Chick Flicks

Chick Flicks ©

By

Michael Casey

Well I had a nap and went to the Polish shop for chocolate and 7Up, now we can settle down for a film. There doesn’t seem to be much on normal tv, then I spotted Bridget Jones’s Diary. So my girls are watching that for the 10^th time while take refuge here, and talk to you about them. Meanwhile the girls in the Polish shop are shelf filling, no Hugh Grant for them, he’d have to be 2 meters tall with Slavic good looks even to get a look in. Sorry Hugh, go back to your film, we have shelves to stack.

So what makes a good film, a good film as far as girls are concerned? Well there has to be humour, and a good bastard to bitch at. Is that Hugh Grant again? There has to be a noble soul, he can have a limp and be ugly, so long as he is not too ugly. He can get the girl, and the bastard can get beaten, or rescued by a really fat and ugly girl who finally saves him. Dream boy gets ugly girl, with a wart, so he is

saved, or is it condemned by Fate. Meanwhile the heroine is saved and gets a nice boy, even if he has a limp.

Gushy music plays a part, as does music, genre music of its time. Bridget Jones’ Diary I see was made in 2001. Soft focus and girls crying while just in their knickers sat of their bed stroking the cat for comfort. It’s as simple as that, it’s almost like a recipe.

There is a film about a London/LA house swop, The Holiday now that’s a chick flick but also a good family film, we’ve seen it a couple of times now. It has music and comedy and soft focus, I like it, though I’m no chick. The genre is made for girls who want a film without their bloke, just for them and their girl friends, a Thursday night out, where they can laugh together and bond with their girlfriends. No violence and blood bathes, no need to squirm, and no chance of puking because of all of the buckets of blood.

In the room behind me I can hear the pompous lawyer saying he loves Bridget Jones. Corny but nice themes, she gets a nice man who’ll treat her well, the bastard always loses. Or gets drowned in the pool in the park, only to be dragged out by the really fat girl with the wart on her lip. So the bastard gets his just rewards a really fat girl with a wart who’ll break his back and bed when she takes advantage of him. So it’s a morality tale, if you are a bastard this is what will happen to you.

Though in other chick flicks, the ugly duckling has a good wax and loses those hairy legs, and suddenly loses 40 pounds. Then she steals Hugh Grant’s heart, only to discover he’s still a bastard in the 2^nd film in the series, he divorces her because they cannot have children. So she is comforted by the fat ugly man in shades with silver hair from Birmingham and she marries him instead, only to discover she can have children after all. Seven of them, each more beautiful than the  previous one. It’s God’s sense of humour, ugly dads have beautiful children.

As for the Hugh Grant character, what happens to him? He dies a horrible death, or becomes a doorman in a strip club, Stringfellow had pity on him before he went to Heavens About, a deluxe club. At the end of the day a chick flick is a laxative as it moves you, and clears blockages, but makes you feel so relieved, so relieved you cry.

*******

well I managed to write something today after all

Bring on the Tears

I'm in too much pain to write a new piece so here's an old one. I just wish these random pain attacks would go away,or timetable themselves

Bring On The Tears ©

 By

Michael Casey

What makes you cry? I’ve just wiped a few tears away before I started talking to you. Today in 11^th Nov 2010, which is Remembrance day, it is also my dad’s Birthday, he would have been 89 today.

My dad was a man of peace who spent his life in the heat of the furnace,

The District Iron and Steel, Brasshouse Lane was where he worked for 40 years. He came over to England in 1944, he was a blacksmith. My father was a gentle man a kind and caring man, hew spoilt me he always got me an extra ice cream when he was on holiday, my many siblings called me Pet because of it.

If there was a film on tv and it was touching, my dad used to clear his throat and pretend he  was getting a cold, he move to the kitchen to dab away those tears. Or he’d put the kettle on. My dad was very very strong, after our mum had died he said she was strong, he said mum was as strong as a horse, the highest compliment a blacksmith can make. My mother died in her sleep next to her  husband of nearly 50year. My brother climbed into the bed and cradled her in his arms and tried CPR but she was already dead. Eight weeks later, the same brother heard a noise, it was our dad falling out of bed. My brother laid dad down on the bedroom floor flat and started CPR, he screamed to another brother, 999.

My brother saved our dad.

I wrote all of this down in Padre Pio and Me. The bottom line, I have a Shanghai wife and 2 bilingual daugthers all because of my brother and Padre Pio too.

When we look at an object we have an association too, an object is not just an object its an association too.  The electrical socket for my washing machine is there because my dad put it there, it doesn’t mean I cry every time I do the laundry, but it does mean I smile. I have an old barn chair with the back broken off, my mum  used to stand on it when she washed the outdoor windows, its been in my house nearly a quarter of a century. This reminds me of my mum. In fact I sat on that chair with the old typewriter balanced on a red stool when I wrote my comic novel

The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, I can even  remember when and where we bought that stool, it was 1973. Simple objects are full of memories and meaning. In Citizen Cane it was Rosebud the sledge  that meant so much when Cane died.

I had a pair of Rosary beads but I felt they were too gaudy, so I gave them to my mum. No doubt she used them well, she really knew how to pray. That may have been 15 to 20 years ago, now she’s gone, but my  brother said he had a spare set of Rosary bead would I like them. So he have them to me, he said they belonged to our mum, and yes they were the very same pair. So love and “objects” had performed a circle. My sister’s house has white lillies scattered all about her front garden, they only appeared after our mum had died. Mum had sneaked up to my sister’s house and planted them with Love. So after she was gone there appeared a reminder of her and her Love.

I have a speaker in the corner of my living room, my brother used to play Cream music on it via a reel to reel tape recorder. So that too has an association. I did in fact meet Eric Clapton when I was working in a 4star hotel, so that in a way was a circle.

There are many things and many lives that touch and connect with one another, such as the lolly pop lady when you do the school run, or the nice dog tied up outside a school waiting for the kids to  finish school.

There are grand gestures too, such as in My Big Fat Greek Wedding the dad buys his daughter a house, right next door to his own. All this is love in many many forms and I’ve just touched the surface. I can remember my mum crying her eyes out over a broken wooden coat hanger, why?

Because her mother had given it to her in 1944 when she had left Kerry for England. Many things Bring On The Tears, but they are tears of Love.

*********

I love news/politics as you know, so I've really sad to hear Charles Krauthammer has died. A Roman Senator amongst the Plebs

The Greatest Gift is Health

The pain monster hit yesterday after I wrote Choice Words, so I had to go to bed.
Today a good day then suddenly from out of nowhere, which are words from a story I wrote at Primary school nearly 50 years ago, again  suddenly an iron curtain of pain so I had to go to bed again.
It's not fun, but at least tomorrow I can get advice on whether 2 different pain killers could help. If they don't destroy my thought processes and/or are non addictive then I'll give then a try. Otherwise I'll stick to good old paracetamol, remember I have CkD as well so I have to be careful.

So if ever I do make any money from my Words I really would fund a pain relief clinic/hospital. Though that would be a billion to one chance. But if any Russian or other Billionaires are reading this my comedy short stories could help teach English as a 2nd or foreign language.

So much for my dream, I'll probably die unfulfilled, if you ever watch the film Amadeus you see Mozart thrown into a paupers grave. To some readers that may be music to their ears,. See you get Pathos too when you read my stuff, wasn't he one of the Musketeers?

https://www.amazon.com/default/e/B00571G0YC?redirectedFromKindleDbs=true

Putin and Trump to meet

Putin and Trump to meet

I said they should now they will,are they both reading my posts?

perhaps 50% cut in nukes and new joint plan for Mars mission.

Or just Russia takes all Kim's nukes, just put them on a train and carry them away.

Simple solutions are best.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC

By the way The Hitman's Bodyguard is a good film to watch my daughter gave it a 9, I gave it 8 but I'd watch it again. Lots of good comedy. Very violent but otherwise a good action film. A 15 I think, Samuel L Jackson and Ryan Reynolds star.

 how Samuel's character fell in love with his girl is very very funny, a modern classic in my opinion.

Judge for Yourselves

 

Choice Words (c) By Michael Casey

Choice Words (c)
By
Michael Casey

As my readers are busy with the World Cup I was wondering what should I do to attract them back, though I know only as the World Cup proceeds will my readers return. There's Loyalty for you. So how can I choose words to impress my readers, to entice, to tempt them back. I am not a model so a post with a picture of me naked attached to it would not work. Maybe only with Morticians.

So how can I write a swimming pool as the Beatles once said. BBC Radio documentaries told me that, so if you are reading this Paul and I'm wrong feel free to pop around with some groceries and I'll put the kettle on. As I was saying, before there was a knock on the door, it was the pest controller, said his name was Paul something. But he did leave me some vegan burgers, which I'll give to the cat later. Anyway where was I, I almost lost myself then, lost and found that's me, I need a label, a record label.

So how do you choose your words to inspire your readers, or impress your listeners, ok I just recite each new piece to my daughters before they are allowed to watch the 100th episode of Gilmore Girls. Some words are easy, like A level Maths for Arabs, they did invent Maths after all. Other words are hard, like cooking for the French, isn't that right Macu, or should I call you Mr President. He has forever lost his Dignity now with that reply.  Mr President, that'll come back to haunt you. It's always best to be humble and be given the best seats at the wedding if you remember your Bible. Now you'll be attacked for demanding all your trappings, you fell into a trap of your own making there, Macu. 

I was once at Chinese church a decade or more ago, and everybody but everybody had a PhD, Drs galore. I looked over at a guy in thick black specs cleaning out the dustbins, is he a PhD too I asked? No, he's a Professor was the reply, it was Andrew Chan.  HE is now a chancellor at a University in Australia I believe. So Macu, you could learn a lot from him. Titles mean nothing, it's humanity that counts.

But back to choice of words, children love a bit of alliteration, it's like scratching a dog's ear. Personally I think those who cannot write alliterate, same goes for cursing and sex. If you cannot write throw a bedroom scene in, or have lots of cursing. I have comedy sex, or rather comedy innuendo and metaphor swearing in what I write. I hope its funnier. Have you seen the size of my punctuation, it's bigger than Trump's hands. Whatever that is supposed to mean, but you are smiling as you read it, so I get the laugh.

As Gill from Stats MR  used to say, Michael you lead them up the garden path, well only as far as my pansies, but be careful of my thorny bush, it'll cut you to ribbons. You look so nice with a ribbon on, thank's mum, I'm going to play rugby it's to keep the  hair out my eyes while I play hooker. The cheek of him calling me mum, I know I look like my mum but calling me mum. I know I am wearing my mum's old smock, but calling me a woman. He's a useless hooker anyway, ribbon or no ribbon, he can never get his leg over the oval balls quick enough.

See I digressed into Round the Horne style of radio, you can turn your knobs on your crystal set and find it and compare, am I just a counterfeit Julian and Sandy, more Julian than Sandy. Or am I just confusing you?    Or have you realised as I did that in this mode I am Ronnie Corbett's  and Joyce Grenfell's bastard son. You absorb everything, for me that'd be 50 years plus of  love of words, then when you write, only then you discover what your style is. By osmosis I am  that bastard son, I'm not copying, it's just the way it is. Just as we inherit traits from our parents, such as cross dressing and shaving my legs in the kitchen sink, in the same bowl as we use for the washing up. See I've put another cartoon in your brain, the sick bucket is to the left of the computer.

Pause, while I put the fish fingers on. Left of field arrives on the page, because I have to answer my stomach. It rumbles, I burp, then I make food then I fart. The usual merry go round of love, of love of food that is. By being open to the reality of real events, was that pretentious enough for your Journalists out there? In other words background noises are added to the page and  form structure to the piece. am I really getting pretentious now? Or in plain English I pick things up, like a thief and use them in a variety of different ways.

Some people don't think they just pass through like shadows having no form or substance, just like reality tv people really, so they never notice or observe or even feel anything. They are too busy smoking the newly legal drugs, which means my job is to point things out and ask have you seen things this way or that way. Rather like a naked contortionist, again a horrid picture of me in your brain

For those who might miss the joke, deliberately or not. By putting myself forward, maybe the Elephant amongst men, the ludicrousness  of it is enhanced. I am the original ugly duckling so to speak, so it magnifies the idea. Just as when I reveal myself as a writer to some people they don't believe it. HIM, he's a security guard or bouncer at a nightclub. You wrote that, as they look at me as if I'm pooh stuck to their shoe.

So its's nice when I get a good or big reaction from my choice of words, for this story or that story. It means I've made people laugh and sometimes think at the same time. It's when we stop thinking and allow others to do it for us that we get bad politicians everywhere, who can ruin our countries and all our lives.

Now the previous sentence is a good end point, but I've continued because my fish fingers are not quiet ready, see I have my priorities, stomach first,words second, after I've had my seconds of fish fingers. A good end point is always best, and sometimes the circle of words leads you right back to where you have started. Or  you can end with a  joke. Like my circle was finding a new shop that sold even cheaper fish fingers, fish fingers made into words. So you could choose your words while you ate your fish fingers. None of you saw that coming, not unless you use sonar for your own words

Evening All 19th June 2018

Evening All 19th June 2018

Well the whole world seems to be watching the football, so my viewers have droppedoff, which sounds like a Russian name, dropped off, maybe I should try and  get on Russian tv reading out my stories 2000 or so if you included the comic novel The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker.

I would read in English but you could have Russian subtitles, or dub a Russian voice on top, ontop sounds like a Russian name too. Everybody seems to have turned Russian, all rushing about, as in russin russins.

Sorry for the old jokes, I borrowed them from my brother 50 years ago.

My wife has returned from the Chamber of Commerce dinner, she won £100 in Chinese Supermarket  vouchers. Which is most appropriate . Thanks  to everybody for sending Cinderella back home to us. She'll do the washing up before going to bed, its her relaxation therapy.

In the morning she'll tread the grapes in the bath, then I'll whine in it, as I wash my bits, but beware of the seeds.

I'll surreal you all another day.

Michael

 https://www.amazon.co.uk/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC

 

Sudden Surpises

you are all watching the Russian World Cup instead of reading me so no doubt I'll be all alone for a few weeks, so let's see what you get up to...

Sudden Surprises ©

By

Michael Casey

I couldn’t think of a theme, there were too many children children crying in the background, that Trump Daycare Centre is so noisy, then I had a stabbing pain above my left nipple, no I hadn’t been suckling too much, the Trump Daycare Centre does all that. No it was my left over pains from my surgery and so on, but at least I know how to sing songs in Spanish, Manana Domino de Pipiripingo.

So sudden surprises will be my theme, or I could go and watch the Russia v Egypt match. How you react to sudden surprises makes a difference in your life. You are naked on the sofa, now I could proceed with various tales, so I’ll use the less X rated story. Sorry to disappoint, but this is Radio after all, I want everything I talk about to work on radio.

So Florence and Zeb are on the sofa, and the spring are making a lot of noise, a lot of noise. Obviously they are practicing their trampoline act for the student ball later in the week. They were going to do a balloon blowing up act, but they forgot the balloons, so they just had to be extra careful. Whatever that means, is this turning into Panto for Radio,oh yes it is, oh no it is not.

For my far flung readers or is it listeners you’ll have to take everything with a pinch of salt, just sprinkle it lightly and be careful, Florence and Zeb are still naked after all. Or maybe just throw a bucket of water over them. But make sure Totoro isn’t splashed or she’ll jump up claws out, and I’m sure Florence and Zeb might get injured, they’d never be able to ride the magic roundabout ever again.

So what did you do, yes you blushing over there behind that Physics text book. You told your parents you were practicing learning all the parts of the anatomy, and you just had to get naked. Your girlfriend’s mother being dim believed you, her father a master butcher just took you to the deep freeze and left you there for 3 hours. By which time your ardour was cooled, but you read the posters with the best way to divide a side of beef or pig or lamb, just to pass the time.

Released from the deep freeze you fell to the ground as if dead, so the master butcher ran away in his meat van. The mother said sorry and fainted. Your girlfriend who had done a survival course knew all about body heat. So she made love to you for hours, until the colour came back to your cheeks. In the morning dad returned, he had to open the shop up after all,besides he had decided to chop up your body and sell it as dog meat. He returned to find his wife as if dead lying on the floor, or a World Cup footballer diving for a penalty. His daughter had bright red cheeks like a Russian doll, and you were even redder.

Obviously his daughter was pregnant, but you had had an epiphany, you no longer wanted to be a mortician, you wanted to be a butcher instead. Dad, was unbelieving but you recited the list learnt from when you were locked inside the freezer. A tear came to his eye, but what about your knife skills. You had spent a lot of time with Lech, Boris and Gregorgi so you knew all about knives, and potato peeling and making vodka in a still in Warley Woods. It was a match made in Heaven, or rather on the back of the family settee.

Your future wife wrote a recipe book called Sofa Meats, because after eating all the meat based recipes all you would want to do is lie down on the sofa. Though like football Sofa Meats was a game of two halves, recipes and relaxing things to do on sofas. Like, well you know, watch the Russian World Cup, or write stories like this, or where did I put those balloons. STOP, you are making up your own stories now, who do you think you are, a fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham, Michael Casey is the name.