Let me be your Leader

Let me be your Leader ©

By Michael Casey

Lots of Leadership needed everywhere at the moment so here’s a few tips for all candidates. They can rehearse in front of a mirror.

I Want to serve, to be a humble servant, I have studied the Ides of March, some say too thoroughly. I have much experience of handling dough, my grandfather was a Baker, Hilda Baker was his drag act at the weekends, but otherwise he was all man, as his many mistresses can testify, I suppose that’s where I got it from, the dough not the mistresses, I am an honourable man, well I have not been found out yet.

Policies, what policies? I’ll have a read of the gutter press and the high and mighty and maybe a bit of the BBC or even Fox. Give me a few ideas about what the people, my people, our people, the stupid people, yes I love them too not just that man with the blonde hair, the American guy, Hunt, or something rhyming with Stunt, stupid people must be listened to, they vote more than most. Rich people are in the South of France so why chase them if they don’t bother to vote.

So I’ll rehearse my speech not like my competitor, who just cannot talk, he may have been a prefect in his grammar school, but really he is worse than the illiterate drunk we see at my political meetings, he only comes for the sandwiches and 7 teas.

So I’ll go around and tell my lies and hope my lies are fatter than the other person’s lies, so long as I can act just like that old Leader, the very successful one, whose name I cannot remember, but he was so good, whatever his name was.

Then we’ll have the ballot, and of course I’ll win, and if I don’t I’ll leave politics and become a political commentator and do the chat so circuit, it pays twice what I’d get in politics, just make sure never to tell the truth in the green room when I’m ½ pissed. So All in All or is it Measure for Alcoholic Measure, I’ll win or just be richer as a political hack.  It’s all a load of Ballots anyway.

Diary of a Cat called Totoro

Diary of a Cat called Totoro ©

By Michael Casey

I would type this myself but my “owner” does not allow me on the keyboard, how can anybody own a cat, we do what we like and allow the owner to think they are in charge. I have 4 “owners” in fact, it’s called a family, I am the most important part of that family, I am the cat. The typist who is typing this for me is Michael Casey, he’s a writer, 10 books on Amazon. What Amazon is I have no idea, I know what Aldi is, that’s where my typist buys food for the family. I can recognise the sound of plastic wrapping paper, I know what it is because inside is chicken, and I LOVE chicken. I come running down the stairs to the kitchen whenever I hear this sound.

They have to be quick opening and closing the fridge door as I may leap inside, I did it once, so they watch out all the time now. So I learnt how to open the cupboard doors instead, I just had to sit on the microwave and then reach up. It was fun helping myself to a bit of bread, I even went inside the cupboard itself. Those Caseys are stupid thinking I would not work it out. I am Japanese after all, well my name Totoro is. The Caseys are Birmingham Shanghai people, they talk to me in English and Chinese, so long as they give me food I don’t care what language it is.

When they discovered that I was a thief they started to seal the cupboard doors with tape, they have no sense of humour, I am a cat after all. Hang on a second I have to jump on the chair my owner is sitting in, just checking his story telling ability, I don’t want a rubbish biographer after all. There’s lots of black on the screen so he must be writing lots of words, whatever words are. Some words I know, such as pussy, and food, and bad cat, cuddle is a nice word. I get cuddles as I sit on my owners and they stroke me, then I purr like a late night taxi in the street.

The house I live in is big for a cat, I am allowed to go anywhere so long as I use the cat litter. They have boxes of Whiskas in the kitchen under the table, I climb them like a mountain, and when they are finished a nice man brings more of them, keeps me fed for months, whatever a month is. All in all I think I like the Caseys, if only I could have a boyfriend, but they say one cat is enough.

I sleep in a wicker basket, they got it half price from B&Q , whatever a B&Q is. Though really I sleep wherever I Iike, under the typist’s bed is my favourite place, not because he smells nice, but because it’s the warmest room in the house, I’m a cat I’m not stupid.

In fact I follow the sun around sleeping wherever the sunshine is the strongest, the family has lots of windowsills to lie on, and beds and furniture, on the bed, under the bed, in the bed under the duvet. Sometimes I just cannot make up my mind, so I sleep on the landing, they have carpet, it’s a kind of fur for corridors.

I also have a party trick, I do a double leap and bounce and then I’m on top of the fridge, so they can’t ignore me, and they give in to my big kitten eyes and give me chicken. Well I have to go now, I need a nap, so I’m ready for when the children come from school.  They study cats at school, I was very pleased to hear it, it’s called CaTuculus, I don’t know what it is but it must be good. Miaow   

Asking the Cashier

Asking the Cashier ©

By Michael Casey

I was in Aldi and I got talking to the cashier as he unbagged his small change, he asked how I was, I said I hadn’t thought what to write about today.  I explained I did a bit of writing, its 870,000 words so far, doesn’t mean it’s the kind of words you want to read, but there are a lot of them. He smiled, I do in fact have a connection to him, he is a fully trained Blacksmith and my dad was a blacksmith. He is very big, he makes me look small, he does look a bit like the Welsh footballer Gareth Bale, he puts his hair back and up, I don’t know anything about his football skills.

So as he scanned my stuff I said I’d write something called Asking the Cashier, so that’s how this piece came about. As I said before you can get anything at Aldi, though horses being shod might be a bit exotic for a high street in a Birmingham suburb, though the roses would be fantastic outside the store. So this is an example of where my muse comes from, Aldi, and my trips up and down the road to and from Aldi.

If I were a painter or photographer I’d have nude Japanese models, or other nationalities, but as it’s me, the only muse I have is the brickwork with the sign Aldi attached to it. Life is funny that way, you don’t know what is around the corner, as Fiona once said to me before she disappeared traveling all over the world, only to end up living in my neighbourhood. A muse should amuse and inspire you, give you a spark that will lead to something creative. So I ask the cashier this and that and they say do I know this or that is on offer, so I buy extra toilet cleaner as it is on offer, which is good as I bought extra eggs and beans the previous week.

You can rate a shop straight away by the attitude the staff have, does the cashier know or care if you ask a question. From my own time working for 3 years front of house at CPNEC Birmingham the honest answer is the best, I don’t know but I know a man who does, so I’d ring Phil of the dect phone and he’d materialise as if Paul Daniels had magiced him from nowhere, and HE had the answer I needed.

I do observe the staff working and I try and make them laugh as I perambulate my way through the store, I just thought I’d throw a big word in just to see if you are paying attention. The new staff soon get to know me, who’s the fat old bloke with the white hair, sometimes they notice that it’s silver, just like my mother’s. They are told I am a male model, and obviously they believe it as they see me wipe my nose on my sleeve, and then scratch my bum for far too long, as I head for the toilet tissue and the large economy size toilet cleaner.

Yes I am a celebrity shopper. And yes it’s a mystery to them that I am a male model, but David Walliams spotted me, and was so taken aback he rung his agent immediately and his agent had me on the casting couch, she had to, my back was playing up again so she had Ming Ling massage it. Luckily I had purchased some wet wipes too, so having interviewed me as I was being massaged I got my first modelling post. I was a bum model for Smith’s Toilet Tissue,  it’s me you see on their advert.  They could have had Minnie Massage or Kim Kardassian but I got it, so I’m famous, and that’s why I swagger when I go shopping, I am a Muse to toilet paper.

Two Pain Pieces

Two Pain Pieces (c)
by Michael Casey

pain day today so I'm reposting these two

Pain and Prayer ©

By Michael Casey

Let my Pain be my Prayer

Let my Screams be the Chorus

Let my Pills be the Verse

Let my Winces be my Supplication

Let my Pain bitten lips be my Hope

Let Sleepless Eyes be my Testament

Let my Aching Limbs be my Mantra

Let the Ringing in my ears be my Peel of Prayer

Let the stabs of pain in my heart reach high heaven

Let the fog of pain in my brain be lifted by God’s Grace

Let me down from my cross because you have already been on yours.

 No it’s NOT Kinky Sex it’s just PAIN ©

By Michael Casey

Well its 3am and I’m screaming in pain, the neighbours think there is a Kinky Sex Club somewhere in the neighbourhood, but there is not, it’s just me screaming again, in pain. I wanted to use this title before but I held off, but now it seems so right. I’ve had a couple of pain killers and they are slowly beginning to work.

My dad was in the war and he never took pain killers, says one, or my child had this or that and she never complained. Well God Bless them, but I’ll remind you, there is no competition in pain, it just F**** hurts. So when your grannie or child or cat or dog IS in pain, do be a little supportive. Don’t say shut up, you are trying to watch the chart show on the myriad of rubbish music channels on Sky. Why are they so badly presented with really rubbishy graphics. Just give us the Music, Old Grey Whistle Test leads the way, or Jools Holland’s Later.

Veteran09 from the DT will no doubt offer his prayers, so thank you again, and a very Merry Xmas to you. Maybe the Queen will send you a Christmas card this year as you are so loyal, he is also very kind. Now the rest of you, how about adding pain relief to your Will, you could set up a pain relief centre here in Birmingham or sponsor somebody at the Medical School. I’m not a Brummie mad person, I’m just lazy, if you set up the centre here in Birmingham I’d just be a bus ride away from it, so I could jump the queue.

Pain Relief Centre does sound like a house of ill repute, you could have a competition to name the centre, and the best name wins the pot of money, hopefully here in Birmingham. Rich people DO leave money to good causes and they  frequently leave it in their own name. So could we have the Michael Casey Centre for Slapping on Movelat Gel, or the Michael Casey Slapping Centre for short. Though that does sound like a kinky sex club, though it is NOT. We have so much modern medicine but still pain persists. And by the way I have NO money, if any billionaire is reading this I’d love to have a nice big house, so think of me in your will. Assuming you have any money left after buying another football club.

So anybody out there reading this why not leave your money to this good cause, pain relief, and no I’m not suggesting a French Maid arrives to relieve pain either. I’m suggesting we study pain, and then kill it off. Obviously with my Shanghai connections maybe we could get a Chinese Dr to teach acupuncture here in Birmingham, as needles are far cheaper than pharmaceuticals.

Yes I’ve used humour in this piece, but I have grabbed your attention, you could call it the Frankie Howerd and Kenneth Williams Pain Centre, and have David Walliams as the visiting Professor, call it anything, just take the F****** pain away. It’s 3.35 now, time for a green tea and  hopefully the pain has ebbed before I go back to bed, alone, no French maid, yet……..  

Just Pretending

Pretending Just Pretending ©

By Michael Casey

There is a song called “Pretending” I think it was by Elvis, you can google for yourselves, so why am I talking about Pretending? Well its nearly 9pm and I left a note of Twitter saying I’d try and write something before bedtime, which is usually around Midnight after the Sky Press Preview. Then  I looked out the window and there was a man pretending, so that’s today’s idea.

The man was pushing a stroller along the pavement, trying to look cool so he was pushing it with one hand and walking with a boastful lad’s gait. Sometimes lads have phones in their hands and they laugh and joke and swear to their mates. Missing the golden moments with their child, they wouldn’t be seen dead talking to their child, showing their gentle side, cooing and so forth.

They boast about their bedroom antics, or back of a car antics, or oh I forgot it was on the top deck of a bus. I was at it I the attic above the chip shop, the smell of fish always gets me going. And so on, pretending, unable to be soft and gentle about their love, because pretending is more manly, more laddish.

We pretend when we have job interviews, we pretend we are better than we really are. You will get found out in the end, then they can sack you for lying on your CV or at the interview. I’ll never have an interview again myself, though you could say every piece of writing forms part of my CV, this piece is 760 or so. My first target is 1000, then 2000 will become my next target.  

So we pretend we are knowledgeable, that we are experienced, that we have management experience. You have 4 younger siblings and you make them tidy the house before your parents come home, while your watch the Euro 2016, pity Iceland beat England. But your family is Welsh so you still have hope. But you class it as management experience, and it’s a great line for your CV. If you find my Elevator Ad on the Internet you can read a piece about Linkedin and  CVs.

You pretend you are not afraid when the lift breaks down on the 22^nd floor, but really you are so scared. I can hold your hand if you are scared you say to the girl trapped in the lift with you, instead a little old lady holds your hand instead.  That makes the girl laugh and she decides to hold your hand too. You are almost on a double date, with a pretty girl, and her granny. You get talking and she can see you are really scared, she knows you are pretending, so she pretends not to know. In fact stuck in that lift she decided you are boyfriend material.

The Brigade come and after 4 hours you get out of the lift, the little old lady is led away, she’s peed her pants because you’ve been in the lift too long. The girl decides to give you a kiss, you are so happy you that you fall over into the pool of old lady’s pee. The girl laughs till she cries, you want to pretend you fall over into old lady’s pee every day, only there on the floor of the lift sat in a pool of pee you realise you cannot pretend any more, you’ve met the love of your life.

Come on my flat’s right here, you can have a shower and I’ll rinse your pants. So that’s how she seduced you, with the help of the little old lady. In fact the little old lady was her nan, and it was lemonade deliberately spilt. You could say it was  a plot, a plot of inconvenience. They had been Pretending, just pretending, you could say it  was a Piss Plot.