Allo la Belgique et aussi la Belle France garde d l'eau

Allo la Belgique et aussi la Belle France  garde d l'eau

J'ai remarque que la Belgique a decouvri ma ecrititure encore une fois, donque j'ai decide dire Allo a tous la Belgique. Peutre etre vous travaile a la EEC qui est la nom La Parliament European? Je ne sais pas de tout.

Vous connaitre la Libre The Hitcherhiker's Guide to the Universe?  donce de dans la peuere mot dans la monde es Belgium, Belguim Man, Belgium c'est la pieur chose on peut dire.

Va a la video store et achete le video pour le decouvire. C'st Humour Britanique.

Il y a un autre phrase plus mechant et cette phrase est Michael Casey the fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham is my best friend.

Zut Alors.

Forgive the bad French it is 43 years since the exam. Its far easier to speak than write.

Thanks for passing by I hope you enjoy all the stories, I try and write a new one every day. It takes my mind off my Arthritis and my Ckd and the post quadruple heart bypass pain.No, I'm not making it up, its my bare chest you see in the photos. I have been writing since 1987 and  there are 15 books on Amazon which nobody buys as the can read for free here. Perhaps I should go on strike. Une greve, n'est pas?

https://www.amazon.com/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC

That's it for today. I hope you liked today's piece Peer Pressure. I never know what I'm going to write until I start and usually after 1 hour I've produced something.
And yes I'd love to live in that house whose picture I posted, the post code or zip code should let you find it online.  Sadly It won't happen, but it's always good to live in hope. I did find a penny, a USA cent on my doorstep today, so I polished it and spat on it, so I hope it brings me good look.

Tell all your friends on FB to come and visit the site, viewing figures are good for my ego. 181 of you have been reading the Shakespeare Was piece  in just a couple of days. My daughters  just  came home with some Belgium chocolates, so I'll go and have those with a mug of  coffee and say goodnight. Merci a tous, bonne niut  et bonne vie  a beintot 

 Michael Casey
le gross ecrivan avec les cheveus blancess portant les lunettes por le soleil de Birmingham

Peer Pressure

Peer Pressure ©

By

Michael Casey

Peer Pressure is when you are forced to do something you really might not do if you did not feel Pressurised. It can come in many forms, at the fair where you all pay a pound for a mystery box, the hawker with the microphone is very good. Then when he has all the money he says 1 2 3, and you all open your box to reveal you present. And guess what its a key ring worth 20p. Or 10p as the hawker has bought thousands from China. You do get a chance to get your money back, but nobody does, so the hawker makes 90p from everybody. Though on one occasion, one sole person asked for their money back before the great reveal, it was my brother, who later went on to Downing Cambridge, to study Economics.

The moral is trust nobody, especially when they are appealing to your greed. The same goes at the other end of the scale, this will be good for you, this will make you feel so good. When somebody is offering drugs or any other kind of good time. Just say NO. Especially if you are drunk or vulnerable, if it won’t wait till the morning or next Wednesday, then its not a good idea. What would your old granny think, if she would say he or it is a dodgy, then just say NO and go home.

The same goes with form filling. They don’t need your phone number nor your Date of Birth. They’ll just use it to Data Mine you, and if you are online they can and will do worse.Mulder did say Trust Nobody, and it was me who told him to tell you that. It was me who gave him his first break as a Hand Model in Zoolander.

Now am I lying or am I trying to Prove that you should never believe what you read in FB or any Online Media. You should always watch 2 tv news, BBC and Sky, and skim through the Daily Telegraph, Daily Mail and the Guardian. And maybe listen to a radio news too. That’s what I do every day, and no I’m not a journalist, though I’d love a column if Rupert is reading this, but Donald might tell him to give me one.

My point is by being Informed and not just Entertained then you are Educated in your decisions. That’s why Rupert Murdoch IS right, Zuckerberg and FB should feature and pay for Real News, and not BS. Then you don’t give in to Peer pressure telling you to do this or to do that as it really is so good for you. You should Opt In for good news, and don’t be anybody’s tool and fool because you cannot or will not think for yourself.

You first position, and I’m not talking Ballet, is NO, and then Why, and then Prove it. Followed by What’s in it for me? Closely followed by What’s in it for You?  The last bit is usually what people don’t want you to know. Never sign any Petitions, think for yourself, come back to it later. Let Me Think About It. Should be your stock answer,as you slam the door in the face of anybody suggesting it really is so good for you.

In today’s Twitter world where everybody want’s to Tweet and be oh so Funny,in their own imagination. Do not follow the herd and be a Polly, a Pretty Polly chirping away, because everybody else says its the thing to do. It is NOT. Think for yourself give into nobody, be yourself. You could be like the cafe parrot on High Street Smethwick when my dad was alive and sweating in the steel works. That parrot used to scream “Close the Bleeding Door”, and so should you.

      

My dream house, plus a puppy dog and a car for my daughter

This is where I'd love to live IF I sold some books or if any Saudi Prince wants to invest in my Teach English via Comedy idea OR If a Korean Billionairess wanted to spoil me, rather than kill me.
OR any number of reasons. I'd need a puppy too and a car for my daughter once she learns to drive and enough money to pay the bills.

Ok, I'm dreaming, as my dad used to, If I won any money I'd buy everybody a house dad use to say/dream. Well he is gone 16 years now, so its me who carries on the dream.

https://www.amazon.com/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC


B17 8QL   is its location in Birmingham


its only 800,000 so all I need is a lottery win

Nights in Malta

this is from a year ago, I've been thinking tonight of a story that would follow on from this and be part of Tears for a Butcher my follow on to The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, assuming I ever found the time to write it. As ever I'd love a Legal Secretary to sit in my chair while I lounge around and dictate my next book, it would be so much quicker, maybe 3 months to write/dictate another full 600 page comic novel.

Nights in Malta ©

By Michael Casey

Before I start I should tell you I had a great week in Malta in 2013 and I long to return, even though it was there that my Arthur my Arthritis started to hit home. I was overjoyed that I could buy Deep Heat in Malta. Now its 4 years on and my unplanned quadruple heart bypass has overtaken me. I was told it was a triple but it was a quadruple I discovered 6 months later.

My cKd needs to be watched too, I’m telling you all this so that you can understand just how important it is to me that I can WRITE, its food for my Spirit even if you lot like it or not. So now I’m going to share part of a story that’ll become part of a chapter in Tears for a Butcher my full length sequel to The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker.

Now read on and apologies to Navy Seals everywhere, please don’t leave a horse’s head in my bed, a Subway one foot long sandwich would be better……

So it was all true, Tiny wasn’t mad or just battled out at all, he really was a seer, he saw it all the time, but when he wrote that picture in pencil and crayon the Admiral had to make a decision, so Tiny was grounded, his flippers taken away. So that’s when he became a bodyguard for that zillionaire’s old mum, lucky for there he was there he had to take care of her. He was more like a son to her, and that’s why she always wears a scarf, somebody got to her, before Tiny got to them. It covers the scar.

So what happened in Malta? Well Ester made a friend with this Irish woman in Birmingham, the one in England. You know how she likes to have real friends not people sucking up to her son, or trying to get a foot in the door. So when she heard about the triple birth, that was impossible, you’ll have to ask a gyno doctor to explain it. Anyhow Ester prayed like crazy, as only a Jew can pray. And her friend prayed like only an Irish Catholic can. But most of all Rita in Malta who was Mrs Murphy’s friend she prayed like only the Maltese can pray, and after what they put up with from those Nazi SOBs in the war they know how to pray.

So these triplets were born in Birmingham, in their Dudley Road hospital. And it was impossible, I can’t explain everything as we haven’t got the time. But it turns out that Rita’s son was the lead gyno  doctor. He had renounced his Faith went his dad had died and he with all his medical knowledge could not save him. But when the triplets were born they each had a Maltese cross birthmark on their shoulder. Mrs Murphy and Rita had met and done a deal, if one helped her friend have a child, just one pregnancy, then Mrs Murphy would pray that her son came back to the Faith.

So Almighty God killed two birds with one stone. He sure did, then Ester jumped out of the shadows, she’d flown non stop from Vegas just to be there. Everybody was so excited, Mrs Murphy was crying because she had not kept her side of the bargain. Then the doc revealed himself and it came out that he was Rita’s son. He was an old bachelor, but his nurse had loved him for years. You’re having me on, no for sure, Almighty God was settling all the scores in one day.

So they decided to go back to Malta immediately and marry before his old mother died. Only the French air traffic control were on strike, those SOBs are always on strike. So Ester through a bitchy fit, she got Tiny to press the red button on his phone. 14 satellites bleeped and the War Room went to condition amber. He son makes all the military satellites, its a bit like chipping your dog, but with Norad answering.

So to keep it short, a Nato war game was interrupted and 4 assault and recovery helicopters descended on down town Birmingham. Took the doc and his crew to Birmingham airport. They put the helicopters on the K734ASD plane and headed for Malta with F15 tomcats as escort. That Zillionaire really loves his mum, and the Joint Chiefs of staff love her too. Mrs Murphy did insist on visiting the duty free at the airport, it frightened a few people, Special Forces ambling through the duty free. But Mrs Mrs Murphy did insist on getting Rita and the soon to be newly weds a few presents. One of the forces chatted up the girl at the checkout and , well that’s another story.

My that’s a busy story. It ain’t finished, Ester’s son rang to hire the entire Hilton, only he got suspicious of their tone of voice. So he brought up the Hilton on 3 of his satellites. The Mafia were holding a meeting at the Hilton. When Tiny and the Special forces were informed they just smiled and jump straight out of the plane and cleared the mafia from the Hilton, so it wasn’t a waste of a day as far as Special Forces were concerned.

So that’s the end? No. Everything went well and the doc married his nurse in Malta, Rita and Mrs Murphy were overjoyed. Ester’s poker club in Vegas were annoyed because Ester had left them so suddenly. So she set her phone up so that her Vegas friends could play poker against some old Maltese men.

It was then that it happened. One of the Mafia had been hiding in a cupboard and sprung out. It was a room full of people and kids too. Tiny was going to do his stuff and save everybody but he was afraid that some kids would get hurt by stray bullets. So he’d have to smother the Mafia guy, Tint would probably die, but everybody would be safe.

Ester looked at the statue of the Virgin Mary in the corner of the ballroom, us 2 Jews alone in a room full of Gentiles. Let it be me that dies, I’m old, let it be me not Tiny, he’s like a son to me, he never got that girl he dreamed about. He drew her picture on paper, so pretty, then all red in the left hand side of her face. Please Mary, as one Jew to another, save all these Gentiles.

My granny used to ask me to sing for her, why don’t you sing for me.

Ester stood up as requested by the only other Jew in the room, so Ester sung something all the Gentiles would love. She sung the Ave Maria, Ester sung the Ave Maria. One by one they all got up and defiantly sung the Ave Maria. The Mafia guy was astounded, a wall of sound, Phil Spector producing Ave Maria.

Tiny could see this might give him an edge,and he edged forward ready to leap, ready to save everybody. At that moment Ester’s  prayer was answered, Tiny got to see his girl, for a waitress entered through the far door. She was beautiful beyond compare, and on the left side of her face was a port wine stain birthmark. Now the girl had been teased all her life because of her mark of shame. But she too had had a vision, or rather a voice in a dream. A man from the sea will marry you, the bravest man in the world is the only one good enough for you.

At that moment Tiny saw his girl and they both knew the prophecy had been revealed. Would it all end in death. Both begged the Virgin to save the other, let them live even if they died. At that same time  the girl, Rose was her name, she grabbed a saucer and threw it like a frisbee hitting the Mafia guy on his adam’s apple. As he choked Tiny flew with Saint Michael the Archangel himself flapping his wings behind him. The Mafia guy was disarmed and bundled away.

So that explains why every Navy Seal in the service is heading for Malta. Its true, we had to ask the Commander in Chief for special permission. He only agreed when we told him that Rose knew Tiny’s service number, she had dreamed it all those years ago.      

go to UTUBE and watch Ken Dodd videos

https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=Ken+Dodd

Ken Dodd is a Liverpool Comedian

He is 90 years old and he is actually a Knight, Sir Ken Dodd

He is sick in hospital at the moment so please pray for him.

He was once taken to Court by the Inland Revenue, the TAX MAN

It was a three week Court Case.

HE BEAT THE TAX MAN.

In Court it was disclosed he had Love Letters in a Bank Vault

But 20,000 in cash in a shoe box under the stairs.

SO he knew that LOve was far more important than money.

He was in Birmingham and people applauded him in the street, including hard men, scaffolders  as

 he was passing by the Theatre, The Hippodrome.

His shows last hours. An average show will last 2.5 hours his can last 5 hours and more.

You get your money's worth. Its an avalanche of laughs. If you don't like the first joke then there are  10 more on the way.

He also has a good voice and has been Number One in the charts.

He has also acted in Shakespeare, the cross gartered Malvolio I believe was the part.

I've seen him a few times, so if you watch the videos on Utube you will see just some of my influences for my comic  writing.

I Believe in Me

I Believe in Me ©

By Michael Casey

I read on the BBC site about confidence levels among new students in USA, Freshmen as they are called over there. There confidence is king, but ability does them a kick up the backside. Confidence is great, it is important, without it nothing can be done, or almost nothing can be done.

Over confidence becomes conceit, we can watch any reality tv show to understand this. Some say Eton educated politicians are conceited and out of touch with the real world, their ability is not equal to their conceit or should I say confidence. On the other hand coming from a poor working class inner city background doesn’t make you qualified to run the country either, especially when both ends of the swingometer haven’t had a real job, or as my dad used to say they’ve never sweated.  They have read a few tomes on politics while at uni, but actual getting up and going to work, or working night shifts for years, no, none of them or not enough of them has any exposure to the real world. Yet both sides are confident they no what they are doing.

Confidence means sex, the boy is cheeky enough to ask the girl out, and to seduce her, before she realises he’s a total arse. We’ve seen enough films to see this scenario over and over again. Wealth and Privilege breeds confidence, but practice makes perfect, the sportsmen we all may love have had to spend hour after hour after hour practising so they can chip that ball into the hole, or bend it like Beckham.

Rooney last time I looked had improved at heading the ball, why, because he practised. Which means when Rooney is in the area he’ll have a try with his head, Jackie Charlton used to be a great head player, but they all practiced. I’m sure Sir Alex tells them what he wants and they do that little bit extra, if they don’t then they’ll be sitting on the bench. This could be Sir Alex’s last season and he will probably be called the best manager ever, but even he has to practice and rehearse his art, and I doing mean by looking in a mirror holding a hairdryer.

Americans are confident and they can be because they have all the resources of the world at their finger-tips. In today’s world pop stars seem to be too arrogant, too takeaway food. Here today gone tomorrow, gulped down and forgotten. The craft seems to have been forgotten, the apprenticeship has not been done, it’s all ego and no tomorrow, throwaway “culture”. Our reality shows breed this, and sadly wanabees are the next big thing.

Hard work seems to forgotten, people craving without slaving first, to misquote Billy Connelly “ everybody wants to shock and they are auditioning for their own show.” You cannot turn back the clock, but singers, comics and their ilk forget about the practice that should come before any performance. Have 5 mins of material does not make you an entertainer. Over confidence is self disillusioned, you need to step back and get that paper graded, record your performance and really look hard at it, compare and contrast other people’s papers.

My own path into writing started by listening to all the stories my dad had, hearing them over and over. Being afraid of Mr Gallaghger   in primary school, so I took refuge in books from the age of 8, so I would not get the slipper. 3 years later and 100s of books later I was the head boy. We got an old Bush radio, the saucer dial one, with the dominoe buttons and the strip of marzipan carrying handle, this radio changed my life because I listed to Radio4 for 20 years. Imagine its midweek, your shift cycle has ended what can you do? You listen to the radio. Plays and News galore. Then you stumble into writing so you write and write, I had a head start thanks to Radio4 .

Now confidence I did not have, I just stumbled into it and then I realised I’d found something. I can do this, I can do this. You think what to do next after a few months of writing. Pad said “why not write a book”. So I did. This took a while and you realise you had nailed it. BUT its only on paper, a typed effort. I worked on computers, so I bought an Atari 520 and made a 2^nd draft, this took a year when I wasn’t working nights or weekends, a year of a life. It was only when I’d finished my book The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker that I thought I was any good. I’d done my apprenticeship. 

However you never finish learning with writing, never finishing practising. From then to now is 25years. And before that 20years of using my ears. So if you like as I talk to you its 45years in the making. I’m still not overconfident, you have to work at your craft, and most important of all use your ears. Then and only then can you say I’m a writer.

https://www.amazon.com/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC  

*****

this piece is from 5 years ago on www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com you can HEAR me read some stories  and AFTER the AUDIO are a few more old stories. I hope you all like them. Its 50 years since I first fell in love with Words now. And at time of writing I'm wondering why you are all reading the Shakespeare Was piece. Go online and find the BBC show I was talking about. You may even be able to buy it on the BBC website somewhere.

that's your lot, and if Boris, Lech and Gregorgi turn up, tell them they need to return my dresses, there are enough Pantomime Dames already without them joining in.

  

  

Coming Out of the Closet

Coming out of the Closet ©

By

Michael Casey

I’ve just tied up my wardrobe, or rather what used to be my wardrobe, and it was interesting to discover what was inside. And for all of you who thought I was going to declare myself Gay, sorry to disappoint you. I am only interested in Women, real ones, and with an eye to the Oriental, such as Korea, Japan and China. My wife is a Shanghai girl after all. Though my next wife will be Korean, depending on which one of us dies first. I’ve looked outside and the hitman has not arrived, yet. Not unless my wife hires a Korean girl to kill me. She will be going out with her Gay male friend later on, such is life’s eternal balance. Meanwhile my girls are at the Panto with other members of my family. Panto is where men dress as women and vice versa, it’s the end of the Panto season today and it could be Dick Whittington who used his cat to clean out all the rats in London. Which is vaguely topical.

So let’s get back to me and my closet, it is nearly big enough for me to climb into, and then I really would be coming out of my closet, but only to carry clothes, no other meaning implied. That’s the joy of language, you can give it many meanings. That’s what Shakespeare enjoyed doing with his puns. I hope all students passing by my site this weekend have as much fun with language as I do, whatever your own first language happens to be, and you speak 25 different languages at least. Maybe one of you reading this really is the Korean girl hitman or hitgirl waiting to take me out. I hope the take out is prawn toast from the local Chinese us the road, or then again you may be introducing me to the undertaker.

At this point I need a bit of food so I’ll pause and eat while you amuse yourselves, you may even ring your mother to say you are coming out of the closet. To which she will reply,I knew before you even knew,I am your mother after all. Just bring in the coal from the coal shed when you come home, those 100kilo sacks are too heavy for your old mum. I love you whatever you want to call yourself, the only name I know you by is Son. Which is as it should be.

Well I stumbled to the shop, my arthritis is being a *&*( today and I bought some bread and I’ve had a feed so I’m back with you all refreshed. I did nearly trip over a bag of clothes for the Charity shop, as wife has had a clear-out while our daughters are at the Panto with uncles and aunties, and left a bag by the front door. But if I spot our local Romanian recycle lady she’ll have them first. That’s the nice thing about clear-outs your old stuff finds new life and goes to those who really really need a hand up.

So now Freddie Mercury is singing to me as I talk to you, and did you know 30 years ago I used to look a bit like him, or so my wife claims when she looked at old photos of me. You discover things you thought were lost when you look in the closet. My clothes are scattered in 3 bedrooms, as daughters and the wife lay claim to all the storage space. I’m lucky my clothes aren’t squeezed between the cat food and our 2 month supply of toilet paper, yes I need to be ready hence that much toilet paper.We had 192 rolls delivered 2 days ago. See I am a boy scout, always prepared.

I found 3 jumpers folded into a rolled up mess, at the bottom of the closet, I think the girls had been using it as a draught excluder for their door, or for a cat pillow. It’s dad’s he won’t mind, especially if we don’t tell him. This is the worse winter in 10 years maybe and I need all my jumpers, but at least the cat had a pillow.

I did find a new belt, I had bought it in Italy in 95 I think, but it languished in the wardrobe. I bought a lot of belts as I could not find anything else I liked on holiday. Or my sister would say, you were just too fat, admit it, too fat by far, so you bought belts to hold your up your trousers, you big little fattie. She’s got a Canary up the Leg of her Drawers you know, and when she farts, well you can Google that to find the full rhythm. I did of course teach my girls the rhythm as soon as they understood the meaning of words, so when they were 3.

I found loads and loads of plastic bags, I hope my wife hasn’t been saving them to wrap my body in after the Korean girl hitman pays me a visit. But of course not we don’t have a deep freeze in the garage, though she was looking at a freezer catalogue recently, no it can’t be, its just my imagination.

What else did I find in the closet, I found a dolls house, my daughter’s first dolls house, she has a bigger one just outside the wardrobe. I was half expecting to find a way to Narnia as I pushed the clothes to one side. But there are no Princes in my wardrobe, there is a witch in the house but that is the wife downstairs, I am her Panda or Polar Bear, when she isn’t calling me Panzi. You can Google Panzi its Pinyin Chinese.

What else was in the closet? Tiny thin metal coat hangers which we all hate, wooden or plastic are far nicer. My old school tie had also survived, 40 years old and more. Then at the bottom of the wardrobe I found some slippers, not for any Cinderella nor for any Pantomime Dame, NO I’m not talking about myself. I thought Lech and Boris and Gregorgi were still shoveling snow in Davos, oh no we are not, oh yes we are, oh no we are not. Those three are just too clever.

Then there was a half coffin size box at the bottom of the closet. My small daughter keeps her treasure in it. But if the Trio are back and if the Korean hit girl does come for me, will they save me or offer their services to bury me in the 1/2 coffin size box. I’ll fold the story there.