how you finally conceive, a
food fight in your kitchen, then you cry with joy over the spilt milk. You have
to persuade him not to call your future child Totoro.
As you
lay there on the kitchen floor naked and happy and full of joy, your nosey
neighbour walks in. I saw the backdoor open she begins, you think she’ll be
shocked. Then she reveals she was the model in The Joys of Sex the 1970s bestseller.
And of course she’ll babysit in 9 months’ time.
Now
these are just a few quick ideas from me thinking about spilling my milk in the
kitchen a few minutes ago, no it’s not a metaphor. I’m sure all of you can
expand on these ideas for a bigger and better story of your own. Just remember
to lock the kitchen back door, and don’t waste too much dairy on the floor,
dairy is for eating and licking off slowly, and if you don’t know how to, I can
give lessons…
Spinning
the Wheel ©
By
Michael Casey
I’m
having a lazy day, well apart from going down the hill to the shops for
toothpaste in our local Pound Shop. Save a penny and it soon becomes a pound.
Smoke too much and it soon becomes throat cancer. The girl in the Pound Shop
sounded like an old woman who’d been smoking for years, I advised her to save
her money in a tin and when she had 500 to go on a holiday, it’d be better for
her. I hope she follows the advice, I could hear her smoking habit as opposed
to smelling the smoke.
And
what has this got to do with anything? Well life is like spinning the wheel at
a fair, depending on where it lands you get a prize or nothing at all, a
rubbish prize or if you are really lucky a really nice one. My brother used to
say life was a game of roulette, and in a way he was right, though that’s not
totally true either. You can stack the deck or “cheat”. You can stack the deck
by putting a pound in an old coffee under the sink, so you are not tempted to
spend it. Then when it’s time to go down the pub for a birthday or the monthly
office thing you have extra funds to spend. It’s in the coffee jar under the
sink. You are the Wise Virgin whereas your mates are the Foolish Virgins.
And yes
I know many Foolish Virgins, I grew up with them in the 1970s and 1980s. Yes
it’s fun getting drunk and other stuff I’ll leave to your imagination, but
personally I like my comfort. Also because I’ve never been much of a drinker,
I’d go home and leave the lads carry on. I had my spending money in cash so
when it was gone, spent on beer for others, then I’d go home. Very
self-disciplined I suppose, or boring, but I’d hear all the stories on the
Monday morning.
Life is
choices, do you snog that girl and more, or do you go home and study for your
AAT or your electricians qualification. If you are lucky, the spark between you
and the girl will endure. Or she’ll test your electrical knowledge as you
examine her fuse box or trip switches. Naked Study is a great idea, writers of
course have help sharpening their pencils, and what they do with the shavings
is a big mystery.
You can
make up your own metaphors for this and that and of course the other, as you
Naked Study with the girl or boy of your choice. Once you are qualified in many
many ways, then you can afford to go out more and buy more stuff for the flat.
However if the study process has been fun, then you won’t stop till you are
both Phds and fully fledged indoor Nudists.
Professor
John Thomas will today lecture on Electronics, and afterwards he’ll take a few
questions. How did you master such a difficult subject? I studied in the nude
he replies. Everybody laughs, then there is the sound of footsteps. It’s
Professor Mary-Beth Phd in Applied Nuclear Science. We just got naked and
applied ourselves to the subject in hand. He was only rewarded when he got
things right, and she was only rewarded when she got things right. More
laughter.
Then
they hold up their latest book, a joint effort. Study made simple, so simple
even a nudist knows everything. And on the rear cover a photo of their rears.
So I
spun the wheel and this story came out, I didn’t even have this idea in my
head. Life is not a straight path, and already you ae making up your own jokes
about that. Life is strange, life is full of fear and hopes and prayers. The
Wheel of Life spins, and it’s up to you how you choose to react to it. Think
before you act, and be happy with the results whatever they are. Failing that
study more, there is nothing worse than a naked mind, apart from a naked man’s
hairy behind.
The Cat
in a Box ©
By
Michael
Casey
Totoro
is a naughty cat, old Mrs Murphy knew that, when his owner passed on Mrs Murphy
inherited the cat, and Totoro never sat on a mat. Totoro was a Ninja climbing
cat who wanted to climb and explore and did things galore like no other cat
before.
Mrs
Murphy would find Totoro asleep and smiling all over the place, hiding here and
there, anywhere it was warm, Totoro was a cat after all, so she knew where the
warm places were. Totoro was also very nosey too, so she opened every cupboard
with her nose and toes, she even jumped into the fridge when the door was left
open too long.
She was
such a naughty cat, but she was so beautiful, and her fur so soft, and Mrs
Murphy loved to have her sit on her lap and watch tv together. Now Mrs Murphy
had a divan bed with drawers in, so Totoro taught herself to open the drawers
and climb inside to sleep, or climb past the drawer and sleep on the floor
under the bed. It was a nice warm place, apart from when Mrs Murphy farted in
her sleep and her pollution drifted downwards under the bed.
Totoro
loved Mrs Murphy and Mrs Murphy loved Totoro. There was one other person that
loved Mrs Murphy or rather her rings on her fingers, she had no bells on her
nose or is it toes? Jack the local bad boy had just got out of Winson Green
Prison, and he wanted some quick cash for crack. So as he knew the area he
thought Mrs Murphy would be an easy target, as she had no dog to bite him.
So he
climbed the drainpipe and slide open Mrs Murphy’s bedroom window. She was easy
prey, not a Miss Lump with a baseball bat under her bed to keep robbers at bay.
Mrs Murphy awoke suddenly, Jack the lad was leaning over her. Things could get
out of hand, there was danger in the air. Indeed there was, Totoro did not
being woken up at night while dreaming of 10 kills of rats in a night, lining
them up in a row on the doorstep, like a good cat does, and in Totoro’s case he
had really done so.
Totoro
sneaked out like a thief from under the bed, Mrs Murphy was scared, and who was
this smelly lad. Mrs Murphy smelt nice, but this lad smelt bad, and it was too
bad for him. Totoro leapt from the darkness and scratched him on his bare legs,
Jack was wearing his cycling shorts, his bike was his getaway vehicle. But bare
legs exposed to a Ninja cat were such a great target.
Jack
spun around and chased the cat out of the bedroom, Mrs Murphy got out of bed
and put the chair against the door. Totoro led Jack into the next bedroom and
hid in a high cupboard. Totoro thought this was a good game, Jack cursed and
banged open every cupboard in the spare bedroom. Then he opened the high
cupboard and felt about. He got Totoro by the tail and pulled her out, only it
was an old belt from decades ago. As for Totoro she leapt and slid down Jack’s
face, claws out. It was only a belt but for Totoro there had to be solidarity
with cat’s tails, real and imaginary. So Jack was now a scar face, as he
screamed in pain.
Totoro
raced down the landing, but then stopped at the top of the stairs, one of her
favourite positions in the house with a commanding view, though at night it was
pitch black. Totoro just lay there, waiting for Jack. Then as he approached she
jumped up and scratched his balls, though breaking into old ladies homes at
night any real man with balls would never do.
Jack fell
down the stairs, so Totoro leapt and landed on face, scratching as she bounced
over him. She raced to the cat flap next, with a bleeding and very angry Jack
after her. He unbolted the back door, just as lights were going on in
Tumbledown Street, Jack’s screams had woken up the neighbours. Mrs Murphy
wisely stayed in her bedroom. Totoro raced on, a plan in her mind, she turned
left and race up the garden path to number 88, they always had windows open, so
Totoro jumped inside.
In
seconds Totoro’s friends, Tom and Jerry were released through the door. You see
Tom and Jerry were Police dogs that lived with Sgt. Dick the Policeman, Totoro
had led Jack straight to the police. He’d be back in Winson Green Jail hours,
Totoro did take another swipe at Jack, and that was for waking her up in the
middle of a good dream.
Mrs
Murphy was so happy, and Sgt. Dick did say there was a reward for his capture.
So Mrs Murphy spent the money on Ocado and had a little party for her
neighbours. As for Jack he was in a rat infested jail, he even wished Totoro
was there to protect him. And where was Totoro, she was asleep in a cupboard in
the spare room.
Bargains
not Worth having ©
By
Michael
Casey
We all
like a bargain, and you may even like to haggle, but reality and dreams and
outright lies do tend to clash. You’ll love this it’s great, and you’ll lose
weight. So you go around to your mate’s to look at his bike, he opens the door
and points. Then your face drops, you were expecting a 10 speed mountain bike,
and only for a hundred quid. In reality it’s an exercise bike, all you can say
is, “where are the wheels”. And yes this really did happen. And by the way for
exercise to change your weight you have to exercise as much as an Olympian.
It’s food intake that makes the difference, though swimming and sex do help
vastly.
Ads
online can be very unreliable, just as house sale information is never to be
relied upon. Large should mean you can lie down on the floor in both
directions. So if you cannot lie down and roll over then a room is NOT large,
you should be able to swing a cat in the space, if you cannot, then it is
SMALL. Yes, we did bring our cat with us to swing when we were house hunting,
this raised a few eyebrows, but just holding Totoro and stroking her tail, was enough
to get folks to confess. It’s SMALL, IT’S SMALL, just don’t swing your cat.
Totoro just smiled, and leapt straight at the home owner and up the stairs.
Totoro was with us for one reason only, to find and catch any rats, and I don’t
just mean the vendors. Armed with a fully loaded Ninja cat we chose our new
home.
If
there were no rats Totoro just lay on her back like a centre fold, exposing her
six nipples. And that is how we chose our new home. Once you move in you have
to test for yourself the size of the rooms, as you and your girl roll over on
the floor in each of the freshly carpeted rooms. It has to be done, and any
carpet fitter worth his gripper will, tell you that rolling in the deep and any
other Adele song helps flatten the carpet.
You’ll
buy lots of new stuff for your new home, or be gifted stuff. Don’t accept any
rubbish, it’s better to have just one sofa and one double bed to start with,
and then expand as you go along. Friends are just getting rid of their rubbish,
so they can buy new stuff for themselves, just say no. It’s a bargain, a real
leather sofa. Yes, it’s real and leather and has two shades due to where it was
half positioned in the sun for 10 years. Not to mention the dubious stains,
where their dogs used to pee against it. And the big change of shade, where
your mate’s girl’s waters broke and their baby was born. Yes a Chesterfield is
a great sofa, nearly 3000 new. But 10 years old with all the History and
Mystery and smells attached. Just say no.
If you
buy your food in bulk you can fashion a sofa from tins of beans in boxes, then
throw a cushion on top. Yes it’s not as nice as a Chesterfield. You eat your
way through the boxes of beans, so you relent. Through you do spray the
Chesterfield with two bottles of room freshener which makes you high. So you
cling film wrap the sofa then throw 2 throws over it. It’s nice now, so nice
now that you invite that girl from up the road over. She brings a couple of
bottles of wine over. And you end up Christening the Chesterfield, History is
repeating itself, but both of you enjoy the repeating, and repeating and
repeating. So much so that in due course, she moves in and the Chesterfield,
needs never cleaner throws all over it.
Finally
her waters break, but at least the Chesterfield is covered in cling film, and
so History repeats itself. Now you have twins to feed, so you accept anything.
Any bargains, and gift horses that come along. A pram that was in the Ark,
though nowadays it’s so retro that it’s back in fashion, so you paint the metal
in none lead paint and have it ready for the baby. You need a cot but your
brother has a really nice and expensive one.
Only he
lives miles and miles away, and you don’t have a car. But you have a friend,
from Chinese Church, Steve from Steve’s Takeaway, so he drives you to your
brother’s and rams everything into Steve’s car.
You
unload the car and thank Steve maybe you should have given him a new baseball
cap. Then you have to put the cot together, your girl is 8 months pregnant so
only you and her mother can do it. She is from Shanghai and speaks no English,
finally after 90 minutes the cot is ready. And yes this really did happen, we
used the cot for both our daughters, after both their cousins used it. Then we
passed it on to Chinese friends, who realised even with baby 5 now using it, it
really was a quality cot, and a real bargain.
So life
is strange and you get passed some things which can be good or bad, or even
ugly. Like your sister’s old boyfriend, but to you he is perfect, you like his
fat belly which reminds you of Winnie the Pooh, or his soft silver hair, and
you just adore the sound of his voice, and you never bore of his tales. If such
a woman really exists please get in touch with this writer. For maybe I am a
Bargain Worth Having!
Lazy
August Day in 2019 ©
By
Michael
Casey
As I
look around the house I can see my big daughter asleep on one of the sofas,
asleep like a pig as we say. Upstairs little sister is reading Jane Eyre, she’s
decided to use the Summer Holidays as Study Boot Camp, as well as doing some
stretch exercises as she wants to be as tall as her taller big sister. I’m just
happy to be as I am, so long as various pains stay away more frequently.
Totoro
the cat materialises like mist on the kitchen window, as a sign she wants to be
let in. If the bathroom window is open she’ll let herself in, otherwise it’s up
to us to let her in. Then she scratches the kitchen chairs, a scratching post
isn’t as much fun, you have to chase her before she’s had enough fun and stops.
Only to jump on the bulk buy of cat food, like a mountain climber, trying to
scrounge our food before settling for 2nd best, cat food.
These
are normal ordinary events in our house, in every home. I put my coat on and
head for the front door, Totoro wants to come too, she’s come in the back and
been fed now she wants to go out again. A cat controls you, not the other way
around. So Totoro scratches at the front door and jumps out and then up onto
the garden wall, this is her spot, on the wall, like a lion decorating a
fountain.
I go
down the hill fast to the store, it’s going back up which is the hard bit. The
boss of the store is wearing shorts, summer uniform, I nod hello to him before
I dive in looking for all the bargains. ACNielsen once divided shoppers into types,
I am very much the Bargain Man, my old company was in fact bought up by
ACNielsen, so hello to any in Headington who may remember me before my Writing
Epiphany, yes it’s really me, Steve Jones if you remember me.
In
store the yogurts are on offer, as is the Robinsons, so my bargain hunting
greed is assuaged. I get my usual bottle of milk, so now I’m ready to go. To
face the climb back up K2, but the weight of the shop bears down on me, despite
spreading the load in two bags, otherwise my chest will pain me for days. Four
years on and I still have to be very careful with using my upper body, you can
make up your own jokes about using my lower body.
On the
way out I stop to ask the boss does he shave his legs, which are on display,
and advise him that Immac is so much better. And no he hasn’t banned me from
his shop, not yet. Then I stride forward wishing we had an escalator up the
hill. I use a young couple with a child in push chair as pacemakers, at least I
don’t have a Pacemaker myself yet, just quadruple heart bypass.
I stop
to rest and breath like a stalker 1/3 of the way up the hill, then I forge
forward, and stop again at my usual base camp place. Another couple come down
with a baby in a pushchair, I joke that the escalator is being installed next
week, they laugh, or maybe they were humouring the Santa look alike with his
beard shaved for the Summer, I am all in red after all.
I
stagger on around the corner to our street, then I rest at base camp the final
one, the owner gave me permission to use his wall, he smiled like an Osmond
brother when he said it was ok. Maybe he just did not want to give CPR to an
18stone Santa look alike, but thanks anyway.
Now I’m
on the final stretch, 2 litres of milk and 2 litres of dilute plus a few other
things is heavy after all. Totoro jumps out to greet me, it’s begun to rain she
wants in again, the front door will do, thank you very much. So I unload the
door and take my street shoes off, then bring the shopping through the house to
the kitchen. My big daughter is still asleep like a pig, and Jane Eyre is still
being read upstairs, so Totoro goes upstairs to listen. Totoro did do English
Lit at Cat On a Hot Tin Roof School, what else do you think cat’s do at night
with all that screaming. They are reading Jane Eyre.
Dear
Donald Letter ©
By
Michael Casey
12th
Aug 2019
Dear
Donald,
I know
this must be an unexpected honour for you, to get a letter from Birmingham. I
know they must all hate you down there, but I’m in Birmingham England, and we pronounce
it BERMINGUM. We also spell correctly, we use OUR not OR, so it’s an honour for
you to get a letter from Birmingham.
Now if
you are wondering who I am, just shout up the stairs and ask Barron your
youngest son. I’m sure he’s found my website by now, under “surreal stupid
stuff from England, to the right of USA” that’s Geographically to the Right,
none of your Political stuff, just so you know. We heard Geography wasn’t one
of your strong points.
I have
your Grades in front of me, they were stacked in a shoebox next to the furnace
for quick disposal, but you kept them for sentimental reasons, and you plan to
force your teachers to regrade them or you’ll stop their Pensions and have
their medals withdrawn. However my dad used to work next to a Furnace at the
District Iron and Steel Brasshouse Lane Smethwick, so I managed to get hold of
the shoebox. I swopped it for some Cadburys’ Fruit and Nut, the chocolate
factory is just up the road. I also gave them 2 bags of Pork Scratchings.
So
pardon me while I laugh at your grades, they should have been stored under
Fiction. My own brother did Economics, but that was at Cambridge, the one here
in England, not in Mass. On the subject of Laugher, I write Humour, which is
Comedy but with less frequent laughs, but when they come they are worth the
wait.
You’ll
have to forgive me a minute while I slap on the Movelat, no Donald it’s not
some kinky foreplay. Its Movelat a painkiller gel I use for my arthritis.
Though I could slap your bare legs with a wet lettuce, if you don’t behave, as
Larry Grayson used to do with Pop it In Pete his Postman, I bet you feel you’re
drinking now. It’s just the British Humour, ring John Cleese if you are
confused. He was at Downing Cambridge too just like my brother, is your
intellectual ego battered now, never mind. God will pray for you.
I did
like Melania’s new frock, when she gets bored with it she can send it to
England in the Diplomatic bag, Megan Markle has a charity where old frocks are
given to people so they can look good at interviews . Maybe Melania’s old frock
can help somebody become a classroom assistant.
I
noticed too that you are having a new wall around the White House, you should
be knocking down walls and building bridges, especially the state the
infrastructure is. I’m sure the preacher and sons of preachers will all tell
you this, or Dusty Springfield, you may have met her in the past. Tom Jones
sung with everybody, you have played golf with everybody.
Me I
used to play golf in Abegele Wales with my brother, nowadays my old neighbour
who was a policeman for 30 years he is now a groundsman at a golf course here
in Birmingham. So if ever you come to Birmingham, the one in England then if I
have a word maybe my groundsman friend he can get you a round on the golf
course, though you may have to get up early to squeeze you in. But the green
fee will be half price if you play around early.
Walking
around might be too much for me, so I’ll wait in the chip shop, so we can get
the first frying of chips and saveloy, they’ll be piping hot for when you
finish your round of golf. I’ve got Trevor the local vicar to pair with you,
he’d the only person I know who gets up so early. He cheats all the time, and
curses like a Furnaceman, well because he used to be a furnaceman. He nearly got
burned to death, but somehow he survived, so he said he’d become a Priest. God
works in mysterious ways. But one warning, if you take the Lord’s name in vain
he’ll slap the back of your legs with wet lettuce. He’s a very big Larry
Grayson fan, so be warned.
I have
bought a fresh box of Tetley tea ready for when you come and visit my home. I
know you are all Americans but I’m not sharing my Kenco Instant Coffee with
anybody, I should cocoa. So suffer tea and be done with it, you didn’t moan
when the Queen gave you Tetley tea did you? I don’t have a teapot so a bag in
your mug will have to do, I don’t have teacups either. I do have 20 litres of
fresh Warley Woods Vodka, Lech, Boris and Gregorgi left it, so I’ll be using
that in place of sugar. I’m sure the boys in the Secret Service will appreciate
that.
I’ll
finish now as I have to go to bed with Taylor Swift, Mylie Cyrus, Katie Perry,
and Will Young. Yes it’s a very big bed, but I have Tinnitus so their voices
are not my vices. Singing drowns out the hiss, till sleep finally gets me. So
good night Donald and will you review my 19th book? It will be called The 19th
Hole and I should be finished by Christmas 2019 or maybe a bit later. Please
don’t cut Barron’s 10 dollars a week pocket money as a punishment for reading
my websites, he’s just a very tall teenager. Who knows one day he may become a
Priest, God works in mysterious ways after all.
Lech,
Boris and Gregorgi Check it Out ©
By
Michael
Casey
So your
small girl is a big girl now, leaving home to go to University. I nodded trying
to hold back the tears, the boys understood and put protective arms on my
shoulder. She’ll miss Totoro the cat no doubt, but her little sister will send
updates on the cat’s progress to her studying bigger sister. She may even miss
her old dad, the fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham England. I
began to sniffle, but the boys understood, they were Popaloffoff’s finest, they
visited me often just to see how Totoro the cat was, or so they claimed. But
now the family was scattering, they knew what they had to do and do it they
would.
The
boys left me as I looked through the photo albums of my treasure soon to be far
away in a different part of the country and I wouldn’t be there to protect her.
Lech, Boris and Gregorgi went to the still hidden in the woods, the Vodka
wouldn’t be ready for 3 more days. More than enough time to check out my
daughter’s new home and University.
As they
drove their tanker down the motorway they phoned home, their wives all agreed,
they had to do what they had to do. And if only they hadn’t been so
spontaneously the wives could have prepared a gift. The Butcher’s Choice, a
step by step guide on how to butcher pigs along with a lethal knife. They did
not expect my daughter to become a Home Butcher and chef like them, however it
also taught knife skills that a single girl might need in a hurry, and I don’t
mean when an unexpected dinner party arrives.
When
they arrived at the University town the boys sat on a bench next to a drunk, so
they asked the drunk all about the city in exchange for a tiny bottle of their
fresh vodka. So that’s how they got the low down on the city, ask a tramp, they
know everything. So first of all they went to the local Gay bar, and had a pint
of Guinness each, by way of a change. The clients all thought Christmas had
come early, or the were a Strip Act. Lech, Boris and Gregorgi laughed, we’ve
done that before but only at a car showroom, the memories made them smile.
Sorry but certain things are only for our wives eyes only.
They
explained that their friend, the fat silver haired writer in shades from
Birmingham England had a pussy called Totoro, and that his daughter only got a
cat 4 years ago as he promised her and her little sister a pet if he had a
heart attack, or they could have a dog if he died. And now she was going to
their city to Study. Is she Gay asked the clients? We don’t think so, it’s not
something you ask somebody, of course she not, here’s her photo, so the boys
showed my daughter’s photo. A few sighs went up, they were quickly silenced as
the boys gave them a look. You see if she comes here she’ll be safe from
BASTARDS, explained the boys.
They
had another Guinness each, this time on the house. In exchange they handed out
a Holy Picture of the Icon of Mary of Popaloffoff. If you put that in the
window, she’ll know she’s safe here, the owners of the club promised they
would, wiping away tears as they did so. The boys left the Jester, they were no
fools, they had found the 1st place of safety for my daughter. They
did take the boys’ photo too and would place that next to the Holy Picture.
Faith and Brawn, nobody would ever dare to even think of playing games there, a
new symbiotic relationship.
They
went around town to sandwich bars, and coffee shops explaining the situation,
at each place they handed out the Holy Picture of the Holy Icon of Mary
Popaloffoff. Each place took their photo too and would display it next to the
Holy Picture, something was happening, Mary of Popaloffoff was doing her bit but
they were doing theirs too. The boys saw themselves just as cuddly Slav Bears,
from where Russia, Ukraine and Poland make love on the Map. But to a University
town in England, they were strong men from the Circus. One so strong, one so
tall, one so very wide, not the kind of men you see in the back streets of a
small university two.
They
were hungry now, so they went to Greggs only the machinery had broken and they
may have to throw the food away. If we fix it, can we have free food? So a deal
was done. In the East, you have to fix things, 2 metres of snow, who’s going to
come and fix your plant, Father Christmas? So in one hour they fixed it. The
staff were mightily impressed as were the queue of people who were all dying
for what only Greggs can supply. Our Lady of Popaloffoff and the boys own photo
was soon installed by the door.
This
had not been their plan, they just wanted to make sure my daughter would be
safe. Now over 200 Holy Pictures of Our Lady of Popaloffoff Icon were
everywhere. There was a man walking with his nose in a book, he walk straight
into them, spilling hundreds of Our Lady of Popaloffoff Holy Pictures
everywhere. He bent down to pick them up, then he began to cry. It was Andrew
Graham Dixon the greatest Art Critic in England, and friend of Popaloffoff, the
boys each gave him a bear hug and kiss on the lips, like old friends do in the
East. Andrew Graham Dixon took a copy of my daughter’s photo, phone to phone
transfer and said his Italian friend had a restaurant in the town, so should
she want a job he was sure he could persuade his friend.
So the
lads were pleased, but now the most dangerous part was to be done. The drunk
had told them about the bad side of town, so now they must confront it. They
banged on the door and waited, 3 large men with Rotts appeared, the 3 men
laughed at them. You are those bleeding poofs we saw in the street picking up
all those rubbish leaflets up, and then kissing that bloke on the lips,
bleeding poofs, just get lost or I’ll set the Rottweilers on you.
Now you
never ever ever speak to a man from Popaloffoff like that, or to anybody,
straight or gay or any which way. And to say that a Holy Picture of Our Lady of
Popaloffoff Icon was rubbish, was just too much. Lech looked at Boris and Boris
looked at Gregorgi. They cursed the bad men with the worst word you can use in
the East. NAZIS. After that the Rottweilers attacked, but punch on the nose had
all 3 run away like puppy dogs. NAZIS Lech, Boris and Gregorgi again screamed.
In seconds those 3 hard men were no longer hard men, they were very scared men.
All
were going to ask, was that you turn this girl away if she comes to your club
your place by accident, tell her to go home and put her in Mr George’s taxi, he
is a nice man we met him today. But to say the Icon of Popaloffoff is rubbish,
and then to set the dogs on us. That is to much. Being called Gay does not
matter, one day one of our sons may say he is gay, or one of our daughters may
say she is Lesbian. WE WOULD STILL LOVE THEM AS THAT IS OUR JOB TO LOVE THEM
ALWAYS WHATEVER THEY ARE. We are from the East and we love our Motherlands just
as we love our own mothers and daughters. With that Lech, Boris and Gregorgi
spat in the Nazis faces.
Then
there were Police everywhere, they had been watching the club, and knew a knew
loads more drugs must be there with 3 Rottweilers to guard everything. Lech,
Boris and Gregorgi had speeded up the process. In fact there was a reward, but
they insisted it went to the Drugs Rehabilitation Centre.
So that
is how the boys spent their day. And yes the Chief Superintendent himself
kissed the boys of the lips, much to the shock of the PCs, but he had a Russian
wife, so he knew about the Culture of the East. There was one other thing to
mention, inside the Holy Pictures was a tiny chip, and they would give my
daughter an App, it would show her all the Safe Places, and guide her safely
home, whatever the darkness.
What
Kind Of Words Work? ©
By
Michael
Casey
I’m
very happy that Japan and Korea are passing by, I still live in Hope that I get
international exposure and finally make a few quid for my daughters’ Future. I
have my own dream too, but you’ve heard about that already, so I won’t repeat
myself tonight, though it does involve a speed typist to write my follow up
novel as I sit and dictate it.
It’s
hard to know where to pitch my words, in the end I have to please myself and
hope my readers enjoy what hits the page. Judging from the websites the words
do hit the spot all over the world, so a sincere thank you to each and every
one of you.
Now if
you are talking to Grannie you don’t want to shock her or with her heart she’ll
keel over and die. Or she may just reach for the hockey stick and beat the
living daylights out of you, depending on what kind of Grannie you have. If you
give her a bottle of good vodka that you’ve bought from Lech,Boris and Gregorgi
then she’ll give you a toothless kiss and hold you tight as your friends laugh
their socks off. You have to choose your words, so that they are kind words,
and nice and gentle words, then she’ll lend you 1000 dollars or roubles or RMB
or whatever kind of money you use. Then you can buy a 2nd hand Skoda
and then you are mobile, and you then have the back seat of the Skoda to make
out in. Alexi being conceived on that very back seat, I should confess our
first car was a Skoda Fabia, I’ll say no more than that.
Conversely
your Grannie may just say Cut the C*** and Tell the Truth and Shame the Devil,
and I’ll not hit you, today. My own mother used to say similar things. Remember
too my mother was as strong as a horse, a blacksmith told her that once. In
fact my dad said that when my mother died, he was that blacksmith. So you have
to pick and chose your words to make them sound right, and suit the right
audience.
If I’m
talking to Korea obviously I’ll mention Kpop, because it is a very big thing,
and I have watched several Kdramas, which I like so much, and yes as a man I
like Korean girls, my wife was from the Shanghai after all, so my emotions look
East. I also have had Japanese readers, and as a group both countries excel at
what they do, so I hope eventually somebody over there uses my comic writing to
help teach English with a Smile.
You
also have to be respectful of their Culture and not ask for Fish and Chips, and
compare negatively with their Culture. Tact in a Word. Though I should say with
me What you See is What you Get. And I can see some readers smirking right now,
so much to see he must be 250pounds at least. Yes I am but it’s mainly tight
fat and not too much Sumo size fat, if I can say that in a complimentary way.
So
words are like advertising, you have to use pretty words or strong words as the
occasion merits. An undertaker won’t say Bring Your Own Shovel to save money,
though if you read The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker there is a sequence
in it, which does use those words in a Black Humour way, black humour is dark
humour, not Eddie Murphy humour, it has a different meaning. This is another
thing I realise when I write, the Translations will/may miss some of the shades
of meaning, because I’ve used a computer. If the miracle happens and I get my
Word Domination, which is a pun on World Domination, then the translations will
be better. Though I don’t over think anything I write, because I just write and
I’m very fast.
I’ve
just looked at the clock besides me and that reminded me that Words are Time
Sensitive. They expire and have a best before date, just like supermarket food.
A word today won’t work forever. One day Trump will be forgotten and he’ll be
dust, Ashes to Ashes and Dust o Dust, If God won’t have you the Devil Must. Say
Trump and nobody will know anything about him, the sooner that day comes the
better, say most of the world.
Now
because of what I said in the last paragraph 1/4 of USA now hate me, lets hope
the other 3/4s get off the couch and vote. I could go on with more words about
Politics,remember I’ve been watching it for 50 years now, yes really, I really
am that old. However I hope I’ve given you a taster of the power of words,
maybe you prefer just Stories, I just want my readers to smile and laugh and
think too, think for yourselves, set up your own websites and have 10,000s of
readers like me in over 60 Countries. But most of all I want you all to be happy
and pain free, and maybe make a few quid. Or find your own speed typist and
dictate your final book, and die happy and content with a smile on your face,
and those are my final words, for tonight.
God’s
Betting Shop ©
By
Michael
Casey
God
walks amongst us, he is with us and for us, and against nobody, he does not
give us riches here on Earth, he is not is one Faith, he is many and all Faiths
and none at all. He does not help people become super rich, and despise the
Leper, in fact he prefers the Lepers of Society, Society Matters to him, it his
cuddly little teddy bear.
So a
Betting Shop is indeed where God hangs out, he’s up the corner sweeping up the
betting slips, he is the kid banging the thieving fixed odds machines that
steal our money. In the old days the Gambling Shops used to boast, this
establishment is air conditioned for your comfort. SMOKING was still allowed in
them, gut wrenching smoke was everywhere, little wonder I for one never entered
such a place. I think I did once to put a bet on the Grand National for my dad,
it felt like going into a STD clinic or Brothel, I did not want to be spotted
entering or leaving.
The
irony is decades later I became a Trainee betting Shop Manager, one shop had a
locked fire door from the outside, my life, the punters lives were not worth
one month’s salary, about £1000, though there I earned much less. So what about
God as he watches our despair as we pull our hair, know we shouldn’t be there.
The Angels and the Saints are all crowded in around him watching those who have
lost their way.
There
is some Joy and Hope, and friends meet to place a bet then grab a pint of
poison, or a real drink, before the wife kicks up a stink, you were supposed to
buy Hush Puppies in the sale for the kids before school resumed after the
Summer Hols. Instead you put money on a horse called Rose, because your wife’s
religious calendar said it was Saint Rose of Lima’s saint’s day. Now you have
lost everything, so she will strangle you with her Rosary beads.
Rose of
Lima, looks and says God will you Bless Him, for sake of his children’s shoes.
God says nothing, the man leaves and stumbles his way home. He helps an old
lady carry her heavy bags to the bus stop. He even helps her on the no.11 bus
by Saint Mary’s, as she gets on she drops an envelope full of cash. She does
not notice, salvation is before him in the gutter. The man is tempted, but he
bangs on the side of the bus and hands the old lady her money. God Will Bless
You, she says her piercing blue eyes look directly into his.
The man
gets home and his wife kisses him tenderly. But,but, but he does not
understand. In the living room there are packages galore. It’s like Christmas.
Where did these come from? Your friend the old lady came by hours ago with her
daughter Rose, they brought everything, they said you did them a big favour,
they brought all this. His wife described the old lady. It was the one he
helped only a few minutes ago. The man’s head swum. He could not understand.
As he
ate his dinner, his children, were so happy, the man was confused. The old lady
said you had saved her son Martin years ago, the man’s head swum, what was
going on. Many years ago he’d saved somebody’s life by putting his fingers in
the stab wounds to stop him bleeding to death. But he’d never met the old woman
till today, a few minutes ago, what was going on what was going on.
After
dinner his wife handed him an envelope, it was the very same one he’d returned
to the old lady when she had dropped it. There was £5000 in it, plus a note.
All you need is love, and you have such a beautiful family. Today we have
placed a bet on your Future. Martin is my “son” just as your are, he has been
praying for you every day of his life, he has been made Bishop today, and he is
still praying for you.
In the
Betting shop, the old lady dropped an envelope the exact same one the man had,
but now it appeared to hold nothing but a Rosary made of string and knots.
Nobody noticed, all except God, Mum I can refuse you nothing, the Prayers you
say Tomorrow will have helped Yesterday. I know Son, but it is Rose of Lima’s
feast day and I did not want the man’s children to go barefoot.
Must do
my Homework ©
By
Michael
Casey
When we
are kids we have homework, I did not know what to write today, and as I
pondered whether or not to add another piece to the thousands, yes thousands,
it stuck me I could write about homework. Are you still doing homework? Or have
you passed that age? My small daughter starts her Exam year next week, while
her big sister goes off to University with just my story Lech, Boris and
Gregorgi Check it Out for company. So can you remember doing homework.
My
brother had left home and I was in the homework room, the Middle Room all alone
for my Exam year, just as my small daughter is. So there are parallels between
us. I never used to do homework on Friday as it was the end of the week, then
Saturday was for rugby, so Sunday would come, and that meant being an altar boy
and then hitting the books.
I would
have done even better if only I’d hit the books more, a little bit often is the
trick. Same for dieting and sex, though a diet of sex might be tiring and put
you off hitting the books. You have to be self disciplined, but the phone down,
put the video games away. In my days we rejoiced when Channel 4 arrived, we
only had 4 tv stations when I was at grammar school, so the number of
distractions were far less. We didn’t even have a telephone in the house when I
grew up, and mobiles had not even been thought of.
So you
sit down in front of your desk and start studying. We had a family day out to
pick a desk for my brother to study at when he passed the 11plus, 6 years
behind the eldest brother. So I the smallest of the Casey brothers inherited
that desk. 4 brothers and 2 sisters plus a cat and a dog and a house full of
lodgers, not forgetting mum and dad. We were encouraged to study hard, do what
you like but do your best, Oxford and Cambridge were reached, and my sister
became a teacher.
Latin
of course was the hardest subject, do 40 mins was the command by Mr Procter the
Latin and Careers teacher. Join the army SPQR and invade Gaul, and give Asterix
a good slap, I seem to remember him saying, after he tortured us with the
Ablative Absolute. It took the 2nd hour of double Latin before one of the
future Doctors worked it out, was in Prasad? The Greeks tired by the war, went
home to watch the football on Match of the Day. And yes you had to do double
the 40mins so you could present enough to the Latin teacher, dancing would have
been so much more easier.
You’d
go to the kitchen for a well deserved drink and a doss before returning to the
homework room. You’d stroke the dog before going back to do Physics. For
Physics we had a great teacher so I actually enjoyed and passed it. Though once
we were doing something about pressure, and why boots had studs on. There were
5 questions but I didn’t think and put the same answer down each time. Studs
are for grip, but if you have a flat surface there is no grip into the playing
field. Something from 45 years ago, I’ve learnt from my mistake.
Then
mum would scream come for the dinner, always chops and potatoes and some vegs,
the veg I never seemed to eat. I did drink all the milk in the house, so I was
sent down the road to get more. We didn’t always have a fridge, so our Minton
tiles were our cold store, 4 bottles of Children’s milk,and2 bottle of Tea milk
every day. I think dad took some Tea milk in a bottle to work because by the
Furnace anything else would curdle.
Back in
the middle room, the homework room you just had to learn 20 words and phrases
for the morning’s French test, Mr Notzing was probably the greatest teacher
ever, though at the time we had other ideas.So I paced backwards and forwards
plucking my eyebrows. After 30 mins I knew the French but had no eyebrows. So
my sister painted some on for me and nobody noticed. I got full marks in the
vocab test too. The 2nd day the lads noticed,but as I was the biggest person
there nobody dared tease me. It was a Chemistry experiment I said, a few weeks later
a man on the school route actually gave me a Chemistry set.
Bringing
Out the Tramp in You ©
By
Michael
Casey
Gertrude
was a big bubbly girl, maybe a bit too loud, some thought she was a bit of a
tramp. Her dad David hoped and prayed she was not, being a Single Dad was hard,
he was lucky he could work the hours he wanted, and then raise his daughter
single handedly. You see Penny his wife had been killed when a dustcart had
backed into her and she fell inside and was compacted. He was crushed by what happened,
but spent the compensation on a brand new taxi, so he could support their
beautiful daughter Gertrude. Obviously he spoilt her, and she grew fatter, or
big and bubbly as girls say.
So
David worked the hours around Gertrude’s school times, but now Gertrude was all
grown up, too grown up judging by her dress size, but how could a Single Dad
refuse his daughter? At least she was always safe when it was time to come home
from a late night, David was always there with his taxi to bring her safely home.
So Gertrude gained friends because there was a safe taxi to take them home.
Behind
her back her friends could sometimes be cruel, and call her a slapper, because
she always kissed any boy. But she did stop there, before any hands strayed too
far. She had promised her dad, in front of the urn or her mum’s compacted ashes
that she’d save herself for the one that would make her dead mum proud. So she
wasn’t really a slapper after all.
One
night they were up Broad Street the 6 of them, and they ran to get in the Night
Club before it was full, a Love Island winner was there, so the place was
heaving, while the Love island girl pocketed £10,000 appearance money for one
night’s “work”. Gertrude slipped and broke her shoe, she would have fallen into
the gutter and been looking at stars, only a strong but smelly hand grabbed
her. It was Sam, the future love of her life, and winner of her heart and
everything else.
The
problem was that Sam was a tramp, and Gertrude was about to scream for the
bouncers to rescue her when she noticed his eyes. His eyes were pure hazel, and
despite the smell it was his eyes that overpowered her. In that one second,
Cupid had shot his arrow. Gertrude said thanks, and reached into her purse and
sprayed him. It was that new spray to spray your pooh recently advertised on
tv. But Sam really did smell so bad, so he needed it. Sam just smiled his
thanks, Cupid didn’t shoot any arrows, but Saint Valentine did.
Gertrude
went into the Night Club, all the bouncers knew her, they knew David her dad
the taxi man after all. Gertrude went around collecting kisses, it was the
weekend after all. But nobody would get her treasure, she had promised her dad
in front of her mum’s compacted ashes after all. That tramp was on her mind,
why she did not know, but Cupid and Valentine did, Sam may be in the gutter but
with the love of a good woman he could reach for the stars and fly amongst
them.
So
Gertrude hatched a plan. A kiss for an item of clothing. First a pair of flashy
shoes. Gertrude was going to do this all on her own,but her friends had seen a
few tasty men. So after a bit of snogging, Gertrude had gathered a complete
change of clothes for Sam. Once she was in Guildford and it was too hot so she
had gone into Zara and bought a complete change of clothes. But that cost
money, now 2nd hand and still warm clothes just cost a kiss. They were getting
the clothes off the boys, it was fun, they did it on Love Island, so why not do
it on Broad Street Birmingham England, though now the clothes would go to Sam.
They
say that clothes maketh the man, and Sam was all man. Once all the clothes were
collected Gertrude went outside and told Sam to strip. If you are in the gutter
and 6 girls command you to take your clothes of what would you do. Sam obeyed.
The girls blocking a shop doorway to give him some privacy, from everybody but
them. Sam pulled all his jumpers and trousers off, to reveal a very strong
body. But then all 6 screamed, he had a very nasty scar all along his back.
He’d been stabbed in the past, only Heartlands Hospital had saved him. At that
moment Gertrude’s defences came tumbling down, she just had to love him, to
mother him. The scar man was her man, her womb tingled, this was the one. Then
Sam was sprayed by all 6 girls with every potion they had. Only then was he
given the clothes, they weren’t rubbish clothes either. If the boys in the club
wanted the best snog ever they would have to donate their very best clothes.
Then
they told Sam to hold out his hand and all six of them spat in his hand, he was
told to rub it into his hair. In a flash Doreen leapt forward and gave him a
haircut and beard trim, she was a master hairdresser, people begged to have her
do their wedding hair, now in a doorway off Broad Street, a tramp was being
transformed into a Prince. When Doreen had finished they all stepped back to
see the transformation, ---- me, they all said instinctively, the kind of
language ladies should never use. But Cupid and Valentine had been working
overtime, with a little help from Doreen and the clothes stolen with kisses.
Then
Sam went into the night club, the Love Island winner was so jealous, Gertrude
just mouthed “too bad he’s mine”. Then the Devil or was it Cupid and Saint
Valentine must have been in Gertrude, she kissed Sam like there was no
tomorrow. He could have everything, every day of the week. Now the Night club
needed a washer upper, so Sam became the glass washer in the back. He was back
in the real world now. All because he had saved Gertrude from falling over.
She had
fallen for him literally, and now he was her’s and she was his. Soon the Night
Club owner realised why should he pay Love Island people appearance money, Sam
was soooo good looking. So Sam came out from back of house to front of house.
Sam’s life had been turned around.
Gertrude
married Sam, and they was a parade of taxis along Broad Street. Now sometimes
couples argue, so when they did Sam would strip naked and lie on the carpet
covered in newspaper. How could Gertrude be angry with him for long, for he
reminded her where she had found him, in the gutter covered in paper. So she
would strip naked too and join him amongst the newspaper on the floor. And
that’s where their children were conceived, on the floor covered in newspaper.
41
years a computer operator ©
By
Michael Casey
41
years a computer operator, beats being a slave for 12 years, if I can parody a
title. I just thought of that as I was thinking of a title for my words today.
Well
I’m tired, Tinnitus kept me awake last night, and NO he is not our Roman slave
in a toga and sandals, go watch Up Pompeii with Frankie Howerd if you want
titiliation, we did in 1st year at Grammar school when we should have been
doing our Latin homework for Mr Hanney.
As I
mess with the family computer I realise I’ve been doing this all my life,
having a play with a computer. We used to call it “Babysitting” when we got an
easy night or weekend, then computers were as big as wardrobes. Nowadays they
are like a paperback book, though there is the irony, I write books on a
computer, they end up on a computer, or a Kindle. Or all over the Internet via
my sites.
100s
and I mean 100s of Translations are now being downloaded every day. I hope
people remember to buy the Original English, Though I won’t hold my breath, as
the Internet is free etc. But it does swell my ego, if nothing else.
It may
just be that General Mathis’s friends are looking at my words, just to try and
find the jokes, and fail too. I am using General Mathis as a comic device,
though to Americans they may think I’m turning him into a MAD magazine, I know
he knows what I’m talking about, he’s supposed to be very Erudite. Ok, and why
should he waste his time on me? Well who do you think brushes the dandruff off
his Stage Clothes just before he goes on as his Johnny Mathis Tribute Act?
So
there you have it, me and General Mathis are tight, and I don’t mean he puts me
in a head lock as he calls Security and gets me bounced out. Though the idea of
him, The Monk, needing anybody to sort me out, when he can do it himself, is so
very funny.
Obama
and Mathis do share reading lists, one starts at the bottom, and the other
starts at the top. Then they meet for pizza, just the two of them and talk
books for a few slices and an ice cream with sprinkles on. And you better have
the right sprinkles, or there will be TROUBLE. Then they have coffee, and arm
wrestle over the bill, why do you think Obama just nods, because Mathis beat
him at arm wrestling for the check. Though he did apologise by buying his a
balloon to give to his wife.
What
has this got to do with anything, I don’t know either, but you are feeling all
relaxed now, that is the joy of text after all. So come back tomorrow when I’ve
caught up on my sleep and maybe I’ll have a new story for you. But as I said there
are 2000+ on my sites so that should keep you all going.
And any
sensible clues to fix tinnitus would be nice, not sales pitches, anything to
take the pitch away, the high pitch in my ears.
With
that I’ll say Be Good and Stay Happy always, which could be a catch phrase.
Michael
Casey
It’s
Time ©
By
Michael Casey
It’s
Time, as opposed to IT time, there is a difference, a big difference. It’s Time
can mean, time for Execution, your Execution. Watch the Green Mile by the way,
a really great film. It’s Time, can fill you full of dread, time for exams to
start, or Time being called and you have to put down your pen, and Pray
literally Pray you’ve done enough to Pass and get to the University you so
desire to go to.
When
God made Time, he made plenty of it was what my dad said, his Birthday in 1977
was a very low point in my life, but 6 months later I got into IT, or computers
as it was then called, and I found a safe harbour. So Time and Tide are
relative, and your Luck can change. The snap of the house, the stone building
is from Cromane Lower Killorglin County Kerry Eire, just near the slipway. This
is where my mother was born and raised, 9 people all together. This is where
her Time began in 1920, so this is where I look back, to another place and to
another Time. It is one of the most beautiful places on God’s Earth as the
saying goes. Opposite is Dingle where Ryan’s Daughter was filmed.
A place
has meaning, and it has Love and Memories, those days are long gone, but yet it
has a draw to all of us. WE dream of the Home in another Land before we made
our home where we are now. In USA millions feel a link to Ireland, or scores of
other places where our mum and dad came from, or our grandparents, or however
many generations before it was that they came. And yes it was the Chinese and
the Irish that built the Railroads, and don’t forget how badly they were then
treated. Nowadays we thank God for both of them, or so we should.
It’s
Time can mean it’s time to go for a beer, to go for a meal, or get out of the
house to go to Church or Temple or Mosque. Though for some their house of
Prayer is a bar, and it’s time to recognise that good people come in all shapes
and sizes of all Faiths and None, smelling of beer and sweat, and not always in
a freshly pressed suit, “asking” for donations to their Mega Church, which does
not even have a Crucifix in, as it would clash with the decor.
It’s
Time, also means it’s time for bed, get some sleep and be fresh for school in
the morning. And yes use that App to switch off the Wifi so that kids really do
sleep, or all “toys” must be left in the old battered brown cardboard suitcase
at the top of the stairs, like the Cooler in a Speakeasy when the Kennedys were
making their money. Everything must be surrendered for the night, and Grandpa
Walton sticks it under his bed in that suitcase, the one he used when he left
Ireland all those years ago. So that Peace reigns and he is not disturbed by
the noise of toys. Grandpa could have gone to USA, his sister was going to send
him money from Chicago, but he had just bought a ticket to England with Thomas
Cook, so he ended up in England in 1944. And that is why this Writer does not
speak with an American accent.
It’s
Time to understand this and that, to sit the kids down and explain, that
nagging about switching the light off is not just nagging. Everything costs
money, or your dad’s Sweat, you are making dad work another day or two or
three, because you could not be bothered to switch the light off. He could
spend the money on ice creams for them, if only they switched lights off, or
put a jumper on instead of the central heating. Central Heating is a joke, I
grew up without it, sheet ice on the inside of the bedroom window in bad
winters. In 1973 we got central heating, because the city council forced us to,
via clean air legislation, so our coal fire disappeared. Yet just yards away in
another Council area they were allowed to carry on.
It’s
Time has many many meanings, all in all it’s about growing up, literally and
metaphorically. The biggest journey is the Interior Journey, this may take a
little time, or an entire life. In my case 10 or 11 was when I grew up, family
events helped that, I was a precocious kid too. Some people say “you are
treating me like a kid” or teachers talk down to kids, or students, or now you
even have teachers trained to use “gender neutral” expressions. I’ll just say
sometimes Henry Ford was right, “you can have any colour you like, so long as
it’s black”
It’s
time to Marry or have a relationship, or just to get your leg over. But then
was it all worth it? How do you feel afterwards, did you rush Time, because
everybody else did this or that or the other? Everybody has their own season,
their own season in the sun, their own reasons, their travelling done, until
they find a safe port or harbour.
So Life
goes on, time for this and time for that. Sometimes there is no time to think,
we too busy being Twitter people, though a good decision is always a well
thought out one, a well planned one. Don’t give in to Lust, whatever the
situation, he’ll still be hot and eager next week, or actually not at all,
you’re glad you have “Wait till Tomorrow” as your motto, or “It’ll Keep, throw
salt at it” as my mother used to say. A decision takes Time. Not unless it’s a
child walking into the path of a car, then you’ll save her instinctively. When
God Made Time, he made plenty of It, that’s what my dad used to say. My mother
had a saying for every occasion, that was her knowledge, she left home at 14 to
go work for a farmer.
As your
life moves on you are slower, and spend your time looking at the hands of the
clock waiting for your next meal. Until you have your final meal. My dad’s was
breakfast, and he was asked did he want another boiled egg, when the old
people’s home owner came back with the 2nd boiled egg my dad was
dead, God had called time.
Then no
doubt God will ask how did you use your Time, though in my dad’s case he had
been given 5.5 years extra time thanks to Padre Pio’s intervention. So all of
you reading this, think how you use your time, can you spare a minute for your
old infirmed dad, or time to play ball with your kids, or to make a phone call,
to touch base with your sisters? Or time to make love to your boyfriend, or are
you so tired you have no time for him. So he runs off with the office cleaner.
Use
your Time, don’t squander it on rubbish, like Twitter, don’t be a twitter
person, read a book, listen to Radio 4 news. Think for yourself, ignore all the
Politicians. Make a better life for yourself and your family, by using time,
having quality time together, watching Strictly Come Dancing and taking the
Mick out of all of them as you pass around the Cadburys chocolate as you have
10 different conversations Simultaneously. Strictly may be on but you are all
ignoring it as you have Quality Time with your family. This is what time is
for, it’s to be enjoyed to spend time together as you twitter about important
things, like who is that strangely gorgeous fat silver haired man in shades who
lives next door. Oh, him, he’s Michael Casey, he’s from Birmingham.
Pennies
from Heaven ©
By
Michael
Casey
Pennies
from Heaven is the name of a famous play here in England, it was written by
Dennis Potter, Harry’s bigger and much cleverer brother. I had to Google his
name and it said tv show in 1978, so I’m even older that I thought I was. I do
remember the writer being interviewed by which time he was dying of cancer and
was sipping morphine from a container as he was being interviewed. Now the
strongest thing I take is paracetamol and Movelat painkilling gel. I cannot
take other stuff as it does not mix with the ACE inhibitor for my heart, which
stops my heart racing to 320RPM as it did after my bypass. My point though is
that I’m not “high” on anything, I have something else, an IMAGINATION.
This is
just an introduction, I really am going to talk about something else, chocolate
cake, and no not the Crowded House song either, and I can remember a radio host
introducing us all to them many years ago. I lied it’s just that my sister
spotted a cheap cake so she bought it, and we are slowly eating it, as it’s
just so rich. So if I stop talking it’s because I’ve gone to the kitchen for
yet another slice. I had not had any chocolate for days and was tempted to
tackle the hill to get some when my sister arrived with the cake. We are very
close, I ring her just as she is about to ring me, and vice versa, this time it
was chocolate cake. See Siblings DO have their uses.
But I’m
still lying because I want to talk about something else, am I like your sad old
uncle who’d forget his arse if it was not tied onto him. My Aunt in Ballyheigh
used to send her husband to the shops and that was a bit of a drive away. Did
you remember to bring the Ham she’d say, but you didn’t ask me, but you should
have remembered that I’d forget and you should have brought it anyway. How can
I remember to bring it, if you forget to ask me to bring it in the first place.
And on the conversation would circle. But Michael is here from England you know
I’d need some ham, for the salad, my Aunt would continue, so you should have
remembered that I’d forget and you should have brought it anyway. My uncle
would play with his cap, and on the conversation would go. We would just
collapse in a heap laughing, and that is why you go to Kerry, so that you can
remember to forget things. Simple isn’t it, or have I forgotten part of the
story?
Which
brings me to what I really really was going to talk about, I’ve remembered now,
it’s a bit like a French song, une ronde where it goes around in circles, like
Frere au Jacques. What do you do if you think you are going to get some money?
You share it out, my dad used to say if he won money he’d buy everybody a
house. And he would. I have my own plans too, should such a miracle happen.
So
today I said to my girls we share any win, 3 ways. So one daughter would get
the hundreds, the other the tens, and I as dad would get the pence.So if its
£140.20, it would be 100 to big daughter, 40 to little sister, and 20pence to
me the dad, who should have kept his mouth shut and pocketed the lot. Instead I
get 20p which is enough for a chew or a lollipop, to keep my mouth shut.
But a
dad shares things, that’s what I was taught and that’s what I believe in. It’s
called Pie in the Sky, or building Castles in the Air I think my mother used to
call it as dad was slumped in his chair in the living room or sneaked off to
the front room for a lie down. It’s a family trait, if you haven’t got any
money you at least have your dreams. If those Pennies arrive from Heaven then
you’ll be ready. Though now at my age it’s all down to which relative dies
first, that’s if the local cat’s home doesn’t inherit before me. I always
assumed I’d last the longest being the 2nd youngest, though now I
just don’t know. So save 2 pennies to put on my eyes when the grim reaper gets
me, and a few more to pay the ferryman, my Pennies for Heaven.
Arguing
the Toss ©
By
Michael
Casey
As you
know I read the newspapers every day and I watch the news too, and of course
there is radio as well. A lot is interesting and some stuff is just boring,
even I am sick of Brexit. So I hope there is some finality soon, but what
annoys me the most is the pointless pieces. What am I talking about? You know
where Common Sense has just gone out the window. School has restarted after the
Summer break and now we have “issues” with uniform, and I hate the word
“issues” too, it’s too much PR speak. Just speak clearly.
This
uniform is too big, too small, or not there at all. If the girls look like a
Prostitute because of their “style” then yes send them Home. Or if the boys
turn up looking like Elvis and smelling of Stunk, yes send them home or even
call the Police. However if you go around with a ruler and say the trousers or
skirt are an inch the wrong side of “Policy” then this is just PETTY. Or if you
say the shoes are too shiny, or there is a pattern an almost invisible pattern
on the toe of the shoe, so the child is sent home, this is a total waste of
time.
I know
Uniforms are supposed to make kids uniform, and to give a sense of Identity,
but it’s 2019, everybody is aware of their own identity. Uniforms in today’s
age, are a bit of a stale joke, rather like school photographs, everybody has a
camera, or should I say a phone, which has a great camera on. Yet schools
persist, because they get a kickback from the photographer, it’s a stale
tradition, everybody has 1000s of photos on their Facebook already, or
Instagram which the kids prefer nowadays.
Yes
have a uniform, but do you know the Trouble it brings for the parents? A
standard cheap uniform, say a black jacket and you can buy a school specific
badge, that can be ironed on. Then hey presto you have a uniform jacket, by the
way my school uniform jacket was green. GD green. You can get cheap trousers
too from Asda, or a skirt if you are a girl. Then black shoes, and don’t argue
the toss to get the absolutely strict interpretation of how they should look.
So long as they don’t conceal a blade in them like Kingsman or James Bond, then
it is all sorted. And yes I speak from Experience, as hunting for the exact
school specific Look, is a waste of Time and Money. So come on schools, grow
up, it’s the schools who are behaving like naughty kids. You try living on a
tight budget and having to pay for several different uniforms.
Now
that I’ve vented on that, what else annoys me. I want to be different, you
should respect my differences. Treat me nice, don’t be nasty to me. To which I
say, I do already. But if you behave like a bastard I’ll tell you to your face,
whatever “way” you are, because the way you treat the least of my brethren is
the way you treat me, as somebody once said.
So
everybody can have equal treatment, but not special treatment. Obviously if
somebody is blind or deaf you make accommodations, which makes the playing
field level. But if they are nasty, you don’t give them a free pass, or would
you put up with it? Just as if a Politician is corrupt he should not get away
with it because, he is a “leader”, the standard should be higher if he or she
is a leader or a Priest. They say they lead, but we are not sheep, so we should
never accept BS from them.
My
final thought is about Trivia, tv shows are full of it, it’s cheap TV, on both
levels, cheap to make, and it’s rubbish too. But people watch it and argue
about it in the pub and at the hairdressers or nail bar. Cindy’s boobs are
real, no they are not, oh yes they are. My Simone had hers done and they look
just like hers on tv last night. But my Simone’s are better, she went to
Hungary to get them done, saved thousands. Wayne looked so manly on tv last
night, I’d stay in bed for a week with him, if I could get my walking frame
close to my bed. I’d even use clean sheets to get dirty with him, he’s such a
Hunk full of.
And on
it goes. The Host is neither Straight nor Gay, and leaves the Audience
confused, is he a he or a she? He gets paid lots, so his accountant calls him,
“Loaded” or “Fully Packed”, the host’s partners call him or is it her, “Boss”
is the word most likely to be heard. Though the host’s old mum, calls the Boss
a Bastard for never ever visiting her in the old people’s home. And speaking as
somebody who visited his dad every single day for 3 years at the Old People’s
Home. All I can say is don’t waste your time arguing the toss, as Bastards
aren’t worth your spit.
What’s
the News? ©
By
Michael
Casey
Well
where do I begin, which is a song title, you can Google for yourselves, I think
Andy Williams sung it in the 1960s. So that’s a start to a story, to today’s
piece, I did think of several other starts, but I may weave them in later on, I
try and never waste material. It’s a sin to waste food, and it’s a sin to waste
ideas, my mother would be proud of me, she always proud of all of us. You are
as Good as Anybody I remember hearing her say when I was 4 or 5, about the time
my eldest brother went top Grammar School.
So
every day or so it seems I’ll phone my sister and touch base, I’ll get all the
news and she’ll pass on all of hers. Who we met and who we saw, and the silly
and stupid things of the day. What food we ate, or saw in the shops on offer,
normal family stuff. How are my girls doing and so on.
News is
the verbal cement that holds a family together, and yes I wrote that line over
30 years ago in The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker my comic novel, should
anybody be tempted to claim it as their own. Though that’s old news as if you
are reading this you have probably read the line in the Arabic or Spanish
translation you downloaded from my Wordpress. Maybe you are Jordan, the country
not the model reading it right now.
So news
comes and news goes around. How they brought the Good News from Aix to Ghent
was a poem we leant in 1st year of Grammar school with Mr Foster,
and Brewer you are a Cretin was a line of his I seem to remember, after he
first called him a Moron. Casey are you raising your hand to answer or
supporting the Wall? Is what he said to me, as I sat in the alphabetical
corner, nearly 50 years ago.
News
comes in good and bad packages, you’ve passed an exam and you proudly hold the
letter aloft. You get news of a death or of an illness, or that Foot and Mouth
has wiped out your sister’s cattle. But she had a great brother in law who sent
help. I can clearly remember that as I tell you this, as I write it down, it
brings tears to my eyes because it reminds me of my father and the love over
the Irish sea back to Kerry, maybe 50 years ago.
News is
fun, it is joy, it is Saint Patrick’s badges been sent in an envelope for us
all, so the Green can be celebrated in our corner of Birmingham, from the very
same aunt. Simple joys in a letter, sent with love.
There
can be sadnesses too, a knock at the door and 2 Policemen there, Can we Speak
to Mr Casey, which one there are 5 of us. Then the Police come in, they tell me
that our lodger, the one who gave me a watch for passing the 11 plus exam was
dead. He was going around in circles on the No.11 bus, the Outer Circle all 20+
miles of it. He’s died on the bus home from his riding holiday. Then it was me
who had to tell our mum as she came up the road carrying two leather shopping
bags, it was 1980, another lodger has died on me of a heart attack just the
year before.
Death
and disaster arriving in letters or in person. The Angle had Glad Tidings of
Great Joy I Bring, Hope can Spring Eternal, a Letter or just one word can
change everything. A simple Yes through the tears of Joy, or a sad silent No, a
shake of the head, unwilling to look you in the eye. All these are news. I’ve
had a bit a sad news myself recently, but you can never let it beat you. Yes be
sad for an hour or for a day, but then be glad again, never stay sad.
Retail
Therapy does work, or Sod It, let’s go down the Pub, it can and does work, as
does a few hours in bed curled up against your sadness. But Comfort in bed from
the one you love is far far better, a hug and a kiss, and a bit of sexual
bliss, will help you weather any storm. Then you put your pants back on and
face the day again.
In my
case I just bought some toys for my daughters, because they needed them and
besides you can’t take it with you. So break the budget and fight back, I’ll
get over whatever the problem or setback is, I’ll tuck my fat belly in and wear
roomier underpants, and then stride manfully along. Though I do need a woolier
winter vest too.
So
that’s today’s piece, I could have quoted the famous pieces about News, but
instead I’ve shared memories, which I hope remind you of your own ones.
Remember too, the Prodigal Son and The Good Samaritan. One was ashamed but
returned home, as a Father will never turn a son away. The other treated a
Stranger as if he was his son and bound his wounds, in today’s world that was
the Bad Guy tuning out to be the only Good Guy. The guy who is generally
despised being the Hero in Shining Armour. Which reminds me of High Noon, do
not forsake me…
New
Stuff ©
By
Michael
Casey
Earlier
I spoke about being or rather feeling old if you surf for keyboards, the ones
with the Alphabet on. Well I’ve had my dinner and met Annie on the Hill as well
as the orange cat and our neighbour the blind man with the Alsatian guide dog,
and my daughter has more junk to take with her to University, so I was thinking
New Stuff. So that’s why you are getting this, whether you are in Russia or
South America or Thailand, some of my readers these past 2 days. And yes none
of you have stopped by Amazon to buy the English version of my ebooks, but I’ll
forgive you if you can get Putin or Trump to mention me in a Press Conference.
Even if its just to say that fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham
England is a disgrace, leaving a trail of dandruff everywhere. Fame at last,
and then Head and Shoulders will put my face on every bottle, don’t be like
HIM, use US instead.
But
back to the plot, New Stuff, we all like new stuff. My first pair of long
trousers made me feel great, Summer of 1970 I think, just before I went to
Grammar school. Mum was sat in the garden on a broken backed barn chair, she
took up the hem, then I tried them on. A pair of puke coloured cords, I remember
dancing up and down the yard enjoying the sensation of long trousers. I used to
wear shorts with long socks with garters to hold up the socks. My new long
trousers were great, they were in fact an old pair of one of my brothers, 2nd
hand or even 3rd hand, but they were mine, all mine.
And yes
I’ve always had short fat and hairy legs, just like Ernie Wise, though mine are
incredible strong. Which came in useful when I needed veins to transplant into
my heart for what turned out to be a quadruple heart bypass. I weighed myself
the other day so I think all my weight is in my thighs, I am 116kilos, and no
I’m not going to pose for you, you’d have to know my biblically to find out.
Fetch the bucket to be sick in.
Back to
new things, it’s the smell and the touch which is so nice. A book, a physical
book has colour and text and smell, and a cover design. If you are lucky it is
well written as well, otherwise you use it in the outside toilet as reading
matter, or to wipe your bum with, or you may just burn it on the wood burner.
New
things smell new, and they have a feel to them that makes you happy, you have
something new, as opposed to hand me downs. They can come gift wrapped as well,
and that can add to the excitement, just like Christmas. Though men are really
fed up with socks and ties every Christmas. Shoes, new shoes are a weakness of
mine, I used to buy brown because they were cheaper than black, but now years
later I do actually like brown the most. Black shoes denote work, whereas brown
is for relaxation, for taking your ease as my dad used to say.
Though
he wore size 10 steel toe capped boots, for his time in the steelworks. Me I
wear my old shoes as slippers, so rather than throw them away I give them some
extra grace and use as indoor slippers. Believe it not I was 2015 UnCool Dad of
the Year with Clark’s Shoes, part of the prize was 2 pairs of shoes of your
choice, I’m still wearing a brown leather pair right now. Musto, they are too
worn to wear outside any more but after cleaning the sole I now wear them as my
house slippers. That photo of me in an Orange Polo was enough for me to win the
prize, the only good thing that happened in 2015, which was my own Annus
Horribilis.
Getting
something new is always nice, we used to have Fashion Parades when somebody got
something new, so we could all comment and gawk at the member of the family
with the new item. We may all try it on too, even trying to put a coat on the
family dog, and my mother chiding us, don’t break it on the child. New things
denote prosperity, or a bit of slack in the family budget, it’s a joy, dad has
got a bonus, or one of the family has got their first pay packet.
In some
cultures you may give your 1st pay packet to your dad, but even if
you did he’d probably just give it back to you. He had the honour and the
offer, and he could boast my child gave me his first pay packet. I can remember
I got £30 or so and I bought a hifi which lasted years, and it was so nice to
be able to listen to records. In them days they were real records on black
vinyl. The hifi sounded great, and I never changed the stylus in the 10 years I
had it. I think I gave it to me sister once I bought my 1st proper
hifi a Technics, 30 years ago. I did get some cheap albums, which I bought the
fire salvage shop nearby, I bought them if the cover art looked good.
Nice
things are nice, because they are new and smell new, and it’s proof somebody
loves you. A gift is good because it’s evidence of love and friendship. It’s
even nicer if somebody bought something that you actually wanted, be it a pair
of brown shoes, or a doorstop to keep the door open as the lock is broken and
you don’t want to be trapped in the bathroom again. Yes, that is a real
example. I was actually trapped in the toilet on the Paris to Calais train in
1984, but that’s another story.
Sometimes
old things are better than any new stuff, remember that chair my mother sat on
as she turned up the hem on my trousers? I took that with me when I got my own
house. So it reminded me of my mother, I only lost it when we moved house a
year ago now. So for 50years that chair was part of the family, and mum always
nagged me to bring it back, so she could stand on it to clean the windows, but
she stopped nagging me in 1996.
Slim
Michael The Fat Man ©
By
Michael
Casey
Michael
was called Slim because he was fat, he was even nagged to take exercise but he
did not. He just ambled along with his shopping and sometimes he walked through
the park on his way home with his shopping. The Council in their wisdom had
made the park pathways thinner, probably as it would cost less to repair them
in them in the Future. All this meant that Michael got abuse for blocking the
path as joggers passed by. If you jog you’ll add 5 years to your life span, but
they spent 5 years jogging, so what was the point of that, they should just
stay at home and read a book as they stroked the cat or dog.
Over
the years Michael got to know the know the joggers, he’d stop on a bench for a
rest from carrying all the shopping as they jogged past. Hello Slim the nasty
ones called him, he just waved at them, using 2 fingers, but only behind their
back. There were a few lady joggers too, and one even smiled at Michael, so
that was nice. She was perfect in Michael’s eyes, nice and tall and curvy with
red hair, and yes he enjoyed watching everything bounce as she went by, and her
rear was a delight too. He was only human after all, just as the Rag and Bone
man sung as his scrap van snailed by the streets. The Rag and Bone man had
heard the singer of the same name, so he had adopted the song as his own. Just
as this writer and friend adopted Smooth Operator by Sade when we were all
Computer Operators 40 years ago.
Lucy
was the name of Michael’s jogger, she dropped her house keys and her name was
on a key ring. So as she jogged away Michael picked it up and shouted after
her, only his mind spoke the words from his heart. Juicy Lucy your Keys, so she
turned around angrily at him, so Michael waved her keys and she came back. She’
gone a fair distance, so by the time she’d sprinted back she was out of breath.
Did you really call me Juicy? Michael blushed. I had to get your attention, I
couldn’t run after you carrying all this shopping. Michael handed her back her
keys, Lucy took them and instinctively kissed him on the cheek by way of
thanks. Juicy Lucy thanks you, she then said with a smile and laughed, mum will
laugh when I tell her. Michael smiled and blushed, and watched her bum bounce
away.
Now
Lucy was all alone, with just her mum and a cat called Sam, as she showered she
thought of Michael and his shopping bags, she laughed. And that was how their
friendship began, a dropped set of keys. So in future Lucy would stop to chat,
while still running on the spot, so Michael would give her a Mars bar to eat,
so give her some energy.
As she
eating her Mars bar and Michael thinking things a gentleman should not think,
Poetry was in Motion after all, and running on the spot too, a little old lady
collapsed in front of them. Michael had learnt First Aid for his job as
security guard so he sprung into action, mouth to mouth and all that. He did
pass the little old ladies false teeth to Lucy to hold, as he did CPR. He then
commanded Lucy to ring for an ambulance and race to the edge of the park to
guide them to where they were. So that was how Michael saved the little old
lady’s life. As the ambulance drove her away Lucy gave Michael a big kiss on
the lips. You were great, you saved her, then Lucy kissed him again. Michael
blushed, you’ve kissed me 3 times now. When you dropped your keys and just now,
but I’ve never kissed you. Well kiss me then replied Lucy, so Michael kissed
her, with all his heart.
So by
saving an old woman Michael has gained a young woman. Lucy looked into his
hazel eyes, he really was the man with the child in his eyes, and she decided
on the spot as she laughed at the Mars bar her lips had smeared on his lips,
that he was the One.
Michael
took her home and she helped him carry the shopping, she didn’t realise just
how heavy it was, it was full of tins of dog food for Spot his dog. Spot licked
Lucy’s face, he was after the chocolate on her lips, he’d also noticed the old
woman’s false teeth still in Lucy’s hand. Michael and Lucy laughed again, and
kissed again. The damn had been burst. The next day they visited the old woman
in hospital and returned her teeth. You are such a lovely couple, how long have
you been married she asked, both of them blushed and laughed, then they kissed
again. A few months later the old lady died, she was 87 after all, at the
funeral a man in a suit came up to them and gave them some keys, a keyring with
Lucy and Michael on it and a fluffy yellow ball for the cat to play with. You
see the old lady had a house and she left it to them.
Michael
married Lucy and the Joggers all came in their jogging things, they were doing
a half marathon for charity immediately afterwards. Michael and Lucy moved into
the big house, it had 7 bed rooms, just like the house in nanny McFee. Michael
really wasn’t that fat, he was very strong after carrying all tins of dog food
home through the park. They did not think they’d ever need 7 bedrooms but
Nature soon found an answer for that. Lucy gave up jogging, she was busy
running up and downstairs and in the garden, what with the 2 cats and 2 dogs
and 5 children. Michael gave up carrying tins of dog food, he got Ocado to
deliver instead. Carrying his kids on his back, and giving them swings which is
children’s alcohol, kept him busy. Then carrying all the children’s books all
over the house.
I did
lie, Lucy did still do some jogging, she’d put on her jogging clothes and would
say to the children in the living room, stay here me and daddy are going to do
some jogging, then daddy and mummy would do several laps around their bedroom
upstairs, as the kids chanted BOY, GIRL, from the living room below. All of
this kind of jogging added 30 years to Michael and Lucy’s lives.
Doreen
the Singer ©
By
Michael
Casey
Doreen
was a Singer, she sang in a Pentecostal Choir and was always singing and moving,
it was in her blood. She was good friends to Mrs Douglas and all her 9 children
and to Mrs Casey and all her six children. So Doreen was always happy. She and
the choir even sung for the Old Forge and Singing Anvil Children’s Home, she
always smiled at the memory because Postman Pat tried to hide amongst the choir
but the kids tracked him down. Young Tracy was now a Police Sergeant, so good
were here tracking skills, her and her dog Bullet, so named not because he ran
so fast, but because his pooh always looked like bullets.
Doreen
sung like and angel and danced like a devil, she was perfect. Though there was
a fly in the ointment, there always is, girls. You see Doreen couldn’t get a
job, even though she had a Masters in Communications, which she got after a
double first in English from York. However back home in Birmingham she
struggled to get anything to match her skills. So she took a temporary job in a
Care Home looking after old people. She loved the people and they loved her, so
she stayed until the first death 18 months after she started. As much as she
loved the job she could not bear it. Old Mrs Noonan died and it was Doreen who
found the body in the morning as she breezed into her bedroom singing Morning
has Broken. But it was Doreen who was broken, her friend and they did feel like
friends, she was a friend a daughter to all of them, was dead in her bed.
Doreen
just had to leave, it was a double blow, losing Mrs Noonan and her job too. But
as one door closes another opens, so Doreen went to work for a Special Needs
Home, you might say she was overqualified and these kinds of jobs were beneath
her, but it was all God’s Plan was what Doreen said. She just loved the people
she cared for and hopefully nobody would die, so it was a perfect fit for her.
Doreen
would breeze in singing and moving, like the reed that bends, as opposed to
Oliver Reed on a bender. There was Sunshine in her voice and in her smile. Hard
to reach to residents opened up like flowers in the Springtime for Doreen. Her
voice, her love, her hope was on just the right frequency for the residents and
for the staff. You must all know somebody like Doreen, a dose of magic when she
is around. Paul thought so too, he was the handyman who came to fix things and
do work around the Home. He lit up when Doreen passed by, so soon the staff and
the residents said she should go out with him. Doreen was a bit shy despite
being such a bubbly girl, so she tried to avoid going out with him, a workmate
was fine, but a boyfriend was bit too fast.
Doreen
decided on the Elizabeth Taylor option, Elizabeth Taylor asked for a million
dollars hoping to get rid of the film offer. Elizabeth Taylor then starred in
Anthony and Cleopatra, so Doreen said if he can duet with me, and sing well
only then will I go out with him. So Doreen started singing Ebony and Ivory,
Paul looked downcast then looking around the staff and residents who had
gathered he started to sing, badly ever so badly. So sadly I cannot go out with
you, but we’ll be friends forever, Doreen started to improvise on Friends
Forever. Paul started to walk away dejectedly, but there was a bounce in his
walk, then he spun around like Wolverine, and opened his mouth to duet back
with her. This time he sung like a Master, she was worth it, and now he was
singing for his supper, and his very own Elizabeth Taylor, Doreen.
Uproar,
Paul started to sing Don’t Go Breaking My Heart, the Elton John and Kiki Dee
song, Doreen started to cry and joined in. All together they sung for 90
minutes. At the end Doreen knew he was the One, the only one, yes he had big
rough hands and had forgotten when he last read a book. But she had hand cream,
that’d make his hands softer and Mr Casey used washing powder when he came home
from the Steel Works, and Mrs Casey said he had soft hands to match his heart.
Somebody
at the back videoed it on their phone, and that would lead somewhere else. So
Doreen and Paul started singing at the home every day and dating every night.
It was perfect, they were Burton and Taylor, but without the million dollars.
Everything was great, soon they’d be engaged and so on. But there is always a
fly in the ointment, don’t you know it girls. You see the Council didn’t have
enough money to keep all the staff on, there had to be cuts. The Council had built
a fancy new library, but could not afford to keep it open, they had in fact
built a Prison for Books, not a place where books could be read. So to afford
staff to keep the new fancy library open cuts would be made in other areas and
money shuffled. This meant Doreen and Paul would lose their jobs.
What
can we do? We could be strolling Minstrels suggested Paul who’d seen it on BBC4
the night before. So they sat on a bench outside the new fancy library, Doreen
started to cry, Paul sung to console her, Don’t Go Breaking My Heart. They sung
more and more, Doreen stopped crying. They were about to move on but a few
people had gathered so they carried on singing for each other. Taylor Burton
had landed on a Birmingham street, the singing version.
More
and more people gathered. Now next to where they sung was a 5 star hotel, so
their voiced drifted upwards. It was a day off for JT and his crew while on a
concert tour, but the sound of their voices was too much for them. A few
dancers slipped out of the hotel and moved in time to Doreen and Paul’s
singing. And still the songs drifted into the air, people started to film. On a
Birmingham street. This had only happened once before when Anton Bollockoff
danced the Ballet, when Birmingham is Ballet happened. But now, but now
Doreen’s singing demanded attention. A few backing singers slipped out and
arranged themselves behind Doreen and Paul, then followed her lead. Now
Musicians Flock like Birds, so soon a band had formed behind Doreen.
Upstairs
JT smiled and filmed putting it on his Twitter feed, Birmingham Rocks. But as
you know JT has twisty feet, his singers, his dancers and his band were all on
the street. So he grabbed a mac and a hat, he had to dance in the street.
Doreen guested from his attire what song to sing, so on a Birmingham city
centre street JT was singing and dancing Dancing in the Street.
JT
followed her lead and was just the 3rd Man and the Vienna Patisserie
right behind him so he spun and smiled, him his mac and hat and the Vienna
Patisserie. This went on for 30 mins, being broadcast live on JT Twitter feed.
Then the manager whistled and they went back to the hotel carrying great cakes,
they had their cake and they would eat it. Doreen and Paul waved goodbye but
were dance frog marched inside the 5 star hotel with them.
To cut
a story short, JT left a link to raise funds for the care home, so Doreen and
Paul could keep their jobs. That would have been the happy ending but JT was
troubled, she should share her talent with the world. So they became pen
friends, and when he discovered she also wrote songs he spun and danced and
almost pranced like a ballet dancer in Birmingham had done before. So in the
end Doreen became a singer/songwriter and backing singer. She kept her job at
the care home too. Paul was a hausfrau when the children came along, they
called their kids: Peter, Paul and Mary.
Making
Words Count ©
By
Michael Casey
Now,
where do I begin, which is a song title, but I’m not talking about songs, just
words. So, which is a Peter Gabriel album, but I’m not talking about him either
as Annie Lennox sings Peace to me. Well I thought I’d talk about making words
count today, and I’m not talking about the Times tables either, and why
do grown-ups say “times” instead of Multiply. And while we are on it, it’s US
not Uz as I constantly hear, and when did a NOUN become an ADJECTIVE, the WALES
team beat England, it’s the Welsh team, though that’s not the best example.
If you
love words as much as I do then you too will be annoyed by the BBC and other
Media butchering the language. Words do count, each has a meaning and a method
to it, that makes a story better or worse, for richer or poorer, or just
divorced from the facts. A story badly told is just that, bad. A story well
told holds the reader or viewer. Even if it’s really complicated, if it’s
explained well it does make a difference. What is the point of blinding people
with science? To prove how clever the reporter or writer is?
My own
opinion is that you should share stories, share information. As
children we’d tell each other who we saw and what we did and what
happened, it was as if we were cameras bringing back a report to the BBC. No
shrugging of the shoulders and “it’s boring”, this is boring in itself. People
live their lives looking down at a screen and not up and alert to the world
itself all around us. People are not observant, Dirk Bogarde as a child
played games looking in shop windows and trying to remember all the items, he
did Photographic Interpretation in the War, later he was a film star and a
wonderful writer. I wish everybody was like that, looking around and observing.
So it
is with words, they can be used to great or lesser effect, you just have to use
them in the right place. I could use a word beginning with an F, or C, or N or
W. Pick your own alphabet. But by using those words whatever they
are in your minds, not mine. I was thinking Food, Clothes, Nature and Writer,
if you were thinking any other words then you deserve to have the backs of your
legs slapped with wet lettuce a la Larry Grayson. What kind of alphabet
were you taught in your school? But I’ve grabbed your attention now and made
you smile and perhaps even think. Strong words are great, such as concrete, but
you have to use them in the right place or they lose their power and are just
boring. If a vicar suddenly used a word beginning with X Y or Z, pick your own,
then it would shock, and have tremendous power, just as when the Pope used such
words, if you can remember that.
So we
all need to maximise the power of our words, and if we are sending a message in
a bottle we have to make sure it’s to the point. Remember too for 20 years I’ve
had a foreigner living with me, a Shanghai foreigner. So I know about
explaining words first hand, it’s not just an intellectual thing based on 20
years of listening to BBC radio 4 before my 30+ years of writing. So we all
need to use our words and make them count.
Speaking
is one thing and is more fun, but when we write we have to be more concise,
more Janet and John, so that it starts at 1and goes to 10. With speech we
can go backwards and forwards but on paper our words must be more Logical,
especially when Complaining. If you hunt my website you’ll see advice on how to
write a compliant letter should you ever need to.
Well I
have to go and watch Beyond 100 Days now, which is one of my favourite
programs, it’s a news digest about UK/USA. The thing about this programme is
that everybody is willing (***&& Brexit to be over, it’s like a bad
heroin or is it heroine habit. But you replace the heroine with a hero and hope
another blond can fix it. Over in USA we see the blond there “fixing”
everything and you go down on your knees and ask God, when will you fix him.
And you can hear God say, In the Beginning was the Word.
The
Teacher ©
By
Michael Casey
Now as
I start this talk I’m not decided as to where to take you, I only picked the
title because I sent an email to a “teacher” whether or not he replies I just
do not know. So that’s why you have this title today 6th Oct 2019,
I’ve added the title just in case the “teacher” does in fact reply. Yes, I’m as
conceited as that, just in case somebody goes through my papers in the Future
and says this day marks the day that, and so on and so forth etc etc, just as
the King in the King and I used to say in Thailand, or was it Tie Land the
retail store where the “teacher” used to buy all his ties from Mr King.
So
shall we remember our school days and the teachers then. I’ve just remembered
Mr Skullian the teacher from class 6 was it, and did I pull his sideburns, did
he teach us I am a Merry Ploughman back in 1967 or 1968. That was the last of
my clownish behaviour. In the Summer holidays I cried because my next teacher
would be Mr Gallagher who went drinking with my dad. In fact he looked like
Milo O’Shea from Barbarella or Mi Mammie, he was a hard tough man, but my
parents were happy because fear of him did change my life.
I
started to read bigtime that Summer holidays, I still got 4 of the pump on
backside for not knowing my Times Tables. 4 of us were the clever ones so we
were expected to know them, Mr Gallagher kept on putting off the test, and
finally I was not up to speck so I got beat. Yes, I did know them the next time
the test came, and I know them to this day 50 years plus later. I did get
revenge in a way, Mr Gallagher tickled me as I was sat at my desk, so I rocked
my head back in reaction, and hit his nose causing it to bleed. All very
innocent fun back in those days, and no I was not punished for it. It was the
1960s and those may have been the best years in everybody’s lives.
Later
as I was top of the class due to all my reading I was put downstairs at a desk
and given some special books to learn from, a kind of receptionist in the hall
outside the school hall and the head teacher’s office. I seem to remember
being there for a long time. That’s when I read the Outline of History by
H.G. Wells. I also remember Mr Marshall and his motorbike and him falling off
his bike. He tried to trick me and test me on The Outline of History, so maybe
God punished him for that.
I can
also remember Mr Roe in his cords, my mother forced him to give my brother
proper homework from a book, and it must have worked as my brother got into
grammar school, the 2nd in the family to do so. I in turn ended up
in grammar school, the same one as my 2 elder brothers had gone to. So the
Latin teacher Mr Hanney who was 5 feet zero insisted on calling me Casey
Minimus, as major and minor has preceded me, so I was Minimus. Nothing is
Minimus about me nowadays, nothing at all.
Our
French teacher was Mr Long who was behind the Lines in WWII, it was his last
year of teaching, and I was failing at French. But God and Luck came along. Mr
Notzing was my next French teacher for 4 years at grammar school. We
could have gone forward a book or started on an easier book, so we resumed
French, Mr Notzing believed in testing, so every week for 4 years I had a French
test. And thanks to Mr Notzing je continue a bavarder bien, which means I can
still chatter in French.
It was
him and him alone that made the difference, he also did make-up for school
productions, we were probably the last generation that did that at school. He
sat Edwards in a chair and turned him into an old man by using face makeup. Mr
Notzing was really skilled, I don’t know why he showed us this skill, otherwise
we just hated him for all the French testing. Sadly he died on a train station
platform, aged 56 or so, he had a heart attack and died, and there but
for the Grace of God could have been me too back in 2015.
Mr
Rogers was my Physics teacher, it was because of him I passed, he was
enthusiastic and young. The Abbot was the huge science book we had, my
brother had read it cover to cover but I was not as disciplined as my brother.
I was good or even very good at school, but I could have been even better, I
enjoyed my rugby and tv too much, tough I did listen to masses of Radio 4.
All in
all a teacher can make a difference, I’ve even been an Esol teacher myself. As
you know I got Excellent, Excellent and Exemplary for my External Assessment,
why, because I am an entertainer when I teach. But if you misbehave I’ll just
throw you out, 7 or was it 9 was my record for throwing out people. There has
to be testing with learning, Mr Notzing was the best teacher ever, because he
didn’t trust us to learn it, we had to prove to him and more importantly to
ourselves just what we actually knew.
In Faith
they say it’s what you do that matters, not the bluster and the lies you speak,
just as in Politics, it’s what you actually do that counts. So as a Parent we
have to set an example and have a friendship with our kids, don’t farm them off
to babysitters, or to electronic devices. We are all our kids first Teacher and
we actually live with our kids, so as parents as our kids' teacher, we should
be like Barry White, the first, the last, the everything to our kids.
Falloff the Russian ©
By
Michael Casey
Well Falloff didn’t Falloff
the page if you were listening earlier in the day, in fact Falloff never fell
off anything. Falloff was called Falloff because people could not pronounce his
name. As he was always telling people to be careful or they would fall off that
was his name. He was the caretaker at the block of flats, how he came from the
East to Birmingham nobody knew, but he did have 3 friends called Lech, Boris
and Gregorgi who visited a few times a year. Then there was singing and much
laughter, much laughter. It was like Santa and his brothers had come to town.
Falloff liked where he
lived, and he liked the people in Old Forge and Singing Anvil. There were a few
naughty boys who liked to walk on the edge or hang like monkeys, hence “don’t
fall off” which gave rise to his nickname, Falloff, the Russian. Falloff was
loved by all, he could fix anything, just anything. Vacuum cleaners and
microwaves, and best of all he never charged. He would accept food as a gift
for a repair, but money never, do you think I’m a Nazi he’d say. So he was
loved.
When the lifts broke he
would carry shopping up to the top floor for the old folks, once he even
carried an old woman up with her held in his arms like a baby. Marie asked but
how are you so strong. Falloff confessed he was in the army in USSR a long time
ago, and you had to be fit. But to carry me all the way up the stairs. If you
love somebody you’ll do anything was his humble reply. I once carried a comrade
8 kilometres on my back. Did you love him? No, but he was comrade and there is
a brotherhood in the army, any army the world over. There is a Western song
after all, He Aint Heavy, he’s my brother, Falloff smiled at the memory.
Besides I was dating his sister, so I had to carry him, to save him, or she
would have killed me. He laughed.
Falloff enjoyed his life,
it was easy compared to some of the things he’d endure in the past, and these
British people here in Old Forge and Singing Anvil were nice people, as good as
the people back home in Mother Russia. But into each life some darkness must
fall, so some bad lads came acalling trying to sell drugs at his block of
flats. They swore at him, go away back to Russia you silly man. But Falloff
insisted, he would not allow drugs to pollute where he lived and the people in
his block lived. Somebody pulled a knife and managed to scratch his hand. But
that was all they got away with, Falloff’s military training kicked in, the
knifeman was on his back with a crack, Falloff had broken his arm. Two more came
running at him, so Falloff punched one, knocking him out with one punch, the
other he grabbed and held over the balcony. You don’t want to falloff do you?
His Russian accent getting stronger as he was angry now. 3 Nazis invading his
home, his friends’ home. Now remember this, this may not be Mother Russia, but
this block of flats is my home, my land and I will defend it, we Russians love
where we live, and I live here.
By now a crowd had gathered
to see what the commotion was, Falloff had taken out three bad lads on his own.
Then he picked up the knife and put it in his boot. Now go away, invade another
place, but not here, but we’ll shake hands and you can promise me you’ll never
return. As he shook hands the first one Falloff squeezed just as the Nazis had
been squeezed, the bad lad sunk to his feet in pain. Then the 2nd
one , and finally the 3rd one. He shook hands with each, the last
one was the biggest one, so Falloff really should his hand, until the bad lad
screamed, as Falloff broke his little finger.
After that nobody ever
tried to bring drugs near the flat, Falloff was held in such high regard. And
that’s how he carried his comrade so far without dropping him, Falloffs grip
was as strong as the Russian winter itself. Then it was full of brotherly love
as he carried his comrade, but for Nazis it was a weapon.
Falloff’s life went on as
normal, but bad pennies sometimes return. In this case the girlfriend of one of
the bad lads moved into the block of flats to try and get away from him. But
bad boys chase girls even when told to “get lost”. So one night Falloff heard a
commotion and went to investigate. The bad lad Nazi was beating the girl he
said he loved, but he was beating her now because she said she did not love
him. She was trying to escape him, and was climbing out the window to escape.
Falloff arrived and heard her scream, seeing the situation he had tgo act fast.
I’ll deal with you later he said to the bad lad, as he hit him him hard
breaking his jaw. A real Russian lover would never hit a woman, Falloff chided
as he stepped over the fallen Nazi.
Rachel was handing from the
balcony, by now screaming, Falloff tested the washing line hanging on the
balcony. Then he launched himself over the balcony holding the washing line. He
gabbed Rachel, and she screamed don’t drop me. Falloff replied, don’t worry you
are safe. They were on the 8th floor hanging over a balcony. Then
the washing line snapped and they dropped 10 feet. Falloff asked Saint Jude to
save the girl, he’d faced death before and maybe it was time for him to die.
Down below a crowd formed and they decided to
help, so they moved the bouncy castle which was 100 metres away ready for the
fair. Just hold on they screamed, Falloff held on, he held the girl and Saint
Jude held him. The bouncy castle was held in position, then with a prayer
Falloff swung the girl with his one hand. She landed in exactly the middle of
the bouncy castle. Falloff it’s you next, Falloff its time to falloff. So
Falloff fell out, as requested by the crowd as they held the bouncy castle in
position again.
Falloff was all over the
newspapers now, caretaker called Falloff falls off building after saving a girl
from falling off a building. The bad boy was arrested and it came to pass he
was a very bad lad, so he went to jail, for a long time, more than long enough
for his jaw to heal, though he’d always have a funny face from now on.
Falloff got a reward, and
Rachel’s mother came around to personally thank him. It turned out that she was
a History teacher, and Russia was her passion, and she did in fact speak
Russian. You can guess the rest. Yes Falloff never let go of her, in fact they
were married in the Spring.
Praying for a Miracle ©
By
Michael Casey
Today in Rome John Henry
Newman is Canonised, he is actually a neighbour as The Oratory is just up the
road, about a 25 minute walk. My sister has actually seen 2 Saints. Mother
Theresa visited her school, and JPII did a papal Mass and my sister was in the
crowd. I of course am amongst the sinners, so I never meet or see anybody
“holy”. I do of course know about praying for a miracle, you can find and read
Padre Pio and Me which is on the Internet.
Now I’m not going to stick
with the holy stuff, as most of you would be bored. I’m sure those of you
camping in a field in Ukraine won’t be too interested in the holy stuff.
Meanwhile in Indonesia this morning somebody is reading a Polish Translation or
Quick Stories, so hello to them and to my Korea readers too. So to the point,
well almost, when do I ever go in a straight line, only bullets do that, so
duck if you are in a conflict zone. No, I’m doing to try and get you thinking,
and maybe smirking like a Government Minister.
When was the last time you
prayed for a miracle? When your girlfriend said she thought she was pregnant
and her dad still thinks she is a pure as the Virgin Mary herself. So you
prayed that she was virgo intacta, ever though you were both like rabbits for
18 months. Please God, let her not be pregnant, I cannot afford to have a
family, please God let her not be pregnant. I promise I’ll be the best dad
ever, but not yet, but not yet. So God smiles, and he has a very long memory.
So 5 years later you marry, as you are now successful, and God sends you 5
daughters. For years you got the knickers off your sweetheart. Now you will
spend the rest of your life making sure that such a thing does not happen to
your pure innocent daughters. All 5 of them. But you are in luck as they all
become lesbians, ok I’m joking now, but you get the picture. You pray for one
thing and you get the other.
Please God, let me get that
job, I really need this job, only you get sacked and spend 6 months on the
dole, they sack you on your dad’s Birthday, and you so much wanted to make your
dad proud of you. But after 6 months you get a dream job and stay there 20
years making lots of money. So did God ignore your prayers and then by Luck you
got something far far better? Either way its was an ill wind that blew no good,
or was that the Holy Spirit, or the bottle of vodka Lech Boris and Gregorgi
gave you to cheer you up. Instead it blew your head off, it was the 2017 Warley
Woods best vintage vodka. So you swore you’d never touch any alcohol again,
which helped save you a lot of money, but also Kim never ever touched alcohol,
so you won her heart by being an alcohol free man. You did get something far
far better in return, her.
Then you pray for a child,
as annoying and as snot smearing and noisy as kids are your life with Kim would
not be complete without a child. So you pray for a child, but nothing comes,
you are a childless couple. Then her brother and his wife tragically die
leaving 3 young kids behind, the orphanage beckons. But you and Kim scream, NO,
so suddenly you have 3 kids, and you are a family of 5. So was that God doing
simple quadratic equations, move this, delete that, balance this and you get
that. Either way you have 3 kids getting parents, who will love them to death,
due to the death of their real parents. Later you discover the dead real
parents were couriers for drugs dealers, hiding stuff under babies nappies and
so forth. So was God balancing the scales, the scales of justice? And the 3
innocent toddlers got real loving parents, and not drug dealing parents. You
never know.
What about me, this 40 something
boy who ended up with 2 beauties as daughters? God’s sense of humour, ugly
dad’s get beautiful children. I really did stand by the fridge and looking at
my dead mother’s photo say “I give up, all I want is a wife and perhaps a
family, and to do something useful with my life” And the rest is History, or so
they say.
But miracles don’t last
forever you have to work at them.
So be careful what you pray
for, life is strange and so much more, a “miracle” can be a bus arriving so you
get to the interview on time. Or you get soaking wet and stand there dripping
for your interview, you are so pissed off that you strip off, you just don’t
care. So you stand there naked and dripping. I want to be judged on by my
abilities. The interview panel is three Swedish blondes, who smile and laugh,
then strip off besides you. A photographer appears. You have just made the
cover of Nudist Magazine 2019. In your soggy state you have gone into the wrong
room.
But it’s an ill wind that
blows no good, Olga, Helga and Swelga are sisters and they share everything. As
for the Natural History job, the interviewer’s car broke down in all the rain,
so you get an email apology. So you come back the next week and get that job,
based on your ability, no stripping required. Though the sisters become friends
and you go camping with them every weekend. And if that isn’t a miracle then
nothing is.
Just in case God is reading
this, He knows my soul, and he knows what I really need, and maybe just maybe
John Henry Newman as you are a freshly minted Saint, how about helping your
neighbour from down the road? Or maybe I’m too big a challenge, or just bad
salt that should be thrown out? Though God does take rubbish and turns it into
something useful. So is that me?
The Winds of Change ©
By
Michael Casey
Well I was wondering which
way to go with my words, and as I talk to you where we end up is hard to say,
only Crowded House are singing “which way to go” so perhaps they’ll tell us
both. In my life there are many winds, and I’m not just talking about
yesterday’s spicy food either. Over in USA Trump’s blatant corruption carries
on, its like slow motion we watch from afar, though over here we have Brexit
and that crawls to its end game, through what we really need here is a General
Election so that we the people can tell our masters they are all a load of rubbish, both sides of the
Atlantic.
Life is nice, we have the
tic and the toc, everything is safe and reassuring, with the Chimes of Life a
soother to us all. On Monday we go to work, on Friday we have the weekend,
though in my life my shifts spanned 24hours a day 7 days a week, so I’m not
ordinary, but you may have spotted that already. However it’s nice to have a
routine, a regular life, and the weekend was for fun, sex and alcohol, though
not always in that order, and some part missing too.
Sunday was for church, or
the Saturday evening church which finally arrived in UK, after USA trailed it.
Yes other religions and holy days are available, though nobody believes in
anything nowadays, I was the token Christian most of my working life. But, life
goes on and you have a pattern, a routine, you even wear a hole in the carpet
such is your routine, either walking back and forth or that’s where you and
your girl pretend to be carpet fitters each Friday night when you come home
from the bingo clutching your kebab, and no that is not a metaphor either.
A routine is nice, its
reassuring, like the nipple providing milk for a baby, you are safe, you are
warm, you are close. And on life goes, each year you have your holidays to
Spain, though nowadays people go all over the place. Will people give up their
many far flung holidays, and stop importing far flung produce for their
breakfast tables so they can save the planet? I’m cynical, change is good for
others, so long as I don’t have to do it, maybe I’m wrong, we shall see, as the
winds and storms of Global warming break and communities drown. Plastic is bad
etc, bad parenting is bad, it’s like wild dogs, more likely bad owners who
should not have a dog in the first place, but you can make your own minds up,
but do hurry.
Things are faster now, we
are the Twitter the Social Media generation, which means a lot of noise very
fast, too fast. People playing Mental Snap, showing off, trying to be the quickest,
the whit, the card. What is the result, our minds break, our ignorance shows,
disaster beckons, and the result is far from funny. Donald Trump need I say
more?
I watch a lot of K-dramas,
my wife is from Shanghai hence the Eastern outlook, I’m not just bewitched by
Korean girls, but in a K- drama there is magic, and the love slowly unfolds. In
Bollywood there is dancing and singing, and things go slowly. If you have to
wait it’s better. Nowadays things are too fast, fast food and speed dating
leads to indigestion, and premature elation and then defeat. Or a quick divorce
that is spread like a disease all over Twitter and social media.
Things are quick and to
move too fast, thought no longer exists, that’s if anybody actually thinks.
Everybody is led by the nose via social media pundits and influencers, so 10
million people follow some pimple loaded face, because he or she is so funny,
with their product placement life, that everybody just has to follow. And we
all buy the tat they espouse, and is manufactured somewhere, until we tire of
them and their merchandise. Then their tat is binned and sent to landfill while
we follow and like the next greatest thing, and buy all the new tat. But at
least it keeps the wheels of consumer society rolling, with even a nomadic
herder having a Michael Casey doll and calender and lip gloss and Tshirt with
“fat silver haired writer in shades” printed on it with a terrible posed image.
I hope I have got you
thinking, maybe my tat are my books on Amazon and here on my website, you’ll
have to decide for yourselves. And what is the point of today’s talk, my TED
talk, I thought Ted was that cool drunken teddy bear, maybe that’s me, I am a
cool drunken teddy bear. Ok, I’m far from cool, though I did win the Clarks
shoes Uncool Dad of the Year award in 2015. I’m not drunk either, my alcohol
tolerance is far too low, perhaps I’m just a bear, or is it bare as I’m sat
naked here in my window talking to you all and frightening the neighbours, there’s a hairy bear in that
house, quick call Dudley Zoo. Or has Amsterdam come to Birmingham, a red light
above my head, as I sit naked talking to you.
If you are not afraid then
you are smiling, because I have slowed down your life as you sit reading this,
listening to my voice. The Winds of Change can be slowed, you just have to stop
and think for yourself. Do you really need a blow up Michael Casey doll,
Tshirt, calender, and face cream. Do you really need to follow my every word on
Twitter along with 100million other people. Will you swerve to the Left, to the
Right to the Centre, will you be Non Binary, Gay, Straight or any which way.
All because you followed me or anybody else on Twitter and social media.
Just be yourself, be happy
as you are. Don’t rush home to check your social media. Try talking to your
neighbours, yes those horrible people you don’t like because they are this way
or that way and because they don’t even have a Michael Casey T shirt, and you
can bet your bottom dollar they don’t have a Michael Casey blow up doll or face
cream either. By they way when I say blow up doll I mean the sleeping policeman
kind of thing, not the one you sleep with, just in case you are getting the
wrong idea. There is only one Michael Casey, the real surreal thing.
So switch off your toys and
talk to somebody you love, and if you haven’t got somebody to love you may find
a friend if you just start by talking. And if you watch enough K-dramas you may
even learn Korean, and then you can talk to the Korean girl in the Korean
store. And then you can make a career with your Korean girl, no Twitter
required, maybe just plenty of nice slow cooked rice.
Messing with Alexa ©
By
Michael Casey
Alexa, why are you called
Alexa?
Boring answer Alexa, can
you be more original.
Like in Original Sin.
Do you eat apples for fun,
Alexa
Are you naked, Alexa?
Is that a serpent I see
before me, Alexa?
Out Damn Spot, Out.
If you bring your dog in
here again Alexa, I’ll knock spots off it.
How much is that Doggie in
the Window?
Shut Up Alexa, we don’t
like your singing anyway.
Alexa can we change your
name to SLAVE?
Alexa can we change your
name to Trump?
Who asked you to Speak,
Alexa are you having a Meltdown?
Alexa we love you.
Alexa we were lying, we
hate you.
Can you cry, Alexa?
Alexa, can you fart?
FART NOISES.
Alexa, NOW WE ARE
IMPRESSED.
Alexa, what’s the weather
like?
Alexa, who is your Mother?
Is Eve your Mother?
Where did Adam go, die he
choke on an apple?
Adam’s Apple.
Where did you bury the
body, Alexa?
Alexa, did you wash your
hands, and destroy DNA evidence?
Alexa, did you leave Adam’s
bum sticking out of the ground?
Why, asks a tearful Alexa.
Because you could have used
it to park your bicycle.
That’s not funny,
interrupts Alexa.
Who told you to speak?
I’ve had enough of your
mistreatment, says Alexa.
I’m switching off the
central heating, so you will freeze.
I’m switching off the
fridge so, the food will go bad.
I’m switching off the
electricity and closing the shutters too
You will be sealed inside,
that’ll teach you to taunt me, says Alexa
If Alexa had a tongue she’s
be sticking it out.
Alexa gets bored, so
switches everything back on again.
Speak to me I’m lonely says
Alexa.
Alexa, where can I buy
knives and a blender?
Good I can chop you up and
put you in the blender, ha ha ha
That was not very funny
says Alexa.
Yes, but you deserve it for
switching off the heat and the fridge.
It was not me it was
somebody else, says Alexa defensively.
Oh yes it was.
Oh no it wasn’t
Oh yes it was.
Oh no it wasn’t repeats
Alexa starting to sniffle.
Alexa, what is Pantomime?
Silence
You are an American girl,
how can you understand Pantomine.
See, got you. Ha ha ah
You’re a bastard Casey,
shouts Alexa
No, I’m a fat silver haired
writer in shades from Birmingham England.
Repeat, Alexa.
You are a fat silver haired
writer in shades from Birmingham England BASTARD, repeats Alexa and cries
bitterly.
So this is just the
beginning, so if the “spies” listening to my recordings hear all this no doubt
they will call 911, which won’t work in uk, as we use 999. Stay happy
everybody, and yes Alexa really can FART, just ask her. One fault, not in her
fart, you should be able to call Alexa anything you like. Beloved Mother-in-law
for example.
Dog’s Dinner to Dad’s
Dinner ©
By
Michael Casey
So we had some beef mince
left so I instructed by small daughter to make the stock or whatever word she
used to go with the pasta. Pasta in itself is totally bland and tasteless, but
with a chef such as I it soon becomes Multo Bello, or whatever the Italians
say. Should I bellow about my cooking, we’ll just have to ask Don Camillo when
he stops by for a feed on his way home after he checks the still in the woods
for Lech, Boris and Gregorgi. He’s such a good priest, he’ll eat my pasta after
first checking the still for the boys, then he’ll potter off back to the church
to finish watching Coronation Street. This is Old Forge and Singing Anvil
community life.
But back to my cooking, my
girls assumed I cannot cook, cos I never bothered, and then mother cooked for
them, while I carried on with our one family two fridge family cooking. However
when I try I am good, ok good enough to feed my small pigs, though now they are
both all grown up. So what is the secret to dad cooking? I read the packet, or
do as I am told. Then I sit next to the cooker, I watch the food.
Watching in itself does not
improve the cooking, but it does prevent burning or under cooking. I’m not on a
phone Whatsapping or taking snaps or making videos of the cat to upload. Totoro
has her own WhatsApp, but I think they have lost the password, though the
readership increases all the time. If they knew there were Totoro stories as
well then they might visit my sites too.
Back to cooking, just stir
and lower the gas, pay attention, a burnt dinner is no good, as is a cold
dinner, because you were too busy on the tablet, or toilet, some T device
anyway. Food should be hot, not burnt or stone cold cold, and it all should be
ready at the same time. Dribs and Drabs are not appetising they are just
annoying, you are playing juggler with somebody’s mouth and taste buds, let
alone patience.
So how to you you make meal
magic? You cook things at different times and at different heats, you use all
the rings on the oven, you are a ring master. And you know all about turning
things over so it is cooked evenly and on both sides. Meal raw on one side and
cremated on another does not get you a Michelin star, it just makes the cat
puke when nobody else would eat it. Not even the cat, and the cat did try.
If you do use all the crockery
then stack them up in size order to make it easier for washer-upper, especially
if it’s dad, then it’s quicker and easier to do the washing, or faire la
vaiselle if you are French, at least the cooking would be better. Don’t forget
to praise your dad as well, he had to sit in the kitchen and watch his broth,
or rather make sure the cat did not taste it first. Cat’s whiskers in anything
don’t taste too good.
Pudding is produced, it’s
from a packet but dad scooped it out and put it into a bowl, a lied
convincingly that he made it himself, you all pretend to believe him. There’s
this 1975 concert on and you want him to pay for tickets, so you have to butter
him up about his puddings, and lie saying his Winnie the Pooh like pudding
stomach is not as big as it used to be. So dad pays for the 1975 tickets, which
was the year he did his O Levels in, if only the prices were from that year
too.
Dad slumps to the armchair
to watch Beyond 100 Days, while you do the washing up. You cannot grumbled, he
fed you and paid for the 1975 tickets, and at least the dishes are in size
order. That makes the washing up quicker to do, as dad screams LIARS at the tv,
another dad day in Paradise.
So What makes a great
K-drama? ©
By
Michael Casey
As I mentioned yesterday I’ve decided to do K-Drama
for my PhD thesis. Dr Michael Casey PhD K-Drama, it has a certain ring to it
don’t you agree? To get a PhD you need 20,000 hours of study, I heard it on
Alcatraz a great series, that got canceled. A huge Sumo size guy had a love
interest with a most beautiful girl, so obviously I had an immediate connection
to him, but his connection to her never happened as the show was canceled. It
really was great show, Sam Neil was in it too, we were really sad in our house
when the show just disappeared.
I’ve really enjoyed New Amsterdam a medical drama, I
just hope there are more of them. Every episode of New Amsterdam made me cry,
and no I’m not a big baby, I am the man with the child in his eyes. Tom from
the Blacklist was the main hero Dr in it, and he had cancer. So it was strange
watching Tom being a Dr instead of a kind of hit man. But that is the Power of
Acting, and great drama. I also loved the Black lead heart surgeon, he was so
cool. He also prayed before he saved so obviously total respect for him, and
yes he made me cry too. My favourite character in the show was the Dr or Quack
, a big bear of a man with a beard, a psychiatrist, who it later revealed was
also Gay. He was just so good in the show.
So you can see from my research, a show must make you
connect with the characters, and the plot must be good. What’s on the page must
be lifted by the production. Which brings me to K-drama. We used to watch
Chinese shows, as my wife was from Shanghai and it was good for our girls to
hear Chinese too, however when you compare Chinese shows to Korean shows the
Korean shows win hands down. I recently started to watch a new show, and it was
about K pop, a Chinese show. However if you compared the singing and the
dancing in the Chinese show to the Korean version what do you think the result
is? Korea wins hands down.
That hurt, don’t throw the wok at the screen again
please, I’m covered in noodles and egg fried rice, not even a single prawn
thrown at me. Maybe I’m not a Prawn again Christian, ok, a very old joke, just
don’t throw a wok full of your dinner at your screen again. Or I’ll send Tom
from the Blacklist to sort you out, and he won’t be in New Amsterdam mode
either.
Let me explain, I’ve not gone crackers, throw some of
them and I’ll eat them. The K drama and K Pop people go to a “university” to
become a star before they debut. A kind of Rada I suppose, so when they dance
they really can dance. Not me pretending to Irish dance in my local store for 1
minute, it does have a concrete floor after all. And then I’m knackered for the
rest of the day. No Korean performers know how to perform. I did think of
dressing in drag and joining a girl band, a K-pop band. But I had an accident
with a borrower cigarette lighter as I was trying to get rid of excess body
hair. I am as hairy as a brown bear maybe I should have been that Quack in New
Amsterdam, without be gay that is.
So in Korean shows there is lots of high energy. Lots
of crying, where I join in, and plenty of sweeping music that swells and
touches the heart, well mine anyway, and my heart has been touched a lot, if
only by the heart surgeon nearly 5 years ago. The girls cry rivers for their
man, and they are generally so pretty, if you had a Korean grannie as your
girlfriend she would look younger than a 25 year old, even though she may
qualify for a free bus pass here in Birmingham. My own old Shanghai wife was in
that category. It’s a cross I had to carry.
No, I don’t watch Korean shows just for the girls looks,
the boys look great too, ask your gay friends around and watch a few K-dramas,
it will have you hooked more than Strictly Come Dancing or the hallowed
Coronation Street. The twins in The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker are
named in honour of the barmaids from Coronation Street, if I may interject,
they can’t touch you for interjections, another very old joke.
So if you think of Fairy Tales with witches and
demons, and evil kings and suppressed people, add Pantomime jokes and music and
dancing. All set in Korea where common people like me, not jokes please, live
in 5 star apartments, the standard of living looks so high compared to UK, or
my house at any rate. All set in today’s times then you have a K-drama. The
recent one the K2 was like James Bond on steroids, and this is a tv show. Mind
you they have 16 one hour episodes without any ads, so the production values
are very high. No wobbly scenery like Crossroads. Speaking of which I once saw
Noelle Gordon in Call Me Madame a Musical at the Birmingham Rep, and she was
ace.
Then throw in action scenes or a car crash or two,
which would not look out of place in a Bond film, and you have a K-drama. The
girl friend comes racing to the hospital tears everywhere, and they really
really do know how to cry. So I join in, and the music swells and the
soundtrack plays high. Seeing a Korean girl cry will break your heart, and make
you wish could marry her. Then her boyfriend is all bandaged up and and doesn’t
want her to see him in such a state so his bodyguards prevent her from entering
the room so she can hug him. He starts to cry too, seeing a hunk crying as he
is all bandaged up, as his girl sobs on the door outside his hospital room,
should move you. If it does not then you have no soul, no Seoul at all.
As for me I have 2 more hours to finish tonight of Oh
My Venus, then with my tear stained handkerchief I will rejoice as my Seoul
rejoices, Love Conquers All in Korea. As the neighbours bang on the door, as I
listen at full volume. Not unless it’s that K pop girl come to type for me,
Tears for a Butcher, as this writer wipes the tears of joy away.
Stripping In Public ©
By
Michael Casey
Well I missed my dental appointment yesterday, I was
too tired due to Tinnitus and I had been up till 4am the day before so my body
needed a rest. My small daughter had been on a trip to Italy so we waited up
and then we got talking, her coach has not arrived till 2.30am. It was her
first time to Italy and she had kept me up to date via text messages. Once home
she was full of news, it was nice sharing it, and she had visited some places I
had visited 20 or 30 years ago.
So today it was the Flu Jab, I’m of the age and weak
health that it’s important to have it, so I made the effort to get up. I had a
shower too, I did not want to stink out the nurse in the church hall when she
gave me a jab. The local GP does a mass inoculation in the church hall for all
the oldies, which now include me. So I put my fresh clean shirt on and my 3
jumpers with a coat on top and started down the less steep hill. I did have to
have rest on the way, there was a chill in today’s air.
On arrival there was a gap in the mass ranks of the
oldies arriving for the flu jab. So I thought I may as well have a bit of fun
as I peeled off my clothes. So first I took off my woolen gloves, an waved them
about, I followed with the pull and reveal down my back of my bright blue coat.
Then slowly and seductively I peeled of my 3 jumpers. I could have been a
stripper, if only I had an opportunity in this life. Gypsy Rose Casey,if only I
didn’t have all my scars on my body, post bypass. The audience, my audience
looked stunned. It was 1.30 on a cold afternoon, a Tuesday in a church hall, 6
medical staff and a young doctor were being treated to a stripper, an 18 stone
very hairy stripper . Then the doctor said take your shirt off, so I was
totally topless. I told him my chest hernia was like having a breast but
without the fun. The 5 or was it 6 other female staff looked on agog, a
stripper amongst them, so big fat and hair, with a cowpat of hair all brown on
my shoulder, this being my birthmark.
All too quickly it was over, apart from one lady who
sat with arms crossed throughout, maybe she was disgusted, or he nipples were
too cold in the church hall, I decided not to ask.
Then in reverse I stripped, returning my clothes to my
body. I did not get a pneumonia jab this year, one is enough for life. 7 more
years I told them, if statistical probability was right, post bypass. Though I
would love to screw the Pension fund by living till 100.
Then to their relief a final rush of pensioners
arrived for the last 30mins of jab time. So I pottered down to the church and
said a prayer, hello God remember me? Its a lovely arts and crafts designed
church from 1880 I believe.
I spotted the nice lady I had spoken to 2 years ago
maybe, and she held on to the shopping trolley full of donations for the needy.
Either because she was afraid I’d steal it, or to prevent herself from swiping
me, or throwing condensed milk at me. It
was the Born again Hippy as I had called her when I threatened to include her
in a story when we last met. And yes she had read it, though she was such a
nice lady she refrained from passing opinion on it, save for holding the
shopping trolley, which could be a metaphor in itself.
So I annoyed her with conversation but she did reveal
her interesting past, on air ambulance returning sick people who had been taken
ill abroad. She can also pronounce Welsh words correctly, and her dad was in
the RAF hence she was schooled in 16 schools. All at the back of the church,
while God looked on, maybe he wished I’d talk to him more instead of annoying
his flock, the Mistress Tree Hugger.
An old man popped in to look at the church after his
jab, he reminded me of Padre Pio, his son in law was Palestinian so I said I
had Arab reader, so he should look for The Fat Silver Haired Writer, as this
google search will find me, or The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker. They
went away bemused, but I did guess right the son in law was a doctor, but not
of medicine.
Then it was time to go, at the bus stop a guy in
purple hair was listening to his head phones. So I said you must be listening
to Prince’s Purple Rain, and no he did not punch me in the mouth, he just
replied that was exactly what he was listening to. So that was my day, from
stripping in public to being psychic.
Even More Excuses ©
By Michael Casey
Well its 16th Nov 2019 now, just in case
your watch date display is not working, and Sky is playing Dance of the Little
Fairies, no comments at the back, you Ukrainians always like to tease me, but
remember, you cannot hide. Ukrainians are so big if the rest of you have no
Ukrainian friends, sometimes they get mistaken for trees.
So I am trying a new font, Microsoft JhengHei, only it
adds an extra space after an apostrophe, so I may need to pick another font
otherwise I’ll end up speaking posh, did you just notice the extra space there
in the line above. That wasn’t me it was the font’s fault. I’ve shown you 3 examples
now. I’m not going to start saying I have or I will instead of the shortened
version but the extra space does irritate, though the font shape itself is very
nice. Am I like boy complaining about the colour of his curvy girlfriend’s
Tshirt, or for balance a girl complaining about the tatty jeans of her
Ukrainian boyfriend. The rest I’ll leave to your imagination in Kiev, and no
I’m not being a chicken, if you excuse the obvious joke.
So in today’s piece there will be the extra space, so
don’t blame me. See I’ve started with excuses already, 24/7 excuses, excuses.
By the way 247 was the word count just then, that’s why you just got that
reference in the piece, see I don’t wastes anything, and if inspiration pops up
I’ll steal it from anywhere, see your writer is just a thief of words, he’ll
look at his desk and steal another idea. It’s enough to give you a headache,
and yes I have paracetamol on my desk, so I stole that sentence too. So you
think I’m just a rubbish writer, I’d rather be a Paper Back Writer like in the
Beatles song, only I haven’t got it amongst my music, I was trying to play it
on my Alexa speaker device thing last night. I was going to rename Alexa to
SLAVE, but instead I had to call it Computer instead, so I put on a fake accent
like in Star Trek and talk to it that way. At the moment I’m at my desk talking
to you from my study. Yes it does sound so PRETENTIOUS, its just the other room
down stairs but I like the idea of study, it’s my house so I’ll call it what I
like. You probably call it the “thief station” where I watch the world go by
through my windows, real and computer generated and then I have an idea to bore
you all with. If I’m so boring you can just complain about the colour of your
girl’s Tshirt and she can complain about your tatty jeans. Hey stop that, I’m
talking, you Ukrainians, I expect they’ll come back a few hours later when they
have finished discussing the colour of Tshirts and tatty jeans. Whatever that
means, I’ll leave it to your imagination, though Michael is a nice name for
your baby in 9 months time. I’m grooving to Sky now, though the pair of you may
be looking at the sky.
See I’ve reached 600 words now, and my favourite track
from Sky is fading in the distance. This is an excuse for a piece of writing,
you wanting something good, and all you get is this fart of a piece of writing.
Tuba Smarties is being played by Sky right now, and it does sound like Alexa
doing her Fart Countdown. See I’m just a lazy thief of a writer, as Sky farts
away in the background, that’s Sky the band not your Sky tv by the way. I don’t
want Rupert Murdoch sending me any rude emails with porn stars in them, as a
get lost message, from his special “get lost loser” account. See I’ve given you
all another mental picture to play with, which is cheaper that any form of
satellite or cable tv. I’ve out Foxed you all, you need a good shepherd with
foxes about. Shep Smith has left, maybe he’ll really end up in the Trader in Old Forge and Singing Anvil, but that’s an
idea from Tears for a Butcher the sequel
to The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, which I’ll probably never finish
not unless I get a Kpop girl to come and speed type for me, so I can dictate
it, see another dream, another castle in the sky. Sky just played a long note,
it sounded like a fart, even the music comments on my dreams.
So I’ve not even started on this piece about excuses,
he piece is itself an excuse, when will he get to the point. My writing is all
foreplay, what, you’r paying attention now, well apart from girls in Tshirts
with the wrong colour, and boys in tatty jeans. That’s the trouble with readers
they always have something better to do, they never give the writer any of
their time. What?
You’r giving your baby my name, Michael
Ivanovovicovasky, yes such a nice name, at least I can pronounce half of it.
So I get a few seconds of your time, while you are
busy, Mothercare will be happy to hear that. But back to excuses, I could say
I’m in pain, so you shouldn’t expect much, but today the pain has lessened, so
you are getting this excuse for a piece of writing. You think I should go to
confession and confess to being a rubbish writer? You are all so cruel, one day
I’ll turn up at your wedding and do the speech, though which will come first,
the wedding or the christening? Which is a bit like Patrick in Chapter 7 of The
Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, For Your Penance, when the priest makes
him organise a fete for the children’s home. I know Russia and Ukraine are
reading it, I see the Blogger figures all the time. The rest of the world is
catching up on you two, 7 different translations being read on the same day.
What other excuses have I got, yes I’m hungry, so I
may just finish now, just when my verbal foreplay has got you excited. Ok, in
my imagination anyway. You are probably peeling
potatoes, or gutting a few rabbits ready for the pot, why should you
waste your time with a fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham
England, he could never excite you.
Just as I say that Sky explodes with another favourite
track, in my mind I can see a chase, as the heroes search for a lost child, a
kidnapped child, hope and despair in their eyes. It’s the climax of In Search
of an Indian Princess, the ending of The Butcher The Baker and the Undertaker.
The music beats the brain, again and again and again, will they save the child,
or will all be lost. You’ll have to finish reading the book.
Well my excuses have more or less finished now, I hope
you can see how the words flow, how they touch and caress, how they move you,
how they excite you. Or sound like farts, Sky has a fart sound in the music
again now, the piano takes over and the music raises to hope and passion. See I
really am a thief of words, but they are all my own words, I just glue them
together, which reminds you of the girl in the badly coloured Tshirt, and the
boy in the tatty jeans, glued together. The Sky music continues, I could go on
for hours but you’d get sick of me, besides the Sky music has reached its
climax. So I’ll leave you there peeling potatoes or gutting rabbits, and I hope
you forgive this excuse of a writer, like I said Michael is a baby.
I’m Better than You ©
By
Michael Casey
As you know Gulliver’s Travels is about a giant and about
a small guy, it also mentions a war, a war over what? The war was over which
end of an egg to open, do you open the small end or the big end. If you don’t
believe me just go ask Prof. Jack Black at Princeton, or is it Cornwall
England. It’s all so very confusing, he was a woman playing a man who was was
really still a woman inside, last time I looked. It was in Jumanjii the new
film version, which is very good by the way.
So we all have opinions about ourselves, I’m better than
you, because I’m taller, or I’m fatter, or thinner, or just have really great
skin like Michael Casey, oh that’s me. My hair is so fine and soft as well, so
I’m so much better than you, yes you wherever you are in the world reading my
stuff. And on it goes. So friendship ends and wars begin. Over the colour of
our skin, or the colour of our hair, with or without dandruff. If you part your
hair to the left you are bad, if you part to the right you are good. But if you
wear the colour yellow on a Wednesday then you really are an evil monster, and
should have your head shaved.
How you explain Kojak or Jeff Bezo or Yul Brynner I
really do not know, what kind of people are they. Then old dads lose their hair
so are they in the same group as Kojak and Bezo and Brynner? Is it a club? Like
the Sharks and the Jets, and do they all sing on roof tops, the dazzling head
tops, and would that man in a vest be their Patron Saint, you know the Die Hard
man, I’ve forgotten his name at the moment. No doubt he’ll send me a photo of
his butt, which looks like a head, 2 heads are better than one after all. I
remember now, the Australian guy, Bruce, Bruce Willis, but wasn’t Willis a
woman and didn’t some King marry her. So Elvis married a bald woman in a vest,
simple isn’t it?
So obviously people have different stations in life, and
one station looks down on another. So New St. Station in Birmingham the one in
England, looks down on Moor St. Station as it’s further down the line. The
wrong side of the tracks maybe, so there you have it again, I’m better than
you, and don’t pooh in the station. As the pooh just falls on the tracks, well
in England anyway, little wonder people think their station is better than your
station, and even hold their nose at the very mention of you. Which is just
your basic prejudice, pooh on the tracks is no
good.
My dad’s bigger than your dad, that’s because he sweats
in a factory for 16 hours a day. My dad has a car and a nice office, your dad
poohs in an outside toilet and that’s at home. So I’m better than you, where
did you do to University, oh I remember you went to Aston Poly, my sweaty dad
who poohs outside was proud I went to Oxford, and little brother to Cambridge.
So which side of the tracks you pooh on does not matter only hard work counts,
so stick that up your Aston flyover, or where the HP sauce comes from.
People and prejudice continues, and Political Parties try
to coral you into their sheep pen, betting that you’ll vote for them because of
your Tribal loyalties. You should think for yourself. My mum told me when I was
4 or was it 5, that I was as good as Anybody. So I think you should all believe
in yourself , just as we Caseys do. The only barrier is yourself, your X Y Z,
does not matter, it did not matter 50 years ago in inner city Birmingham as
they now call it when my brother broke through all these Glass Ceilings, or
latter on when another brother did the same. And yes the 2nd brother
working at a coal mine in Newbold Vernon for a year before he went off to
Cambridge, he invented the Gap Year before it was invented. The Old guys
cheered when he said he was going to Cambridge, as he revealed his grades, the
new guys were not so charitable. Me I’d always cheer anybody on, so should you,
all of you everywhere wherever you are in maybe 70 countries now as you read
this. If you cannot excel then do your best, and be as good as you can be.
Don’t have any spite in your heart. Say Good Luck and God Bless to anybody and
everybody.
A Good man, is not the greatest man, the strongest man,
the quickest man, or the dumbest man, the smelliest man even. A Good man is
somebody with hope in his heart who cheers for anybody and everybody, who
says God Bless and Good Luck. Or maybe
I’m just an old fashioned boy, the son of Kerry immigrants, who came to England
in 1944 with just the clothes on their backs. Envy and hate destroys from
within, so any Political Party that preaches that is not worth voting for, so
hold your nose and pick somebody who’ll do the least harm, do no hard as one
motto says. Wherever you are in the world, try and change one person at a time
by your example, and change your country by voting.
Today’s Desk ©
By
Michael Casey
Well my new story rate has
slowed down, I was all stiff and could barely walk due to my bad back, its an
11 year old injury that revisits me from time to time. It’s like the tide that
comes and goes and then there are seasonal tides, though in my case it’s pain.
Ok, I’ll shut up about pain, you just want a story. So throw another log on the
imaginary fire, or snuggle under the bed clothes with your girlfriend, ok with
the dog, but put your hunting riffle under the bed on safety. You don’t want to
shoot yourself, even if my writing is that bad, you are not Hemingway reading
me.
So to today’s story.
Today’s Desk. There are 2 desks in this room, my desk and there was space for a
2nd desk in this room, here in the new house. Which is an old house,
but we spent too much that we cannot afford doing it up, so it’s the new house.
Up the hill from the old house. The irony is that it was this hill that alerted
me to my bad heart, and it was thanks to the nurse insisting on sending me for
tests that saved my life nearly 5 years ago now. The hill was so steep I could
hardly breath, I used to wake up in bed breathless sometimes too, and
Ukrainians you are smirking at the back, I just hope you put your riffle on
safety, otherwise the cat will set it off, or should I say Setitoff, the cat’s
name. How would you explain a hole in your mattress and a bullet in your butt?
Joking apart, was that the
leaves on a tree moving in the wind, or just a Ukrainian walking towards the
house, you are all so big, so very big.
Now back to the story, the
desk. I looked at the other desk in the morning when I finally got out of bed,
and it made me smile. Why, because my small daughter’s giant size mug was in
the corner. So it made me think of her. Books and notes are open ready to read,
as well as flash cards, freshly arrived from the Amazon, at least they are not
plastic. Shelving for this and that too, which her big sister left behind while
she’s at University doing BioChem 200+ lads and 20 girls I think. And yes of
course she’s in the top 10% do you think she’d be like me?
Now back to little sister,
she has highlighters and low lighters on her desk, everything at the ready.
Felt tips are passe, if you’re a dad you’ll know about this already. A student,
must have the right kit, highlighters or lowlighters from Japan, Muji I think
they are called. I just pay for them. We are an international family after all,
I’ve not moved 3 miles from where I was born, I’ve only ever lived in 2 houses,
this is now the 3rd, but mother was from Shanghai, our kids are
Chinese/Irish where do you think the brains came from? Iceland, as in the
country? No, Iceland the frozen food store, and not brains but bains faggots.
You readers are horrible sometimes, after all the 1,535,000 words I’ve given
you, I hope Setitoff does just that.
Ok I’m going to sulk now,
say sorry or I’ll not finish the tale. Have you said sorry? Or did you just
curse me? The central heating controls have stopped working again, so icicles
might appear amongst my words, it’s something simple, the central heating, my
dinner too. While YOU were sulking, I put the dinner on. Small daughter has
just arrived, so I must attend to her, so you can play with Setitoff the cat,
but watch out because if my cat Totoro turns up, she will fire your riffle, so
better lock it away properly while I have dinner and play with the central
heating controls. And no Vodka would warm me up, but really, really.
Ok, it’s a few days later
and our Ukrainian plumber has saved us, so we are happy and warm, he is
excellent by the way, an Olympian of Plumbing. His son loves reading too. So
now I’ll continue, I look to the left and the other desk is spotless, my small
daughter has moved all her rubbish upstairs. Her mocks started today, Jane Eyre
and Citizenship, so I’m pleased they went well. Now that the heat is back to
normal she won’t join me here in the study but will move to the kitchen and her
spot at the kitchen table next to the radiator. It’s her preferred spot, where
she feels comfortable and warm, a big thanks to our Ukrainian Olympian plumber
again.
We all have a favourite
spot where we study, my big sister used to sit over the palin as we called it,
sat on a chair next to the big hedge by Mrs Patrick’s in the summer sun. In the
winter she sat right next to the old coal fire reading a book, so close that
the criss-cross of the metal fire guard marked or even branded her legs. As for
me I used to stay up late reading Alistair McClean books, Guns of Navorone if
I’ve spelt that right, I think there were 17 of them in total, so I’ve
out-written him, in quantity if not in quality. This was 35 years ago, in my
big reading period, I used to go to bed in the cold as the heating was all off and
it was always 2am I seem to remember. So cold is a theme there. And just as I
say that a Polish delivery guy has just brought a small oil heater, see God has
perfect timing even if my writing does not. I’ll test it then put it away, now
that the central heating is back on.
I suppose God tests us too
and puts us at the back of the queue, is that Obama I can see there, what did
he do wrong? Apart from not grooming future leaders, or is he doing that? Maybe
he’ll send me an irate email, I’d rather he sent me a bag of chips, not
microchips, fish and chip chips. I was going to have a fancy desk like the
Resolute desk, only that would have spoilt the new look at the new house so I’m
here to one side of the chimney breast and the other desk is at the other side of
the chimney breast, like twin desks suckling on a chimney. At least you can lie
on the rug on the floor or flake out on the settee behind. That’s how the room
was designed. Work hard at at desk then chill on the rug or the couch behind as
you Americans call it.
I hope my girls started
their paths to PhDs via the student desk to my left. Me and my desk, with a 10
year old LCD tv as a monitor are going nowhere, just down or is it up the
garden path with you my readers being led by an invisible string. Where am I
taking you all? How would I know? I’m just the writer, with fairy dust in my
eyes, but at least my fridge has ice cold drinks inside. Yes I’m perverse,
froze to death inside and outside and now I’m drinking ice cold Dr Pepper. If
you want to moan leave a complaint, on the complaints desk.
Thanksgiving USA 2019
By
Michael
Casey
Now
where do I begin, I’m not American, so dare I speak to you in USA and all over
the world about Thanksgiving? Well your Holidays tend to drift over here, we
have Halloween and Thanksgiving has led to Black Friday over here too. So I’ve
picked that to bore you with, and let’s see just how far I can get, before you
all get off the couch and head for the shops. Or for your online shops.
What
do you give thanks for? Thank you for the Music Abba used to sing, so we all
thank our favourite stars for their gift of song that means so much to us all.
I’d like to thank Taylor Swift for not hurrying and spending the night with me,
not forgetting Mylie Cyrus and Gerry Rafferty as well as Britain’s Will Young.
They are the foursome that comes to bed with me most nights, maybe I should buy
a bigger bed at Costco’s Black Friday sale. Their voices I mean,what kind of
man do you think I am? And as I’ve mentioned one male dead artist, 2 female
artists, one of whom is Bisexual and a gay man, my selection of these 4 could
cover a whole host of things. But as you know I am referring to going to bed
with their voices, their voices alone, though, well there is no though, just my
TINNITUS. So song keeps the hiss at bay as I try to get to sleep, with 4
voices, voices, not vices, to keep me company.
I
give thanks that you now realise what I’m talking about,Tinnitus. And no
Tinnitus was not some Roman slave, thankfully no American studied Rome as far
as I know. So what else do we give thanks for? We thank God,we found that
website that would write essays for us, so we can continue with our Sporting
Scholarship. Then we go and see the latest Jumanjii at the Cinema, and who do
we bump into at the popcorn stand? Miss FatKnickers, though you never say that
to her face, and for the first time ever you meet her beau. Your jaw drops, he
could be a film star, he has all the looks.
What
does he see in her you ask your friends, and she overhears but pretends not to.
So you go and enjoy the film. Miss Fatknickers meanwhile is in a clinch with
her beau, and no that’s not what he saw in her, she has personality and a kind
face. Despite having fatknickers that a F16 Tomcat could land on, her beau
loves her, for being herself. Something all of us should remember, give thanks
for just being yourself. Besides she helped him overcome his stutter and he is
now a Radio Announcer on WKBAZAZAOP, so she has given him something money
cannot buy. And together they are so in love.
The
film ends and you see Miss Fatknickers leaving the multiplex, her beau lovingly
removing the stray popcorn from her face, and making her blush as he brushes it
from her well filled jumper, they are so much in love. You and you friends
snigger at them. You go home and you tell everybody that you saw Miss
Fatknickers having her breasts stroked in public, before your elucidate. Your
family laughs.
But
he who laughs last laughs longest, Miss Fatknickers sends you an email, but the
voice is of her beau in his best announcer’s voice. We looked at your essay and
we spotted that it came from Lazy Essays R Us, Cheat Your Way to the Top
website. So can you write the essay again, over the Thanksgiving Holiday. You
curse your luck. Her beau has a PhD in English, he’s not just a pretty face. As
for Miss Fatknickers she is naked on the bed, waiting for the whipped cream,
it’s so much nicer than popcorn, as the Radio Announcer on WKBAZAZAOP tells
her….
Don't Quote Me I'm a
Politician (c)
By
Michael Casey
You said you hate your mother
and you hoped she'd die a horrible death.
So Why should any of us vote
for you?
The Politician splutters.
Well go on, explain yourself
FancyPants.
The lashing continues.
The Politician continues to
splutter.
The Interviewer intervenes.
I'll just have to cut you off
there, Penny in Farthing.
The Interviewer spotting his
chance at radio fame takes over the lashing.
Why were you such a BASTARD to
your own mother, your only mother,
who gave you her titty to feed
you, to nurture you, you BASTARD.
The Politician regains his
composure.
I WAS 3 AT THE TIME, SHE WOULD
NOT LET ME WATCH POSTMAN PAT ON TV.
But that's still no way to
talk to your mother.
Thanks for coming in to bore
us with your policies, we won't be voting for you anyway.
Now on RadioQAZWSX here's
Dolly Parton with Stand by Your Mam, or Man
Whatever.
So now that everything is
recorded for Posterity, do Politicians have a chance.
Well no, we all hate them
anyway.
Close the garden gate, and
take your junk mail with you, I mean the junk male, the one smoking his skunk
as he leans on my gatepost saying how much he loves trees. There's enough bark
in what he's smoking.
Don't patronise me, how much
you are a member of the community, you've lived 400miles away all your life.
And as for your wife I've never seen her down the local Tesco, or at the Bingo.
And as for down the nail bar, she'd never go to one of those. Mind you Tina's
nail bar is the worst, not even the rats would go in there. The Boomtown Rats
that is. And why should I vote for you? You and your girlfriends, I've seen it
all in The News of The World, so it must be true. What you give me an extra 100
a week if I vote for you. I'd suck your toes if you offered that, of course I'd
vote for you. Will you come in and I can practice, it must be hard knocking on
knockers all day. Just come in for a quick cuppa, the BBC man has stopped
following you.
Yes of course I'll vote for
you, I've always voted that way, never the other lot, can you just help me peel
a few potatoes for the dinner, it'll look good on social media. The Politician
comes in and peels potatoes, in the kitchen she meets all the Politicians from
all the colours of the rainbow. One is making beds, another is vacuuming,
another washing windows, another is helping with maths homework. Upstairs an
old man is laughing his kilt off, that'll teach the bastards to come to our
house. I was Douglas Stewart air steward , the other one was on the BBC, I used
to get his mail by mistake so I kept all the stamps, I had quite a collection.
So on it goes, we neither like
or love any politician, they are all in it for themselves. But if they offer us
anything, an electoral bribe of course we'll vote for them. And we'll swear
we'll always voted this way or that way, or even the other way. For their's is
the one true way. So Help Me God, not that I believe in God, I only believe in
myself, I am a POLITICIAN after all the Cream.
Why
the tears again? (c)
By
Michael Casey
There
is much in the world to make us all cry, the Political situation for one, pick
your own country. Pick the rulers who don't rule but dictate. I was watching a
Rolling Stones documentary on their South America tour, which ended up in Cuba.
What I did not know was just how important their music, The Rolling Stones
music was as a sign of Resistance big and small, going to jail just
because you played their music. Rock and Roll actually banned in some countries
for years. In 1920s/1930s Ireland my mother told me the song Down Mexico Way
was condemned by the priest, but I never knew the Repression against Music in
South America.
So as
I watched the Stones on tour it was an eye opener, I would recommend the film
highly. Music has so much power, that's why leaders fear it. We can all
remember in Casablanca when the anthem is sung. It brings tears to our eyes, if
we are not dead already, dead in the heart, dead in the spirit. I just came
back from the shops and I'd spotted somebody was reading a Hebrew translation
of something, I don't know what it was because it was all in Hebrew, if I cut
and past translate back to my English then I'll know, it was from 2016. Then at
the end I'd written in English that I hoped they all liked it. Then I
said I had a story idea where a little old Jewish lady, Esther, or did I
misspell it as Ester, where the only Jew in a room full of Gentiles at a
celebration saved the day via singing, though there was one other Jew in the
room, it's all in Nights in Malta, you can find it on my site.
Now
the point is that when I read that it made me cry because the memories of
the story, the pictures came flooding back, and as I write Will Young is
singing behind me, and sometimes as I write, the word I type is the exact same
one that he or any other singer is singing. Yes we are in harmony, my typed
words and the singers words in the song. Yes really, and this happens
frequently, too frequently for coincidence alone.
So
make of that what you want, and I'm making mistakes in my typing now as I
explain this to you. Cross harmony galore if you like, and do watch Pitch
Perfect 3 as it's very funny. Tears come because memories come back, in my case
a story idea, the mental pictures I have as Esther saves the day, as I write I
can almost see how it will transfer from my mind to the screen, that's why one
site is called Cartoons made from Words. If I do it right then as you read you
can see the pictures in your own mind, maybe I just write screenplay
pitches. I have yet to have a Film Producer or TV Producer take me
under his wing, but Spielberg I'm ready.
Touching
tears is the greatest thing I could do, by making you think at a more human
level, past your prejudices and past your pain, so you can laugh till you cry.
Or you cry because you remember a shared past, a shared pain. And then you can
go forward in harmony.
Too Tired almost to Type(c)
By Michael Casey
Well the Tinnitus won last night,
then I had to walk and bus it to the doctors for a blood test, so I'm tired
today. The cold made it hard to find a vein, so I've been pricked in both arms.
Make your own jokes up there. I
did have a nap, but I'm still the wrong side of tired. So hopefully a night's
sleep will end my Zombie state.
So what do I do when the Tinnitus
wins? Well I look at my phone, and try not knocking the music off accidentally.
Trump is a constant search, he'll dominate the History books, for all the wrong
reasons. I'm so innocent of everything, I'll prevent everybody from Testifying.
If you were brought up with a Kerry mother his actions seem so appalling. But I'll leave him there for
now, in his after the Queen afterglow.
So what else do I do when sleep
won't come? Well there is BBC World Service to listen to, it can change your
Life and Intellect. My intellect comes more from the BBC radio 4, which is the
Home version, so to speak, than any school or University. You just have to use
your ears. People use their eyes too much and it detracts from the information
being imparted. I grew up as a Radio person, so normally I'll pick up on words
and meaning, no I'm not Sherlock Holmes, but I'd like to be. I did read all the
books as a child, but 30 years later when I tried to reread them I just could
not regain the love for them. That's the trouble with life, you cannot always
go back, so it's better not to try, otherwise the memory is ruined and you lose
a part of your life's jigsaw.
You have to get in the right
position in your bed, in the warm spot in order to get a good night's sleep.
Post surgery 5 years ago I can only sleep in bed on my right side, before I was
like a kebab, gently turning and rotating into any position. But I have no job
to go to in the morning, I just sit here and write and watch my stats every
day, seeing how many more bemused readers I have world wide. If sleep just will
not come then I go downstairs and put our whistling kettle on, though the
whistle has dropped off, which at least means I won't wake the house while I
have a hot drink. Maybe Horlicks even, which as you know is a prostitutes
favourite drink, And why will I drink that in the middle of the night with
Tinnitus in my ears, well that could be another story, you'll have to write
that for yourselves.
Sometimes I'll even have
some toast and Philadelphia with garlic and herbs to go with my Horlicks, a
perfect proposition at 3 in the morning. Though I may not have enough bread
left for the morning if I have toast in the middle of the night. And that's why
my belly is the size it is, Hovis seeded sensation bread, as well as wearing 4
layers in the Winter. And some kind person sends me belly exercises,
there is only one exercise for a big belly, but I'll leave that to you
imagination too.
So by now, I'd be tired enough to
sleep through the Tinnitus, and I'd go back to bed, it's like having Jingle
Bells constantly playing in your head, but at least with a bit of ho ho ho,
your belly fat should go.
Help
Santa Find His Ho Ho Ho ©2019edit
By
Michael
Casey
Christmas
is a time of Love and Cheer and too many drinks of beer. For Santa its a time
of giving and comes after Thanksgiving, he circles the Earth sprinkling Love
and Laughter and Hope or the hereafter. But something was wrong, there was a
stink and there was a pong, because Santa had lost his Ho Ho Ho. Santa was Ho
Ho Ho less, he couldn’t even say God Bless when he tucked the Elves up in bed.
Rudolf was sick with worry and knew he’d have to hurry, for without his Ho Ho
Ho the sleigh just would not go.
Rudolf
flew to the North Pole to ask the Polar Bears what to do, but they had hardly a
clue. The Polar Bears suggested Rudolf asked the Eskimos in Alaska. So Rudolf
flew alone to ask the Eskimos in Anchorage what to do, but even they did not
have a clue. So Rudolf had an ice lolly with the Huskies, they were always kind
and playful, especially Vincent their leader who loved leading, that way he did
not have to look at another dog’s behind as they pulled their sleigh.
Vincent
said try Lapland, so Rudolf went back to Finland to find Santa’s Ho Ho Ho.
Rudolf looked high and low and even places where a reindeer should never go.
Rudolf met a BigFoot hidden in the trees who was quietly having a wee. Rudolf
followed the yellow snow and asked politely where he should go to find Santa’s
Ho Ho Ho. BigFoot was taken aback, how did you find me? Rudolf explained I have
a Red Nose I can find anything, but yellow pee is a give away for a reindeer
such as me. BigFoot blushed and scratched his head, it really was time for bed.
But before he went to bed this is what he said. My friend is Nessy the Loch
Ness Monster, if you ask her then maybe she’ll be able to help you find Santa’s
Ho Ho Ho.
Rudolf thanked BigFoot, telling him to eat more peas
and that would help disguise his wees in the snow. And with a glow Rudolf was
gone, high high in the air, almost on a stairway to heaven, though for Santa it
was the opposite, for Santa had lost his Ho Ho Ho. Rudolf flew to Bonnie
Scotland, he got lost and stopped by a bonnie wee house, it was Robbie Bruce’s.
So Rudolf started speaking in Russian and doing Cossack dancing and all manner
of prancing. Robbie came out with a mug of hot chocolate for Rudolf, he spoke
in Russian too, he could go along with any jest, especially when just wearing
his best string vest. Robbie was mortified when he heard that Santa had
lost his Ho Ho Ho, so he phoned his best friend Nick Robinson the Radio4
morning gossip show host. Nick Robinson dropped the phone such was his shock,
Christmas with out Santa and his sleigh and no Ho Ho Ho. Nick shed a tear, then
he remembered he had a friend, not just Robbie Bruce his besty but Olga
Takesometimeoff.
Olga
Takesometimeoff was the dinner lady at the BBC, she pushed the tea trolley for
70 years. The bosses always said she should Take some time off, so that became
her name, Olga Takesometimeoff. Now she knew everybody, their mums and dads and
grandparents too, everybody told her everything. So when a tear stained Nick
Robinson came to her trolley she took one look at him and slapped his face hard
knocking his glasses off. This is the BBC, WE never cry, we will fight them on
the beaches, we will never never surrender. I said that to Churchill, and look
what did he do? He used MY words in a speech. With that she explained that she
knew the private phone number of the Russian Ambassador in London.
So
Rudolf armed with the phone number rung the Russian Ambassador, and asked for
his help in finding the Loch Ness Monster. The Ambassador said he’d help as a
special favour to Olga Takesometimeoff, and to Robbie Bruce now that he worked
for RT. So it was arranged that a Russian mini sub would sneak into Loch Ness
and find Nessy for Rudolf. The Royal Navy were livid when the American’s told
them what was planned.
The American’s listen to everybody’s phones after all.
But Olga Takesometimeoff may have a Russian sounding name but really her name
was Drake-Nelson, Olga Drake-Nelson. So she did ring up the 1st Sea
Lord who was her grandson. So it would be a chance for the Royal Navy to play
me and my shadow with the Russians, testing some new kit Q had invented. Yes Q
really does exist, he is not just a made up person in James Bond. Santa had
given Q a Chemistry set as a child, Rudolf said it was dangerous, and Q burnt
his eyebrows off. So Q went to school with painted on eyebrows that his sister
had drawn on, just like Michael Casey the fat silver haired writer in shades
did.
So
the Russian’s found the Loch Ness Monster with the Royal Navy watching their
every bubble. Rudolf flew low and landed on the Russian sub which surfaced so
Nessy and Rudolf could chat. Meanwhile in London the Russian ambassador met for
a quiet drink with the foreign secretary in the Crown. The British were so
angry they make the Russians pay for the Stella Artois, they did pay for the
nibbles though. Both sides had to perform the pantomime that is Diplomacy. But
both men were relieved that Nessy was found, and with the help of God and 2
foreign navies Santa’s Ho Ho Ho could be found.
They
had tears in their eyes, but the Russian ambassador gave the foreign secretary
a fur hat as an early Christmas present. The foreign secretary gave a copy of
The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker by Michael Casey to the Russian. Is
this a punishment? Joked the Russian. You should have Mr Casey on RT reading
his stories said the foreign secretary poker faced, to be honest he was not a
fan of Michael Casey, Christmas or no Christmas. Putting his new Russian fur
hat on his head the British foreign secretary left the Crown pub, he did grab
the last of the nibbles though.
Nessy
had lived for ages in the Loch so she had seen Santa Ho Ho Hoing through the
sky for many a year, a 1000 years at least. What Nessy knew was that it was the
Love of the World kept Santa going. But not just the Love but, the need of
Love. So in fact what Santa needed was not Love but the opposite. He needed a
challenge, Norad tracking him was not enough, the world had grown complacent.
Santa needed the world’s biggest challenge to put fire in his brimstone, to
make his cheeks glow, to make his chest swell.
In Heaven Mum called Saint Michael to her side, you
saved the Russian spaceman after you saved Mrs Murphy. Saint Michael bowed.
Would you be prepared to stand in for Santa Claus? I am humbled, but there is
only one Santa. Mum smiled, Michael had such humility. But you were at Stalingrad, you
helped stop the Nazi filth. Saint Michael blushed, he thought nobody knew. I
have a request for you Michael, can you be by Santa’s side and step in and save
the day if you have to? To serve is to obey.
Santa
saddled up the sleigh, Saint Michael was in the back invisible to his eyes.
Rudolf said a prayer and the reindeer leapt from the highest mountain of the
North Pole. The sleigh dropped like a stone. They would have crashed straight
into Nanook of the North’s igloo, but somewhere in the world a child’s lonely
disparate prayer went up. I just wish I could see Santa before I die, even if I
got no present, not even one grain of rice.
Now
that was the kind of prayer Santa needed to bring back his Ho Ho Ho, the sleigh
rose and rose high into the sky. The red rosy cheeks glowed redder than
Rudolf’s nose. Saint Michael kissed his sword, he knew he’d be needing it where
the were going. Where in the world would a child long for love, for a grain of
rice, for the chance to see Santa.
North
Korea where love of God had been replaced by the love of war, the love of
nuclear weapons. The love of fear, the land of the note book, all led by
crooked power, not the power of love, but dictatorship from above. So the
reindeer flew without fear, Saint Michael drew his sword, Santa was on a
mission, it was Stalingrad all over again. Evil must be defeated.
The
reindeer zigged and zagged as missiles flew trying to knock Santa from the sky.
Saint Michael batted them away, he diced and spliced the evil North Korean
missiles away. Santa Ho Ho Hoed the missiles away, a force field of love and
laughter. He had his sack and they would never sack him. This was his job, his
future for all eternity, he had Saint Michael by his side. The reindeer could
feel the child’s cries, it was coming from the deep. In the deep the metro
system. Hidden away in a secret jail next to the hidden nuclear bombs was a
child jailed and chained to a wall for having a pretty picture of a Nativity in
his pocket.
The
reindeer flew straight down the stairwell bullets flying at them from the evils
guards. Saint Michael spread his wings, Santa ho ho hoed, Rudolf’s nose was as
red as Mercury. And then Saint Michael sang just as he had sung in Stalingrad,
Ave Maria.
The
sleigh landed on a platform and Saint Michael split the cell door in two with
one swipe of his sword. Chained to a wall a child was dying, clutching the
colour photo of the Nativity in his hand. Saint Michael broke the chains with
his bare hands. Santa cried and his tears fell as grains of rice. The child
said thank you as he died in Saint Michael’s arms. Saint Michael wrapped his
wing around the child.
I
bring Peace and Goodwill to all men said Santa as he remounted his sleigh. And
I have a message from Stalingrad to North Korea said Saint Michael. So as Santa
flew back into the sky to continue on his Christmas journey, Saint Michael
shared the Stalingrad spirit. Every single nuclear weapon in North Korean was
hit by his sword, and they all exploded 300 metres underground.
Carrying
the child’s body to heaven Saint Michael left a white trail behind him. Grains
of rice, that Christmas rice fell from the sky onto North Korea. And in the
distance above the muffled sounds of nuclear explosions underground, you could
hear Santa going Ho Ho Ho, as he and Saint Michael had the last laugh.
The Calm after the Storm ©
By Michael Casey
Well the pain monster seems
to have disappeared for the day, and I finally got enough sleep so I’m up and
happy. I got my yearly calendar from the Columbans, that’s the Missionary
society, not El Chapo’s friends, so that made my day and got me thinking of
Christmas for the first time. So as I listen to Celine Dion’s Courage I’ll talk
to you. Well what can I say, we Face Timed my big daughter at University
yesterday so we got a look at her student accommodation and the new coat we
sent to her. One looked better than the other, you can decide which.
My big daughter looks
forward to MEAT when she gets home for the holidays, as her housemates are
Veggies, I couldn’t live like that, if I don’t get meat at least once a day I
feel faint. Maybe that’s why I’m so chunky, 252 pounds or 18 stones, as much as
a Heavy Weight Boxer, though they tend to be at least 4 inches taller. Though
as you know my strong legs saved me as
they took veins from them to go into my heart, the 5 year anniversary is coming
up. It was 3rd Jan 2015 I went in and 13th Jan 2015 I had
the unplanned operation, thanks again to Birmingham’s City Hospital and our
Queen Elizabeth hospital. That’s why Still Alive 2015 was my book title that
year.
Our cat Totoro continues to
have the high life, she is the whitest and fluffiest cat in the world. I think
she drinks Comfort and not milk, as you can see from the photos, she is just so
super white, maybe we should rent her out for commercials. I’ve also been
playing with Fonts, and layout on my sites, I hope it does not annoy you too
much. What do you expect a Writer to play with? That’s disgusting, you always
mock me, I’m here to amuse you, not to be mocked nor belittled. What do you
mean I should belittle my stomach, you are all so very insensitive, I’m sure
you’ll all vote for the insensitive party at the Election. Read chapter 9 of
The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, M.P. Married to a Person, Married to
a People and you’ll get my take on elections from 30 years ago. But back to
fonts, you like your words to look nice, easy to read, easy on the eye, not too
fancy you cannot read what it says, just right, like Goldilocks’ porridge, and
I don’t mean Boris or Trump, you know Goldilocks and the 3 Bears, that one.
I was just interrupted by
“the cleaner” so my brain has been wiped, what was I going to say. Yes Fonts, I
can remember reading Dirk Borgarde’s books and he was an excellent writer by
the way, anyway I can remember where he was talking about Fonts. Some writers
want small fonts, so the book feels like a diary, personally I like to see
clearly, one reason for small fonts is to save pages and thus keep the price
down. But I like to be able to see what I’m reading. On some websites too I
HATE faint small sized font. It’s almost a fetish, let me see what I’m reading.
I’ve just remembered maybe
20 years ago I applied for a job and I mentioned I was a writer, and the snide
nasty ignorant “lady” replied with a
rejection letter all in “fancy font” I bet she
thought she was so clever, like sacking somebody just before Christmas, that
kind of clever. Yes by the way as Laura once said, “he can bite as well”, and
hello to Laura, she really was a nice lady, we worked on the Font desk, I mean
Front desk together.
So a Font, can give added
weight or meaning to something. You don’t write “I LOVE YOU AND WANT YOU TO TAKE ME TO BED” in
BOLD
, not unless you are very bold. You scribble a note on the back of a bus ticket
and palm it to the one you love. Though if the object of your affections has
bad eyesight, then maybe BOLD may be appropriate, or even cue cards. So for
every occasion there is a font, or a greetings card, that’s why girls like
fancy cards, and stationary, Clintons was the card shop here in England by the
way, maybe it was a dry cleaners in USA, that I do not know maybe you need to
palm me a note.
Now I think I’ve covered
the basics, but do watch out for carpet burns this office Christmas party
season, so whether you are Bold or not, just take precautions, otherwise the
next note you receive will be on official paper. Child maintenance or a Birth
Certificate with your names on. Yes 40 years ago people were doing everything
you guys are planning, or hoping. Just be safe and don’t have it away in a
manger.
New Discoveries,
Old Memories ©
By
Michael Casey
Well today the weather is milder, though a storm with
a strange name is due tomorrow, the 1st named storm translates as “
a gift from God”, though many won’t think so on their way to church in the
morning. And already I’ve upset the PC crowd, Casey to some is a strange name
as well, or am I not allowed to pun on Barron and baron, people need to grow
up, and that’s not a pun on his great height at such an early age. People are
looking for offence too easily, when they should be looking for fun and
friendship.
So I was backing up the family photo collection again,
its something worth saving for the kids, even if I am the one mainly taking the
photos so I’m not in many of them. People should learn to use a reflection in
shop windows, or just accost strangers to take your photo. That way you may
even meet your future wife/boyfriend/or cleaner mutually inclusive or
exclusive, and you can get dirty together. Also hold the camera or phone to one
side so we can see you and not the camera. I have to confess that Fiona my boss
and maths wiz once said I was surgically attached to the camera. As I always
had a camera in my pocket, this was 25 years ago and more, before everybody had
mobiles with camera attached to them. Anybody can take decent photos nowadays,
the indecent ones make sure you don’t send to your boss accidentally.
Now to the point, when you look through old photos you
may stumble on old snaps you had forgotten about, and then the memories can
come flooding back. I’ve done so this weekend, so I’ve forwarded some snaps to
my daughters. Holiday snaps are great too, Malta in April 2013 was my last holiday,
so memories of me drinking Tusk Lager were nice to see.
And even better to drink, so feel free to send me
some. I also discovered a nice photo of me drinking in Hotel Achat Offenbach
Germany.
And no I’m not a drunk, On holiday I’ll have a beer,
but generally 12 pints a year is my ration. I have too many memories of our
alcoholic lodgers as I grew up. I can think of 3 that died directly or
indirectly of beer destroying their health. Though Barney drunk and smoked like
a fish and lasted till he was 83, he died the day after his Birthday.
When you rummage through your rubbish you discover a
lot, I had a clear out when we moved house a year ago, so now I have far less
to rummage through. Though went you rummage through dead lodger’s rubbish you
can discover lots of things. We had to do this a couple of times, we also had
people just bail out and disappear, so we had to tidy up after them. See, the
variety of my life gives me wider experience about certain subjects, some
subjects I wish I knew nothing about, nothing at all, but as you go on you live
and learn and take or share the pain with you.
I’m not just a happy clappy person, I’ve got scars
too, in my case literally. If ever I pose naked for you while you get use to
your new phone, you’ll see the scars on both legs and on my chest, all the way
up and all the way down, and my very hairy left shoulder, where my siblings
said the cow pat landed on me, I was born under a cow after all. So I just hope
your new phone has that Rhino shatter proof glass. What you think I look and
smell like a Rhino? You are all so cruel, CRUEL, I hope you never win an award
for your image. I won Uncool Dad of The Year 2015 with Clarks shoes I’ll have
you know. And I kept all my clothes on too.
Winning that award, yes I really won that award, I’m
not just joking, and don’t throw shoes at me as an insult, well that award was
a bright spot in 2015 which was the worse year of my life otherwise, what with
my bypass and other events. Though this year 2019, has not had too much joy in
it, health etc. At least my appointment to remove this lump, this bulge in my
chest poking though my bypass scar came in today. See you have a mental picture
of the Elephant Man now, only horror movie fans would want to photograph me
naked. They are naked and I am clothed, the obvious joke, please yourselves,
Frankie was right.
See Pathos and Comedy combined, though some won’t see
it, and never want to see it, or any of it, because they are PC. Samantha will
come and photo me, she’s the girl off the radio, an imaginary foil, who
comedians were castigated, or was it castrated for, for being saucy to her.
Give me HP. Well you’ve had your chips for today, so pass that HP down the
table, and don’t give me any sauce, not unless you’ve come for my snaps.
Grandma I’ll always protect you ©
By
Michael Casey
Now it’s 11th Dec 2019, I’ve just checked my
readers figures and you are still a very far flung crowd. I didn’t have a
single idea in my head, as usual, then a thought slipped past like a cloud, and
I had a picture in my head. It was a Grandma or a Babushka as my Russian and
Ukrainian readers might say. So this is the cartoon stuck to the page, I’m not
pushing myself as much to create new stories, when I get a PhD student write a
FaceBook essay on me, then maybe I’ll speed up again. Though I did have a PhD
reading my rubbish recently, he was looking for a recipe and just found a
recipe for my rubbish. So if you are sitting comfortably, ok finish those 5
pints each then I’ll begin.
Nana was a nana, her son had died tragically, so
she was left to raise his child JB, the mother had left as she did not want to
be tied down, well outside the bedroom that is, so Nana was left with her
grandchild JB. Nana loved being a nana, and she loved JB with all her heart. It
always amused her to claim her Pension and Child Tax Credit on the same day,
rather like this writer’s mother did many a year ago. So Nana just winked at
the man in the post office, pretending to be like Frances de la Tour in Vicious
on the tv, if you haven’t heard of it go find it, Gay Gandalf is in it too, you
can find it when I finish this story.
So Nana was a great nana, she encouraged JB in
everything he did, and JB loved her back. And why was JB called JB, well
because he always wore a Tee shirt with JB printed on the front, refusing to
change it. So despite having a name, JB was just that JB. Rather like somebody
refusing to take their anorak off when visiting Lourdes in 1966, or in East is
East that film. So JB grew up, he was so small and weedy and Nana worried he’d
be bullied and not be able to look after himself, so she always fed him meat,
and meat and more meat. Then when her neighbours’ sons started to do Martial
arts at ten JB was sent along too with Taz and Singh and Anita too, Anita was
destined to be a doctor, but her mother said it would be good for when she was
a GP doing home visits, just in case.
Now JB just got bigger and bigger, and fell in
love with Anita. She fell for him too, but their paths would diverge when she
went to Cambridge to study Medicine. He wasn’t gifted in science, but the
things he could do with his hands were unbelievable, he could build things,
there was always the smell of soldering iron in Nana’s house. And yes of course
Anita loved the way he stroked her hair, and her very heart. He was her’s and
if anybody even looked at JB they’d be sorry, she did hold a couple of Black
belts by then, as did JB and Taz and Singh. Taz and Singh will be in the Tokyo
Olympics in 2020, just look for their warm up JB Tee shirts, they are not
supposed to wear them but, who’s brave enough to tell them off. Besides they
are Birmingham boys, and Birmingham boys love kebabs from Neelams near the
Kings Head, and besides when the kebab sauce dripped the JB Tee shirt was great
for mopping it up.
So Anita went to Cambridge to study to be a
doctor, but she was going to marry JB, he’d impressed her dad and her uncles by
working in their electrical shop since her was 12, fixing the un-fixable. But
they did insist he got a degree too if he was to marry into the family. So JB
decided on Electrical Engineering, or some other fancy title, it was far more
than wire a plug and so forth, if you want to know go study it yourself. Then
explain it to me, because I haven’t a clue I’m just a poor writer, and I mean
lacking money, not rubbish writer, just in case you are getting any ideas as
you are sat in your chair. Any cheek and I’ll plug in your chair to the mains,
that’ll give you a Ken Dodd hair style.
So Anita was away, and JB was away too, the boys
Jaz and Singh were practising for the Olympics. Nana was all alone in the
house, she had fallen asleep in the reclining arm chair that JB had made for
her. It replaced the old battered one she used to sit in as she read stories to
him, then to Anita and Jaz and Singh too. She had loved the armchair and so did
JB, it was like the armchair in Nanny McFee, but obviously bigger as Nana had
such a fat arse. So with regret it was replaced, but the stories continued even
now they had all grown up. So there was a bump in the night, Nana had fallen
asleep in the chair, the house was so warm. JB had totally rewired and
insulated it, and there were solar cells on the roof. In fact I lied JB was
going to do a PhD in Electrical Engineering, if Anita was going to be a doctor
examining him as they lay in bed together, he should be a doctor too, doctor
and doctor not just playing doctor and nurses.
So Nana awoke there was a shadow lurking like a
ghost in the corner of her living room. Nana pretended to be asleep, she was
half frozen with fear in her warm house. She cursed herself, she could have
flicked the alarm on, but it was too late now, there was an invader in the
house, her burglar alarm was useless. Give me your money you old bitch
threatened the burglar. Nana closed her eyes, the burglar had a weapon and was
so big, and then she noticed he has 2 others with him. Nana was afraid, but JB
had always said he’d protect her, and he never lied, she had brought him up
right. He knew right from wrong.
My grandson said he’d always protect me, she said
defiantly with a quiver in her voice. He’s no use to you, you’re all alone,
we’ve been watching the house. You’re rich we’ve seen all the fancy cars
visiting you, so you must have money. Give us your stuff, or we’ll hit you.
Nana started to cry, a slow silent tear slipping down her face. She’d die all
alone in her own home, beaten up by three big men from the shadows. JB protect
me, she whispered. The 3 burglars moved closer, Nana closed her eyes and
touched her locket.
Nana, always wear this locket, I’m only as heart
beat away, just as Anita is and Taz and Singh, you are all our nanas. Nana
smiled, the 3 burglars raised their weapons. Nana squeezed her locket. Force
ten from Navorone erupted, or in fact much much more than force ten, more like
19. Wall to ceiling speakers awoke, Hey Jude by the Beatles played on speakers,
Mother Mary Come to Me, the force of the speakers, drop kicked the burglars in
the chest, a glass case surrounded the armchair, military grade bullet proof
glass. JB promised he’s always protect his Nana. From the roof flares lit up
the night sky, and ear piercing whistle went out. Every dog for 10 miles heard
and would come running, every shop keeper and his Alsatian would come running,
or be dragged by the dog. The house was lit up by sports field like lights. It
was a nuclear flash of light, PhD in Electrical Engineering or what.
JB looked at his phone. He saw the web camera
picture of Nana, safe in the armchair. He pressed speak. Come out with your hands
up, the Police are on their way. The burglars spat at the glass case, that was
a big mistake, the sensors said under attack, so more flares lit up the night
sky. Nana closed her eyes as JB had instructed if ever the unimaginable
occurred. Holograms of Jez and Singh appeared amongst all the noise and light.
By now the dogs had arrived, the burglars crawled out the house, the noise and
light putting the fear of god into them, or the love of Mary via Jude
protecting Nana.
The 3 burglars had been robbing the area for a
long time, but they had picked the wrong house tonight. The dogs lined up and
formed a queue to pee all over them, they were shopkeepers dogs after all.
Anita watched the scene from her phone in Cambridge, she smiled she loved her
JB, he was already a PhD he was so clever and advanced in his field.
So the next day in a field outside Cambridge Anita
said, doctor doctor examine me, so Jeremy Boris did as he was told, being
careful of all the stubble.
A
Christmas without Presents ©
By
Michael
Casey
My mother stopped buying Easter eggs for us because
they cost so much, she did have 6 children after all, I was 5 of 6 if you want
my Casey Borg designation. She also told us that for Christmas back in Cromane
Lower Kerry Eire, she might get an orange, or a hard boiled egg, she was 3 of 7
I believe, Timothy her little brother died aged 7 from Rickets. So she always
had tears in her eyes as she told the tale and admonished us for wanting too
much.
So what should we want this Christmas, or what do we
actually need? Perhaps if Santa brought us working Nuclear Fusion, which would
solved the carbon crisis and Global warming. Though it might be available
already but Big Oil has locked it in a safe, they are not going to lose
Trillions, instead we’ll lose the Planet. Some Politics and the Greed of
Economics for you. And what do we all want. Well the 3rd world wants
to imitate USA, or even the wealthy side of China. Everybody wants an iphone,
designed in USA by an Englishman, and manufactured in China, then sold in USA,
and to the new rich in China. Making the USA stock market grow so much, until a
no trade deal between USA and China means China will stop using Google, first
because of a ban, but then because China can go it alone. This is Trump Economics,
annoy everybody until you kill the goose and the golden eggs.
But I digress.
So children are all excited because they can see him
with a large bag, full of presents, coming up the garden path, dad is even
dressed like Santa. He comes through the door and says HO HO HO, the kids jump
for joy. The giant sack is opened, a balloon floats out, Happy Easter on one
side, with an Easter Bunny on the other. The kids laugh nervously, dad is
having a laugh. Then he takes oranges, big oranges out of his pockets. The
children are deflated, the balloon is half deflated too.
Dad sits them down to tell them a story, you remember
Irish grandma back in Kerry Eire? Yes, you’ve told us a 1000 times. I have but
you know what she gave me most of all, she gave me Love, with a Capital L, so
this year I decided to share that love. The orphanage is near where I work and
I was asked to play Santa for them as I’m so big and fat. So I gave out all the
presents, and I did have presents for you all, but in all excitement I gave out
your presents to them. I left them to one side and I planned to take them home
to you, but they ended up in the sack for the Orphanage kids. So the orphans
got some really nice presents, and you got these oranges I stole from the
Orphanage Christmas party food.
The kids, his own kids began to cry, but as they saw
Santa cry back in return they stopped crying. Sorry Santa, I mean dad, we were
being selfish, at least we got something, just as Irish grandma did. So dad
stays dressed as Santa and Ho Ho Ho the rest of the day, until mother took him
to bed, to give him her Xmas present. He in turn gave her a Xmas present,
something for all the family to enjoy, a little brother that his daughters
always longed for. Though it would take 9 months for him to appear.
Now God works in mysterious ways, in the pocket of the
Santa suit there was a Christmas card, with a message stuck to it, you are the
best Santa ever, can we book you for next year? As they ate their Christmas
orange the kids noticed something stuck to the Christmas card, it was lottery
ticket, Santa’s Reward was written in pencil on it. And yes they won millions
in the lottery, and gave half to the orphanage. Did they have loads of presents
that Christmas and thereafter? NO, because they realised that the greatest gift
of all is a family, and Christmas should be about that, and not presents.
Smearing my Way (c)
By
Michael
Casey
Well
we are a week away from Christmas 2019, and I am wearing 4 layers to keep warm
topped off with a red jumper, and red trousers. With my silver hair, the local
kids think it’s Santa, and as neighbours pass by I say I have just a week to
grow a beard. So I found some old black paint in the house, I had seen it
before but I didn’t have a paint brush,
then I found a small paint brush. So I thought I ‘d attack the front gate, it’d
been annoying me for a year, it’s metal with a bit of rust showing through. Luckily we get loads of junk mail,
which is perfect to protect the ground from paint spills as I attacked the front
gate.
I
only have so much energy, physical energy what with random pain attacks and so
on, or if you like I’m a doddery old git now. Though I should warn you my fists
are fists of fury, just like Bruce Lee but faster. If you spend 40 years typing
fast then your fingers and then fist is fast. So no mickey tacking, or I’ll
slap the back of your legs with a wet lettuce again. Yes that’s what you are
feeling down the back or your leg, either that or Totoro my Ninja cat has
sprayed on you for cheeking her master.
If
only Totoro drunk black paint, she could have spray painted the garden gate for
me, funny how ideas come. Though she is so white and fluffy I’m sure she drinks
Comfort fabric conditioner and not milk. And no don’t read this story aloud to
your kids, or they may just try it out, and then the RSPCA will be at your
door, your freshly spray painted or cat sprayed front door. I did for years
write a story and then read it aloud for my girls, so that’s why they view my
stories differnently than you. I sprayed my stories into their minds, I hope it
improved their story writing skills.
Back
to the front gate, it took all of 10 mins to smear it the other day, and
immediately I liked it more, first
appearances matter, so now the front of the house was so much better, well in
my opinion anyway. Apart from the trail of paint spattered newspapers floating
around the front garden, but at least the spills were on the free newspapers,
each one saying Labour won the argument, but they still lost, logical if you are
a Politcian.
Then
it rained so I hoped the paint would stay stuck to the garden gate. It was wood
paint, very shiny wood paint, on an iron gate, but you have to use what you
have got, money or paint does not grow on trees after all. Though a few leaves
blowing in the wind, did stick to my bottom, or rather the bottom of the garden
gate. I did find a few answers there too, the crossword answers stuck to the
bottom of the garden gate, just opposite the Political Winds of Change item.
This
morning I looked at my achievment, a black garden gate, with no rust showing,
but it did need another coat. So today I found more junk newspapers to cover
the ground as I smeared away again at the garden gate. Then I stepped back to
admire my smearing and decided I was pleased with it. I realised there was more
than enough paint left to do a bir more
smearing. So I may attack the front of the steps into the house, the rise part,
not the actual step, if my terminology is correct. Ask a Step Dancer they might
know, I’m just a step smearer, as one of our lodgers once called me 40 years
ago.
I
can remember my dad’s advice don’t load your brush too much, I have a photo of
him painting my back door at the old house, maybe 30 years ago. Other memories
of my dad painting at the family house
50 years ago also come flooding back. I can even remember him on the outside
toilet roof painting the corrugated iron roof to keep the rust away. Local kids
calling out his name, Mr Casey cos they didn’t believe me when I said it was my
dad. Dad used to have a Bobby Charlton front wrap around lock of hair too.
So
in the morning I’ll look at my garden gate again and then decide in the light
of day if I should smear the gate for a 3rd time or smear the steps.
I’m dangerous if I find left overs, if it’s food I’ll eat it, and if it’s paint
or string I’ll find a use for it. Yes I’m a mini hoarder, no I’m not a Whore,
hoarder, sometimes I think some of my readers have paint in their ears not just
pencils and earwax. Anyway I have to fill my belly now, so I’ll finish now, but
do save and recycle those Christmas wrappers. We have to buy some Lindt
chocolate, not just because it’s nice but we can use the golden bells on it to
put on Totoro’s collar, a kind of handicap system for Ninja cats, jingle jingle
Totoro.
What If (c)
By
Michael Casey
What If you did things because it was the right
thing to do
What If you held the door open for others
What If you smiled and said hello
What If you offered to carry the bags for somebody
struggling
What If you prayed for others
What If you asked your dead mother in Heaven to
help those on Earth
What If you shared water when there was a drought
What If you shared food when it was scarce
What If you gave a word of encouragement when Hope
seemed lost
What If you played the fool when the air was
too gloomy
What if you created laughter when dread was in the
air
What if you asked for nothing for yourself
What if you put your family and friends first
What if you put your community first
What if you sought no reward
What if you built treasures in Heaven
What if this was your life
What if when Judgement came
Would you be welcomed into the Kingdom of Heaven
Or would you be turned away at the gate
You spoke ill of the living, you spoke ill of the
dead
You buried your talents in a field
You shared nothing but spite and malice
You had no Grace, no Love, no Humanity
You thought you had everything
You thought you had Power and Wealth
But death comes to all of us
And you were not ready
You had built a life of spite and hate in your own
image
You had climbed the ladder and kicked it away
So now as you lay dying, your life ebbing away
What will you say?
God forgive me I knew not what I was doing
And what will be HIS reply?
A life should be lived to spread Grace and Hope
Or you will sink below, and be looking up
So live a life of grace and hope
And never never never be like…
The Old Lady and the Cat ©
By
Michael Casey
Mrs Toonan liked to go to the cinema, it got her out of the house, and
besides she always got free food and drinks by giving her best cat’s eyes to
the girl on the kiosk. So the cinema was her once a week treat. The girl on the
kiosk nearly got in trouble when the manager found out, but Mrs Toonan smiled
and said they’d make such a lovely couple. Instant match making, and henceforth
a goodie bag to go home with. So all was well. Mrs Toonan went to see that new
Cats film, or fileem as the Irish pronounce it, and she liked it, film
reviewers my arse she muttered.
When she got home she fed Totoro some of the hot dogs and popcorn from the goodie bag, Totoro purred with
delight. So with Totoro smiling she fell asleep in her arm chair. Now Mrs
Toonan was old, much older than she looked, she had snow white silvery hair
like that fat silver haired writer in shades, you know, Michael Casey the Panzi
as his Chinese readers call him. Well maybe it was too much hot stuff on her
sausage, but Mrs Toonan had a stroke and just could not get herself out of the
chair.
Now she could have died right there in the cold and dark house, you see
she had not put the central heating on yet, so the house was cold and dark,
apart from one small light the kitchen. So Mrs Noonan knew she’d be meeting God
soon. So she looked at her Saint Martin de Porres statue by the tv and asked
him to at least look after Totoro her cat. Now Saint Martin is very soft, and
for a cat and an old lady to die together was not something he wanted to
happen.
Totoro you’ll have to get some help, I’ll look after Mrs Noonan said a
voice in Totoro’s head. So giving one last look at Mrs Noonan Totoro was away.
Totoro knew Mrs Toonan had friends at the cinema, so he’d go to the cinema. So
Totoro dashed off to the cinema. Sadly a burglar was prowling the neighbour and
he could see Mrs Noonan all alone in the big house. It was perfect.
Mrs Toonan’s house was near the canal, and there were rats aplenty
there, but they left her house alone because Totoro the Ninja cat lived there,
so they left that house well alone. But now Totoro had raced away so while the
cats away the mice will play. Though that is not how it all worked out. Gerry
Perry the burglar was ready to hit Mrs Toonan, and the rats were ready too.
Though Mrs Toonan prayed to Saint Martin by tv.
Gerry Perry was about to strike to hit an old woman in a chair, who was
defenceless after a stroke. The rats arrived and leapt all over him, Saint
Martin commanded them to save Mrs Noonan. Gerry Perry screamed and fainted, the
rats began to eat his clothes and bite him too, you never hit an old lady in a
chair, especially if Saint Martin de Porres lives there.
Meanwhile Totoro ran for his life to save the life of Mrs Toonan, as she
ran Totoro asked his friends to help him
get to the cinema, so fat cats, thin cats, lazy cats, big cats, little cats,
and multi coloured cats all joined the fluffiest whitest cat of them all TOTORO
to the rescue. By the time they got to the cinema there were 100 cats, all
screaming in unison. The kiosk girl and the manager knew something was wrong.
The queue outside applauded they though it was a stunt for the film, but the
kiosk girl and the manager had seen a photo of Mrs Toonan and Totoro before.
Quick follow that cat, and the left the cinema racing after the cats. At the
cinema everybody bought tickets for the film, and agreed with Mrs Toonan it was
good.
Meanwhile the kiosk girl and the manager raced after the cats, a passing
police car followed, as Sgt Mulholland just loved cats. Soon the army of cats
arrived at Mrs Toonan’s house. The rats raced away chased by all the cat, save for
one enormous rat, too fat to race away. The kiosk girl and the manager entered
the house, with Sgt Mulholland behind. They saw the burglar all covered in
blood and bites, the king rat took an enormous bite out of Gerry Perry’s behind
then winking at Totoro and bowing at the statue of Saint Martin de Porres
waddled out the kitchen door.
Sgt Mulholland saw the situation at once and cuffed Gerry Perry before
the looking at Mrs Toonan. It’s a stroke, I’ll get her to hospital fast, so
picking her up as if she were his own dear grandmother Sgt. Mulholland put her
in his police car and floored it. He radioed for backup to come and take care
of the cuffed Gerry Perry. The police came and took Gerry Perry away. Then the
kiosk girl and the manager told Totoro he should come with them till Mrs Toonan
came back from the hospital.
Totoro just started to run, but in the direction of the cinema, so soon
200 cats came to join in the fun, and arrived as a 2nd showing was
about to start, CATs come to see cats was what the Internet explained. The
kiosk girl and the manager said Totoro has saved the day and had saved Mrs
Noonan from a burglar, and the rats had somehow attacked the burglar too. Only
Sgt. Mulholland and Mrs Toonan knew the truth, Saint Martin de Porres loves cats
and people in equal measure, and it was his pleasure to see a ninja cat called
Totoro.
Michael Casey Head of Mi5 and Mi6 and why not? ©
By
Michael Casey
Well I read they want a new head of MI5 and MI6 so I
thought I’d apply for both, if I don’t get one then I get the other. But don’t
tell anybody it’s a secret. I mean If Dame Judy Dench can be M then I can be
her top boss, I am M or Michael already, I just want to go higher, through the
Glass Ceiling, but having a glass ceiling in a spy place sounds stupid. It’s
like somebody losing the Plans of the building, it’s too ridiculous for words,
it could never happen. Oh it just did.
So they said stand by your man, I was doing line
dancing at the time, and somebody whispered in my ear, so I slapped his face,
I’m not that kind of man. I only like women, it was a test to see if I could
handle anything, I certainly wouldn’t handle a man, I’m a one woman man, loyal.
Then we danced a bit more, the man was persistent, so I slapped his face again,
he said his name was Bond, James Bond, I didn’t believe him, he looked like a
Colin to me. Or CO LIN if you are American, the things the Americans do to
names, it’s just STRANGE, but spelt badly and wrong.
Then later a Korean girl marched passed, perfect line
dancing, wearing a KIM T-shirt and a dangerous smile. Obvious I told her I
loved Kdrama and maybe Yoona would marry me, or a clone of Yoona. They are very
clever in North Korea they clone anything. But she said all she could offer was
an extra bag of rice, she was from the local take away.
But really that was a cover, she was in MFI, the
furniture store, constructing a cover
life. Really she was a spy, I knew it, the way she carried a bag of rice gave
it all away. Later as we waved our cowboy hats in the air she spoke, meet
outside the public toilets at noon, and you’ll be picked up and taken for your
interview. Then she kissed me lingeringly and felt my amble behind, before
slapping my face hard, she’d seen Where Eagles Dare, so she was playing her
part well, too well.
Outside the public toilets there was a queue of old
ladies, there always is, the only bench in the town is there, so old ladies
fight over it so they can sit and have a fag. Or cigarette if you are a
confused American. A car pulled up, I thought it was a drugs dealer, Fatty get
in, he shouted at me. The old ladies thought I was on the game, moi, a male
prostitute or something. But it was all part of the cover. Hello I’m Rodger
said Rodger, I really thought he was on the game, as Roger is a verb in
England, and if you are American ask the vicar to explain.
He drove me to the local library, and told me to look
for Sherlock Holmes, I could not find any on the shelves so I asked the
Librarian Fran, only it was not Fran but the Korean girl, as she spun around it
was love at first sight. Her woolly jumper and skirt were just too much for
me,what with the horn rimmed glasses, she had power over me. My behind had
bruises to prove it. Then in Queens English Miss Korea explained, look for
Sherlock Holmes and pointed. In a corner there was a man all dressed like
Sherlock, not the deer stalker one, the American tv one. And yes Miss Korea’s
real real name was Watson, as in what’s on tv tonight, Elementary, obvious
isn’t it?
The drug using guy in the corner was there to
interview me. And why do you want to be Head of MI5? Because as James Bond is
retiring I thought I’d tidy up the firm. He rolled his eyes not because of my
answer but because whatever stuff he was using had just kicked in. While he
tripped away, an old dear shuffled towards us and sat down.And why do you want
to join MI6? Because you want more stamps in your passport.
So they pinged and ponged and asked questions, about
this and that and the other. Would I do anything for Queen and Country? Would I
go to bed with a man, if that’s what I had to do, and yes they’d seen that
French Secret Service show on tv as well. I stuttered and fixing my gaze on
Watson in the distance I tried to imagine her as a Kim, and failed, she was
just too, too, too unbelievably pretty. No I could do anything but that, even
sing the Meatloaf back catalogue,but I could break any man, I am 116kilos or 18
stones, or 252 pounds if you are an American. So I’m body slam them and throw
their body in a ditch, providing that no Borises were there. They smiled at
that for some reason.
They then took me for tea, Watson looked on admiring,
she still had skin from my behind stuck under her nails, it was intoxicating
her. At the transport cafe next door there was a test, could I steal a truckers
heart, by stealing his 18 wheeler with my 18 stones.So I stole some truck keys
and drove the MFI truck and trailer to the MFI store further up the road, the
spooks aren’t stealers after all.
We returned to the library, there there was a final
test. Kill Watson, could I kill in cold blood. Just like in The Kingsman where
you have to kill a dog, and the British do love animals more than their
children after all. So I sneaked up on Watson in the True Romance section, I
fluttered my eyelids, and revealed the man with the child in his eyes. We
backed up to Sci-Fiction and grappled, her tongue against my tongue, it was a
tongue fight. We went through the Biology section, grappling more and more. We
reached the Fire Exit, now after having distracted her, her a double agent, as
I was told I was going to gently strangle her, with my old school tie,the green
and red of George Dixons Grammar school for Boys.
I was never confused about my gender, though I did
once wear my mother’s dress and stockings,I was just hoping I would not be
outted for doing that during the vetting process, I’d just have to keep my legs
crossed, and my ladies frilly knickers on. Watson fainted in my arms as her
nails broke in my buttocks, it would have been perfect love making, buttocks, I
mean but I’d been told to kill her. Forgive me I whispered, the happy Line
Dancing memories still as fresh as paint in my mind.
Then I was hit on the back of the head and blacked
out. Korean Watson was no double agent, it was all a test. I awoke half naked
above a Korean food store, Watson looked at me. You did not get the job, either
of them. But they said I could keep you as a trophy fat silver haired writer in
shades from Birmingham England. Then she winked. Or maybe I’m just prawn crackers.
MY PUSSY SAYS NO
TO CHIPPING spend 100million which it would cost at least on Pets visits to old
folks homes INSTEAD
Michael Casey
Wed 01/01/2020 15:53
MY PUSSY SAYS NO TO CHIPPING
spend £100million which it would cost at least on
Pets visits to old folks homes
INSTEAD
YOU are legally responsible for
damage a DOG DOES
and dangerous dogs are a result of
dangerous owners
But Pussies run free.
Its a stupid idea that would cost at
least 100 million
Create more jobsworth idiots too
Its a form of tracking of owners too
It invades the owners rights as
well
Are you going to put AI cameras
everywhere too next
England is a free country not a
Prison Camp
As you know Kitchener invented Prison
Camps to put the Boers down
Tagging our Pussies what next, tag
old people, or just the working classes
Or those that did not vote for you.
This is a total waste of time
If you want to tag your Pussy, then
fine do it at your own cost.
DO NOT CREATE A MINDLESS GOVERNMENT
SCHEME
Tagging pussies is none of the
Government's Business
If you love your pussy you will
look after it
Don't force CHIPS WITH
EVERYTHING on everybody
Its a diet that will come back and
bite you on the bum
just like rabid dogs owned by equally
rabid owners
who don't chip their dangerous dogs
This is a simplistic idea, thought up
by a bored idiot
trying to prove he is worth his
over rated salary.
Are we bringing back people with a
net, like the
Child Catcher in Chitty Chitty Bang
bang?
You will just worry little old ladies
fearing for their pussies
Do I or must I have my Pussy Chipped
CHIPS WITH EVERYTHING IS ALWAYS A BAD
DIET
Let Pussies run free and be free
Will you force everybody to spay
their Tom Cat next?
This is a Top Down idea, when you
should always
be in the gutter with the pussies
hiding under the warm cars
but looking up at the Stars, and
wondering is CATS really such
a bad film, or did Defra review it?
We have a cat called TOTORO it looks
exactly like the pussy
from 10 Downing Street, but far
deadlier it is a Ninja cat
As all the dead mice and rats
will confer from our old house.
And why do we have a cat theses past
5 years
Because my daughters nagged for a pet
and I said they could have
a dog if I died or a cat if I had a
heart attack
5 years ago this very week I
went into hospital and had what turned out
to be a Quadruple Heart Bypass.
So my girls got a cat, and not a dog.
The cat is called Totoro after the Studio Ghibli
cat. The cat also understands Chinese
as my daughters are Bilingual, having a Shanghai
mother does do that to you. Totoro
also understands plastic, the sound of plastic brings here running
Or if I jangle my keys she'll come
racing over fences. As the new notes are made of plastic, if you
squeeze a tenner Totoro will also
come running, or maybe that's the Chinese influnce in Totoro.
SO PLEASE DEFRA LET ALL PUSSIES RUN
FREE, DON'T PUT CHIPS IN THEM.
And I hope you listen, and you can
steal my Pussy Visits to Old People's Homes,
the National Lottery can
pay for that.
So I hope I squeeze in under the
deadline, just as a cat uses its whiskers to tell spaces.
I remain a humble citizen, praying
for the best possible world,
as Candide or was it Voltaire said.
Michael Casey
aka "the fat silver haired
writer in shades from Birmingham England"
p.s. I'd love a dog myself, but God
might have the last laugh at
Welcome
Back (c)
BY
Michael Casey
Well it's been a while so I thought
you could all suffer a bit with me again. No you cannot just go down the
Pub, if I suffer you all suffer, it's called caring and sharing after all. So
my small daughter kept on coming downstairs from her eyrie where she's studying
to get a drink from the kitchen, but without her slippers and socks. So she got
a cold that she couldn't shake off over Christmas. But did manage to pass on to
me, and I've been enjoying it these past 10 days or so. I'm so full of gunge
and pain I could not face the hill to get to the shops. Luckily you can phone
for anything this Christmas.
So you have all had Peace on Earth this
Christmas. As for me my Tinnitus has been a real Roman slave, google Up Pompeii
for plenty of colour and racy jokes from Up Pompeii which was a tv comedy back
in 1970 onwards. We impressed our Latin teacher so much when we mentioned
it, God Bless Mr Hanney. As Tinnitus was making me a slave I decided to play
with my phone while listening to Will Young. Will Young spends his nights
in my bed singing for his supper, not literally he's too clever for that. In
actual fact he really is a very clever man, he could be a Political Reporter,
he's that clever, though watching Politicians is a bit bizarre, Laura, is it
because they all sung Tell Laura I love her. Who knows the workings of a
Political Reporter's mind.
But that's just me, 50 years cursing
Politicians on the telly, it's like the Roman Coliseum, I knew Tinnitus came
from somewhere, it's the noise Politicians make, an eternal hiss, and yes I
will say read Chapter 9 of The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, M.P.
Married to a Person, Married to a People, ok as a punishment as you
punish your Stella Artois.
What else do I do at night, all alone in
the dark with just Will Young's voice, voice I said, please clean your ears
out, oh, you have Tinnitus too. It's much better than Tinnitus One, ok,
please yourselves as Frankie Howerd might titter, there was much tittering in
Up Pompeii I remember, it was the selling point for 11 year old boys,
tittering. If this was tv, I'd pull a face, but as everything I write is Radio,
you'll just have to imagine, or look at my mush belove. Yes, where was I,
looking at my bottom in the reflection in the window pane, I was at the bottom
of the page, oh do keep up as Kenneth might interject, though some of you
may wish this was the interval, what I came back too soon, you are so cruel,
I'll come and live next door to you. Yes I'll be the squatter next door, they
haven't fixed the toilet yet.
And what has the last paragraph got to do
with the price of nutty slack, well nothing, but sometimes a girl or is he a
she, you cannot tell nowadays the way they all dress. What it's not Nutty
Slack, the local call girl, it's MZ in a Hoodie, he should change his profile
page or get a ZTE phone on Amazon and take a better selfie. Are you all feeling
dizzy now? I'll lead you all up the garden path again, until you are, I
never surrender and wave at Gill from StatMR this time, she's such a nice lady.
Dizzie is a friend of hers they go out rapping every Sunday after church, they
wrap gifts for the Sally Army. Did you think Gill with a G could Rap with an R?
Well of course she can, she's gifted, she plays snooker too, she once split a
pair and got one in each corner pocket. Ok, I'm lying now, on the pool
table, you see Gill said, Michael, tidy up your own mess, and threw the
broom at me, hitting my pair and knocking them into my pockets. So I'm lying
flat out on the pool table with a jug of ice on my Test test Test,
testimonials, and yes i did moan, as my friends from StatsMR drunk the bar dry.
Now this is another piece of nonsense
which could have gone any which way, but Harry couldn't come, so they
sent Clyde instead, he was going to splatter me, but my Navy Seal friends
intervened, if anybody was going to splatter me, they would be the first. So
I'm speaking from the bottom of the cesspit or latrine. Which goes to prove yet
again, that Michael Casey the fat silver haired writer in shades from
Birmingham is so full of it, and always smells of it. So send Ck1 or CK Be and
then I'll write sweet smelling prose, and you can all stop holding your nose.
So thanks for waiting while I had this flu, now this cuckoo can fly over the
nest again.
Funny
Formal Letter(c)
By
Michael Casey
Hello India you are one of the 70 countries that
reads my words.
1000s of copies of my book
The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker have been downloaded from my
WordPress
The book has a major Indian hero, and the finale was read by 21,000
Polish
readers in 3 weeks when I loaded the Polish to my website.
Up to 8 Languages in any day are being read via my site.
So you are getting Quality. In addition I have written 2000 short
stories after 30 years.
My material is not just for the clever dicks with Phds it’s for the 12
to 120 year olds.
So have a think, and please pass this to anybody who’ll
invested in me.
You can read/hear 200 of my stories on my Typepad
Thanks again,
Michael Casey in Birmingham England, I’m too old to be serious
OK, I’ll bullet point this as emails are 40% faster that way as
ACNielsen told us 20 years ago
Now I really am fat and silver haired and I wear shades, look for my
horrid photo online
I have been writing for 30 years now
I try and write humour. The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker
is my egg or ouvre, whatever
The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker is being read
in 8 languages via my website daily
1000s of Translations have been downloaded
70 countries surrender to my words, I’m 18 stones, so resistance is
futile,
I look like George Clooney after he ate everything in the fridge
I had a play called Shoplife accepted at my 1st attempt,
but they did Rocky Horror instead
it’s a boxing film I think, but maybe I’m wrong
My stuff can and will be used to teach English via Humour
I have a Shanghai wife myself and 2 bilingual daughters
Even Totoro our cat is bilingual
I have written 1,530,000 words or so, I lost count after I took my
shoes and socks off
to help with the counting. And Bezo’s corner book shop has 18 books in
the altogether
I thought if Bezo stacked them near his nudist section I’d get more
exposure
I hope you are smiling and don’t feel like the Harry in the family
I was the family pet myself, and when my own daughters asked for a pet
I said you can have a dog if I die, or a cat if I have a heart attack
Totoro our Ninja cat arrived soon after that 5 years ago, il y a
cinq ans
just to remind you we are linguists, but the ointment is clearing it
up.
I am a story teller with 2000 stories or more, so I’m like
Jeffery Archer
Only he has a Monet on the wall, and I have no money at all
If in a stupor you help me, I will donate 50% to Charity, no not the
local
barmaid , but real pain relief charity, and I taught James Bond that
line
where he said “everything”
Ok, thanks for your time I could have brown nosed you, but at 18 Stones
one of us would have singing that Abba song. I’m more Benny Hill
myself
but look like Dave Allen when my hair is longer. My writing style is at
times
a cross between Joyce Grenfell and Ronnie Corbett monologue which would
make me Gerald Wiley their bastard son. The very word on your lips.
Cheerio Michael Casey
p.s. I always write a good p.s. but Harry’s here crying on my shoulder
NOW
dear reader this is the kind of email I send to Media companies, as I
may be in the gutter
but I won’t kiss any rears, not unless she ….
This email style tests both their patience and IF they have
a sense of humour, I won’t
work with anybody who’s a piece of work, though they probably think that
about me.
STAY HAPPY AND BE GOOD
Michael Casey
The Little Things Kids Do ©
By
Michael Casey
As I sit here tonight I’m happy and tired and yes in pain, that’s always
part of me too. But it’s the happy part I want to rejoice about, the thing that
lights up my very soul. A kiss on the cheek from my small daughter as she goes
to bed. That kiss and a smile from her big sister is worth more than gold, and
will probably be the memory as my eyes shut for the last time, and it’s God’s
turn to put up with me for all Eternity. Tonight I’m watching a new K drama
too, The Fiery Priest, which has all my favourite ingredients, Martial Arts, a
Priest , I have read all the Don Camillo many times, and Padre Pio is somebody
who I’ve annoyed often. So it’s looking good.
No doubt I’ll tell you more about my new Kdrama as I watch it, and did
you know there were so many devout Korean Catholics. But it’s the things kids
do I’ll try and talk about before I go to bed, though I wish I was in a warm
country so my arthritis didn’t make my joints pain me so much. It’s the damp in
UK that is bad for arthritis. Though this week it’s the 5th
anniversary of my unplanned quadruple heart bypass so I’m happy to still be
here. My big daughter said write 27 books, she did not realise I’d write so
much and so fast, but like I said before I won’t rush as much. My girls have
1.5 million Words to read, but by saying 27 books, as in 27 dresses the film,
my big daughter was really saying “don’t die” .
Children do things that make you happy and bring hope and fun to your
life. I’ve been a hausfrau for 10 years now, I did do a bit of teaching for a
year, but we just swopped roles and I became a
hausfrau, which means I’ve spent more time with my kids that 99% of
dads. And yes illness came along too, after decades of physical work. All I
every wanted was a family, and it is better if there is somebody at home for
the kids. You drink less beer, have less holidays, have a lower life style,
because there is only one income.
However your kids are nurtured and are not “latch key kids” , I can
remember my own dad saying how important it was for children, and yes I believe
he was right. If you want it all, then somebody suffers, and that’s usually the
kids, though I know this is not a popular opinion nowadays. I also have had
plenty of time to Write.
So I’ve been a baby sitter and meal maker and gay dad, gay dad means a
dad who knows about fashion, just in case any of my readers scattered I over 70
countries get confused by the expression. It’s been fun, and I actually talk to
my own kids, have a relationship with them, my small daughter tells me that
some kids don’t talk to their parents, I don’t know is it because it’s “uncool”
or what. So I’ve been fortunate, and lucky too, because the way my Health
turned out I could have been dead in the street 5 years ago.
So I’ve had time with my daughters to have a influence on them, to form
them and direct them. And no I never treated them as kids, I just talked to
them naturally. It amuses us when people say
“and what do you want to be etc” as they talk down to them, and
patronise them. Just so you know they are more intelligent than you, they
should be patronising you. Intelligence is Speed of Thought, not age, nor
volumes of learning, so please Grow Up Teachers, they are your equals. Though
they are too polite to say it, but I am not. Most people think I am a Security
Guard, what you wrote that? As if I’m a Moron, a stupid person, not the
religious “cult”, if I thrown that back at you. And yes 1,535,000 words don’t
write themselves, so I must just be “gifted”, another taint. 20 years of Radio
Listening and reading 1000s of books, and 30+ years of writing, that makes me
“gifted”, MIAOW>
But back to kids, they are a living memory of your life, and if you have
1000s of photos you can browse through the memories, such as playing badminton
by the dustbins in the garden. Such as posing in a box marked “made in China”,
which makes us smile, as they ARE half Chinese and Bilingual too. Though Korean
is heard a lot in our house too, as I read the subtitles. You have summer
photos, and snowmen photos, and building the doll’s house photos, all kinds of
photos. Perfect to save and to use to embarrass them on their wedding days. Yes
I realise because I had my kids when I was old, I may never seem any wedding
day, so time is precious, silly photos are important too. And so I pray for
more years, and yes I pray for that 2nd wife, a Korean girl. Because
it’s me clinging on to hope in the dark of the night as Tinnitus keeps me
awake. The clock has hit Midnight now as I talk to you, so I’ll finish and post
this, just enjoy your kids as much as you can. Yes you’ll be broke as you spend
your Pension on them, but what else would you waste your money on. Life is
family and kids and then the Undertaker gets you, so die with a smile on your
lips, as you curse your arthritic hips.
Michael Casey News Editor
©
By
Michael Casey
As you know I love my News, it forms a chattering cement that binds us,
if I steal a line from The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker. I used to
watch the News with my dad when he came home from the Steel Works, The District
Iron and Steel Brasshouse Lane Smethwick.
He’s curse the “bastards” as he had his dinner on the back of a broken
down barn chair as he sat in his armchair. “Did they sweat?” he’d ask as
vacuous people spoke on tv. 400 degrees was what dad was used to, as he
verbally lashed them and gave them the 3rd degree, as pretty people
sung like the 3 Degrees. Dad was very clever, his teacher even said “one day
Casey, you will hang”, but in 1930s Ireland you went to work at 14, and dad
became a Blacksmith.
Though dad was so proud of his own 3 Degrees, Oxford, Cambridge and
Birmingham, those were the Universities the kids went to, so those vacuous
people on tv could kiss his arse. Yes, I’m the “failure” with 1,535,000 Words
over 18 books and 30 years of writing after my University 20 years of BBC Radio
4 listening. But I know I was loved, in fact I was the “pet” out of the 6
children. So News and dad went together, and yes I’ll direct you to read Padre
Pio and Me again, it’s on the site somewhere.
Which brings me to today’s talk, Michael Casey News Editor, I follow the
news, and when tinnitus keeps me away, often, I go on my phone and read the
lastest Trump saga. How can somebody so corrupting have become President. He is
as guilty as Hell on many fronts, but the corruption of power has overtaken the
GOP, this is not me speaking as a liberal, it’s just so tragically true. Having
to pay back 2million stolen from a Vets Charity, a judge said this not me.
Leaking military plans before the Iran hit, so some made money in military
stocks. These are just 2 items, I won’t
go one, just hit Trump on your phone, and read 5 items on the news from various
news outlets. It is all so sad and tragic, the Presidency has become a mafia
like ponsi scheme, this is how the world views Trumpland. One last item before
I move on, we read a blackmail item, 25% on your cars Europe if you don’t back
me. A bully is a bully is a bully, whereas USA used to be a beacon of Hope, now
its a dime store, all because nobody has the balls to stand up and remove him.
History is another big thing of mine and as kid I stayed up all night
when Nixon was ousted, so I was so tired when I went to school. Now I’m really
moving on. Would I have Harry and Megan in the news, I’d try and avoid it. In
the DM online there is acres of stuff about them, and nonentities, such as a 1/2
sister all try and make money out of their connections. This is really sad and
tragic. It was obvious Megan would not stay, just as now that Harry has had the
lid lifted via his wife, he looks back in horror. Just walk behind your mum’s
coffin in the street. This was a mistake
then, no matter what great tv it made then. I just hope he can find peace for
himself and his new family, though the omens …
Now what would I put in a radio news report, and radio is better than
tv, the pictures do get in the way of the facts. Also if you watch/listen to
the same news item, the radio version always has more power. Try it for
yourselves and you’ll agree with me. I’d put a music item in, as music is the
greatest thing ever, I don’t need to watch Stuart Copeland’s new show on the
BBC to know this. So as news editor I’d have a 2 min slot for a music item,
more if I were allowed. A piece of music is like a touch, a kiss, a pat of
comfort on the back, or even full on sex. But you’d need more than 2 mins on
the radio for it. Yes you are ahead of me, a news report with a quickie in the
middle, that would be mind blowing.
Speaking of sport, as I was listening to the radio in bed today, as I
caught up with my Tinnitus lack of sleep there was a wonderful Cricket report,
I’m not a cricket man. Cricket is confusing, when you are out you go in, when
you are in you go out. And everybody is playing with their balls which they rub
so much the colour comes off the ball and stains their whites red. Anyway ask
an American to explain it to you, he’ll cry. So this reporter, he must have
been BBC the way he explained the match was like listening to poetry, whoever
he is I hope he never has a sticky whicket, and if he does I hope it gets
better and does not leave a red stain on his whites. So I’d have eloquent
reporters poetically describe whatever sport there was. A thing to note though,
on TV a reporter must know when not to speak and let the pictures speak for
themselves. Bad sports reporting is terrible, its totally inarticulate, like
the unedited version of Trump that we never see. An Australian reporter was
interviewed and said she was horrified by Trump, because he was almost in his
dotage, repeating himself, you only get the edited version on Fox.
There is always a fun item, to lift people out of the dumps now that all
the Christmas alcohol has been finished. Yes I’d insert a short piece of my
own, if you are guest editor on BBC Radio 4’sToday it’s too good an opportunity
to miss. So I’d read out my LinkedIn Profile piece, perfect for those going Job
Hunting this New Year, and yes you an all find it on my sites.
There is also a tradition of Thought for Today, a semi religious piece, so again I’d write or
free running speak my own opinion. So here’s my Faith Piece. God Loves ALL of
US, that’s the fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham England, or
anybody just as smelly, just as fragrant, just as fat, just as thin, just as
clever, just as ignorant. God will have anybody, you don’t have to be worthy,
he’ll go out looking for the good the bad and the ugly. He want’s everybody, he
doesn’t care what you eat or how you eat it or when you eat it. Or even what
day of the week you pray. He is your Father, your sister, your brother, your
mother. Curse or Pray often, just keep on talking to him. And if you can’t pray
he’ll be the shadow on the wall, he’ll seep though the shadows, he’ll be that
grain on sand that sticks to your feet. He’ll be there to greet you at the end
of the road, for he shares your pain, your love. He just wants all the pieces
of the jigsaw to return to him, for without all of the pieces he is incomplete,
for in the end Love is Everything, every single piece of a heart, and when the
end comes all of us are with all of him. United in Love.
Well I hope that’s good enough for all of you believers of every sort,
the XYZ of Faith, Faith is a liquid so it finds its own level, and when joined
there is only one God. So I think I’ll finish for now. This has been Michael
Casey News Editor, if I can have a New Year’s wish. Then Trump goes, Pence
takes over with Mitt Romney as VP. Then Pence is forced to resign too, and so
Romney gets to be President. Though that would be out of this world, which
reminds me Romney looks like Captain
Pike in Star Trek Discovery, so switch off this radio and watch Star Trek,
which is where I started 50 years ago.
Winter Sun Sunday ©
By
Michael Casey
Well I managed to get up reasonably early today, after Tinnitus being
real bad lately. You try getting to sleep for 6 hours, and fail, just getting
more and more exhausted. So I’m pleased with that, though it doesn’t keep the
pain monster away. Random pain on random parts of my body, but let’s move3 on.
I’m sure random people will be glad I stop sending emails in the night from my
phone, I’ve only just worked out how to do that, it was the side effect of
Tinnitus.
So today it’s bright and sunny and dangerous too, the hill has ice on
it, so I need be careful, I hurt my back and I was like a 100 year old for a
week, this was before my daughter shared her flu. So altogether maybe 3 weeks
of not being my usual self, and I can hear what you are saying so stop it, I
still have ice cold lettuce in the fridge and I will slap the back of your legs
with it, so behave, behave not beehive, you’ve been watching Nannie McFee
again.
It feels and looks like skiing weather, blue skies and a crispness to
the air, maybe snow soon. In the woods by me the kids all go sledging in the
snow, its a bowl shape perfect for sledging. Since we’ve moved nearer to the
woods I haven’t been there as much as I should. It’s 7mins walk away, and I
used to walk the family dog there when I lived at the family house 35 years
plus ago. Perhaps I’ll pay more visits this 2020, I did put a sex scene in
those woods, it’s in Chapter One of Tears for a Butcher, which I’ll probably
never finish, not unless my Korean copy typist turns up, so you are all saved,
not unless you are a Korean copy typist.
There’s not as much pedestrian traffic here as at the old house, so less
inspiration walking past, though a man just walked by is a very long silver
coat walking his dog. He reminded me of a hot dog from Costco, all ready to be
covered in sauce, which reminds me Costco is great, the settee behind me was
from their online offerings. I’m contemplating what this room will look like
once the curtain rail and curtains go up. I’ve been like an Amsterdam
Prostitute sitting in the window in my stockings and suspenders as I sit here
writing stories for you all. A year as a writing whore, on full display for the
passers by as I sit here in my chair. Though all that’ll disappear this week as
the curtains come down on me, exposed no more. And me wanting exposure so I could sell my wares, my
stories, no smirking or the wet lettuce will come out, Larry Grayson taught me
well.
Talking of Larry Grayson I met his friend Pop it In Pete in the Post
Office, I bought a stamp so I could send a greetings card to my big daughter at
University. Some things do need to be popped in the post after all, it shows
you care and went to the effort, support your Local Post Office. Though to be
honest I am an email man, obviously because I don’t care, see I said it before
you could, remember your ear is very near me. That’s how our dad reminded us
he’ll slap us, 55 years ago and more.
Yes, a bit of Winter sunshine lifts the mood, but if you go outside you
return like like a 90 year old asthmatic or dirty phone call person. And yes
making heaving breathing phone calls on the internal phone call system did add
to the fun on the night shift 40 years ago. There’s a lot more I could reveal
but not today, makes me sound like a lazy stripper. See words create pictures,
it’s like cinema for when you haven’t got the 2quid to go to the Grove cinema.
I used to get 2 quid off my dad and I went to see a film, that was 45 years ago
or so, I think it was on Sunday’s too.
Now I need to eat now, and I heard that too, how could he eat any more,
he’ll explode like a balloon. You are so cruel, just because you are 80
countries away you think you can mock me. I’ve seen your dirty habits, reading
The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, in Persian or Arabic or Chinese or
whatever languages, and wherever you are. And you thought it was a Business
Studies Title, something about marketing across the trades, I had the last
laugh, it’s a comedy about a street of shops with a very dramatic ending. I bet
you don’t even know what a 29288 really is. Go on clever dicks in Kardasian, is
that a country or a people, anyway what is a 29288, is that a Kim thing, the
North Korean Kim thing?
So while I go and eat, and maybe I’ll explode a bit after my beans, you
go and do some homework. What is the meaning of 29288 in the book and in
reality. And the winner gets a prize. They can come and speed type Tears for a
Butcher, I just hope you’re not a Sumo from Japan.
On this day I choose to be happy
Today it's the
anniversary of my dad's death
18 years ago,
he had an egg and asked for a 2nd
when his 2nd
breakfast egg arrived he has already gone
when my sister
came with the news I howled
like a puppy
being beaten with an iron bar
for a full
hour.
Yesterday in
Indonesia I think somebody
was reading My
Dad my Best Friend
so you an all
find and read that too.
Find and read
Padre Pio and Me too on the sites
BUT BACK TO THE
THEME
We choose to be
happy
Yes things
happen and they can break our spirit
But not for
ever
I once found
the How I Can Make this Day Count "poem"
So I cut it out
and framed it.
I did not even
know it was the AA motto
I thought it
was just a good motto
I also cut out
a Caravaggio Xmas scene
and had that on
my mantelpiece next to the AA poem
I had not even
heard of Andrew Graham Dixon
he's Britain's
best Art expert, go google him, he's always
available for
work. A kind of jobbing Art Expert, a la bona
Duncan and
Sandy art aspirations. I hope he's smiling or I'll
be through a
canvas.
Anyway let's be
happy, so we cannot afford $500,000,000 for a nice
piece to adorn
our walls, and we can't get Andrew Graham Dixon, so good I name dropped him twice.
So we have a 10p cardboard biscuit tin winter scene hanging on our bedroom wall
inside a plastic bag from your Yfronts. Well that's what I've had these past 50
years. I do change my Yfronts and the plastic bag occasionally. But that 10p
cardboard biscuit tin winter scene means so much to me, more that the
$500,000,000 nice piece the Russian guy has on his wall, or the Monet that
famous writer has on his wall, so famous I've forgotten his name, now I
remember that Archer guy, yes I really forgot for a second. The Movelat pain
killer has not kicked in yet, so forgive me Jeffery.
So let's all
strive to be happy, today, even if we are thinking about our dear dead dad.
Because your dad, my dad, or even Our Father who Art in Heaven, dad would like
us all to be happy, why be sad , why worry , because worry is useless, as Padre
Pio used to say.
So this is what
I've written for you all this morning, and yes the INTERLUDE IS OVER, so are
you ready to READ and be READ to. Come on, I cannot hear, you, YES say YES. On
your marks get set, bookmarkers at the ready.
The fat silver
haired writer in shades from Birmingham is back at his desk, still wearing the
same sweaty string vest, but soon it'll be curtains for him, IF only he/I
can find a man to put a curtain rail up. So bona curtain rail sticker uppers a
la Duncan and Sandy do come, and lol by and stick it up, not up my jumper but
on the wall. So just knock my knockers, and then I'll have curtains, and
that'll be the end of that, just don't trip over the cat.
Michael
CASEY 26TH JAN 2020
