The Ballard of Hank and Mary-Beth

The Ballard of Hank and Mary-Beth ©

By Michael Casey

Hank slid out of bed, his big bed, and went straight for the weights, it was his daily ritual. For 10 minutes he flexed this way and that way holding his weights, one in each hand. Then he lay down and did 100 sit ups, he was toned very toned. Putin and Medvedev would be jealous, Hank was more like the policeman in Electra Glide in Blue the old film, Hank was a policeman too just like the bodybuilder cop in the film. Hank was much much bigger though, and he smelt much nicer.

When Hank had finished his morning ritual he headed for the shower where he exfoliated and washed his every nook and cranny. His mum had been a hygienist and his dad had been a salesman delivering ladies perfumes and face care to the whole state. So Hank knew all there was to know about hygiene and makeup, he could have made a career out of it, instead he became a junior bodybuilder, until that fateful night when he saw Electa Glide in Blue at a late night movie show. So it was decided, he’d be a cop.

Hank was a natural cop, he was polite and very very observant, his parents had taught him all that, they had always told him to watch everything. So when He trained to be a cop it all just fell into place. He was a bit behind in target practice but in exchange for fashion and makeup advice Sue-Ellen taught him all there was to know about weapons and tactics. In fact every woman on the force came to him for advice, sometimes all he had to advise was use a thinner makeup brush or a different shade of lipstick. They were in Las Vegas after all and a girl had to look good, even if she was packing a gun and a badge. The other cops, the male cops teased him by saying he was gay, but secretly were totally jealous. If you want to  get the girls just study makeup and perfume, then you’ll always have plenty of female company.

Hank enjoyed his job and finally after 10 years he made sergeant, he never found the right girl though. He did have a great friend at the general post office Mary-Beth was her name, she was tall and had a great  smile, and braces, she had flame red hair. She always hid her figure in long dresses and baggy blouses, but she was great to talk to.  They were such great great friends.

So life went on, Hank patrolling and arresting as needs be, or just  warning folks to behave. It was a good life, he had a savings account at the general post office, it was his excuse to see Mary-Beth. He knew all about online banking, but that was not as good as seeing a real person, a girl, a girl whose smile would make your heart beat faster.

This went on for years, and could have ended in tears, tears at a graveyard for evil came a calling to the Las Vegas general post office. A punk named Skunk as high as high can be came looking for money with a Colt 45 in his hand and a bag full of bombs, or so he said. Mary-Beth pressed the silent alarm. Hank got the call on the radio, Las Vegas general post office. His girl was in danger, they say that it takes 1 minute 15 seconds to travel that stretch of road, Hank floored it, in 45 seconds he was yards from the general post office, his tyres were on fire.

They could see through the binoculars Skunk had taken hostages now, Mary-Beth was amongst them. Hank rung the general post office asking what the demands were. Dr Pepper and Kentucky Fried Chicken was the reply. Too much drugs had given Skunk an appetite. Two minutes later the food was ready. Stunk had another demand now, it should be delivered by a naked man, so he could tell it wasn’t a trap.

Hank looked at the other 20 police officers, he started to take his clothes off, it was his girl, he just had to save her. The female officers were open mouthed in awe, the men knew they had been wrong to call him names. Hank looked like the Terminator but with an American accent, and bigger with a side order of, well I’ll leave that to your imagination.

So carrying a tray a naked Hank entered the general post office, Skunk was suspicious, Hank was so big. You a body builder he asked. Mary-Beth had to intervene, so she told him a pack of lies about the body building club down the street and he, who she’d never seen before, well not totally buff naked, must be working as a food delivery boy to make ends meet.

Yes that’s correct said Hank. Hank looked her in the eyes and she tried not to look at his, at his, but looked in his eyes. They were lying so well together just like a pair of politicians, and little did they know that they’d be lying so well together a little later.

Skunk had his meal, before gulping down his Dr Pepper, he drunk it too fast and began to choke, so Hank seized his opportunity and grabbed the gun, only he slipped on a piece of Kentucky Fried Chicken and ended flat on his back. Skunk grabbed Mary-Beth by the hair and said he’d hurt her if Hank did not give the gun back. Hank looked at Mary-Beth she was the girl of his dreams, only now as he was naked in the general post office had he realised it after all those years.

Mary-Beth mouthed “no” as Hank got up and started to hand the gun over, Hank was naked in every sense of the word. Mary-Beth struggled from Skunk, her hair being torn out, she was ½ free. Hank slipped again on more food debris, he dropped the gun and it went off.

Outside the police ducked for cover, the police dogs all barked in unison. Hank knew it was now or never, so like a frog launching itself he launched himself at Stunk. Stunk and him rolled over the floor of the general post office, slip sliding away, how could one person be so messy with their Dr Pepper and Kentucky Fried Chicken. Stunk was reaching for the gun on the floor, so Hank did a clean and jerk, like weightlifters do. Stunk was a jerk and needed cleaning up, so Hank in one motion lifted him up and threw him at the window. Only Stunk bounced off the window, so this time Hank lifted him and held him tight before throwing him with all his strength at the window. This time, this time the window broke and Stunk was in the street on the pavement, I would say sidewalk but I’m  a Birmingham writer and we say pavement in England.

The dogs were let loose and enjoyed biting bastards, inside Mary-Beth cooed around Hank, was he ok, did he break his best fingernail when he threw the baddie through the window, the usual questions a girl asks a naked man, the man of her dreams, even if he happens to be naked.

Hank inspired by the occasion asked her on a date, could she would she go on a date with him. The other 40 hostages cheered. Mary-Beth looked at Hank and said, NO. Hank, naked Hank was crestfallen. But would he MARRY her, Hank was confused, then he looked up and  saw the date, 29^th February 1988.

So they were married in the wedding chapel next door, and they were good at lying next to each other. Mary-Beth turned out to  be like an Easter egg, once all the packaging was removed something wonderful was inside. As for Hank  he left the police force and became a body double for some Austrian actor whose name I forget.

The Real Thing

The Real Thing ©

By Michael Casey

What you see is what you get, my old boss DW said that about me  back in1999, and it’s true, I never pretend, perhaps I’m too shallow to pretend, you can judge for yourself if ever you do meet me. Now as I was saying on G+ I had to visit Aldi, I’m sipping their version of Horlicks as I talk to you, as well as listening to Vangelis, from the other room my wife is half having  a conversation with me about Customer Service.

The Horlicks copy is watery and very sweet, so I won’t be buying it again. If I had liked it I would have bought 10, and it would have lasted me for months. I allow myself one treat drink a day, otherwise I follow a strict regime. Post my unplanned quadruple heart bypass, I had to do something, so that’s part of it. Now The Real Thing was how they advertised Coca Cola years ago, if you are as old as me you’ll remember the advert on tv.

Do you want the Real Thing or will anything do? You go down your local street market and you can get bargains galore, you are not expecting the real thing. A Rolex for 10quid, only 10 year olds believe that, or their big brothers whose IQ is 10. No what you see is what you get, we know it’s not the real thing, but it is in our price range, so we got away happy. You can get really good things cheaply, for example Alien Works watches on Amazon, automatic ones too. Go look for yourself.

My dad used to say “if you buy rubbish you buy twice” and he was right, especially furniture, you can go down your local high street and see rubbish galore. Pay a bit more and you’ll have at least 10 years of good use from your furniture. You may even conceive your children in that rocking armchair, see I’ve got you thinking now, 4am is a good time too……

Everything IS budget, and now thanks to the Internet we can all search high and low and get a bargain, sometimes in the most unexpected place, such as Argos for furniture. We got a three seater and a two seater for £440, so go hunting for value on their website. Or just go to John Lewis as they never sell rubbish whatever it is you are after, and they give 2 year and 5 year guarantees on various stuff.

Food is important, we are what we eat, and it’s always nice to have nice food. I’d rather have cheaper something else so that I can have nice food. Going back to Aldi generally their “copy” brands are good, they taste good and they are cheaper by far. Yes somethings are not as nice, but for us Aldi is the closest store. When we win the lottery, or I die and the insurance pays out, then the family would go to Sainsburys or Waitrose because they are so nice to shop in and the stuff is beautiful to eat. Though with my regime, I cannot or should I say shouldn’t eat lots of stuff, as its “naughty but nice” to use Salman Rushdie’s phrase from his fresh cream cakes days.

So we may want the real thing but life prevents us, that’s why Birthdays and Holidays and great, we can break our fast, we can come together as a family and share our joy and eat drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die, or we might if you have any fat people in your family who really should give a few things up, don’t have too much of the real thing but avoid that heart attack. 

Its all in the mind

It’s all in the Mind ©

By Michael Casey

I was thinking about styles of writing, and how some writers are more explicit than others, and some just cannot write anything, they are bad writers. Selling millions does not make you a good writer, some readers will accept badly written words because the story is good. Me, if the storyteller is bad I just don’t want to know, I have to put the book down.

So let me try and write something and see if I can put pictures in your mind, without actually being explicit, if you like a blind man telling a story.

When I first met Annette she was the love of my life, I just had to A her, and in reply she just had to B me, so we Aed and Bed  for a few weeks as we got to know each other. Then it got deeper, I Ced her and she Ded me, I then Eed her on her neck and she Fed me all over my, my, well you’ll have to imagine it for yourself.

Then the landlady threw a bucket of water over us, as if we were dogs in the street, though we were of course nothing like that at all. So we went back to her place to dry our clothes off. We hung our clothes on the fireguard in front of the fire. We were almost Ged, but not quiet. But as I looked at her and she looked at me, Nature decided to joint in. I Hed and she Jed, we were both embarrassed and happy at the same time, Nature is Nature after all, you don’t need a subscription to the National Geographic to know that.

So removed what was left of our clothes, we were now proudly naked in front of each other and the steaming fire guard. We Ked to the floor and she began to L and I Med, Led and Med over and over. Steam was coming from us now, not just the fire guard. We stopped to N, it’s important to N, so we Ned, before we Oed, and Oed and Oed again. Oing is Oing, all with toing and froing.

We stopped for a pint of Stella Artois, two in fact, a third we poured over our bodies. As the steam rose we continued, Peed as farts we continued, Qing and Qing, slow, slow, quick quick slow, we Qed and Qed. Then we Red, and Red, we needed a little rest after all, so we Red and Red.

Then we Sed and Sed with renewed vigour, started again with renewed vigour. Then we hit a T, so we Ted it, we knocked it high in the air and chipped it, a tee shot, which was a birdie. The we tried a bit of U, just for variety we Ued and Ued again, we were giving it the full alphabet after all. Then we Ved, we just had to V, a V is essential in a full relationship. The steam from the washing on the fireguard rose even more, as did the steam from the Stella Artois on our bodies.

Then we Wed, we had enough energy left so we Wed, we were breathless, we were Xed, totalled Xed, we were exhausted. Then we had another pint of Stella Artois before we went for the Y, a Y just had to be done, why we Yed I’ll never know. We did it, we had reached nirvana, we were exhausted and smelt of Stella Artois. Our clothes were dry, so we covered our nakedness, but not before we had a quick Z, I Zed her and she Zed me, we were so happy.

Thus concludes, it’s all in the mind, I was just teaching you all the alphabet, so I hope you will not need a repeat lesson, the A to Z of whatever it was you were thinking of, me I have no idea what you were thinking of.

 On y soit qui mal y pense as the French say.   

The Voice

The Voice ©

By Michael Casey

A vocation is called a calling, a voice talks to us and then we listen, sometimes finally listen, then we embark upon a journey, it can be a spiritual journey, a physical journey, or a literal journey. How many people have a vocation nowadays? How do you know you have a vocation in the first place? You can be pushed or pulled into something, your family may encourage you, or put a gun against your head to force you to have a certain vocation.

The Irish in America became cops, my own cousin is a cop in Boston, being a cop is a good job, a steady job, and the police force is one big family after all, so it IS a good vocation.  What do cops’ kids become, they become cops too, or if they are girls their dads’ may encourage them to be lawyers, its safer and warmer too.

Why do we need this voice to call us? If we are to sacrifice or donate our lives to something we should have a pull towards it, it’s not just a job, it’s not just any job, a calling , a vocation IS our life.  We may all work in a call centre at some stage of our lives but it is not our life, yes I agree for some girls and in the main it is girls call centre work is their life, it suits them. What makes the vocation call out to us? 

In the Bible there is the passage where God calls out to the boy, 3 times God calls out and finally the boy after talking to his master waits and listens and replies to God, “here I am” or words to that effect, you can Google the Bible for yourself. So a vocation is like a magnet it pulls us towards it, and once we are attached, we are glued to it.

A vocation is like a lover or a wife, it’s our passion and it bears fruit, it is everything to us, me I write as you all know. Others may teach music to the choir in church, Betty teaches choir at my daughters’ church, she is 84 and still going strong, her passion for music keeps her alive, she pours music into all whom she teaches, it’s this kind of sharing that answers the call.

Learning to listen for the vocation, for the call,   is important too, life can be so busy they we cannot hear the call. We need to step back, to step away and let the force touch us, whatever we want or should I say whatever we could be will be revealed. Yes I know most of us do a job to feed and clothe us, only the lucky few do what they enjoy. As you know I write because it’s in me and I’ve not made a penny from it,  but I’ll always write because it’s my vocation.

 So after you’ve read this make some quiet time, have a pint of Stella or a mug or Horlicks and just get all mellow, listen to Barry Manilow or whatever gets you in the mood, and let rainbows fill your mind and fill your heart, and listen just listen to the whispers that’ll grow into a roar, for your vocation is calling  you.

 this piece is from a few years ago, you can find my 9 books on amazon, just look for my fat face on most book covers

Where I want to be buried

Where I Want  To Be Buried ©

By Michael Casey

Well I've decided where I want to be buried, though I'm in no hurry to be buried. Last time I was buried was when my brother buried me in the sand on a beach in Wales. By the Sikh temple is an old Christian church, Trinity Road Church, and next to that is the Post Office sorting centre, you look across the dual carriage way and the rail track and the canal then you see the site where my dad used to work in the steel works, Brasshouse Lane Smethwick. At the back of the post office you can see into the distance. There is also the Job Centre. 

Not very romantic but if you go there for yourself you may feel what I feel. The Peace. It may be the power of the prayer from the Trinity Rd church as well as the power of the Sikh Temple combined, or my dad's sweat of 40 years  in the air. But seriously if I were allowed to be buried there, then that's where I could be put. In front of the church looking over towards Rolf Street Train Station. So there you have it. I don't expect to become a famous writer after I die, but the train station and the other transport routes means that plenty of people could come and visit my grave.