This is me and my Clarks shoes
THIS
IS MY ELEVATOR AD AS THE
AMERICANS CALL
THEM
Hello , how about a Verbal Cartoon for
Radio and all other media
I grew up listening to the radio, we
all used to hide under the blankets and listen when we should have been fast
asleep. Radio did change my life, a lodger gave us a radio when he had to go
back to Ireland to look after his sick mum. In fact he left all his stuff and
caught the first boat home. Months later he came back to see us and said me and
my brother could have his old Bush radio. I spent 20 years listening to radio.
That and being afraid of Mr Gallagher when I was 8 changed my life, and
improved my intellect.
Today after 20 years of radio and 25
years of writing, 45 years in total I think I'm a good writer, and thank God so
do others. Yes I'm 55 now, in my head I'm 20, though my wife would say 12.
I met my Shanghai wife in
the old people's home, she was cleaning my dad's room. I was positively vetted
by a Chinese Ballerina from the
Birmingham Royal Ballet, now we are married with 2 bilingual daughters. I am
the token male and English speaker in the family.
Now here's a few samples, what I'd
like to do would be to read my shorts/blogs on your radio. Each piece is about
90 seconds long, 90 seconds with Michael is the idea, simple idea. I have
gained 18,685
views on Funny or Die for a sample
1st chapter of Tears for a
Butcher which will be my 8th book. Only the other day a publisher said my book
of shorts 300 and Not OUT was very funny. In fact I must have 530+ shorts,
enough for over a year. I have recorded 200 of them so far, 10 hours plus of
audio.
I have started recording all my Shorts
and have put 50+ of them on www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com
I have a new mike now too, so listen in
reverse order.
My 7 books are on Amazon Kindle
Here's the samples for radio or print.
LinkedIn Profile and CV
©
By
Michael Casey
We’ve all been on Facebook and
LinkedIn, we get to know people and make “friends”. On LinkedIn it’s more about
connections and maybe business connections. So we have to rely on the Profile,
my LinkedIn profile tells my story, as I am a writer. But how accurate are
these Profiles?
I am a born leader.
Means he was the firstborn boy in a
family of 11 girls.
I created the supply chain structure.
Means he decided to use a clipboard
and notepad instead of just his memory.
I optimised the sales among target
audiences.
He chatted up all the girls, he was
kind to seniors and went to church.
I was inventive and creative in
gaining new sales.
Means he designed a flyer and went
street to street delivering them.
I was never afraid of going the extra
mile for the business.
Means there was a street gang
chasing him after he was at the bank
I am great at communicating the
business message.
He just would not shut up, so the boss
got him to tidy the fruit outside the ma and pa store.
I always try and improve myself.
Means he has no friends so he reads a
lot.
I created the new scheme to optimise
the business cash flow.
Means he took the store’s cash and put
the money on a horse.
I am now looking for new opportunities
to excel
Means he got fired, cops not called as
the owner married to his sister
I created a great new idea for
centralising purchasing delivery.
Means he was a guard for the money
delivery company, crash helmet and visor.
I created my own start-up company
Means he stole the money from the cash
delivery company and started his own company.
I am now on a learning sabbatical
before resuming my career
Means he is in jail, working in the
library.
So when you read those LinkedIn
profiles or reading a CV or resume think what do they really mean. Check the
photos out too, the reality can be far different. Just like actors, photos can
be 10 or 20 years old, and they are. Dig deeper.
Me, I google and check people out, as
far as you can on Google. Google me(michaelgcasey) and my sites and think for
yourself. I am on a sabbatical myself, no I’m not in a library, thought we have
plenty of books in the house, no it’s called arthritis, which comes and goes
and makes me scream sometimes. But at least I can sit here and make some of you
laugh, as I Google everybody.
Let There Be Light ©
By Michael Casey
Let my tears be my words
Let the candle light be my eyes
Let the flowers in bloom be my lips
Let their scent be my blood
Let the wind be my breath
Let clouds be my mood
Let children’s laughter be my hope
Let widows’ sighs be my conscience
Let a stranger’s prayers be my delight
Let the bees be my wisdom
Let the trees be my strength
Let my patience reach to the stars
Let me be always remembered in your
prayers
The Dead and The Living (c)
by
Michael Casey
I first saw a deceased when I was nine years old, my father said not
to worry as the dead are the same as the living, only the laughter
has left them, the sparkle has gone from their eyes, the worry has
been lifted from their shoulders, and their voice has vanished to
eternity.
In paradise the sparkle will return for it is the twinkle
of the
stars, the laughter will return too for it is the morning breeze and
the turning tides are their sides shaking with laughter.
I treat the deceased with the
same courtesy as I give to the living,
though I find the deceased are always more polite. My father also
had a few words to say about the living.
He said that the living are only the caretakers of the soul , yet
they think their existence is everything, that they know everything
because they experience many things with their senses.
What the living don't acknowledge is that their time is short and
when I lay their bodies to rest then their souls continue
without
them, without their strong, without their weak, without their
beautiful or even ugly temporary form, to where I cannot say, only
that it is a better place.
Percy the undertaker placed the lid on the coffin, the soul was free
THE BEGINNING
Sleepover©
By
Michael Casey
Sleepover is exactly that, your sleep
is over, you have laughing kids invading your house, and driving you out of your
minds. Well not always, but it is very distracting. You can’t remember what you
were doing and where has that file gone on the computer. This is the 2nd time
I’m telling this story, why, because my Word, or upon my word, the story died
or rather Word did not close properly, so now you’re getting something
different.
Total strangers, or strangers to you
arrive at the house and kind of invade it for a night. You do shout up the
stairs, keep them out of my room. Not because you have anything worth stealing,
but they are stealing your privacy, and that’s all you have left if you have
daughters in your house.
Then the smell of nail varnish drifts
down the stairs and permeates everywhere, its worse than mustard gas from the
Great War. You scream up the stairs, open all the windows fully, what about
your room, dad? Especially mine.
Its then that your inner sanctum is
breached as they bring their friends to help them open the window. They see the
Teddy Bear that you’ve had since you were 6 years old, the invader laughs. She
also sees the deep heat by your bed, And he complains about nail varnish.
Dinner time arrives and you have to
feed the cuckoo, only she doesn’t eat this or she doesn’t eat that, on
principle. So you say, you’ll have to stave then. Your daughter, the host, is
horrified, so you relent and flick a pound coin at them, cholesterol free oil
used to make the chips. So a compromise is achieved.
You put Sky Sports on to watch the
match, they say Qatar is going to build underground stadia, novel idea. You are
settling down to see Rooney when they arrive back chip laden. Her friend just
loves the ballet and Sky Arts has Bolshoi on, so could they please please watch
that. You say you’ll record it for them. But you are as bad as a puppy murderer
even for suggesting it.
So being a nice dad you let them watch
the ballet on your 46inch tv, while you retreat to watch the match on the
laptop upstairs. They never tell you about this at parenting classes, just how
to change nappies. Let’s hope William and Kate are told.
After the ballet they retreat upstairs
for girlie music, and what were you doing in their room on the laptop. Didn’t
you know you are just a dad not allowed in the inner sanctum. The Hits is
switched on their dab radio at volume
13, you retreat to watch the after match talk on the big screen.
Later its bath time, so you have to
wait 2 hours for all the girls in your house, including the cuckoo, to pollute
the bathroom before you a mere dad, and bill payer, can have a shave. Only your
last razor has been used to save somebody’s legs.
So everybody goes to bed, all is well,
holding your teddy bear, you sleep soundly. Until 3am, when a banshee screaming
wakes you, your wife and all the neighbours. It’s the cuckoo, she’s having a
nightmare, it must be the chips, and the cholesterol free oil from them. Or
half waking up and forgetting where she was.
So remembering to put on your dressing
gown you have to calm everybody down, and answer the door, to the police, as
the neighbour from neighbourhood watch has rung them. So the police come in and
have a look. Flatulence is written down in the Police note book. As you let the
police out the house again your smallest daughter hands you your teddy bear,
its ok dad, it’s only a sleepover.
How do Men Shop? ©
By Michael Casey
There is a difference between Men and
Women, and thank God for it. But how do men shop? Shopping for men is about
getting what you need, my shoes have a hole in them so I’ll go to the shop and
buy another pair. A man will buy a new pair of shoes that are exactly the same
as his old pair of shoes, or if he’s being adventurous he’ll have a pair of
shoes which are exactly the same but with grey laces and not black. Now to a
man this is being fashion conscious. If a man wants a new pair of trousers he just
goes to the shop and sees if they have his leg/waist size and then tries them
on, making sure they don’t split when he bends over and that his package is not
squeezed. If a man needs a suit he checks the trousers before putting on the
jacket, the jacket must be able to be done up without his belly exploding the
buttons off. A man will never button up his suit jacket, but he needs to know
that the buttons won’t fly off and hit anybody in the eye, if ever he does.
If a man needs a shirt he checks the
neck size, 18.5 in my case, and then he sees if its full fit or not. Then he
buys 5 shirts exactly the same all in
plastic . For a lazy shopper he’ll go straight to Slaters and get what he
wants. In and out in 30 mins for everything. Then he’ll go to the pub and meet
his mates and have one pint too many and leave all his shopping in the Queens
Tavern. Luckily they are honest there and his shopping is saved, otherwise he’s
have to waste 30mins in Slaters, before going back to the pub.
This is basically the difference
between men and women. Woman shop, men pick up clothes or whatever like an
order picker does, without any passion.
A man gets home and puts his shopping away and forgets about it. Just
like in the film The Fly where the man’s wardrobe contains suits all the same
colour, clothes are just a thing so they are all uniform.
As for women shopping s something
different, the clothes have to be tried on and they must make the woman look
perfect, her bum or boobs mustn’t be to big or too small, everything should be
right. To help the woman chose her clothes she brings two or three mates or her
children with her. Her man is forced to come too, but he plugs Radio5 Live into
his ear and listens to the football
while she is choosing. Men know 5 colours, red, blue, red, green, yellow
or maybe one or two more; as for a woman there are at least 50 colours, and
just as the eskimos have 30 words for snow a woman has 10 words for each colour
and its hews.
This brave man, or am I stupid, I just
give my wife the debit card and say leave me in peace, so she goes off with a
smile with the girls with her, they are young Fashionistas after all. I decided
years ago what a wife needed was space to shop and not constant looks at my
watch. So that’s what she does and her bulging wardrobe will testify to the
wisdom of my decision. When a woman comes home its 2 hours of mix and match to
make sure that the new clothes match the old clothes, the husband tries to
watch the big match on tv but his wife is prancing around the living room asking
“does my bum show” and various other questions. It’s a penalty, and you sit on
the edge of your seat, the wife appears and blocks your view, so you miss
seeing why your side was relegated.
Normal life in homes up and down the country.
The next day you watch the match again
in peace, you remembered to record it on Sky+ and as for the wife she’s gone
back to the shop to return ½ of what she bought because it doesn’t match her
shoes. And it’s your fault because you wouldn’t give her your debit card again
so she could buy cheap £100 shoes.
All Things Bright and Beautiful ©
By Michael Casey
I haven’t written a non-pain piece in a while,
so I’ll try and forget the pain and write something new. We’ve just had the
half time holidays and my girls have been playing “shop-girls” as they call it.
They even have a sign on their bedroom door saying “open” or “closed”. They
steal my wife’s clothes and prance about upstairs. Our eldest daughter has
bigger feet than my wife now so that’s a relief as she cannot steal my wife’s
shoes any more, but it does not prevent her younger sister from wearing mum’s
shoes. There is also the matter of the beret with silver sequins, that’s an
absolute Fashion Must.
Me, I’m not fashionable at all, three
girls in the house is enough, if I gave in to them they’d be beading my eye
brows, I do wear pink on occasions, so that’s as far as I go. If I were maybe 3
stones lighter I’d try other things, I did see a nice cord jacket in Cotton
Traders 48R, it was bright blue, Kingfisher Blue, my girls called it a “Clown
Jacket”. With encouragement like that what am I supposed to do? I did say if I
win Euro millions I WILL buy the jacket. My wife has a nice light brown one,
although as she is a woman there will be a more accurate colour name, men don’t
do colours. If you think of it its black and white, blue, green, orange as far
as men go, but women at least another 40 names for colours. As far as my hair
goes, its silver, though a friend used to say I was an old man with white hair.
As the colour of our hair change it’s the 7 ages of man.
I remember Ali saying why wasn’t it
“Whitemail” instead of blackmail. We are in the Pink if we have good health, I
long to be back in the pink myself. We say we hope be back in the black not in
the red when we do company accounts, we look for the silver linings. We look
look look for the rainbow as the song goes, we may find the crock of gold, all
our troubles may be over and we can pack them up in the old kit bag. Hope
springs up within us, it is now Spring after all, and as Chance the Gardener
said “in the Spring there will be growth.”
Cheese and Chorizo ©
By Michael Casey
The thing about girls is that they steal your
stuff, you think they are nice and sweet smelling, but they are not. If they
get up before you they’ll raid your side of the fridge and eat your cheese and
chorizo. Cheese and chorizo on toast, with hot chocolate to follow, this is how
your daughters treat you. This is how my girls treat me.
Yesterday mum bought biscuits, and did
she share them? NO. The girls got some but I got none. They were the ones I really like, its always the ones
you really like. I looked high and low, just like an Ah Ha song, but nothing.
JJ the wife just laughed at me as I went from pillar to post looking for a
biscuit, the Tunnock ones. See this is how the 3 girls in my life treat me, I
am biscuitless. Finally after much derision my small daughter showed me where the biscuits were, a new hiding place,
that’s why I could not find them. So I was victorious, I sneaked a biscuit into
my pocket and slipped away to eat it in peace.
Shoes are a big thing, so our small
daughter walks around the house in mum’s shoes, mine are too big so thankfully
they are left alone. However having two daughters who like Textiles, which is
the fancy word from school for sewing and making things. If they like textiles
then your clothes are not safe, they drag a shirt or two out of the wardrobe
and say they want to turn it into something. Jumpers are not safe either, they
can cut them down to make a dress or
even a handbag. And as for needles, it’s like having a porcupine in the family,
DANGER. You only realise that after you have sat on a needle or two, the wife
just says its free acupuncture, no need to asked Dr Hu to pay us a visit, and
yes he really is Dr Hu, not Dr Who, but Dr Hu.
Now that our 11year old is 5feet tall,
as big as mum, she wants to wear her clothes, but you can imagine what kind of
clothes a Shanghai girl wears. So there is debate in Chinese, I cannot
understand a word, but SANINGONGA is heard quite often which means no. Which
also means my girls, our girls will return to steal from my wardrobe again. In
a way it’s like having moths, but instead of holes in your clothes, entire
items just disappear. BUT it’s not just the girls, its mum too, she’ll decide
that the Fashion Police would not like this item or that item, so it disappears. When do I find out? Never, or nearly never,
until I walk past a charity shop and see a tent sized item in the window, it’s
my clothes.
So if you want to keep the clothes on
your back, don’t have daughters. If you
want your favourite food safe in your side of the fridge, the none Chinese side
of the fridge, then don’t have daughters. If you want to save your pennies,
don’t have a Shanghai wife. But then life would be boring, just make sure you
look before you sit.
From A to B from Sat Nav to Blocked
Sink ©
By Michael Casey
Well I hope you are all fine this morning. For
us the Sat Nav debate continues. In the old days a Black Taxi would not be seen
using an AtoZ, it was beneath his dignity. He'd done the Knowledge and it was
all up there in his head. Jack Rozenthal wrote a great play about it, was it
30years ago? Maureen Lipman was his real wife.
Delivery drivers have and egg and bacon butty
in one hand dripping egg on to the AtoZ in their other hand while they try and
deliver a chest of drawers, with 5 days growth of beard for good measure.
Bus drivers know their route, so once they've
done it a while its automatic, they know what they are doing. All they have to
do is put up with kids trying to use a 3 day old ticket, and not get too high
from all the cannabis on the bus. Or remember when they have switched routes
because that can lead to strange directions.
Door to door salesmen all those years ago, with
the rap at tat tat on the back door had their route carrying the suitcase with
samples in. I can vaguely remember one at our back door did my mum buy a
clothes brush? But that must be 45 years ago.
So basically we all know what we want
and where we are going. Going further back they say people only knew a six
block radius around their home. Going to War changed all that as did radio and
then more importantly tv. Tv being our eyes on the world, previous to that only
Merchant Seaman knew of the world. My own granddad was a merchant sea man, I
sometimes wonder did he ever get to Shanghai
Or was it me, his grandson who got
there first. Had he visited at the turn of the 19th/20th Century 100years and
more ago.
Which brings us back to Sat Nav. Me I use a
bus which is fine apart from the pot heads who sit next to you on the bus and
all I want to do is puke. My wife is a car driver, so she and our girls love
the car. But my wife has borrowed a Sat Nav and likes the ease of it so now she
wants one of her own. The result is that I’m being nagged to provide one. You
pay, me pay, yes you pay, why me pay, because you are the husband so you pay,
no way me pay, you pay you pay yourself, I say. And on the ding dong, sing song
goes. Which is the fun part. Me I no pay, use computer I say. You can get
perfect directions off the computer all you then have to do is print them off,
if our printer was still working we’d be doing that. So really all the wife has
to do is copy them down, in English.
She’s
busy with the wok as I talk to you, she’s compromised now, she only
wants me to pay half. So I say I’ll be doubly generous and double the share I
won’t pay, I’ll pay zero and she can pay 100%. That’s the true spirit of
negotiation, now I have another thing to resolve, she’s blocked the sink, so
pardon me now as I take the plunge, or rather take the plunger to the sink, no
need to use a Sat Nav to get there, its over my shoulder in the next room, just
turn left at the tv and go straight on to the sound of bubbles. Love is everywhere
don’t you know it, just find it, no Sat Nav required.
My other idea is a book of shorts, 40
stories with 40 translations
on facing page plus 40 audio of me
reading my stories on usb stick.
Perfect to teach English as a 2nd
language, via humour.
As I have written 530+ stories this
would be a series of 10 plus books
So we could have
Mandarin/Japanese/Urdu/Spanish/Hindi/Russian etc
This would be a world wide hit, angel
investors needed
Thanks for reading this,
that’s if Junk did not get it. I have come close and not got a cigar many times
in my life, so I decided to try you. Radio is the medium for my words, 90
seconds with Michael, could go nationwide, it’s a simple idea, with great
words, mine if I can be boastful. I have already recorded 200 of my 540+ shorts,
10 hours plus of audio.
Cheerio, Michael Casey
8
ebooks and 3 Printed on Paper Books
Thanks to Adam at Google Blogger, I've now got plenty of security for my words, though not in the way either of us envisioned....
