The
19th
Hole
24
May
2019
start.
This
will be my 19th
book, celebrating Donald Trump’s Resignation
I’ve
decided to finish it now 26th Jan 2020 as enough is enough
Donald
write your review today and resign today as well
Jon
Sopal I hope you get the exclusive, now enjoy the
Final
Cut of The 19th Hole by me, Michael Casey
aka
the fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham England
Revenge
on the Joker©
By
Michael
Casey
So
this joker is the worst, so we are going to give him something to
remember. Can’t we just kill him and have done with it asked a
voice from the darkness, the flash of his blade giving his position
away. No, we are going to have fun with him then M will give him
something he really really deserves. A bullet between the eyes, asked
another hopefully. You Yanks are so brutal said a voice in the
ceiling, before descending through an air vent. It’s something big
and I know why we all want to do it, but this operation is a British
show. Mad Dogs and Englishmen go Out in the Midday Sun and all that,
Coward. The Americans bristled. Noel Coward, I should explain. I’ve
heard of him, A Talent to Amuse. I found a copy of the book in a
toilet when I was on a mission. It was a great book, especially as
there was no toilet paper.
First
of all we have to spring El Chapo from a Super Max, then he’ll
“bake a cake” for us. Then we’ll slip him back inside. Once the
cake is ready we deliver it to this Joker. You’ve all seen his
photo file. He’s gonna get what he deserve if I might speak
American for a moment. And the horse’s head, we’ll be leaving
that on his bed. We’ll take photos and post our message, then other
Jokers out there will be warned, you don’t mock us ever.
Now
breaking into a Super Max is very hard to do, it’s like asking
Special Services to sing all the Barry Manilow back catalogue pitch
perfect. Obviously the Italian Special Services could do it, as they
are all Opera lovers. But the Yanks and the Brits had a plan. They
hijacked a tour bus and parked it outside the Super Max. Then they
went through the sewers, El Chapo inspired that bit, till they
reached the recreation area. They did have a play with the weights,
on the way, they are very fit people after all. Then putting their
masks on they waited, a hijacked news helicopter gassed the entire
facility. LSDEEEEE, in the air, fairies and goblins everywhere. It
was such a stroll in the park then. They did take selfies too as they
moved about, resisting temptation was the hardest bit, there are some
really really nasty people in the Super Max, so to accidentally on
purpose snuff a few out was so hard not to do. So instead they
ta-tooed them with a rubber stamp, “FBI Informer”, that’d make
for great entertainment in the recreation yard. Special Services do
have a sense of humour after all.
El
Chapo was placed in a body bag and carried away. They left a note
sellotaped to the toilet stamped on toilet paper “Back in 24 hours,
dead or alive, love and kisses a friend” with a phone number. They
left a note saying “Back in 24 hours, dead or alive” because they
did not want to get the staff into trouble. It was the Brits who
demanded “love and kisses a friend” just as a bit of reassurance.
Then they departed, through the front gate in the prison governor’s
nice new expensive car. Obviously they trashed the car, they were
impressed by the leather seats and DAB hifi. And guess what was
playing on the radio? The Barry Manilow hour, they all smiled and
left it on, they were off to Italy next so they could sing with the
Italian Special Services now.
The
governor rang the number once everybody awoke from the drug induced
trip. He smiled as a voice replied, the boys are having a bit of fun,
the kind of smile you make when the executioner says “this won’t
hurt me” as he put the noose around your neck.Now I cannot tell you
who answered the phone or he or one of his many many friends might
just have to take your cupcakes away. Though some call him the Monk.
El
Chapo was put to work, “baking a cake”, he knows so much about
mixing and bagging after all. As he was pulled out of a bag, a body
bag he realised this was not a family situation. The Special Services
are a family, but not the kind El Chapo would like to marry into. So
El Chapo was stripped naked and steam cleaned. Then in fresh new
whites he was set to work “cooking”.
Meanwhile
Blue team was in Italy, again the Brits thought “Blue team”
sounded nice. Now all they had to do was steal the Pope’s personal
Rosary Beads. Now is this a metaphor? Well we shall see. First of all
they climbed over the garden wall which is very tall, you ask Tom
Cruise he broke his best finger nail when he did it in one of his
films. Then a Brit dressed as Liberace started playing Benedict’s
piano, the old Pope was thrilled.They ended up dueting all Barry
Manilow’s tunes, good job the Brit had leant them in the Governor’s
car.
The
other member’s of Blue team stole robes from Benedict’s closet,
then processed through the Vatican till they reached Pope Francis’
room.They headed for the bed but it was empty, then in a corner on a
camp bed they found Pope Francis, he was not alone. Don Camillo and
Totoro was in bed with him. Don Camillo is a book I should add, and
Totoro is my cat, she does travel far and wide every night.
We
came for your Rosary, Blue team explained, it’s in my trouser
pocket over there gestured Pope Francis. I thought you might want to
kill me, the world is so mad now. We love you we would never hurt
you, as Danny produced a battered plastic Rosary from his own pocket.
It’s missing a few beads, it deflected a bullet, so it saved me.
The Pope smiled. Here in my desk I have a few Rosaries. So then he
passed a few out. Then he Blessed the Rosaries and Blue team.
Anything else asked the Pope? Can we have a few more blessed
Rosaries? Where shall I send them? Just throw them out your window at
Midnight, somebody will catch them. The Pope smiled and went back to
reading his Don Camillo, having to hunt Totoro out the way as he got
back into his camp bed.
Then
they hijacked a plane to get back to England, when Special Services
go on a road trip they really do know how to have fun. El Chapo had
finished baking the horse’s head. It really was a cake in the
design of a severed horse’s head just like in the Godfather. You
see while El Chapo was on the run he learnt to bake as a way of
passing the time. He had all the Delia Smith books too, maybe one day
this writer’s daughter will have a day with Delia, but that is
fantasy. As for El Chapo it was his demands for quality baking
materials that gave the game away. The FBI tracked down the baker’s
needs to where the stuff was being sent, if you like they were
following a trail of white powder, baking powder. And that was how El
Chapo was caught.
The
Special Services all stood back, El Chapo had impressed them, now
they impressed him. First they tasered him, then they chipped him,
then they tat-tooed him with very rude tats all over his body. If
ever he escaped he’ll show up in seconds on satellites, and as for
his body, everybody but every would sing at him.They had put the
words to Barry Manilow’s Mandy all over his body too, nobody would
ever call him El Chapo, they would just sing MANDY to him.
They
called UPS and had him delivered to the Super Max, inside the package
with him was enough drugs to add 100 years to his sentence. They
could have delivered him back themselves but they had other things to
do.
So
now the end is nigh. The horse’s head and Rosary beads were to be
delivered. The Joker as to be pranked. There he was asleep in his
bed. As silent snow falling, the horse’s head was placed on the bed
with Rosary beads. Then they all screamed. HAPPY BIRTHDAY,JOKER.
The
Joker awoke screaming and then fell back with a heart attack, M
stepped forward and gave mouth to mouth, M seemed to enjoy it, it
went on for half an hour. M was a female Special Services girl. Do
you think any special services guy would give me mouth to mouth, I
should cocoa, I repeat I should cocoa. So it was left for M to save
me. M was a Korean girl, and her name was MANDY. The guys then shot
me with those kids’ rubber sucker guns, right between the eyes.
And
that’s the first story in my 19th
book, I always feel protected, it’s the Rosary beads, or the
Special Service watching me from the shadows. And General Mathis if
you are reading this how about telling your friends to buy a copy or
two. Stay safe all of you everywhere.
You
Can’t say that ©
By
Michael Casey
Well
I found my story down the shop. The trouble is though that I love wit
and language, and others don’t, or not as much. So if an American
hears this “it’s been 6 weeks since I had a drink and a fag”
what does it mean? Over here in England it means “it’s 6 weeks
since I had a drink and a CIGARETTE” so immediately we are divided
by language. And then you have all the other baggage.
I
spotted somebody coming out of the voting place and I said “you
must be Nigel’s friend” and immediately he cursed to high Heaven
as if he was denying Christ on the night he was taken in. He even
said “he found what I said was offensive.” Yes Brexit divides
that much, and one trick pony Nigel will have his day when the
results are announced tomorrow. Nigel has screamed “FOUL” when
asked what are his Policies should he go on to contest National
Elections, even though it’s a vital question. I should remind
everybody Nigel failed 7 times to get elected in National Elections.
I offer no opinion here on Brexit, I’m just stating the obvious,
which must be stated. Basically a Political Vacuum allows any form of
Populism to appear.
I
don’t want to dwell on this, let’s keep it light. When Rich came
back to work when his dad died 35 years ago the lads did not know
what to say. I just told him he looked like the cartoon on the
Kellogg’s Rice Crispy box. He was wearing a handkerchief around his
neck. So this broke the ice. Then we got back to reality. When my
mother died, and then my dad nearly died just 8 weeks later it was my
turn to get support from the lads. So I know it’s good to show
friendship.
Another
example is when people don’t know what to say, so it’s best to
say “give us a hug” human contact, a hug really does help. That
is why instinctively we touch somebody we like. Silence may be Golden
after an argument, or we bite our tongue, I have too much experience
of that as well.
One
example is a bad boss you put up with because you have toddlers and
need to feed them, whereas the boss is all talk, and no action, just
hides in the Concierge room. Or another boss is about to punch you
after a failed night shift, when the team leader goes home “sick”
and you are left with the pieces and this particular boss to face in
the morning. And yes I really did have to restrain this boss, I have
very good grip after years of screwing magnetic tapes onto computer
tape readers, one finger on my right hand is even bent slightly
inward. I’m not just a smile and 1000words, and the lads I worked
with were amongst the best in the world, and great characters too.
Speaking
of lads, you cannot say “I Love You” to the lads they would
laugh, and stand with their backs to the wall. Yes people used to be
that non PC, everybody is more open compared to 40 years ago. The
lads would just say give us a beer, and whisper in your ear, we all
know and we all don’t care, so long as you get the beers in. It’s
all about equality, tolerance is the wrong word. Life is all about
equality. It’s about gay, straight, black, white, green, faith or
no faith accepting each other. Which is why I think UK is the best
place to be as we get on, most of the time.
I
was classed as the strange one because when I worked Sundays I’d
use my lunch break to dash to a church for Mass, none of the lads had
any formal faith. Beer was their faith, as it was for our lodgers.
It’s when people don’t practice what they preach that we get
problems. The trouble is the Twitter world, people just don’t
listen, life has no depth on Twitter, Everybody just reads the
headlines. As I’ve said before I browse on 3 national newspapers
daily plus BBC and SKY. So we all need a bit of depth.
Fast
food and fast life, leads to shallow life. Stop and sit and watch New
Amsterdam on tv, it always makes me cry, and the ensemble acting
really does deserve an Emmy. Now I’m finishing on a fictional
hospital show, based on a book I believe. My point is that in this
show you have people at their best, doing their best. How Can I Help
is the catch phrase so to speak. My favourite character is a bear of
a man, who is a Dr and the Shrink. He is also gay, what really shines
through is his compassion, he is a giant teddy bear who loves to
help. And that is what I’d like to be remembered as, somebody whose
words help. Who brings laughter to the screen in front of you all,
you might think I look stupid, is he gay or what? No, I’m a boring
straight guy, who may never get discovered, not even by a Korean Kpop
girl singer. I’m just being read on the toilet by some Russian guy
while he waits for his constipation to end, and then he can drive
Putin to meet Trump.
Ignorance
is Bliss ©
By
Michael Casey
I
will not believe until I put my hands in his wounds
Here
place your hands in my wounds
Now
I believe
Better
to believe and have Faith rather than wait, have trust
The
earth rotates around the Sun
Galileo
Galilei should be locked up for heresy
The
moon is made of cheese
Neil
Armstrong faked it
At
least the trains ran on time under Mussolini
It’s
all lies about Hitler and the Jews
Assad
loves everybody, he gassed nobody,
he’s
a doctor he’d never hurt anybody
Car
exhausts never hurt anybody, they are just stupid kids anyway
Smoking
is cool, that’s why it’s in all the 1950s films
Radiation
does not hurt
Sunshine
is good for you, get a tan
Some
meds give you great tans as a side effect, so take meds
Eat
fat and don’t exercise you won’t have a heart attack
It’s
all a lie to punish farmers
Speed
does not kill, let people drive as fast as they like
Guns
don’t kill, let everybody have a gun and an assault rifle too
Why
shouldn’t I have 10,000 rounds of ammo in my house
Why
should I lock ammo and guns away separately
The
3 year old deserved to have its face blown off by a 5 year old
It’s
my right, there were just stupid toddlers
I
can talk on the phone and ignore my kids playing in the kitchen
It’s
not my fault I they scald themselves, I warned them once, 3 years ago
Arms
races don’t cause wars, selling arms is great for the economy
Pollution
does not kill
Global
warming does not exist
Who
cares if a few islands in the Pacific disappear,
they
are only small anyway
It’s
great to have more sunshine
It
only snows in the Rockies, it’s great for the skiers anyway
A
bit of wind is good, it blows the cobwebs away
Vaccinations
are BAD, they make you sick
Measles
is no big deal anyway
Bill
Gates is a fool wasting all his money on vaccinations for poor
countries
Poor
Countries don’t matter, what did they do for ME anyway
I
could have sold him Manhattan at half the price
And
on it goes, STABLE GENIUS IGNORANCE
Now
a commission to prove The Earth is Flat
Will
USA finally wake up to the total ARROGANCE of IGNORANCE?
It
really is heart breaking that a Fool is in charge of USA
People
all say yes, for Power, whatever happened to Love of Country?
The
Fool has taken over, and nobody has done anything
Every
day is a wasted day
A
lie if you repeat it often enough is believed
But
rather everybody is deceived
Liar,
Liar burn in Fire
Everybody
must run to defend the TRUTH and the Planet Itself
So
let’s all run BONE SPURRS permitting and Defend Planet Earth
Or
are you going to sit it out, while others go to war to save our Home,
Earth
Stocking
Up for Students ©
By
Michael Casey
Well
it’s exam time in our house and millions all over the world, the
stress levels amongst our children, and even when they are 50 they
are still our children. The stress levels are so very high, fatally
high in some cases. So what can we do, us parents that is. Not that
you’ll get any thanks, kids that age forget to say thank you. They
can build a nuclear bomb, or recite Pi, though baking a pie might be
of more use. They can do many things in their study or back bedroom
or perched somewhere, but saying thank you, or clearing away dishes,
that’s impossible, nuclear physics is easier for them.
So
what can you and me do? Well we stock up for students. First thing
you need is plenty of chocolate in the cupboard, and as it is exam
time it had better be Cadburys, rest of the year any chocolate will
do, but at exam time, it has to be the best. Even if your pension is
small or non-existent you have to go the extra mile for your student.
You do want them to visit you in the Old People’s Home after all.
Then
you have to buy face wash too, bargain basement facewash will do,
having eaten so much chocolate over the 2 months exam period the
chance of spots can be high. So you have to be ready. Like a Boy
Scout you are Prepared. Chocolate and face wash. For variety you have
to add crisps, and you go the extra mile and buy Walkers crisps,
despite that annoying footballer whatever his name is advertising
them, who is he anyway?
So
your cupboard is loaded with crisps and chocolate, with face wash at
the ready in the shower. And for the duration of the exam period you
won’t mention your power bill caused by 20 minute showers,
sometimes twice a day. So you make sacrifices for your student, you
reduce your shower time from 5 minutes, and you are 3 times her size.
You have a quick 2 minute shower and use that new super soft towel to
dry yourself with. Only it’s not a microfiber towel it’s Totoro
the cat, who enjoys every minute of it. When you realise you need a
20 minute shower yourself, but you have to save money for the power
bill. So you run around the garden in a thunder storm, hoping nobody
will see you. But of course all the neighbours do, some even load it
up to Snapchat and Utube. However as well as all the little old
ladies having a thrill as a Shrek size naked hairy man runs around
the garden with a bar of soap, you are spotted by your future lover.
As you fart in unison with the thunder, as they say it’s an ill
wind that blows no good.
Your
student is back attacking the books, or though in today’s world,
it’s an online text book. So you have to restrict your broadband
use as the bandwidth is not good enough for her to study and confer
with her best mate and for you to watch a film at the same time. You
never thought 12meg would not be enough, with the cheapest broadband,
but buying chocolate and the power bill all takes money. So you have
to wait while she takes a break to watch your film in 20 minute
chunks spread over the evening. You hope she buys you a 1000meg
package when you are in that old people’s home, that’s if you
live that long.
The
student is hungry so you make her scrambled eggs with beans in, she
will fart all night as she studies Bio Chemistry, but it’s all
about reactions after all. You did buy the nicest bread too, the one
she loves that you only buy on rare occasions as it costs too much
and the budget does not stretch to it. But you are a dad and dads go
the extra mile, it’s a good job you don’t smoke or drink, or you
would be feeding her frozen food.
She
studies into the night and you wish she wasn’t a night owl, the
electric bill, the electric bill. You struggle to sleep because of
your Tinnitus, finally at 2.30 am your student goes to bed, you are
still awake with your Tinnitus. It’s hard being a dad. Nobody knows
the sacrifices you make.
Well,
somebody does. After your streak and wash in the Thunder somebody has
their eye on you. It’s a woman with a telescope. Her name is
Louise, and she’s been observing you, as you sleep with your
curtains open, because you are afraid of the dark she has seen you in
all your glory. Korean tastes are very different and she used to be a
K Pop singer, before she did Astro physics, she had turned her
telescope from the Heavens to your celestial body in your bedroom.
But that’s another story…
Looking
Back at History ©
By
Michael
Casey
Well
it’s the last day of May today, Donald Trump will stop by before
joining the Dday celebrations in France. I was at the celebrations in
Caen Normandy in 1984, just by chance, my sister was finishing off
her year abroad and I came over for a holiday. It was a truly moving
experience, parade and medals galore. There was a dummy in a
parachute hanging from the ceiling at the train station.
On
tv there was rolling coverage, an American GI said the first thing he
did was steal some underpants from a Nazi soldier, the American had
been so scared he’d messed himself. War is not all honour and
nobility like in the films, it is dirty and horrible, like a messed
pair of pants. No doubt Trump would say I’m lying, but its the
naked truth. Let’s hope Trump remembers it’s not about him, its
about those who fought and those who died.
The
Russian front was a fight to the death, and Historians will tell you
that without the Eastern Front occupying the Nazis, 6 million is the
figure I seem to remember, then the Dday victory could not have
happened. I heard a History professor state this at an Open
University Summer school maybe 30 years ago. This is why Russians are
upset that their war and valour doesn’t get as much coverage, there
is no Hollywood of the Russian Front, I can only think of one such
film.
The
one with Jude Law as a Soviet sniper. Contrast that the 100s of films
about the war from the Western prospective. Everybody needs to
remember the horrors the Russians went through. Then you’ll begin
to understand the way they are. We can argue about the need for
everybody to move on from History and live in today’s world, but if
you don’t know the past then you’ll blunder into the Future.
Now
we all have our own personal History,and maybe I’m writing this in
reverse, should I do the humour first then move onto the serious
stuff? Warm you up, then slap you in the face with death. The joy of
life is that we can do things any which way we choose, maybe I’m
Clyde the orang-utan, I’m messing everywhere and I don’t need to
steal any pants. Immediately some of you may condemn me for moving
from Dday to an orang-utan, but then you miss the point. We have
freedom today in the West because people lost their lives, because we
had a Just War to beat utter madness and evil that was Hitler. So I
can speak in any format I like, my words are not approved or censored
by anybody. We have Free Speech.
If
you don’t like my words you can ignore them, billions of words all
over the Internet that can be ignored. The majority are ignored, then
you have “influencers” who make loads of money,because some
people could not be bothered to think for themselves. Then you have
bots puking vile ideas all over the Internet. This is today’s
problem, challenge is a pretentious word, it is a PROBLEM. You have
to balance Rights and Duties, and MZ wants to make his billions as do
other Big Tech people, and then wash their hands as kids, or people
who are mentally kids, kill or harm themselves. They want to wash
their hand like Pilot and say it’s nothing to do with me.
This
is where Tax can be used to force common sense on Big Tech companies.
Ordinary People pay 20% tax and more, meanwhile Big Tech pays just a
fraction of that. So tax them and force them to make common sense
changes. Too often the bolt has been closed on the gate after the
horse has bolted, and a child is dead or harmed in some way.
Who
decides the way in which Big Tech is held to account? We do. You and
me, everywhere the world over. So you need to send an email, join a
petition, get off the couch and vote. In USA Trump lost the Popular
Vote, yet he’s become the most corrupt President ever. Why? Because
half the population don’t even bother to register to vote. So he
got elected. We can argue about Hillary being the wrong candidate,
because it was her “turn”and the FBI man ruining her chances at
the last moment. We heard it was 70,000votes out of the millions that
ensured Trump got elected, due to the Electoral College system.
So
when Donald Trump arrives in UK, there could be 1,000,000 people
protesting against him, and the Trump Baby balloon may be flying too.
No doubt Trump might say they are ruining the memorial for the fallen
of Dday. However I’d say they are proving all the sacrifices of
Dday were worth it, not forgetting the Russians tying down 6 million
Nazis that helped enable Dday. Because today in 2019 we have Freedom
to Protest, to say to all our Politicians, YOU ARE OUR SERVANTS. We
can and will vote you out,so long as we get off the couch. And they
can “shiote dans leur pantelons” just as that Dday GI did, but he
is a hero and they never will be, just remember that they are our
SERVANTS.
Just
the way you are ©
By
Michael
Casey
Moses
was tall and gangly, people used to laugh at him and call him
beanstalk. Some even picked on him, he was regularly bullied, and had
his teeth chipped after fights. Where’s your staff Moses, make the
Red Sea part was a common remark. Only his Nan loved him, and the
little girl opposite, she felt pity for him. It was all so unfair.
His Nan was forever taking him to the dentist, but at least they
didn’t pull all his teeth, then he’d look like his Nan even more,
with false teeth. No, Moses got gold fillings, a fist full of gold
fillings, because he’d had fists in his mouth.
Sharon
as the little girl opposite, she smiled and told him he looked great
with his gold teeth. Really was Moses’s reply. And that is how they
became friends. On one visit to the dentist he picked up a Readers
Digest, he just flicked though it. Then one item caught his
attention, so on the way out he asked the receptionist could he have
it, a ten year old copy of the Readers Digest. When he got home he
read the article over and over again. He then went over the road to
show Sharon.
Self
Defence, with Judo John. It was all about how to use an attacker’s
weight against them and so defend yourself. And that is how Moses and
Sharon discovered each other. By throwing and grappling with each
other, it was fun and they were good. Over a period of months they
learnt the basics. Then they went to the old Spring Hill Library and
got all the old Judo John books out. They began slowly and read them
cover to cover. Judo John was an Olympic Champion many years ago. As
they read they practiced, and with each practice they got better and
better and love grew between then as they flung each other all over
the place. They would laugh as snot dripped from their noses, as
their socks fell down and as they had to tuck in their shirts and
blouses. They didn’t really know it but they were falling deeply in
love.
As
they practiced in the back garden they listened to Barry White on a
cassette radio play. It covered the noise of them grunting and
groaning as they grabbled. After a couple of years of this both of
them had put on lots of muscles, Moses was no longer gangly he was
bulky now too. And yes the bad boys did try to bully him one last
time, only he knew a bit of Judo now. So he threw them into the
dustbins, and Sharon who felt so empowered now defended her man, she
stood by her man and threw a bully or two into the dustbins too. 4
bullies against Moses and Sharon did not stand a chance. The word got
out at school, and nobody ever troubled Moses again, now his nickname
was Jaws after the James Bond villain.
Fate
took a hand now, the school was a sports academy, so one day some
Judo guys turned up. Moses was shy, but the school blurted out about
how Moses and Sharon had sorted the bullies. The Judo guys smiled,
and Moses and Sharon were asked to step forward. After a few minutes
of grabbling with the Judo experts, the experts smiled even more. If
there was a grading both would get a good grade and possibly a Brown
Belt immediately. Where did you learn they were asked, so they
confessed they had read the Judo John books while listening to Barry
White. The entire school laughed at them , the Judo guys did not. In
fact Judo John was the grandfather of one of the team, and guess what
he loved Barry White too.
So
Moses and Sharon got free tuition at one of the back street Judo
schools in the city centre, in exchange for a bit of tidying up. And
that was how they learnt their trade. Moses was quickly a Black Belt
and so was Sharon shortly afterwards. They raced up the belts, and
their confidence grew and grew. They were worried about what to do
after school, but they were offered the business when the owner
retired. So Moses and Sharon Judo School appeared in small letters
under JUDO. They laughed that they had never left school. And their
love just grew and grew. Moses’s Nan had raided her pension pot and
re-mortgaged her house to help buy the business, but soon she was
repaid. A female teacher was a selling point.
After
practice Moses would wash Sharon and Sharon would wash Moses, very
Oriental, and yes sometimes Barry White influenced them too much, I
can’t get enough of you baby, as they made love on the practice
mats. They were engaged by now, but there was never a baby, Sharon
did not mind, she had Moses and that was enough. But secretly Moses
wanted to be a dad, what was the point in life if you don’t have
kids.
Now
what do Martial Arts people do in the evening, well they work
security at clubs, drinking Hot Chocolate, and yes they loved that
music too. Where they worked there was never any trouble, Moses was
6feet 4inches and 120 kilos of total muscle by now. Sharon had a pony
tail and blonde hair, just like Theresa May’s body guard lady, she
was always smiling because she had here Man, and she was his Lady.
They loved Lionel’s Lady my Sweet lady too. All in all they had a
happy life, though Moses pretended he did not mind not being a dad.
Now
in clubs the girls dance around the handbags, or designate the
fattest girl to mind them the most, as she drinks her lemon and lime
alone as they dance. Now Moses spotted the girl and spoke into his
radio, do you mind if I dance with another lady tonight, just this
once? Sharon looked around and knew what he was going to do. You do
know I am a Black Belt 4th
Dan? Yes, and you can tie me to our bed with it tonight, after you
take my Black Belt 7th
Dan off my naked body. Sharon laughed aloud.
Moses
smiled at the girl guarding the handbags, would you care to dance?
Theresa looked up, she nearly fainted so he picked her up and carried
her to the middle of the dance floor he, then held her in his arms,
and now she was his lady. The other girls nearly fainted, Moses was
the absolute hunk of the hunkiest, and he was dancing with Theresa.
Sharon was not to be outdone so she picked a fat boy and led him to
the dance floor. Sharon was a big girl but totally curvaceous, and
she knew how to move. Everybody stopped to watch Sharon and the fat
boy and Moses and Theresa. Then Moses bent and kissed Theresa’s
hand, they swopped partners, Moses danced with Sharon, and Theresa
danced with Kevin, for that was his name. Barry White was singing,
Can’t Get enough of your Love Babe. And that was how Theresa met
the boy of her dreams Kevin.
An
opportunist thought he’d steal from the pile of handbags, only
small Peter was also working that night. Peter was less than 5 feet
tall, but he had a 56 inch chest after years of Judo. So the would be
thief laughed at “titch” only to find himself on the floor. He
was ejected and banned for life. Kevin and Theresa were so happy,
they both thought they’d just be watching handbags all their life,
but this was the beginning of something big.
Theresa
and Kevin were made for each other, so obviously they told everybody
they knew, and fat people always have lots of friends, even if they
lack boyfriends or girlfriends. So more and more people came to the
club in the hope of finding the one true love. Moses and Sharon
thought they’d help things along, so it became a feature, Moses
would dance with a girl who’d been abandoned to the handbags. And
Sharon would grab a boy who’d been hiding in a corner pretending he
didn’t mind. Barry White of course played his part too, Baby We
better Try and get it together, was very popular, as well as It may
be Winter outside but in my heart it’s Spring. Sharon and Moses
picked 2 lonely people, and then they got it on with each other. John
Travolta in Pulp Fiction would have died for it. Watching Moses and
Sharon was electric, and then the whole dance floor filled and
heaved. Afterwards the bar was flooded, dancing was so thirsty
everybody needed a drink.
Eventually
the club had a “Big Girls Don’t Cry” night, dancing for boys
and girls of the bigger dimensions. Everybody was happy, things could
not be any better. But Fate always steps in. One of the boys who
bullied Moses years before came to town after he’d got out of Jail.
By chance he heard about Moses, it was his friend been barred for
life.
So
that night with evil in his heart Barry came to hurt Moses, why this
happens you’ll have to watch a BBC documentary, or a ITV daytime tv
show. Barry weaved his way through the dance floor, something shinny
in his hand, he had 2 others on either side flanking him. It was he
night Theresa got engaged to Kevin as she descended the stairs from
the toilets she saw what was afoot.
Theresa
was a teacher so she knew how to scream. FAT GIRLS ON THE DANCE
FLOOR, Kevin was also a teacher, a P.E. teacher so he knew how to
scream too. He knew Theresa needed help, he felt it, he just knew. So
he screamed too, FAT BOYS ON THE DANCE FLOOR.
The
dance floor flooded and Moses was swept away by a flood of sweaty fat
bodies, Sharon could see what was happening now. She had seconds to
save her Moses before he’d be in a wicker basket coffin. So she
grabbed “titch” Peter and threw him through the crowd. Barry was
tumbled, the assassins were rumbled. Fat Girls to the left, fat Boys
to the right. Then they all Irish danced towards the assassins. The
Lard was in the frying pan and it was time to spit and hiss and burn.
They may be fat, but they were all Dancing Queens, they high kicked
their way over the dance hall. Moses their leader and they would
defend him. In short Barry and his 4 henchmen were Irish Dance Kicked
into submission. Never under estimate a fat girl EVER.
Moses
and Sharon embraced. The Police came and took Barry his four friends
away. The Police also booked the club for their works do too. Maybe
it was the sense of relief that Moses and Sharon felt, or whatever
reason, but that night Sharon conceived. After that all Moses had to
do was look at Sharon and she got pregnant. They could not decide how
many kids to have, but as Moses was a Black Belt 7th
Dan, they decided 7 was a good number. And if you are all wondering
if this tale is true, well kind of. Because one of this writer’s
earliest memories is being bounced on Moses’ knee as he smiled his
smile full of gold fillings at me.
Before
the Dawn ©
By
Michael
Casey
Last
looks at photos of mom
Checking
and rechecking kit before the fight
Cursing
louder and louder to hide the fear
Playing
cards, last chance to get rich before hiding in a ditch
Look
at photos of naked girls wishing you could hide within
Prayers
half said and wishing you had got wed
You
promise you’ll marry the first thing you get back
Rosaries
dusted off, and mumbled through,you haven’t got a clue
Lucky
charms and Rosaries too kissed and wrapped around your kit
False
smiles, and wondering why you came thousands of miles
Hope
that you’d get to sample champagne in Paris
Fear
that you’d never get back to your aged mom again
Charity
sharing your chocolate with your mates
Laugher
over the water into the distance
Worry
half hidden from each other
But
you are each other’s brother
At
dawn you will fight and try not to die together
You
can hear the bagpipes, the mad piper has begun
The
rush of bravery and hope, you will survive and go
All
the way to Berlin, Normandy is just the beginning
You
will show the Nazis what you are made of.
First
off the boat and up the beach a kiss from a French girl
Is
almost within reach
Bullets
fly, bullets fly but New Yorkers don’t come to die
You
are an American and you will be in Paris
Secrets
in the Safe ©
By
Michael
Casey
I
might stop and start while I talk to you, it’s no secret my left
shoulder has come out to play today. Pain with a CAPITAL P. It
audibly clicks as well, and I’d wish it’d just go to Hell.
Luckily my Movelat and Paracetamol are close to hand. Not locked in a
safe, just within grab reach, like the toilet paper. If I had a gun
it would be locked away and the bullets locked somewhere else,
luckily we don’t have that in UK, we are gun free, thank God.
Chocolate
needs to be hidden and locked away, I have 3 girls in the house, and
a female cat too. But what about secrets? Samuel Pepys wrote his
diary in code so nobody would know what he was talking about. He knew
many secrets and was wise enough to bury his cheese to avoid the
Great Fire of London. I may go and read about him when I finish
talking to you all, you can all do the same for homework.
Nowadays
everybody blogs, except me, I write or rather Talk to you all. I hope
its much better than Joe Soap’s blog or even Freg Bloggs’ blog. I
don’t earn any money and I’m not an influencer. I’d rather be
under the influence of Stella Artois, than mindless tat basely
advertised and touted by vacuous people. Did you feel my claws then?
MIAOW. I’m copying Totoro our cat who went back to Ninja cat mode
yesterday, with 2 kills, one to the front of the house and one to the
back. She hangs out with the foxes nowadays, they live in a Ben’s
back garden nearby.
But
what about secrets, and what would be so important you put it in a
safe? The Kentucky Fried Chicken recipe was in a safe, though
personally I think its disgusting, they should have left it there.
Somebody told me that Burgerking was better than BigMac and I think
they are right, though Macdonalds do better fries. Though its years
since I had either, and they were never my fast food. My generation
were chips and kebab people. I do think saving recipes for the future
is a great idea. We even have a seed bank hidden in a mountain,
should world disaster strike. However I seem to remember a news item
saying that, the seed bank could be flooded as Global Warming is
melting ice and could flood the seed bank.
So
it’s only the most important of stuff that gets put in a safe. Our
Ken Dodd a comedian was once sued by the tax man, AND HE BEAT THEM,
he kept cash in a shoebox under the stairs, 30k or even 100k. But his
love letters were in a bank vault. Ken really got his priorities
right, his shows lasted 5 hours, you really got your money’s worth
too.
I’m
told that the Sun Newspaper in England has a bank vault on the
premises with all the Dirt on the Great and the Good. Now that would
be interesting reading, though that could be an urban legend. Next
time I meet Rupert Murdoch at the Bingo I’ll ask him, but only
after he buys me 2 pints of Stella Artois, save him going up twice
and queuing for me. He always forgets the cheese and onion crisps
though.
What
would I keep in safe? Clean underpants and some soft toilet paper,
and maybe some Ck1. You never know who might come up and see me
sometime. And yes Movelat painkiller and paracetamol. Without those
I’d be rolling about on the floor. Though with Ck1 and clean
underpants I might just having fun rolling about on the floor. With a
Sumo. Though I have much better dreams than that.
The
Homework Club ©
By
Michael
Casey
Well
as ever I didn’t have an idea to talk about today, I’d just read
a piece about George Clooney and Catch22, which could be my own life.
And yes my big daughter did say he’d got old, so George I can be
your fresher faced stand in, and only 248pounds too, that’s my day
rate and real weight. 18 x 14= 252 so I am actually 252pounds now. So
you owe me 4 quid George. Other than that we are exactly the same.
Before
a role George has to do his homework and look at my picture and
remind himself just how good and cool he could look if he looked like
me. He has to read a lot and get the feel and the look under the
skin, so he can become Michael Casey, ok just teasing George, but I
do have peanut butter on my shoes, only you cannot eat mine.
He
has the original book to read, a film to watch, and he will sit and
talk around the topic, and loads and loads of stuff. If you catch him
in the toilets you can corner him with conversation. But make sure
you haven’t got peanut butter on your shoes.
Which
brings me to today’s topic, The Homework Club. My big daughter is
here with me in the “study” as week 2 of her A Levels continue
after the weekend, so she is working hard. She listens to music to
help her along the path. As Tinnitus irritates me so much she plays
it aloud so I can share an inoculation to Tinnitus while she studies.
I have my music and she has hers, but at the exam time she is Queen
so her music is played and I share it, and try not to make any noise
to distract her as she studies. Which means no loud farting, or too
much moaning because of the pain. So I leave the room and slap on the
Movelat and return. In the “study” all manner of girls’ music
choice plays as she studies, Maths, Biology, Chemistry and
Philosophy.
A
former classmate of hers does play Drums, so I am lucky I am not her
dad, think of the noise. Meanwhile in our kitchen my small daughter
has invited a couple of friends to sample her cooking. Though that
will be a great experience, as my small daughter is turning into a
little chef, one day I hope Delia Smith meets her. My aunty Delia was
the kindest and fattest relative I had, and a great cook too, 17
stones and only 5 feet tall. If my small daughter becomes like her
then I’d be so happy, though without all the weight. As for my
small daughter’s friends, they have to sing for their supper. They
are Maths specialists, so they are giving my daughter advice in
exchange for their dinner. Due to diet and religious observances they
will be getting pasta, which I don’t like as I think it’s too
bland. So there will be no slops for me to have.
I
imagine there are kids up and down the country who need a bit of
friendly patient help in a variety of subjects. Teachers need to
listen, not just tick boxes. At my big daughter’ 6th
form college a couple of teachers were let go, because they were not
up to the job. The job is teaching, which means is listening and
being engaging. And transferring knowledge from your head into the
kids head. When I was an Esol teacher I got, excellent, excellent and
exemplary as my external assessment,just so you know. And that’s
why I think all my writing could be used as a Teaching Aid, so
Educational Publishers do get in touch fast.
In
Tom Sawyer, he’s made paint the fence, but he turns it around, and
gets the other kids pay him for the honour of painting the fence.
We’ve all seen it on tv, and now I speak of it I can actually
remember reading the book in class4 at Primary School. So it is with
friends, somebody is good at this or that,so you trade skills. At
school age, don’t pay through the nose to some stranger. Pay a
quarter as much or not at all, just get some nice food in the house
and get your child’s friends to help. Or in our case, or should I
say Caseys my kids arrange it for themselves, my job is to just stay
out of the way, and let them get on with it.
There
is pride in knowledge, you have finally worked it out, you
understand, the shade has been lifted from the light. It really is
easy, once you know it is easy. You have lost your virginity of
ignorance. That’s why the Printing Press was loathed by the
masters, because it meant all of us, the common man could learn to
read. And yes there is no one more common than me, but I am the
common denominator, which as you all know if a Maths expression. If I
can write then all of you in the 60 places that read me, in the many
languages that read me, all of you can write. All of you can do
maths, all of you can do anything. Because as we share bread at a
table, we teach each other many things, and through friendship and
love we expand our knowledge. And if you have what you think is
peanut butter on your shoe, don’t taste it, just ask George Clooney
to do that for you.
Damp
©
By
Michael Casey
Well
its damp today here in Birmingham, we are drying out after all the
rain. Though in other parts it was more like a flood, Noah was seen
in the distance and I’m sure I saw 2 birds flying overhead in
search of land. Unfortunately Totoro thought this was his Just Eat
dinner being self delivered. So Noah is still in the ark waiting for
the flood to subside.
The
weather really does have an effect on our mood. That’s why
yesterday I posted the piece about “the rain falling down” and
yes I really did used to have a Korean priest. He was deaf and an IT
wiz, he was from Korea after all. A deaf priest is a good thing,
especially in the confessional, though if the priest shouts “you
did what?” because he cannot hear you, then the whole church can.
But
back to damp, when we are damp it slows us down and deflates our
mood. Damp is like a weigh about our neck, it makes everything heavy
and serious. You cannot be happy if your clothes are clammy or damp,
if the sky is grey and there is no blue in the sky. Everything seems
grey, just like your underpants because dad did not separate out the
colours. Life itself is grey and damp.
You
go down the hill to the shops, and even the flowers look dull, it’s
as if you are wearing your shades, though I do most of the time. But
when it’s damp it’s as if there is a grey filter in the entire
air, life is heavy, everything is joyless. Even a pretty girl is not
as pretty, it’s as if a boring filter has been placed around her,
not enough light in the atmosphere, can God put a shilling in the
meter and switch the light on, dispel the dark and damp and dank.
God
hears your voice while you are in the shop, as you leave a rumble of
thunder, so you try and walk faster up the steep hill. God’s
thunder is at your heels like a wolf at the door. The sky is lit up
by lightning, is that bright enough for you, God is asking, asking ME
to put a shilling in the meter. Lightning rains down around you, that
must be a trillion pounds worth shoved in the meter. You jump and are
startled, please don’t do that with my heart, you could kill me.
God throws another thunder bolt at you, and the heavens open. You are
sure you can see Noah body surfing on the lightning and splashing
about in the rain.
You
get to your house, your heart pounding, your shopping bag full of
water as well as oranges. You drop your keys, and as you bend down to
pick them up Totoro the cat strikes, your behind is too big a target.
You scream, God’s going to kill you.
You
are relieved, it’s just the cat, and as you open the front door the
sky is clear, the thunder and lightning has washed away all the damp
and damp dull colours. Everything is technicolour.
You
need shades, everything is big and bold and bright. Your mood lifts,
why can’t every day be like this. Then you remember that poem you
hated at school, the Wordsworth one, Into every life some darkness
must fall.
Talking
to Strangers ©
By
Michael Casey
I
was talking to a stranger today, I know your mum always says don’t
talk to strangers and it is wise advice for children. But it’s one
of my bad habits, but I had to talk to this person, luckily for her
it was just over the phone. Could you stand looking at me for an
hour? I can hear the comments coming through the screen. You are so
unkind, call yourselves my readers, I may just sulk and stop writing.
But you know I won’t, it’s the only thing I can do, and the only
thing I’m good at. Ok, apart from Farting, but you cannot put
farting down on a CV, as specialist subject. I know we all used to
have farting competitions when we were young, or were you too posh to
fart. Try eating Heinz beans with eggs in, a double whammy of fart
potential. My brother introduced his fellow students to it when he
was at Downing Cambridge. What did you do at University? Oh, I
introduced farting to Downing College, via Heinz beans with eggs in.
I also got a degree.
So
now I’m explaining farting to my readers in 60 countries, you must
all think I’m so vulgar, but it does at least save on central
heating. But don’t light any farts with a cigarette, and yes I must
confess we did try it once in the empty office when it was being
refurbed in the 1980s. Meanwhile Flash as we used to call him, he
fell asleep on the toilet during a night shift. Then he dropped his
cigarette and set fire to his trousers.
Meanwhile
what I really wanted to talk about was talking to strangers, that’s
if the smell of farts doesn’t drive them away. It was on the news
tonight how people can feel lonely or isolated, so they suggested a
bus journey. The 3 lonely people had a pet dog each, and they did a
test where people spoke and did not speak. Obviously a dog is a
talking point, and obviously too speaking really does lift mood. It’s
today’s society where people look down at their phones and are
cocooned by their buds and their music, so a full bus can be bus full
of lonely people. Listen to the Beatles Eleanor Rigby right now
instead of reading this, but do come back, as I’ll get lonely if
you all abandon me for the Beatles. And did I tell you that John
Lennon was one of our lodgers, but that’s another story.
In
my time at CPNEC Birmingham my job was to say hello to anybody that
came into the hotel. I gave them 30 seconds and then I gave them the
big hello. That was my job, maybe 100,000 people got the big hello, I
was actually much praised, “the best thing about the hotel is you”
was one of the many positive comments. We were the friendly hotel,
me, Roger and Jim were the welcoming committee and the rest was
History. And when Iwasn’t doing that I was doing 10 other roles,
Roger counted them once.
Over
at another hotel our boss stood there for 20 mins before anybody
approached him, that was the difference, 30 seconds v 20 mins. Hello
to Jonathan Walker if ever he reads this, yes it’s me, please buy
all 18 books, my girls are all grown up now, just as yours are.
Talking
is good, it relaxes us, it makes us happy, a problem shared is a
problem halved, Tell the Truth and Shame the Devil as my mum used to
say. You can confess to somebody on a train, and then you will never
see them again, Confession for non-Catholics if you like. Bottling
things up does lead to illness mental and physical, so Spit it Out.
And then with the burden lifted from your shoulders you start again.
Every day is a new beginning.
Obviously
when I get on a bus people Manspread, or stretch so that old fat
silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham England cannot sit
anywhere near them. But I know how to hang from a pole, I was a pole
dancer in my past, did I not mention it before, maybe I’ll write
about it tomorrow. So I’ll dangle from a pole and talk to anybody,
the bus driver does love me after all, because riff raff don’t get
on his bus, when they see me there, they decide to walk instead. It’s
Michael Casey, ok we’ll walk instead it’s only 18 stops. Stuck on
a bus with Casey, I’d rather watch Trump on tv.
On
a serious note, your old mum, your dad, a friend does welcome a phone
call, or an email with a silly photo in. So please ring your old mum
or an old friend, make contact. In daily life say hello to folks in
the street, break the ice. People will actually say, I’m glad you
spoke to me. Why are there magazine stands at train stations, so you
can avoid talking to people. I say do the opposite, talk to somebody,
break the ice. You may make a friend for life, or find a husband, a
wife, a lover, any which way. Talking makes us better than stones,
than rocks, you can save a life just by a few kinds words. Even if
all you say is that Michael Casey is such a waste of space, I really
hate his words. Though he is really dishy better than George Clooney
any day.
Michael
Casey Pole Dancer ©
By
Michael
Casey
Yes,
I am a Pole Dancer, so don’t be jealous, and ladies don’t be too
excited. At first it was a way of keeping fit, me all alone in the
basement swinging from the pole that held up the ceiling above. It
cost me nothing and it kept me fit. Then when I was in the corner
shop Lilly fell over on a banana skin, I caught her and she said I
was ever so strong. Where did you did you get your muscles from, I
said from a sale on Amazon, Lilly laughed and hit me with her walking
stick. Lilly is 89 you see, but she lies about her age and says she
is 100, that way she gets free stuff. Her Pension is not enough, so
by lying about her age she adds to her cupboard instead of being an
old mother Hubbard.
Her
granddaughter or is it great granddaugher intervened and prevented
any more battering. So Louise followed me home and took a look at my
bruise, she then slapped on a plaster and said grannie was right you
are so full of muscles. Please tell me where you got them from. So I
confessed to being a Pole dancer in the cellar, using the pole that
held the ceiling up as my exercise tool.
Louise
insisted on seeing my Pole. Then she said go on, do it. So I stripped
to my Yfronts and my string vest and my socks and began to swing. I
forgot to say Louise works in the local Primark, so she’s used to
seeing people strip off and try things on. Nobody would try anything
on with Louise as she trains with 7th
Dan Moses at the local Judo school. So there I was swinging from my
Pole. Louise was quite impressed, and she actually quite excited, it
must have been the sight of my 18stones or 252 pound body moving
fluidly around a Pole. Up and down and around and around. In the end
it was too much for here so she went upstairs for a glass of water.
The
next day she brought a friend, Mandy was her name, and they asked
could the have the use of my Pole. I agreed of course. Mandy also
does Judo with 7th
Dan Moses, so how could I refuse. But they did make me an offer I
could not refuse. They would bake for me. So I couldn’t say Bake
Off to them. In fact their mince pies nearly turned my head, and went
straight to my thighs, so much so I had to do an extra 10 mins before
bedtime.
So
it continued, I had food and drinks left on my kitchen table while
down below ladies used my pole. In the end I didn’t need to go
shopping as the ladies using my pole filled my cupboard. In the end
it was later and later before I could do my own pole exercise
routine. I’d been watching the gymnastics and had picked up a trick
or two. Moulin Rouge had been on the telly again so that inspired me
again.
It
was so late that I had decided to do my pole routine naked and then
I’d shower and go straight to bed. Only life is strange, and as I
was working out on pole with the soundtrack to Moulin Rouge playing
on my old cassette player, I did not notice a group of ladies sneak
in. Lilly and Mandy were trying to persuade their friends that pole
dancing was really good for keeping the figure trim. In fact it was
nearly the entire ladies Judo team, Midlands Division. They had
popped in for a quick look and I hadn’t locked the front door, so
they were able to slip in. If you have that many Judo people visit
you and our pole you feel safe.
The
girls were amazed, and when they saw all my scars, first from my
ankle bones to my naughty bits, then down my entire chest, they were
overwhelmed. And it takes a lot to overwhelm a Ladies Judo expert,
Midlands Division. The sight of my tight big fat buttocks, made them
gasp too, ok one had to go puke in the front garden. One of them
could not resist temptation and live streamed it. So I was all over
the Internet, me and my fat arse, and glorious scars.
I
stopped and did not know what to say, then I said the obvious, I hope
somebody brings some Stella tomorrow. I’m here already, said a
voice from the back. It was a beautiful girl. I meant Stella Artois I
mumbled. I’ll bring the Stella Artois tomorrow said Stella. We all
laughed. I walked through the crowd, Stella slapped my bum, it was
just too much temptation for her.
Overnight
I was an Internet sensation, and in the morning Stella brought the
Stella Artois. Then she stripped and practised her pole dancing. It
was only fair after all. And that is how me and Stella got together.
Naked pole dancing together with Stella, Stella Artois afterwards.
Defenceless
Little Old Lady ©
By
Michael
Casey
Miss
Hannigan was very nice little old lady, she was forever carrying her
two red leather shopping bags back and forth as she went to the
shops. She had a nice little pension and had never married, as no man
was good enough, she always said with a faraway look in her eye.
There been admirers, but that was another story that was too painful
to go into. But now she was as regular as clockwork, thanks to the
prunes, and she kept the same schedule. She could afford Ocado to
come and deliver, and sometimes did, they were very nice delivery
boys after all, but she liked human contact in the shops so she went
shopping with her two red leather shopping bags.
Miss
Hannigan knew everybody and everybody knew Miss Hannigan, she went
shopping every day so of course the knew her. She didn’t go
shopping on Sunday of course, Sundays were for church and choir, she
played the piano in the church hall. Her voice was very very loud
too, her past made her voice loud. You see Miss Hannigan had been a
teacher all her life, so she knew how to shout and sing loudly. Then
when Annie had been on tv the kids all began to sing back, We Love
You Miss Hannigan, and they really did despite all the rigours of
teaching. Miss Hannigan taught English, so when a weekly test was
finished the kids all sung, We Love You Miss Hannigan, and then burst
out laughing.
So
Miss Hannigan had had a nice life, she’s had 1000s of children,
though secretly she’d have loved one of her very own, so she could
tell her own child just how special they were to her. Now the thing
about routine is that it is the best way and the safest way to run
your life, you don’t forget where you left your keys or where your
underpants are, because they are always in the same place. Covering
your bum, or on the 2nd
shelf in the wardrobe, or in the washing machine on steam clean.
There
are bad people in this world, opportunists who will take advantage of
you, like Politicians who refuse to debate, because they think
everything is in the bag, and don’t want to let any cats out of the
bag. In Miss Hannigan’s case there was a very naughty boy who’d
seen her walking by every day as he sat in his car smoking his skunk.
Skunk stinks, and is a very stupid thing to do. But Skunk is a bad
habit unlike Miss Hannigan’s good habits, about knowing where her
pants or keys were at any given time. So over time and the haze of
Skunk, the naughty boy thought it might be a good idea to steal from
Miss Hannigan.
Miss
Hannigan was carrying two full loads of shopping in her shopping
bags, it was all kinds of everything. She was walking a bit slower
than usual as she’d hurt her leg, in fact she’s borrowed a stick
from Mr Malik who said keep it. She had taught his children and
grandchildren after all. The Skunk user thought this was his chance,
he’d steal her purse, she must be rich she went to the shop every
day, though really it was to keep loneliness at bay. So the Skunk
crept up on her. Miss Hannigan BEHIND YOU, generations of kids would
scream,We Love You Miss Hannigan, LOOK OUT.
The
wind saved Miss Hannigan, she farted you see, Heinz baked beans was
her weakness, they are good for your heart, ask your doctor, even if
he holds his nose as he replied. As she looked around to see if
anybody had heard her let rip, then she spotted and smelt the Skunk.
She had always told the children that a bully must be faced down, so
she stopped and dropped her 2 shopping bags, deliberately , so that
the contents poured out in front of her. Then she screamed as only a
teacher can scream, the Skunk laughed, nobody will hear you, you are
too far away from the shops.
Miss
Hannigan pressed her Fitbit, the Skunk laughed again, that won’t
help you, you old bitch. He’d obviously been to the wrong kind of
school. Little did he know, it was not a Fitbit, Mr Malik’s
grandson was very big in Tech, it was in fact a personal alarm. Miss
Hannigan took a deep breath, looked like she was all alone. Then she
cast off her coat, she was there in her pink woolly jumper. It was a
leaving present, it had WE LOVE YOU MISS HANNIGAN embroidered on it.
The Skunk laughed.
Miss
Hannigan grasped her walking stick, then using the contents of her
shopping bag as ammunition she let rip, she farted first, then she
used Malik’s stick as a hockey stick. FIRE, fire one, fire two,
fire three, fire four, fire five. She had not only been the English
teacher, she also taught HOCKEY. The Skunk was sunk, hen was battered
and clattered with tins of this and that, with potatoes, carrots, a
cabbage and a lettuce, she even hooked a box of free range eggs and
the had a doze yolk on him.
By
now from a distance the cavalry were coming, the cavalry were coming,
generations of children came running, a child will never forget it’s
teachers voice. So they all came running. The Fitbit was connected to
many Iphones too. Mr Malik’s grandson jumped into his Rolls Royce
and floored it. A Council meeting was interrupted too, the Lord Mayor
in all his regalia came running, the number 92 bus which was always
late, just flew. Miss Hannigan was in trouble, they must come, NOW,
just as she used to say to them in school, NOW MEANS NOW.
In
the distance the Police were coming too, no flashing lights, just
clip and clop, but very fast clip and clop. You see Sgt. Dixon was on
horse duty and his phone picked up the FitBit alert, there were three
other officers on horseback too. They were the four horsemen of the
apocalypse as far as the Skunk was concerned. An American tourist
happened to be in the local park and filmed and followed on his
roller skates.
There
was flour in the air, as Miss Hannigan had not stopped firing until
everything she had was launched against her would be attacker. Miss
Hannigan, Miss Hannigan her children all shouted, hoping she was
safe. Malik’s Rolls screamed to a halt. The Lord Mayor arrived,
classroom fulls of people arrived. There was one late arrival, hairy
Amjit the Alsation dog had ran 5 miles, then just leapt teeth first
onto the Stunk.
Four
Police horses arrived and backed the Stunk into a corner, dribbling
spit all over the stunk. The American tourist filmed it all.
The
Stunk was arrested, and as he sat on a bench waiting for a Police van
to take him to jail, the Police Horses had the final say. You see
running always makes a horse want to pooh.So all four poohed on the
Skunk, so everything came up roses. Everybody sung We Love you Miss
Hannigan, over and over again. They were so relieved, they would knit
a new jumper for Miss Hannigan as hers had got a bit battered rather
like the Skunk in all the excitement. Miss Hannigan had never had a
child of her own, but as far as all these generations of children
were concerned, they loved her like a mother.
Hiding
The Fat ©
By
Michael
Casey
I
just looked out the window 30 seconds ago and I was wondering what to
write about, I mean talk about today when I spotted a fat girl
bulging out of her clothes. She may or may not have been pregnant,
you wouldn’t want to ask just in case she was just fat. Now 1/2 my
audience may hate me already, I think half do already, so is that
3/4s hating me now, you can do the Maths for yourselves. That’s the
trouble with words you cannot say anything or the Snowflakes will be
upset. A reality is a reality, so let this big guy through to the
toilets, ok I’m just a fatso, so there to you too.
When
you are fat you tend to try and hide it. I have a big bum, but it’s
behind me, so it’s not a problem for me. But if you are in a scrum
then that might be a totally different situation, as your head is
nearly up my bum as the ball is thrown in. So perhaps you shouldn’t
play rugby with me. And why are rugby players’ balls bigger than
football players’ balls, because they sell more tickets. Or it
could be that they need to buy more shampoo after their heads have
been up each other’s bums in the scrums. Which reminds me there was
a book called The Art of Course Rugby, I read it 50 years ago maybe,
if you can track it down it is very very funny. And no there is no
mention of the best shampoo to use after your head has been up
somebody’s bum in the scrum.
But
enough of my formative years in the 1970s, what about the fat girl
outside? Tight clothes reveal all, cyclists beware, so if you are fat
everything will be on show and cling filmed against your body. If you
are happy then that’s fine. But if you don’t want folks to say,
she’s so fat, even if they say it under their breath then, by
having looser fitting clothes , or a scarf or a shawl you can
disguise yourself. I can feel the anger mounting as I talk to you.
All these methods you big girls know already. And yes if anybody
dares to upset my stick insect girls, I’d throw a hissy fit like in
White Chicks. I might even climb up on desk and get my kit off and
shake my fat hairy ass, that would certainly distract attention away
from their awful evil vile comments about my Princesses, the fruits
of my loins. A dad will do anything to protect his girls, even baring
his fat hairy ass.
Some
girls have big chests, others have padded bras. Some are shy about
their assets, some are not. This is where let it all hang out, or
strap it down or cover it up comes in. It’s up to everybody to
decide, what their style is. Temptation or the Nun look. We all have
personal choice. I am of course the buttoned up look, I used to wear
shirt and tie for years like a member of Status Quo with my jeans
too. All men are bastards as we girls know, so you have to decide
what’s appropriate on where you are going.
As
for myself if I open a button or two all my new regrown chest hair is
exposed. It’s taken 4 years to get back to full growth. You lie on
a bed semi naked and a nurse shaves your chest, and then both legs
from the ankle to your naughty bits, then they cut you open and do an
unplanned quadruple heart bypass. Without the surgery bit in a
different setting it could be called erotic or even kinky, what you
get up to in your own bedrooms is up to you.
So
you can imagine, should I open my shirt and reveal my hairy 46inch
chest, with my bulging belly below, with my pirate, not pilotes,
pirate scar in its full 12 inch glory, with my chest hair adorning it
like Japanese Knotweed, or should I cover myself up like a blushing
virgin. The answer came to me, or rather the gales of laugher, and
one person puking all over my pirate scar. Though that’s how I met
Betty a nurse who led me away to the car wash and told me to clean
myself, then she make me give her dad 2 quid for the use of his
brushes.
But
nevertheless Betty and me became bosom friends, and she has no scars
on hers, she told me, how else would I know? Which brings me back to
the behind. We don’t see it, but it is a most useful thing. If you
wear tight, skin tight clothes you can really drive the boys wild, so
obviously I always wear loose fitting trousers. I’m too old to be
chased down the street, and the last boy that tried to pinch my bum I
threw him into the fountain at Victoria Square Birmingham. You see in
the dark, with my short jacket on all that you notice is my tight
46inch bum, which is too much temptation to some boys. Though when I
spin around and they see my face, and my rugged good looks, they do
get a fright, and some get such a shock they go of and join the
French Foreign Legion.
So
don’t mock me for my looks, I just try and wear the right clothes
at the right time, something for every occasion. My bum is the same
as Donald Trump’s look closely and you will agree, so have pity on
me. If ever I end up in a Finnish Sauna all I can do is try and wear
the right shade of lipstick, and then everything is based on the size
of my personality, because when you lie down naked in the dark, all
you have is your personality and see how that fits.
Belgium
Man, Belgium
As
you know, BELGIUM is the worse curse word on Earth, if you don't
believe me then go and read The Hitchiker's Guide to the Universe, I
can remember hearing it on the Radio, decades ago.
So
why should anybody in Belgium read me, there is the European Union
and Nato headquarters there. So are the Europeans so sick of Brexit
that they read me instead, or is it just a stray journalist,
like a sheep dog escaped and mating with the local Alsatian.
WALOOOOOOOONs they might howl.
Or
is it Jim Mathis asking his old friends at Nato to keep an eye on
Casey, I doubt if I've corrupted more officers higher up the scambled
egg chain. Scrambled egg is the slang for all the rankings marked on
shoulders of uniform. Though one Private did have a waitress dump
food all over him, he was nearly saluted to death by all the
men, as the scrambled egg and tomatoes on his shoulders increased his
rank to General in special services, though obviously not silver
sevices. The private did present his privates to the waitress and
they went and had 13 children and formed an army of their own.
Belgium
Man, BELGIUM
By
Michael Casey
You'll
be in the glass house for a year if you say that again to
Mathis. Though he is retired now
and
has joined a tribute band, singing Johnny Mathis songs, he kept all
his uniforms so he didn't need to change anything. It's all over his
kit. J. Mathis, perfect. He is such a crooner, Bing Crosby would try
and kill him, he'd be so jealous. And we all know how that would end.
There
is chocolate in Belgium too, though nobody sends any to me. You just
sit there in the cafes and by the canal and have your nice beer, very
nice beer, Stella Artois,and you never send any to me, not even a
selfie of the Press Pack, with General Mathis singing like the Rat
Pack.
BELGIUM,
man, BELGIUM
so
send me Stella, either the girl or the Lager, you did read my Michael
Casey Pole Dancer from the other day? Do keep up, I don't mean your
14th Stella Artois in 2 hours, are you journalists or a bunch of
school girls? Let me put my glasses on, why are you all dressed up
like Japanese school girls?
Because
you did not get invited to Osaka with Trump, so you decided to dress
in women's clothing and pretend you were there, while you stayed in
Belgium.
BELGIUM
MAN,BELGIUM
well
I'll finish now, I have to shave my legs and slip into my cocktail
dress and Japanese wig, If you can't beat them, then join them. Or
was that another Beer Commercial?
Scrabble
Vendetta ©
By
Michael
Casey
The
Media Scrum out Saint Patrick’s wasn’t going to go away, in fact
it would grow and grow, the Media would have to take over the
Windmill Pub next door such was the amount of Media attention. Big
Sid the butcher was on the operating table over the road and inside
the church Mrs Murphy one of those whose lives he saved was Praying
at Warp Factor 9. Forget about not mixing matter and antimatter, she
might be inside the church but her soul was at the very gates of
Heaven screaming her supplications, as well as Daughters of the
Rosary the world over.
Outside
hairy Amjit the Alsation was licking the wounds of Jesus on the
cross, this was his prayer begging and pining that Big Sid the
Butcher should live. Mrs Kemp had arrived at the church too. Who are
you the Press demanded to know. I’m the Grandmother of the pregnant
hostage. But you cannot be, Mrs Murphy inside Praying like a Devil is
the grandmother. Said one lazy reporter from the Daily Fuzz, he
certainly was not a hot reporter. SHE is the Irish Grandmother, I am
the English Grandmother, it was MY daughter held hostage, but OUR
grandchild was in danger too, as was OUR unborn grandchild. She then
stamped on his toe with her shoe.
Sky
reporter went live, and the Daily Fuzz was pushed to the back of the
crowd of journalists, it was like a shark feeding frenzy. Mrs Kemp
explained again, and then extreme zoom, what do you think of the Post
Office raiders. The Director had his finger on the bleep button. What
do I think of those men, those excuse for men, they are not even men,
not even little boys. They dare come to our community, and threaten
the Saintly Mrs Murphy, and MY daughter and MY grandchild, and MY
unborn grandchild. Well I think there is only one solution. And what
exactly is that Mrs Kemp, asked Kay Burley from the Sky Studio. I’m
going to feed their balls to my cat, that’s if they have any.
The
Press exploded, Mrs Kemp continued, My Husband is a Freemason I’ll
have you know. I don’t know what he does at his Lodge, but whenever
he makes a Promise he keeps it. My husband has promised me their
balls, so they can hide in Prison but my Husband will deliver. I will
have their balls and feed them top my cat.
The
Press pack exploded. And is there anything else you would like to say
asked Kay from Sky. There are A, asses, B they are beasts, C they are
clowns, D they are dunces, E they are Eejits if I can borrow a word
from the saintly Mrs Murphy, F they are. Kay interrupted just in
case.Then she interviewed the next guest, The World Scrabble
competition was on, and England had lost two from the squad due to
food poisoning, so the French were already gloating.
The
French team captain, was so very smug. Maybe that lady could join the
team as a standin, she at least knows her alphabet. Kay was inwardly
livid, but ever the professional she linked back to the Scrum.
The
French team captain for the world Scrabble championship was wondering
would you like to join England’s team as a late replacement. Mrs
Kemp smiled sweetly, I haven’t played in years, but if England
expects, then I’ll do my duty. The England captain knew he hadn’t
a hope in hell having lost his 2 best players, so he said ok,if the
French did not object to a late replacement.
So
it was all decided. A little light relief after all the dangers in
the Post Office. As Kay finished the interview, the French captain
moaned his interview had been cut short to cover a nothing butcher,
brawn beating brain. Mrs Kemp still had the earpiece provided by Sky,
I’ll have his balls too was his reply. Only Kay at Sky heard
this,but there was something in Mrs Kemp’s voice that made Kay’s
eyes light up with delight. She then rung her friend Peter Bets at
Sky sports. You have to cover the Scrabble Championship live Kay
purred. Why asked Peter? Just Woman’s intuition said Kay smiling.
Now
the French team captain thought Mrs Kemp was just a boring housewife,
the housewife bit was true. But Mrs Kemp had a past, a very large
past, thousands of pages long. No she wasn’t a slapper, but her
past covered thousands and thousands of pages. No she wasn’t a
girlie magazine model either, but the French man’s jaw would drop,
zut alors.
The
day of the Scrabble World Championship arrived, Kay had friends
around for beer and chips. She had looked up Mrs Kemp and her
intuition had been spot on. Mrs Kemp apologised because she’s not
played in years, she was a bit rusty,but she would do her best.Sky
had put the championship on Sky Sport 69, Man U were playing Chelsea,
so all the channels were playing variants of that.Then there was an
act of God, like rain at Trump’s parade on July 4th.The
floodlights were on the blink. So the match was abandoned,all the
local pubs heaved with football supporters.
And
that’s how you got 80,000 football fans rooting for Scrabble. Kay
refused to tell her friends what she knew,Andrew even offeredto
vacuum and do the washing up, but NO. Just watch. Mrs Kemp loosen the
buttons on her blouse, she was a mature woman, but everything was
still in full working order. She loosen another button. The studio
lights were so hot after all. Football supporters in the pubs cheered
and jeered, show us your hits miss they sung.
Then
Mrs Kemp showed the French what she was made of. Short words, long
words, strange words, backward and forwards. Kay smiled, then she
relented,she whispered in Andrew’s ear. Andrew stood up and did a
Flamenco step,this would teach the French. The studio lights were so
very hot, the studio manager was told to dash next door to the
Flaming Pie. He came back with a tray of Stella Artois. Mrs Kemp
knocked hers back in one go. She spilled some on her blouse, she she
stood and took it off. Uproar in all the bars. She was there in all
her glory in a red bra, one her husband had recently given her,
Freemasons are not stupid after all.
Mrs
Kemp looked the French captain in the eye, my attire does not
frighten you does it, you have seen a woman in red before? And on
they played, more words, long and short and extended. Mrs Kemp was
toying with him. The French were like children in a playpen playing
with building blocks with letters on. Mrs Kemp was getting bored, not
enough challenge. So she decided to construct long and strange an
bizarre words. Just for her own intellectual amusement.
Foul
cried the French, she’s cheating, no such word exists. Page 278,
section 1b , subsection 12. In bold.Smiled Mrs Kemp. Dodds Dictionary
1934. The computer scanned and there it was. She must have an
earpiece or some way of cheating stammered the French captain. Mrs
Kemp stood up and removed her bra, shall I remove everything so you
an search me. Then she put her bra back on. It was a Graduate moment.
Beer
was spilt all over the country and everybody phoned a friend and
shouted put Sky 69 on. Mrs Kemp smiled again, he was but a little
boy. The Frenchman cursed her in French. Mrs Kemp replied in the
worse filthiest French imaginable. She spent not one but two years in
Marseilles in her university days. The French captain blushed, in
fact he turned into a Pillar box. The floor manager was sent out for
wine this time, as Mrs Kemp said the French were whining for wine.
Why
don’t we have a bet on the side suggested the French captain. A
crate of the 48 would be nice said Mrs Kemp,she did know her booze
after all. Agreed. Then the French captain tried to rile her, who is
this Big Sid anyway, I love Big Sid is everywhere, is England GAY?
England
stopped, nobody could or should say that. Sky rung the Police to get
a safe escort for the French team once the competition was over. The
studio manager pointed and a video clip was played. CCTV of the Post
Office and Big Sid saving everybody. This is an Englishman said Mrs
Kemp, and he has done his duty.
She
was enraged, she stormed up and down and around and backwards and
forwards the Scrabble board. Some words had not been used is 360
years,God alone, literally knew what they mean.But tonight God was on
Mrs Kemp’s side. For God and England and Big Sid.
The
French were put through the Mangle, and yes for pure spite Mrs Kemp
put mangle down as her last word. Applause all over the country. Then
a lot of shouting, a Frenchman on his Tour de France bike arrived, he
wore a spangled beret and a Tee shirt that read J’adore Big Sid.
It
was Joules the French cultural attache,Mes Excuse, he bowed as low as
a Japanese apology. This man does not represent the French. Of course
you will get your wine too, the 1848 you mean. The 1948 I would not
clean my bicycle with. Mrs Kemp gave him a hug, her bra came off and
he had to hold up his beret to cover her embarrassment.
Then
Mrs Kemp explained Kay and Andrew cheering on, you see my married
name is Mrs Kemp. But I did stuck English and European languages, I
am actually a Dr of Letters, but I never tell anybody in case they
think I’m a medical doctor and want me to look at their bum. Though
the French Scrabble captain had been kicked the bum , metaphorically
speaking, and might perhaps need the attention of a medical doctor.
There
was one other thing, Mrs Kemp was descended from14 Generations of
Dictionary and Encyclopaedia compilers. The French captain didn’t
stand a chance. The French cultural attache now he really was a
gentleman, a very gay gentleman.
What
makes us who we are? ©
By
Michael
Casey
Well
I was going to write Tinnitus and Phlegm but this idea boiled over so
you are getting that instead. Why did I chose “boiled over” well
our kettle broke last night, in fact it could have badly burned one
of us. The handle broke as I was having a late night drink, so
luckily it was me and not one of the girls. So I have ordered a new
kettle to replace it. As my dad used to say, if you buy rubbish you
end up buying twice. I could talk for a page on the subject of
Kettles, but you can do that for yourself. If you find Just a Minute
on the BBC World Service you’ll have fun listening to the folks on
that show, they talk about everything maybe they are my Spiritual
Godparents. Or then again them I am just an unloved Bastard, you’ll
have to decide that for yourselves.
So
what does make us who we are? Well love does play a part, too much or
none at all affects indeed creates our character. I was of course the
5th of 6th children, and the family Pet till a final little sister
arrived. I’ve turned into the chronicaler of events in the family
and otherwise a general writer, marching my words over the page and
invading your minds.
So
what makes me me and you you. Obviously I am much prettier than you,
well apart from on my Passport photo, there I look like a Criminal or
a Jailor or even a Torturer. Ask the guy at Passport control, he
laughed so much, I nearly spanked him with a rolled up copy of
Trump’s book on Humility. It’s a 2 page book, with Trump’s
photo and one line, I’m so Humble, even God asks for my autograph.
But I controlled myself and smiled at the guy at Charles de Gaulle
airport, now that really really scared him.
I’m
going off topic now, but that’s my gift, if you stumble over me,
you soon forget what you were supposed to be doing. So I’m
therapeutic, though some may say I’m just pathetic, but those are
the ones I’ll stop praying for. If you tell somebody you’ll stop
praying for them it does tend to confuse them. Confusion is a gift,
it slows things down and then you get them to do what you want them
to do.
What
other traits do you have? Your smile, those come to bed eyes, though
as you are an Undertaker your come to bed eyes, may mean Eternal
Rest. Not Creation, though Undertakers do tend to be very happy
people, otherwise they’d get Depression with all the sad people
surrounding them on a daily basis. In general a smile breaks the ice,
and can lead to friendship and love. But do make sure you brush those
teeth first. This morning’s Breakfast is not the best view, so
brush those teeth.
Then
there is your hair, do you have it this way or that, or are you a
through the bush kind of person. You haven’t combed your hair in
weeks, there is a reporter on the tv with that look, and no I don’t
mean Peston, somebody else.
First
impressions do count. When you are having that interview, within 15
seconds people have an opinion of you. If you look like a tramp in a
suit, or skirt and blouse, then your chances are blow, just because
you failed to go to the toilet before your interview. Look in the
mirror before the interview. Is your hair tidy, is there breakfast on
your teeth or down your shirt. Is the zip open or closed, you are
looking for a new job, not a Love Island conquest. So keep it closed.
If you are a girl, be professional, don’t have too much on show,
not unless you want a job in a Lap Dancing Club.
There
are many things that make us, our style of clothing, are we a talker
or a listener. He’s just a suit, but no brains. She’s all
cleavage, no brains. Obviously I have a brain, you are all so cruel I
heard the laughter in Lithuanian, and from the Moscow too, you are so
cruel, I’ll put you in a story, you just wait I will. Whatever we
are good at we have to promote it. And we have to balance it with the
situation.
So
when you see me dressed as a woman with my cleavage out, please do
not squeeze my derriere, I’m dressed as a woman for a reason. It’s
free entrance and free drinks all night for us girls. I can see my
Russian readers hurry to the closet, to try and find granma’s
clothes. Free vodka all night is worth dressing up like a Babushka.
Which brings us to character. This is the most important thing of
all. Are you honest or brave, or quick witted?
Can
you react fast? If you work in hotel or a hospital then you can
really be tested at short notice. It does not matter a damn if you
are so so sexy, like me obviously, or if you brain is the size of my
backside, or if your backside is so so tempting, not mine but any
girl’s or boy’s even depending one who is looking. Or if you
speaking 14 languages, or if all you can say is (*^&&^, or
any form of cursing.
What
matters is how you are in a crisis. My Moscow friends no doubt as
they read The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker as they are doing
at the moment, know this.Well imagine they are in drag getting the
free vodka, and then bandits arrive, what would they do? Would they
sneak off like little girls? They are very big girls in drag after
all. What would Ichi, Dizchi and Gregorgi do? Well I’ll let them
tell you for themselves when they get home to Moscow.
Let’s
just say, you never squeeze a Moscow boy’s bum even if he is in
drag. Obviously Ichi, Dischi and Gregorgi will take out the 6 bandits
while still holding a glass of vodka in one hand. They guard the car
park outside the British Embassy in Moscow, and it was the Cultural
attache there who told them about Ben’s Bar Birmingham. And
Cultural Exchange is always a good thing.
So
I hope you have some idea about what makes us all special, and I hope
we can all drink in peace to that.
Who
is this Michael Casey Anyway? ©
By
Michael
Casey
If
you have seen Carry On Up the Khyber from 1968 maybe then you may
understand me better. So find the film on Utube and then come back to
me. My writing has lots of influences and variants all mixed in, as
well as just plain old daftness. Google Ken Dodd and The Two Ronnies,
and Around the Horne and Kenny Everett, Tom Sharpe books too, with
Don Camillo as well. Add salt and shake well and have a few pints of
Stella Artois too and then you’ll begin to understand. Though some
people in my local stores just think it’s that fat fool again, and
ever so glad he’s left the shop again. They don’t want to listen
and don’t know which tangent I’m referring to.
So
I was wondering how do my 60 Nationalities understand me, or tolerate
me, and when they are reading The Butcher The Baker and The
Undertaker in 7 different languages on the same day, or my stuff in
English, what are they thinking? Or do they wish I’d go back to
where I came from and play a round of golf with Donald Trump instead,
instead of polluting their minds in their countries with my rubbish.
Why
I this Michael Casey always wearing women’s clothing, should we
send him an email offering clothes at a discount from Aunty Sally’s
shop in Saudi, or maybe give him a discount from Mighty Mary’s
clothing store in Morroco? Why does he boast that he is a bigger bum
than Trump, or is there a hidden meaning in what he is saying?
Why
is he always looking for a Korean Kpop girl to come and type for him,
is he so poor he cannot afford a speed typist or a legal secretary.
48 hours over 12 weeks to write Tears for a Butcher sequel? Or is he
just addicted to Kdrama, is he some form of TV addict. Should his
mother throw a bucket of ice cold water over him and tell him to Go
Outside this Fine Day and play.
But
instead what does he do? This Michael Casey just removes his clothes
and streaks all around his neighbourhood, frightening the neighbours,
or maybe they just laugh at his lack of accomplishments, and grown
men are jealous or is it worried. How would I know I’m just a
reader, and thank God this is Radio not TV, or I’d have to borrow
that bucket that the ice cold water was thrown from by his mother.
But I’d be puking into it, the sight of his tight fat fair bum
would overwhelm me, I’d just puke. Though I would have to lock up
my daughters of marriageable age, Mad Dogs and Englishmen showing
their bum in the Midday Sun, would turn their heads, and I’d never
want Michael Casey as part of my family. Though I do know a Korean
Kpop girl who might be interested, I’m joking now, it would be like
Beauty and the Beast, which would be an even more improbable Kdrama
in itself.
Improbable
that sums up Michael Casey, think of a number, add the number of
brothers and sisters you have, divide by 4 and add 3 and then you
have the number you first thought of. And if Michael Casey could
remember that puzzle from 50 years ago, then you really would be
impressed. But you are not, because he always disappoints, a bit like
a boyfriend who’s being talking in Metric and like any English girl
you want feet and inches. And I’m talking about the size of his
extension.
This
Michael Casey, and you should all be speaking in a fake Indian accent
like in Carry On Up the Khyber throughout as you read this, this Mr
Michael Casey he leads you this way but takes you that way, rather
like a very bad or drunk dancer. You expect this from him, but you
get that from him, when really you wanted the udder, yes you are so
very thirsty so you wanted a bit of the udder, goats milk is so very
refreshing after all. He misdirects, like a badly trained Policeman,
points this way but sends you up the garden path, where you meet Gill
with a G from StatsMR, who is this Lady anyway? She is a friend of
this Michael Casey, she lays paths and plants roses, she hangs out
with workmen bringing them tea, English tea in cups, not mugs,
because Gill is a Lady. And Roses do grow on You.
Now
wherever you are in the world reading this I hope it gives you an
idea of what to expect. I do also write A to B stories too, which do
go via Z as well, but blame the taxi driver who cannot read, but in
his head he does have 1000 routes. I have 2000+stories down on paper
and more in my head, variety is the spice of life and I hope when you
stumble over me and my stories you decide to come back. I also hope
you approve that I support the little guy and the far from perfect
people, because I do believe that the Person is not the Package their
body is held in. The Laughter and Mind and level of Kindness is what
matter, not how cruel people see them. We all belong where we are,
and there is no going back.
Caught
in the Act ©
By
Michael Casey
I
had an idea for a story last night as I lay in bed, I was thinking of
Trump, no not in that way, you’ll have to sign a non-disclosure
form if you think that weirdly. No I was thinking about his RACISM,
though no Republicans have any honour as they have as yet failed to
call him out. Remember too, all the Birther nonsense, remember too my
kids are ½ Chinese just as Mr Hunt’s over here in the UK are. So
it is just plain WRONG what is going on. Maybe Twitter should ban
him.
Anyway
the story was going to be a Parable where a white arrogant man nearly
gets killed in a road traffic accident, using his Twitter instead of
looking where he was going. Only an old smelly tramp pushes him out
the way, so the tramp dies. The tramp is well known a fixture in the
area. So old Joe is mourned, much much more than the arrogant guy
would be. But the surgeons do their best and the arrogant man is
saved. The surgeon is a Muslim, the nurses are Catholic, and the
assistant surgeon is Jewish, in fact all the faiths patch up the
arrogant man. The cleaners, the janitors have many faiths and none.
They gather at first to pray for old Joe, and they want to curse the
arrogant man, but instead they pray for him, and hope that old Joe
goes straight to Heaven where he’ll always be fed and loved.
Old
Joe arrives in Heaven and thanks the Angels as they wash his feet and
dry it with their hair. Then sweet smelling oils are massaged into
old Joe’s feet. Joe says thank you, and asks the Angels to save the
life of the arrogant man who is now on the operating table, instead
of being dead like Old Joe. Old Joe can only ever say good things
about people, in life and now in death.
So
the Angels look down and see the staff praying, so they say they will
have a word with the Boss. Now the arrogant man is tormented in his
dreams as he lies on the operating table, in fact he has a vision of
Hell. Nobody will mourn him, they brownnosed him while he was alive,
but nobody would visit him in hospital, and there would be a funeral
with nobody crying a single tear. The arrogant man is left to recover
all alone in a side room, nobody cares for him. Just a single Black
Hospital Visitor comes as stands at the food of his bed. Jesus loves
all of us, even me, even you, I will pray that you recover and become
a humble man in Jesus’s own image. Humble and Respectful, full of
love for all your fellow men, the Black, the White and all Colours in
between, for the Straight and the Gay, for every which way. For God
Loves all of us. Then the Black hospital visitor drew a cross on the
forehead of the arrogant man.
The
arrogant man screamed a long and loud scream, as if he was dying in
pain. The surgeons came running. The arrogant man was as scared as a
little boy. He touched me, he touched me he screamed. Who the
surgeons asked, a Black man, he said he was a hospital visitor, the
arrogant man pointed at Jose. Jose was a Latino, Jose pointed at
himself. No standing behind you. They looked behind Jose and there
was nobody, only a life size picture of a Black man, a Black hospital
visitor. It was a picture of San Martin de Porres. Jose had put it on
the wall, as the room was so bare.
Him,
him he was standing over me, he drew a cross on my forehead. The
Muslim surgeon and the Jewish surgeon looked at the Catholic nurses,
and others who had come running in answer to the arrogant man’s
screams. Well it seems not only have you got the best medical
attention on Earth, but also the best in Heaven. And knowing Old Joe
as we do, we are sure he asked San Martin de Porres to try and get
you into Heaven, but first to fix you here on earth.
The
arrogant man was in hospital for weeks, no earthly visitors, just a
Black man who came and talked to him every night. San Martin de
Porres was known for his gentleness. If it had been Padre Pio, maybe
he’d have boxed the arrogant man’s ears just like Don Camillo.
Luckily the arrogant man had San Martin de Porres visit. The arrogant
man became best friends with Jose, the cleaners and the janitors who
passed by his bed. When he left hospital he was a changed man, no
more the arrogant man, but a humble man.
I
set off with one story and I ended up writing this one, the original
one more or less. So God really does work in mysterious ways. And yes
Trump is the arrogant man, so perhaps we should Pray for him, to
Change and become a better man, and a much better President, for God
knows the World deserves better. And I naively hope if just one of my
stories could touch a frozen heart I really wish this could be that
story.
Lech,
Boris and Gregorgi Chase a Thief ©
By
Michael
Casey
Popaloffoff
is the name of Lech, Boris and Gregorgi’s home village, where
Poland, Ukraine and Russia make love on the map. It minds its own
business and likes it when others do the same. It does not matter is
it Polish or Ukrainian or even Russian territory, it’s Popaloffoff
through and through. Everybody knows each other and any of the 3
languages will do. But American dollars are preferred, that is always
best the world over.
The
Priest in Popaloffoff is called Tolstoy, yes really, he always has a
Bible story to tell, it’s up to you the reader to decide which kind
of story you prefer, a Tolstoy epic from the writer, or a Bible story
from Tolstoy the Priest. Tolstoy the Priest always wears rose tinted
glasses, not because he poses like a Pop star, or because the Bible
makes him see things differently. But for a far far tragic reason,
you see Tolstoy only has one eye. There was an accident or should I
say incident, Tolstoy lost his eye when he was a young man, a young
priest sent to Popaloffoff to tend the sheep.
Tolstoy
had and still has a fierce Faith, when the tide was turning in the
War, the Nazi bastards were retreating, the people of Popaloffoff
feared they would come and destroy their church, and their village.
Anything to destroy the Soul of the people. Tolstoy said he’s take
the Holy Icon out of the church and stand at the Pass in the
mountains and pray that the Evil Nazis went away, went back from
where they came from. So in the middle of Winter Tolstoy stood for 15
days holding the Holy Icon aloft. Mary Mother of Popaloffoff protect
us. And so she did, Tolstoy lost two toes and 2 fingers due to
frostbite, but the village was saved from the retreating evil.
Tolstoy put the icon back in a leather bag and was still saying the
Rosary when he heard a motorbike.
A
Nazi SS man had wanted to see what was at the end of the Pass, so he
had taken a motorbike and went alone to see what was what. Tolstoy
spun around, you cannot pass, this town is under the protection of
the Mother Mary, I have her icon here. The Nazi SS man laughed and
drew his dagger. Tolstoy was tired and weak after the 15 days
standing in the snow. So she has her eyes on your nothing village.
YES said a defiant Tolstoy. So if she has her eyes, then you don’t
need yours. Then the Nazi SS man stabbed Tolstoy in his right eye,
leaving his dagger in the socket. Tolstoy screamed, his scream set
off an avalanche, the Nazi was swept from the pass, only his motor
bike remained. Tolstoy’s blood formed a cross in the snow, not an
Iron cross, just a Holy Cross.
Tolstoy
took the motorbike and rode down the mountain to the village, they
were safe, the pass was blocked and the retreating Nazi bastards
would not bother them. The Blacksmith in Popaloffoff removed the
dagger and used a red hot horseshoe to cauterise the wound. He did
make sure the horseshoe was the right way up, so the Priest could say
it was good luck. And that is why Tolstoy wears rose tinted glasses,
so as not to frighten people with his looks.
The
Icon was returned to the village, and left in a place of honour. As
for the Nazi bastard, the wolves had his body for dinner they are not
picky who they dine on. So life went on in the village, minding its
own business, until Tolstoy was crying from his one eye saying that
the Icon was missing. This was over 70 years later, Tolstoy was still
the Priest and though a bit slower, he was still loved so much. Lech,
Boris and Gregorgi came running. Our icon is missing.
Now
let me try to explain, an icon is not photo of your favourite
footballer, or a selfie of a President and a Dictator, though it can
be hard to tell which is which. An Icon is something you treasure,
like a wedding ring, or memories you have of your mother. It has
value thousands or millions of times greater than it’s worth. As a
work of Art and Love and Prayer combined it is in fact Priceless. In
fact some Icons if sold would fetch millions of dollars, and
Professional Criminals use Art of a way of moving money, like Bearers
Bonds.
And
yes Popaloffoff’s icon was Priceless and worth many many millions,
in fact when Andrew Graham Dixon, England’s greatest Art Expert
happened upon Popaloffoff when he was on a hiking and food holiday
with his Italian friend, he cried for 30 mins nonstop. Tolstoy had to
give him a hug and Bless him. Andrew Graham Dixon was so overwhelmed,
when he was allowed to examine it, he wondered about the blood stains
on the back, so Tolstoy explained how he’d lost his eye and some
fingers and toes years before. Andrew Graham Dixon cried even more.
Then his Italian friend shared a recipe with the women of
Popaloffoff, then everybody got blind drunk, if you excuse the
expression.
But
now, but now the Holy Icon of Polaloffoff was missing. There had been
a bus of tourists, who had had visited the day before, but they were
long gone. That’s if it were them, but who else could it have been?
Mother Mary of Popaloffoff Speak to Me, Hear my Voice, Hear my Prayer
said Tolstoy the Priest, tears still streaming from his one good eye,
as he fell to his knees in the middle of the square outside their
church. Bori, Lech and Gregorgi sunk to their knees besides him, soon
the entire village were on their knees praying. Mother Mary of
Popaloffoff was moved, Tolstoy could hear a quiet voice in his head,
I am always with you. Do not cry, an Icon is nothing, compared to my
love.
Tolstoy
shook his head, I know, I know forgive me, but we want you back where
you belong, here in Popaloffoff. Mary smiled, Tolstoy smiled, he’d
bring her back if it was the last thing he did before he died. WE
RIDE said Tolstoy as he got to his feet, Lech, Boris and Gregorgi
wondered what he meant. They followed him, to the shed by the church.
Inside was the Nazi’s motorbike, still in mint condition. There was
no time to argue, Lech and Boris sat on the bike with Gregorgi and
Tolstoy squeezed into the sidecar.
As
they roared off they sent a text message to Andrew Graham Dixon, our
Lady of Popaloffoff STOLEN. That’s all it said but they knew he
would help. In fact Andrew Graham Dixon sent a message to every Art
Collector he knew, nobody could attempt selling it on, and if they
did Andrew Graham Dixon would know and he had friends in Interpol.
This was Sacrilege, then he cried, before having his beans on toast,
with lobster and a Guinness.
The
trio of cousins did not know where they were going, they were just
doing as their old priest told them. When they got to new main road
they stopped. Left or Right? Tolstoy took off his rose tinted
sunglasses and looked to the Heavens. A tiny voice in his head told
him Left, so they went left. The Trio of Cousins wondered what was
going on, but said nothing. On they rode, further and further away
from the village.
They
came across a car with a puncture, so they stopped to help. They had
to be good Samaritans after all. They did not have a jack just a
spare tyre, so Lech, Boris and Gregorgi lifted the car while Tolstoy
helped change the tyre. A family with a baby thanked them, as they
were about to go Tolstoy asked had the baby been baptised. No, was
the reply, so on the spot Tolstoy baptised the baby, with Lech, Boris
and Gregorgi as Godfathers. The family were deeply touched and
shouted God Bless You as they rode away.
See
a Blessing, said Tolstoy. But Fate and Evil always rears its ugly
head, they were running out of petrol. They stopped at the side of
the road, and what appeared coming from the opposite direction. A
gang of Hells Angels. Tolstoy said, God is Good, as the Hells Angels
approached, but he reached into his boot and brought out the dagger
the SS Nazi had put in his eye. He’d kept the dagger all those
years, now maybe he’s need to use it to defend himself.
The
Hells Angels circled and pulled over besides them, Tolstoy took off
his rose tinted sunglasses. Perhaps they’d be impressed by his
scar, they were. One lady on a bike actually puked. Then the leader
of the Hells Angels spoke, Hi I’m Wayne from Fort Worth, we are on
a biking holiday, how can we help. They were tourists on a trip of a
lifetime.
Tolstoy
explained. Son of a Bitch, said the Hells Angels in Unison. Wayne
texted his friend in the FBI, those bastards wouldn’t sell the icon
in USA, or his name wasn’t Wayne Duke Hazzard III. So the Hells
Angels said they’d ride with them part of the way. They had some
extra petrol so they’d all be underway. Tolstoy asked could he ride
pillion with somebody as he was a bit cramped in the sidecar with
Gregorgi. So Tolstoy rode with Mary-Beth.
As
they rode Tolstoy asked, did she enjoy being a Hells Angel, she
replied it was a bit of fun at weekends, as they had no children.
Tolstoy remarked you have the breasts for a great mother, Mary-Beth
laughed but there was sadness too in her laughter. So Tolstoy
silently prayed for her and all the Hells Angels. Further up the road
they went their separate ways. But first Tolstoy Bless all of Them,
may Our Lady of Popaloffoff protect you. He also showed them a photo
of the icon.
Little
did he know, little did the pretend Hells Angels know, what the
future would bring. And on they rode, Tolstoy listening to the quiet
voice in his head which was leading him to the Icon. It was getting
dark, and they would have to stop for the night. But there was no
room at the inn, a Beer Festival was taking place, so everywhere was
booked out. But they were welcome to stop in the hay loft above cows
in the barn.
So
they did, and luckily the cows did not complain about the smell, in
their leathers they’d managed to get very smelly. In the middle of
the night there was a commotion, one of the cows a prize one at that
was having difficulty giving birth. The Inn Keeper came out running
in his night shirt. He was so worried for has Beauty, for that was
the name of his cow. Lech, Boris and Gregorgi knew what to do and
they must hurry. So Tolstoy gave them the Nazi’s dagger and they
cut the cow out, before sewing the cow back up again. Blood
everywhere, but in fact two cows were born, one in fact a bull,
that’s why the mum was having difficulty. When the boys had
finished the vet finally arrived. He was impressed to say the least.
The
Innkeeper was delighted and in the morning made breakfast for all 4
of them, himself. Then Tolstoy said Mass in the carpark for
everybody, and everybody said God Bless, and the cows in all the
fields mooed in unison. Lech, Boris and Gregorgi wondered would they
ever catch the Icon thief, but Tolstoy always said God was Good, and
still the little voice in Tolstoys head encouraged him. In fact the
voice was getting stronger, so Our Lady of Popaloffoff Icon was
getting closer to them.
They
continued along the road, and there was nothing but fields, fields
and fields. Then they noticed a sign, Air Strip this way. They
stopped the bike, in the distance was a small aircraft. Fly, Tolstoy
Fly was what the old priest could hear in his head. So the floored
the motorbike, went as fast as they could go. But it was too late,
the light aircraft was going to take off.
But
then Luck shone on them, the light aircraft turned around, it was
heading towards them, it had been taxiing to the end of the strip.
Now they had a chance. A chance to play chicken. Lech headed straight
for the plane. The pilot thought he was mad, and so he was. You never
steal from Popaloffoff, and never from a church in Popaloffoff, and
Our Lady of Popaloffoff Icon belongs in only one place, Popaloffoff.
Tolstoy
stood up in the sidecar and took the Nazi dagger from his boot, then
he prayed, guide my hand Mary of Popaloffoff. He threw the dagger
into the engine as Lech passed underneath the light aircraft. 70+
years ago the icon had saved village, now he would save the icon.
The
plane stopped, and the engine caught fire, luckily they had a fire
engine at the strip. Unlucky for the pilot and his 2 passengers there
were Police galore hiding. All 3 bad guys were arrested. You see
Andrew Graham Dixon and Wayne had both contacted Interpol and the FBI
immediately. It turned out Art thieves were on a road trip, but now
it was the end of the road, or rather the end of the airstrip for
them.
So
Tolstoy was reunited with his beloved Icon, and several more were
rescued. As for the dagger, Evil had been turned to good. One of the
Policemen knew of a motor bike museum, so the Nazi’s motor bike was
retired too, after it had been turned from Evil to Good. Then Tolstoy
and the boys were given a helicopter ride home with the icon.
Tolstoy
held the Icon of Mary of Popaloffoff aloft and then sunk to his knees
in praise. It was decided to put a laser alarm around the icon, the
strange thing was though that Tolstoy could walk through the laser
without setting it off. Our Lady of Popaloffoff knew he was a friend
after all.
There
was the sound of thunder, coming down the mountain when she comes,
singing ai ai wippy ai ai hey, as she comes. This was 9 months+ later
you see Mary-Beth did have breasts for children. She had twins, and
every other biker chick had had a child too. Mary-Beth liked to ride
a bike, but, well, you know. So Tolstoy baptised all the babies, and
Lech, Boris and Gregorgi suddenly had even more Godchildren. They all
had new leather jackets too, on the back was the image of Our Lady of
Popaloffoff with the Logo “Our Lady of Popaloffoff Angels”
Visitors
Day and Hello Belarus ©
By
Michael
Casey
Visitors
Day and hello Belarus, we had several visitors today, and Belarus
joined my Bemused Visitors Group.
My
daughter’s Fairy Godmother dropped by with a card to remember my
daughter’s Christening so many years ago. So thanks to her.
Then
as I staggered up the hill with some milk today ahead of me was an
old couple, so I walked behind with them as my pacemaker. I was
really impressed. This hill is the steepest of the hills which form
our Little Hillock community, a kind of Rome in the suburbs of
Birmingham if you like.
It
turned out that the man was a Postman so he was a great walker, we
got talking, mainly about how unfit I was compared to them. Then as
we talked I pointed to our house. BUT it was their house, they had
lived there 40 years previously. So obviously I invited them in for a
cup of tea. The lady of the house, nee Rainbow told me what the house
used to look like. And John her Husband wasn’t just a Postman, and
he once has a cat called Jess as in Postman Cat the kids’ animation
series. In fact John was a graphic illustrator and artist. Was God
playing tricks on me, an artist to illustrate my words, my cartoons
made from words.
Sadly
John is far too busy to waste his time on me. He is 75 now. But we
had a great natter for maybe an hour, before I send them on their
way. He is also into Local History, so God really was having a laugh
with me. As they headed for home, just around the corner, I said he
could always come back and paint my garden gate, if he had the time.
Just as I had a future Media and Art student paint my bathroom in the
old house.
I
bumped into a neighbour whom I did not recognise, she’s changed her
glasses and looked like Tom Cruise’s girl in Top Gun. Turns out she
and her husband are data analysts and at the back of my mind I
remember a little guy from work 20+ years ago, so I need to ask did
he used to work for our company on the 4th floor. Now that would be
really spooky. Her daughter was too young to try on any of my
daughter’s old but brand new condition clothes, so I had to bring
them inside before the promised thunder. And yes I bored her too with
details about the spread of my readers in 60 Countries plus, and
sometimes reading 6 or 7 translations in a day. Maybe she’d buy and
ebook, and then regret it, when she could have bought a sausage and
chips instead. On Verra.
My
next door neighbour also paid a visit, her grandson had lost a shoe
and a football over the garden fence. So as I had some teenage girls’
clothes ready to give away, I tried a Chinese style jacket meant for
a girl on this 8 year old boy. It almost fitted, but he didn’t like
the style. I told him there was no shame in dressing up as a woman,
Danny la Rue had made a living from it, besides I wore women’s
clothes at the weekend. The 8 year old did not believe me, but his
grannie chimed in she had to hide her clothes from grandad.
I
retrieved his shoe and football and bent down and said here’s your
slipper Cinderella, and told him this would be his nickname forever
now. Imagine in the future he’s in a pub and his mates are waiting
for him where’s Cinderella, in walks a beautiful girl, no I’m not
Cinderella. Finally the 8 year old arrives, now a huge man like his
granddad. Then he gets the drinks in. Who is the girl, she is Prince
Charming, his wife. Panto Rules OK.
I
also bumped into my neighbour who used to be a neighbour down the old
house, he’s a retired Policeman, 30 years’ service. We nattered,
ok I bored him. He now works at the local golf course. I told him my
current book that I’m writing is The 19th Hole.
So
that was my day.
How
do you write a Story? ©
By
Michael
Casey
I
was just in the kitchen making a coffee after I had an unexpected
Chilli wrap, ruined by cucumber, but I removed those first. It does
remind me of Barry in the DPS office next to the computer room, I
used to tease him 20 years ago and more by saying I’d kiss him. But
he always kept cucumber at hand to keep me away. No neither of us is
Gay, just usual office horse play, Barry by the way is so virile just
one look and you are pregnant. I won’t give you his nickname, you
can imagine it for yourselves, they probably sing it down the Villa.
But
back to the plot, there is no plot, I was just in the kitchen and I
spontaneously thought, where does a story come from, and how could I
explain it? I was putting the milk in my instant coffee, without
sugar, and I thought what if I spilt the milk all over the floor. And
there you have it, that’s how a story can emerge. So I spill the
milk, no use crying over it. But for Totoro our cat, it’s a nice
free lunch, who said there was no such thing as a free lunch. Ok,
it’s a milk shake, all over the kitchen floor.
An
accident can lead to a story, and that leads to a connection. A
memory, a tale or cat’s tail or two. It really is that simple, not
unless you live with your life stuck to a screen watching rubbish as
you walk under a bus, and then sue somebody else when it’s your own
fault. See a second of social commentary as well, I do throw things
in to see if you are paying attention, there will be a 20 question
quiz at the end so sharpen those pencils too.
Going
back to the spilt milk in the kitchen, if we use that as a start to a
story. What happens next? The cat has a drink. The end. Only dullards
will end it there, or 5 year olds. Come on class, I expect better.
You don’t wipe it clean, your girlfriend comes home and slips. She
bangs her head, and dumps you because you never clean up. Or she is
unconscious and a burglar comes in and steals everything, because the
windows and door are all open in the heat. If your house is like that
today remember to lock up.
Or
she falls over and is dead, then the local foxes come in and eat her,
as you have gone off to Blackpool for a Stag do. When you get back,
you are arrested for her murder. The Police think you are a bad, mad
sad monster for eating her too. And all because you spilt milk.
So
that’s one story line. Or your girlfriend is annoyed with you she
gets the milk from the fridge and pours it all over your suits in the
wardrobe. Or takes them downstairs and piles them in a heap in the
kitchen and empties all the food onto your clothes. When you get back
he kills her then slips over and bang his head on the Belfast sink
Murder Suicide a la lait as the French say.
Or
he comes back and laughs, as he gets free samples for his Laudromat
business. Then you have a food fight in the kitchen all over his best
suits, wiping dairy all over each other’s face and then body. Until
finally naked and covered in dairy you lick it off each other’s
bodies. And that is how you finally conceive, a food fight in your
kitchen, then you cry with joy over the spilt milk. You have to
persuade him not to call your future child Totoro.
As
you lay there on the kitchen floor naked and happy and full of joy,
your nosey neighbour walks in. I saw the backdoor open she begins,
you think she’ll be shocked. Then she reveals she was the model in
The Joys of Sex the 1970s bestseller. And of course she’ll babysit
in 9 months’ time.
Now
these are just a few quick ideas from me thinking about spilling my
milk in the kitchen a few minutes ago, no it’s not a metaphor. I’m
sure all of you can expand on these ideas for a bigger and better
story of your own. Just remember to lock the kitchen back door, and
don’t waste too much dairy on the floor, dairy is for eating and
licking off slowly, and if you don’t know how to, I can give
lessons…
Spinning
the Wheel ©
By
Michael Casey
I’m
having a lazy day, well apart from going down the hill to the shops
for toothpaste in our local Pound Shop. Save a penny and it soon
becomes a pound. Smoke too much and it soon becomes throat cancer.
The girl in the Pound Shop sounded like an old woman who’d been
smoking for years, I advised her to save her money in a tin and when
she had 500 to go on a holiday, it’d be better for her. I hope she
follows the advice, I could hear her smoking habit as opposed to
smelling the smoke.
And
what has this got to do with anything? Well life is like spinning the
wheel at a fair, depending on where it lands you get a prize or
nothing at all, a rubbish prize or if you are really lucky a really
nice one. My brother used to say life was a game of roulette, and in
a way he was right, though that’s not totally true either. You can
stack the deck or “cheat”. You can stack the deck by putting a
pound in an old coffee under the sink, so you are not tempted to
spend it. Then when it’s time to go down the pub for a birthday or
the monthly office thing you have extra funds to spend. It’s in the
coffee jar under the sink. You are the Wise Virgin whereas your mates
are the Foolish Virgins.
And
yes I know many Foolish Virgins, I grew up with them in the 1970s and
1980s. Yes it’s fun getting drunk and other stuff I’ll leave to
your imagination, but personally I like my comfort. Also because I’ve
never been much of a drinker, I’d go home and leave the lads carry
on. I had my spending money in cash so when it was gone, spent on
beer for others, then I’d go home. Very self-disciplined I suppose,
or boring, but I’d hear all the stories on the Monday morning.
Life
is choices, do you snog that girl and more, or do you go home and
study for your AAT or your electricians qualification. If you are
lucky, the spark between you and the girl will endure. Or she’ll
test your electrical knowledge as you examine her fuse box or trip
switches. Naked Study is a great idea, writers of course have help
sharpening their pencils, and what they do with the shavings is a big
mystery.
You
can make up your own metaphors for this and that and of course the
other, as you Naked Study with the girl or boy of your choice. Once
you are qualified in many many ways, then you can afford to go out
more and buy more stuff for the flat. However if the study process
has been fun, then you won’t stop till you are both Phds and fully
fledged indoor Nudists.
Professor
John Thomas will today lecture on Electronics, and afterwards he’ll
take a few questions. How did you master such a difficult subject? I
studied in the nude he replies. Everybody laughs, then there is the
sound of footsteps. It’s Professor Mary-Beth Phd in Applied Nuclear
Science. We just got naked and applied ourselves to the subject in
hand. He was only rewarded when he got things right, and she was only
rewarded when she got things right. More laughter.
Then
they hold up their latest book, a joint effort. Study made simple, so
simple even a nudist knows everything. And on the rear cover a photo
of their rears.
So
I spun the wheel and this story came out, I didn’t even have this
idea in my head. Life is not a straight path, and already you ae
making up your own jokes about that. Life is strange, life is full of
fear and hopes and prayers. The Wheel of Life spins, and it’s up to
you how you choose to react to it. Think before you act, and be happy
with the results whatever they are. Failing that study more, there is
nothing worse than a naked mind, apart from a naked man’s hairy
behind.
The
Cat in a Box ©
By
Michael
Casey
Totoro
is a naughty cat, old Mrs Murphy knew that, when his owner passed on
Mrs Murphy inherited the cat, and Totoro never sat on a mat. Totoro
was a Ninja climbing cat who wanted to climb and explore and did
things galore like no other cat before.
Mrs
Murphy would find Totoro asleep and smiling all over the place,
hiding here and there, anywhere it was warm, Totoro was a cat after
all, so she knew where the warm places were. Totoro was also very
nosey too, so she opened every cupboard with her nose and toes, she
even jumped into the fridge when the door was left open too long.
She
was such a naughty cat, but she was so beautiful, and her fur so
soft, and Mrs Murphy loved to have her sit on her lap and watch tv
together. Now Mrs Murphy had a divan bed with drawers in, so Totoro
taught herself to open the drawers and climb inside to sleep, or
climb past the drawer and sleep on the floor under the bed. It was a
nice warm place, apart from when Mrs Murphy farted in her sleep and
her pollution drifted downwards under the bed.
Totoro
loved Mrs Murphy and Mrs Murphy loved Totoro. There was one other
person that loved Mrs Murphy or rather her rings on her fingers, she
had no bells on her nose or is it toes? Jack the local bad boy had
just got out of Winson Green Prison, and he wanted some quick cash
for crack. So as he knew the area he thought Mrs Murphy would be an
easy target, as she had no dog to bite him.
So
he climbed the drainpipe and slide open Mrs Murphy’s bedroom
window. She was easy prey, not a Miss Lump with a baseball bat under
her bed to keep robbers at bay. Mrs Murphy awoke suddenly, Jack the
lad was leaning over her. Things could get out of hand, there was
danger in the air. Indeed there was, Totoro did not being woken up at
night while dreaming of 10 kills of rats in a night, lining them up
in a row on the doorstep, like a good cat does, and in Totoro’s
case he had really done so.
Totoro
sneaked out like a thief from under the bed, Mrs Murphy was scared,
and who was this smelly lad. Mrs Murphy smelt nice, but this lad
smelt bad, and it was too bad for him. Totoro leapt from the darkness
and scratched him on his bare legs, Jack was wearing his cycling
shorts, his bike was his getaway vehicle. But bare legs exposed to a
Ninja cat were such a great target.
Jack
spun around and chased the cat out of the bedroom, Mrs Murphy got out
of bed and put the chair against the door. Totoro led Jack into the
next bedroom and hid in a high cupboard. Totoro thought this was a
good game, Jack cursed and banged open every cupboard in the spare
bedroom. Then he opened the high cupboard and felt about. He got
Totoro by the tail and pulled her out, only it was an old belt from
decades ago. As for Totoro she leapt and slid down Jack’s face,
claws out. It was only a belt but for Totoro there had to be
solidarity with cat’s tails, real and imaginary. So Jack was now a
scar face, as he screamed in pain.
Totoro
raced down the landing, but then stopped at the top of the stairs,
one of her favourite positions in the house with a commanding view,
though at night it was pitch black. Totoro just lay there, waiting
for Jack. Then as he approached she jumped up and scratched his
balls, though breaking into old ladies homes at night any real man
with balls would never do.
Jack
fell down the stairs, so Totoro leapt and landed on face, scratching
as she bounced over him. She raced to the cat flap next, with a
bleeding and very angry Jack after her. He unbolted the back door,
just as lights were going on in Tumbledown Street, Jack’s screams
had woken up the neighbours. Mrs Murphy wisely stayed in her bedroom.
Totoro raced on, a plan in her mind, she turned left and race up the
garden path to number 88, they always had windows open, so Totoro
jumped inside.
In
seconds Totoro’s friends, Tom and Jerry were released through the
door. You see Tom and Jerry were Police dogs that lived with Sgt.
Dick the Policeman, Totoro had led Jack straight to the police. He’d
be back in Winson Green Jail hours, Totoro did take another swipe at
Jack, and that was for waking her up in the middle of a good dream.
Mrs
Murphy was so happy, and Sgt. Dick did say there was a reward for his
capture. So Mrs Murphy spent the money on Ocado and had a little
party for her neighbours. As for Jack he was in a rat infested jail,
he even wished Totoro was there to protect him. And where was Totoro,
she was asleep in a cupboard in the spare room.
Bargains
not Worth having ©
By
Michael
Casey
We
all like a bargain, and you may even like to haggle, but reality and
dreams and outright lies do tend to clash. You’ll love this it’s
great, and you’ll lose weight. So you go around to your mate’s to
look at his bike, he opens the door and points. Then your face drops,
you were expecting a 10 speed mountain bike, and only for a hundred
quid. In reality it’s an exercise bike, all you can say is, “where
are the wheels”. And yes this really did happen. And by the way for
exercise to change your weight you have to exercise as much as an
Olympian. It’s food intake that makes the difference, though
swimming and sex do help vastly.
Ads
online can be very unreliable, just as house sale information is
never to be relied upon. Large should mean you can lie down on the
floor in both directions. So if you cannot lie down and roll over
then a room is NOT large, you should be able to swing a cat in the
space, if you cannot, then it is SMALL. Yes, we did bring our cat
with us to swing when we were house hunting, this raised a few
eyebrows, but just holding Totoro and stroking her tail, was enough
to get folks to confess. It’s SMALL, IT’S SMALL, just don’t
swing your cat. Totoro just smiled, and leapt straight at the home
owner and up the stairs. Totoro was with us for one reason only, to
find and catch any rats, and I don’t just mean the vendors. Armed
with a fully loaded Ninja cat we chose our new home.
If
there were no rats Totoro just lay on her back like a centre fold,
exposing her six nipples. And that is how we chose our new home. Once
you move in you have to test for yourself the size of the rooms, as
you and your girl roll over on the floor in each of the freshly
carpeted rooms. It has to be done, and any carpet fitter worth his
gripper will, tell you that rolling in the deep and any other Adele
song helps flatten the carpet.
You’ll
buy lots of new stuff for your new home, or be gifted stuff. Don’t
accept any rubbish, it’s better to have just one sofa and one
double bed to start with, and then expand as you go along. Friends
are just getting rid of their rubbish, so they can buy new stuff for
themselves, just say no. It’s a bargain, a real leather sofa. Yes,
it’s real and leather and has two shades due to where it was half
positioned in the sun for 10 years. Not to mention the dubious
stains, where their dogs used to pee against it. And the big change
of shade, where your mate’s girl’s waters broke and their baby
was born. Yes a Chesterfield is a great sofa, nearly 3000 new. But 10
years old with all the History and Mystery and smells attached. Just
say no.
If
you buy your food in bulk you can fashion a sofa from tins of beans
in boxes, then throw a cushion on top. Yes it’s not as nice as a
Chesterfield. You eat your way through the boxes of beans, so you
relent. Through you do spray the Chesterfield with two bottles of
room freshener which makes you high. So you cling film wrap the sofa
then throw 2 throws over it. It’s nice now, so nice now that you
invite that girl from up the road over. She brings a couple of
bottles of wine over. And you end up Christening the Chesterfield,
History is repeating itself, but both of you enjoy the repeating, and
repeating and repeating. So much so that in due course, she moves in
and the Chesterfield, needs never cleaner throws all over it.
Finally
her waters break, but at least the Chesterfield is covered in cling
film, and so History repeats itself. Now you have twins to feed, so
you accept anything. Any bargains, and gift horses that come along. A
pram that was in the Ark, though nowadays it’s so retro that it’s
back in fashion, so you paint the metal in none lead paint and have
it ready for the baby. You need a cot but your brother has a really
nice and expensive one.
Only
he lives miles and miles away, and you don’t have a car. But you
have a friend, from Chinese Church, Steve from Steve’s Takeaway, so
he drives you to your brother’s and rams everything into Steve’s
car.
You
unload the car and thank Steve maybe you should have given him a new
baseball cap. Then you have to put the cot together, your girl is 8
months pregnant so only you and her mother can do it. She is from
Shanghai and speaks no English, finally after 90 minutes the cot is
ready. And yes this really did happen, we used the cot for both our
daughters, after both their cousins used it. Then we passed it on to
Chinese friends, who realised even with baby 5 now using it, it
really was a quality cot, and a real bargain.
So
life is strange and you get passed some things which can be good or
bad, or even ugly. Like your sister’s old boyfriend, but to you he
is perfect, you like his fat belly which reminds you of Winnie the
Pooh, or his soft silver hair, and you just adore the sound of his
voice, and you never bore of his tales. If such a woman really exists
please get in touch with this writer. For maybe I am a Bargain Worth
Having!
Lazy
August Day in 2019 ©
By
Michael
Casey
As
I look around the house I can see my big daughter asleep on one of
the sofas, asleep like a pig as we say. Upstairs little sister is
reading Jane Eyre, she’s decided to use the Summer Holidays as
Study Boot Camp, as well as doing some stretch exercises as she wants
to be as tall as her taller big sister. I’m just happy to be as I
am, so long as various pains stay away more frequently.
Totoro
the cat materialises like mist on the kitchen window, as a sign she
wants to be let in. If the bathroom window is open she’ll let
herself in, otherwise it’s up to us to let her in. Then she
scratches the kitchen chairs, a scratching post isn’t as much fun,
you have to chase her before she’s had enough fun and stops. Only
to jump on the bulk buy of cat food, like a mountain climber, trying
to scrounge our food before settling for 2nd best, cat food.
These
are normal ordinary events in our house, in every home. I put my coat
on and head for the front door, Totoro wants to come too, she’s
come in the back and been fed now she wants to go out again. A cat
controls you, not the other way around. So Totoro scratches at the
front door and jumps out and then up onto the garden wall, this is
her spot, on the wall, like a lion decorating a fountain.
I
go down the hill fast to the store, it’s going back up which is the
hard bit. The boss of the store is wearing shorts, summer uniform, I
nod hello to him before I dive in looking for all the bargains.
ACNielsen once divided shoppers into types, I am very much the
Bargain Man, my old company was in fact bought up by ACNielsen, so
hello to any in Headington who may remember me before my Writing
Epiphany, yes it’s really me, Steve Jones if you remember me.
In
store the yogurts are on offer, as is the Robinsons, so my bargain
hunting greed is assuaged. I get my usual bottle of milk, so now I’m
ready to go. To face the climb back up K2, but the weight of the shop
bears down on me, despite spreading the load in two bags, otherwise
my chest will pain me for days. Four years on and I still have to be
very careful with using my upper body, you can make up your own jokes
about using my lower body.
On
the way out I stop to ask the boss does he shave his legs, which are
on display, and advise him that Immac is so much better. And no he
hasn’t banned me from his shop, not yet. Then I stride forward
wishing we had an escalator up the hill. I use a young couple with a
child in push chair as pacemakers, at least I don’t have a
Pacemaker myself yet, just quadruple heart bypass.
I
stop to rest and breath like a stalker 1/3 of the way up the hill,
then I forge forward, and stop again at my usual base camp place.
Another couple come down with a baby in a pushchair, I joke that the
escalator is being installed next week, they laugh, or maybe they
were humouring the Santa look alike with his beard shaved for the
Summer, I am all in red after all.
I
stagger on around the corner to our street, then I rest at base camp
the final one, the owner gave me permission to use his wall, he
smiled like an Osmond brother when he said it was ok. Maybe he just
did not want to give CPR to an 18stone Santa look alike, but thanks
anyway.
Now
I’m on the final stretch, 2 litres of milk and 2 litres of dilute
plus a few other things is heavy after all. Totoro jumps out to greet
me, it’s begun to rain she wants in again, the front door will do,
thank you very much. So I unload the door and take my street shoes
off, then bring the shopping through the house to the kitchen. My big
daughter is still asleep like a pig, and Jane Eyre is still being
read upstairs, so Totoro goes upstairs to listen. Totoro did do
English Lit at Cat On a Hot Tin Roof School, what else do you think
cat’s do at night with all that screaming. They are reading Jane
Eyre.
Dear
Donald Letter ©
By
Michael Casey
12th
Aug 2019
Dear
Donald,
I
know this must be an unexpected honour for you, to get a letter from
Birmingham. I know they must all hate you down there, but I’m in
Birmingham England, and we pronounce it BERMINGUM. We also spell
correctly, we use OUR not OR, so it’s an honour for you to get a
letter from Birmingham.
Now
if you are wondering who I am, just shout up the stairs and ask
Barron your youngest son. I’m sure he’s found my website by now,
under “surreal stupid stuff from England, to the right of USA”
that’s Geographically to the Right, none of your Political stuff,
just so you know. We heard Geography wasn’t one of your strong
points.
I
have your Grades in front of me, they were stacked in a shoebox next
to the furnace for quick disposal, but you kept them for sentimental
reasons, and you plan to force your teachers to regrade them or
you’ll stop their Pensions and have their medals withdrawn. However
my dad used to work next to a Furnace at the District Iron and Steel
Brasshouse Lane Smethwick, so I managed to get hold of the shoebox. I
swopped it for some Cadburys’ Fruit and Nut, the chocolate factory
is just up the road. I also gave them 2 bags of Pork Scratchings.
So
pardon me while I laugh at your grades, they should have been stored
under Fiction. My own brother did Economics, but that was at
Cambridge, the one here in England, not in Mass. On the subject of
Laugher, I write Humour, which is Comedy but with less frequent
laughs, but when they come they are worth the wait.
You’ll
have to forgive me a minute while I slap on the Movelat, no Donald
it’s not some kinky foreplay. Its Movelat a painkiller gel I use
for my arthritis. Though I could slap your bare legs with a wet
lettuce, if you don’t behave, as Larry Grayson used to do with Pop
it In Pete his Postman, I bet you feel you’re drinking now. It’s
just the British Humour, ring John Cleese if you are confused. He was
at Downing Cambridge too just like my brother, is your intellectual
ego battered now, never mind. God will pray for you.
I
did like Melania’s new frock, when she gets bored with it she can
send it to England in the Diplomatic bag, Megan Markle has a charity
where old frocks are given to people so they can look good at
interviews . Maybe Melania’s old frock can help somebody become a
classroom assistant.
I
noticed too that you are having a new wall around the White House,
you should be knocking down walls and building bridges, especially
the state the infrastructure is. I’m sure the preacher and sons of
preachers will all tell you this, or Dusty Springfield, you may have
met her in the past. Tom Jones sung with everybody, you have played
golf with everybody.
Me
I used to play golf in Abegele Wales with my brother, nowadays my old
neighbour who was a policeman for 30 years he is now a groundsman at
a golf course here in Birmingham. So if ever you come to Birmingham,
the one in England then if I have a word maybe my groundsman friend
he can get you a round on the golf course, though you may have to get
up early to squeeze you in. But the green fee will be half price if
you play around early.
Walking
around might be too much for me, so I’ll wait in the chip shop, so
we can get the first frying of chips and saveloy, they’ll be piping
hot for when you finish your round of golf. I’ve got Trevor the
local vicar to pair with you, he’d the only person I know who gets
up so early. He cheats all the time, and curses like a Furnaceman,
well because he used to be a furnaceman. He nearly got burned to
death, but somehow he survived, so he said he’d become a Priest.
God works in mysterious ways. But one warning, if you take the Lord’s
name in vain he’ll slap the back of your legs with wet lettuce.
He’s a very big Larry Grayson fan, so be warned.
I
have bought a fresh box of Tetley tea ready for when you come and
visit my home. I know you are all Americans but I’m not sharing my
Kenco Instant Coffee with anybody, I should cocoa. So suffer tea and
be done with it, you didn’t moan when the Queen gave you Tetley tea
did you? I don’t have a teapot so a bag in your mug will have to
do, I don’t have teacups either. I do have 20 litres of fresh
Warley Woods Vodka, Lech, Boris and Gregorgi left it, so I’ll be
using that in place of sugar. I’m sure the boys in the Secret
Service will appreciate that.
I’ll
finish now as I have to go to bed with Taylor Swift, Mylie Cyrus,
Katie Perry, and Will Young. Yes it’s a very big bed, but I have
Tinnitus so their voices are not my vices. Singing drowns out the
hiss, till sleep finally gets me. So good night Donald and will you
review my 19th book? It will be called The 19th Hole and I should be
finished by Christmas 2019 or maybe a bit later. Please don’t cut
Barron’s 10 dollars a week pocket money as a punishment for reading
my websites, he’s just a very tall teenager. Who knows one day he
may become a Priest, God works in mysterious ways after all.
Lech,
Boris and Gregorgi Check it Out ©
By
Michael
Casey
So
your small girl is a big girl now, leaving home to go to University.
I nodded trying to hold back the tears, the boys understood and put
protective arms on my shoulder. She’ll miss Totoro the cat no
doubt, but her little sister will send updates on the cat’s
progress to her studying bigger sister. She may even miss her old
dad, the fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham England.
I began to sniffle, but the boys understood, they were Popaloffoff’s
finest, they visited me often just to see how Totoro the cat was, or
so they claimed. But now the family was scattering, they knew what
they had to do and do it they would.
The
boys left me as I looked through the photo albums of my treasure soon
to be far away in a different part of the country and I wouldn’t be
there to protect her. Lech, Boris and Gregorgi went to the still
hidden in the woods, the Vodka wouldn’t be ready for 3 more days.
More than enough time to check out my daughter’s new home and
University.
As
they drove their tanker down the motorway they phoned home, their
wives all agreed, they had to do what they had to do. And if only
they hadn’t been so spontaneously the wives could have prepared a
gift. The Butcher’s Choice, a step by step guide on how to butcher
pigs along with a lethal knife. They did not expect my daughter to
become a Home Butcher and chef like them, however it also taught
knife skills that a single girl might need in a hurry, and I don’t
mean when an unexpected dinner party arrives.
When
they arrived at the University town the boys sat on a bench next to a
drunk, so they asked the drunk all about the city in exchange for a
tiny bottle of their fresh vodka. So that’s how they got the low
down on the city, ask a tramp, they know everything. So first of all
they went to the local Gay bar, and had a pint of Guinness each, by
way of a change. The clients all thought Christmas had come early, or
the were a Strip Act. Lech, Boris and Gregorgi laughed, we’ve done
that before but only at a car showroom, the memories made them smile.
Sorry but certain things are only for our wives eyes only.
They
explained that their friend, the fat silver haired writer in shades
from Birmingham England had a pussy called Totoro, and that his
daughter only got a cat 4 years ago as he promised her and her little
sister a pet if he had a heart attack, or they could have a dog if he
died. And now she was going to their city to Study. Is she Gay asked
the clients? We don’t think so, it’s not something you ask
somebody, of course she not, here’s her photo, so the boys showed
my daughter’s photo. A few sighs went up, they were quickly
silenced as the boys gave them a look. You see if she comes here
she’ll be safe from BASTARDS, explained the boys.
They
had another Guinness each, this time on the house. In exchange they
handed out a Holy Picture of the Icon of Mary of Popaloffoff. If you
put that in the window, she’ll know she’s safe here, the owners
of the club promised they would, wiping away tears as they did so.
The boys left the Jester, they were no fools, they had found the 1st
place of safety for my daughter. They did take the boys’ photo too
and would place that next to the Holy Picture. Faith and Brawn,
nobody would ever dare to even think of playing games there, a new
symbiotic relationship.
They
went around town to sandwich bars, and coffee shops explaining the
situation, at each place they handed out the Holy Picture of the Holy
Icon of Mary Popaloffoff. Each place took their photo too and would
display it next to the Holy Picture, something was happening, Mary of
Popaloffoff was doing her bit but they were doing theirs too. The
boys saw themselves just as cuddly Slav Bears, from where Russia,
Ukraine and Poland make love on the Map. But to a University town in
England, they were strong men from the Circus. One so strong, one so
tall, one so very wide, not the kind of men you see in the back
streets of a small university two.
They
were hungry now, so they went to Greggs only the machinery had broken
and they may have to throw the food away. If we fix it, can we have
free food? So a deal was done. In the East, you have to fix things, 2
metres of snow, who’s going to come and fix your plant, Father
Christmas? So in one hour they fixed it. The staff were mightily
impressed as were the queue of people who were all dying for what
only Greggs can supply. Our Lady of Popaloffoff and the boys own
photo was soon installed by the door.
This
had not been their plan, they just wanted to make sure my daughter
would be safe. Now over 200 Holy Pictures of Our Lady of Popaloffoff
Icon were everywhere. There was a man walking with his nose in a
book, he walk straight into them, spilling hundreds of Our Lady of
Popaloffoff Holy Pictures everywhere. He bent down to pick them up,
then he began to cry. It was Andrew Graham Dixon the greatest Art
Critic in England, and friend of Popaloffoff, the boys each gave him
a bear hug and kiss on the lips, like old friends do in the East.
Andrew Graham Dixon took a copy of my daughter’s photo, phone to
phone transfer and said his Italian friend had a restaurant in the
town, so should she want a job he was sure he could persuade his
friend.
So
the lads were pleased, but now the most dangerous part was to be
done. The drunk had told them about the bad side of town, so now they
must confront it. They banged on the door and waited, 3 large men
with Rotts appeared, the 3 men laughed at them. You are those
bleeding poofs we saw in the street picking up all those rubbish
leaflets up, and then kissing that bloke on the lips, bleeding poofs,
just get lost or I’ll set the Rottweilers on you.
Now
you never ever ever speak to a man from Popaloffoff like that, or to
anybody, straight or gay or any which way. And to say that a Holy
Picture of Our Lady of Popaloffoff Icon was rubbish, was just too
much. Lech looked at Boris and Boris looked at Gregorgi. They cursed
the bad men with the worst word you can use in the East. NAZIS. After
that the Rottweilers attacked, but punch on the nose had all 3 run
away like puppy dogs. NAZIS Lech, Boris and Gregorgi again screamed.
In seconds those 3 hard men were no longer hard men, they were very
scared men.
All
were going to ask, was that you turn this girl away if she comes to
your club your place by accident, tell her to go home and put her in
Mr George’s taxi, he is a nice man we met him today. But to say the
Icon of Popaloffoff is rubbish, and then to set the dogs on us. That
is to much. Being called Gay does not matter, one day one of our sons
may say he is gay, or one of our daughters may say she is Lesbian. WE
WOULD STILL LOVE THEM AS THAT IS OUR JOB TO LOVE THEM ALWAYS WHATEVER
THEY ARE. We are from the East and we love our Motherlands just as we
love our own mothers and daughters. With that Lech, Boris and
Gregorgi spat in the Nazis faces.
Then
there were Police everywhere, they had been watching the club, and
knew a knew loads more drugs must be there with 3 Rottweilers to
guard everything. Lech, Boris and Gregorgi had speeded up the
process. In fact there was a reward, but they insisted it went to the
Drugs Rehabilitation Centre.
So
that is how the boys spent their day. And yes the Chief
Superintendent himself kissed the boys of the lips, much to the shock
of the PCs, but he had a Russian wife, so he knew about the Culture
of the East. There was one other thing to mention, inside the Holy
Pictures was a tiny chip, and they would give my daughter an App, it
would show her all the Safe Places, and guide her safely home,
whatever the darkness.
What
Kind Of Words Work? ©
By
Michael
Casey
I’m
very happy that Japan and Korea are passing by, I still live in Hope
that I get international exposure and finally make a few quid for my
daughters’ Future. I have my own dream too, but you’ve heard
about that already, so I won’t repeat myself tonight, though it
does involve a speed typist to write my follow up novel as I sit and
dictate it.
It’s
hard to know where to pitch my words, in the end I have to please
myself and hope my readers enjoy what hits the page. Judging from the
websites the words do hit the spot all over the world, so a sincere
thank you to each and every one of you.
Now
if you are talking to Grannie you don’t want to shock her or with
her heart she’ll keel over and die. Or she may just reach for the
hockey stick and beat the living daylights out of you, depending on
what kind of Grannie you have. If you give her a bottle of good vodka
that you’ve bought from Lech,Boris and Gregorgi then she’ll give
you a toothless kiss and hold you tight as your friends laugh their
socks off. You have to choose your words, so that they are kind
words, and nice and gentle words, then she’ll lend you 1000 dollars
or roubles or RMB or whatever kind of money you use. Then you can buy
a 2nd
hand Skoda and then you are mobile, and you then have the back seat
of the Skoda to make out in. Alexi being conceived on that very back
seat, I should confess our first car was a Skoda Fabia, I’ll say no
more than that.
Conversely
your Grannie may just say Cut the C*** and Tell the Truth and Shame
the Devil, and I’ll not hit you, today. My own mother used to say
similar things. Remember too my mother was as strong as a horse, a
blacksmith told her that once. In fact my dad said that when my
mother died, he was that blacksmith. So you have to pick and chose
your words to make them sound right, and suit the right audience.
If
I’m talking to Korea obviously I’ll mention Kpop, because it is a
very big thing, and I have watched several Kdramas, which I like so
much, and yes as a man I like Korean girls, my wife was from the
Shanghai after all, so my emotions look East. I also have had
Japanese readers, and as a group both countries excel at what they
do, so I hope eventually somebody over there uses my comic writing to
help teach English with a Smile.
You
also have to be respectful of their Culture and not ask for Fish and
Chips, and compare negatively with their Culture. Tact in a Word.
Though I should say with me What you See is What you Get. And I can
see some readers smirking right now, so much to see he must be
250pounds at least. Yes I am but it’s mainly tight fat and not too
much Sumo size fat, if I can say that in a complimentary way.
So
words are like advertising, you have to use pretty words or strong
words as the occasion merits. An undertaker won’t say Bring Your
Own Shovel to save money, though if you read The Butcher The Baker
and The Undertaker there is a sequence in it, which does use those
words in a Black Humour way, black humour is dark humour, not Eddie
Murphy humour, it has a different meaning. This is another thing I
realise when I write, the Translations will/may miss some of the
shades of meaning, because I’ve used a computer. If the miracle
happens and I get my Word Domination, which is a pun on World
Domination, then the translations will be better. Though I don’t
over think anything I write, because I just write and I’m very
fast.
I’ve
just looked at the clock besides me and that reminded me that Words
are Time Sensitive. They expire and have a best before date, just
like supermarket food. A word today won’t work forever. One day
Trump will be forgotten and he’ll be dust, Ashes to Ashes and Dust
o Dust, If God won’t have you the Devil Must. Say Trump and nobody
will know anything about him, the sooner that day comes the better,
say most of the world.
Now
because of what I said in the last paragraph 1/4 of USA now hate me,
lets hope the other 3/4s get off the couch and vote. I could go on
with more words about Politics,remember I’ve been watching it for
50 years now, yes really, I really am that old. However I hope I’ve
given you a taster of the power of words, maybe you prefer just
Stories, I just want my readers to smile and laugh and think too,
think for yourselves, set up your own websites and have 10,000s of
readers like me in over 60 Countries. But most of all I want you all
to be happy and pain free, and maybe make a few quid. Or find your
own speed typist and dictate your final book, and die happy and
content with a smile on your face, and those are my final words, for
tonight.
God’s
Betting Shop ©
By
Michael
Casey
God
walks amongst us, he is with us and for us, and against nobody, he
does not give us riches here on Earth, he is not is one Faith, he is
many and all Faiths and none at all. He does not help people become
super rich, and despise the Leper, in fact he prefers the Lepers of
Society, Society Matters to him, it his cuddly little teddy bear.
So
a Betting Shop is indeed where God hangs out, he’s up the corner
sweeping up the betting slips, he is the kid banging the thieving
fixed odds machines that steal our money. In the old days the
Gambling Shops used to boast, this establishment is air conditioned
for your comfort. SMOKING was still allowed in them, gut wrenching
smoke was everywhere, little wonder I for one never entered such a
place. I think I did once to put a bet on the Grand National for my
dad, it felt like going into a STD clinic or Brothel, I did not want
to be spotted entering or leaving.
The
irony is decades later I became a Trainee betting Shop Manager, one
shop had a locked fire door from the outside, my life, the punters
lives were not worth one month’s salary, about £1000, though there
I earned much less. So what about God as he watches our despair as we
pull our hair, know we shouldn’t be there. The Angels and the
Saints are all crowded in around him watching those who have lost
their way.
There
is some Joy and Hope, and friends meet to place a bet then grab a
pint of poison, or a real drink, before the wife kicks up a stink,
you were supposed to buy Hush Puppies in the sale for the kids before
school resumed after the Summer Hols. Instead you put money on a
horse called Rose, because your wife’s religious calendar said it
was Saint Rose of Lima’s saint’s day. Now you have lost
everything, so she will strangle you with her Rosary beads.
Rose
of Lima, looks and says God will you Bless Him, for sake of his
children’s shoes. God says nothing, the man leaves and stumbles his
way home. He helps an old lady carry her heavy bags to the bus stop.
He even helps her on the no.11 bus by Saint Mary’s, as she gets on
she drops an envelope full of cash. She does not notice, salvation is
before him in the gutter. The man is tempted, but he bangs on the
side of the bus and hands the old lady her money. God Will Bless You,
she says her piercing blue eyes look directly into his.
The
man gets home and his wife kisses him tenderly. But,but, but he does
not understand. In the living room there are packages galore. It’s
like Christmas. Where did these come from? Your friend the old lady
came by hours ago with her daughter Rose, they brought everything,
they said you did them a big favour, they brought all this. His wife
described the old lady. It was the one he helped only a few minutes
ago. The man’s head swum. He could not understand.
As
he ate his dinner, his children, were so happy, the man was confused.
The old lady said you had saved her son Martin years ago, the man’s
head swum, what was going on. Many years ago he’d saved somebody’s
life by putting his fingers in the stab wounds to stop him bleeding
to death. But he’d never met the old woman till today, a few
minutes ago, what was going on what was going on.
After
dinner his wife handed him an envelope, it was the very same one he’d
returned to the old lady when she had dropped it. There was £5000 in
it, plus a note. All you need is love, and you have such a beautiful
family. Today we have placed a bet on your Future. Martin is my “son”
just as your are, he has been praying for you every day of his life,
he has been made Bishop today, and he is still praying for you.
In
the Betting shop, the old lady dropped an envelope the exact same one
the man had, but now it appeared to hold nothing but a Rosary made of
string and knots. Nobody noticed, all except God, Mum I can refuse
you nothing, the Prayers you say Tomorrow will have helped Yesterday.
I know Son, but it is Rose of Lima’s feast day and I did not want
the man’s children to go barefoot.
Must
do my Homework ©
By
Michael
Casey
When
we are kids we have homework, I did not know what to write today, and
as I pondered whether or not to add another piece to the thousands,
yes thousands, it stuck me I could write about homework. Are you
still doing homework? Or have you passed that age? My small daughter
starts her Exam year next week, while her big sister goes off to
University with just my story Lech, Boris and Gregorgi Check it Out
for company. So can you remember doing homework.
My
brother had left home and I was in the homework room, the Middle Room
all alone for my Exam year, just as my small daughter is. So there
are parallels between us. I never used to do homework on Friday as it
was the end of the week, then Saturday was for rugby, so Sunday would
come, and that meant being an altar boy and then hitting the books.
I
would have done even better if only I’d hit the books more, a
little bit often is the trick. Same for dieting and sex, though a
diet of sex might be tiring and put you off hitting the books. You
have to be self disciplined, but the phone down, put the video games
away. In my days we rejoiced when Channel 4 arrived, we only had 4 tv
stations when I was at grammar school, so the number of distractions
were far less. We didn’t even have a telephone in the house when I
grew up, and mobiles had not even been thought of.
So
you sit down in front of your desk and start studying. We had a
family day out to pick a desk for my brother to study at when he
passed the 11plus, 6 years behind the eldest brother. So I the
smallest of the Casey brothers inherited that desk. 4 brothers and 2
sisters plus a cat and a dog and a house full of lodgers, not
forgetting mum and dad. We were encouraged to study hard, do what you
like but do your best, Oxford and Cambridge were reached, and my
sister became a teacher.
Latin
of course was the hardest subject, do 40 mins was the command by Mr
Procter the Latin and Careers teacher. Join the army SPQR and invade
Gaul, and give Asterix a good slap, I seem to remember him saying,
after he tortured us with the Ablative Absolute. It took the 2nd hour
of double Latin before one of the future Doctors worked it out, was
in Prasad? The Greeks tired by the war, went home to watch the
football on Match of the Day. And yes you had to do double the 40mins
so you could present enough to the Latin teacher, dancing would have
been so much more easier.
You’d
go to the kitchen for a well deserved drink and a doss before
returning to the homework room. You’d stroke the dog before going
back to do Physics. For Physics we had a great teacher so I actually
enjoyed and passed it. Though once we were doing something about
pressure, and why boots had studs on. There were 5 questions but I
didn’t think and put the same answer down each time. Studs are for
grip, but if you have a flat surface there is no grip into the
playing field. Something from 45 years ago, I’ve learnt from my
mistake.
Then
mum would scream come for the dinner, always chops and potatoes and
some vegs, the veg I never seemed to eat. I did drink all the milk in
the house, so I was sent down the road to get more. We didn’t
always have a fridge, so our Minton tiles were our cold store, 4
bottles of Children’s milk,and2 bottle of Tea milk every day. I
think dad took some Tea milk in a bottle to work because by the
Furnace anything else would curdle.
Back
in the middle room, the homework room you just had to learn 20 words
and phrases for the morning’s French test, Mr Notzing was probably
the greatest teacher ever, though at the time we had other ideas.So I
paced backwards and forwards plucking my eyebrows. After 30 mins I
knew the French but had no eyebrows. So my sister painted some on for
me and nobody noticed. I got full marks in the vocab test too. The
2nd day the lads noticed,but as I was the biggest person there nobody
dared tease me. It was a Chemistry experiment I said, a few weeks
later a man on the school route actually gave me a Chemistry set.
Bringing
Out the Tramp in You ©
By
Michael
Casey
Gertrude
was a big bubbly girl, maybe a bit too loud, some thought she was a
bit of a tramp. Her dad David hoped and prayed she was not, being a
Single Dad was hard, he was lucky he could work the hours he wanted,
and then raise his daughter single handedly. You see Penny his wife
had been killed when a dustcart had backed into her and she fell
inside and was compacted. He was crushed by what happened, but spent
the compensation on a brand new taxi, so he could support their
beautiful daughter Gertrude. Obviously he spoilt her, and she grew
fatter, or big and bubbly as girls say.
So
David worked the hours around Gertrude’s school times, but now
Gertrude was all grown up, too grown up judging by her dress size,
but how could a Single Dad refuse his daughter? At least she was
always safe when it was time to come home from a late night, David
was always there with his taxi to bring her safely home. So Gertrude
gained friends because there was a safe taxi to take them home.
Behind
her back her friends could sometimes be cruel, and call her a
slapper, because she always kissed any boy. But she did stop there,
before any hands strayed too far. She had promised her dad, in front
of the urn or her mum’s compacted ashes that she’d save herself
for the one that would make her dead mum proud. So she wasn’t
really a slapper after all.
One
night they were up Broad Street the 6 of them, and they ran to get in
the Night Club before it was full, a Love Island winner was there, so
the place was heaving, while the Love island girl pocketed £10,000
appearance money for one night’s “work”. Gertrude slipped and
broke her shoe, she would have fallen into the gutter and been
looking at stars, only a strong but smelly hand grabbed her. It was
Sam, the future love of her life, and winner of her heart and
everything else.
The
problem was that Sam was a tramp, and Gertrude was about to scream
for the bouncers to rescue her when she noticed his eyes. His eyes
were pure hazel, and despite the smell it was his eyes that
overpowered her. In that one second, Cupid had shot his arrow.
Gertrude said thanks, and reached into her purse and sprayed him. It
was that new spray to spray your pooh recently advertised on tv. But
Sam really did smell so bad, so he needed it. Sam just smiled his
thanks, Cupid didn’t shoot any arrows, but Saint Valentine did.
Gertrude
went into the Night Club, all the bouncers knew her, they knew David
her dad the taxi man after all. Gertrude went around collecting
kisses, it was the weekend after all. But nobody would get her
treasure, she had promised her dad in front of her mum’s compacted
ashes after all. That tramp was on her mind, why she did not know,
but Cupid and Valentine did, Sam may be in the gutter but with the
love of a good woman he could reach for the stars and fly amongst
them.
So
Gertrude hatched a plan. A kiss for an item of clothing. First a pair
of flashy shoes. Gertrude was going to do this all on her own,but her
friends had seen a few tasty men. So after a bit of snogging,
Gertrude had gathered a complete change of clothes for Sam. Once she
was in Guildford and it was too hot so she had gone into Zara and
bought a complete change of clothes. But that cost money, now 2nd
hand and still warm clothes just cost a kiss. They were getting the
clothes off the boys, it was fun, they did it on Love Island, so why
not do it on Broad Street Birmingham England, though now the clothes
would go to Sam.
They
say that clothes maketh the man, and Sam was all man. Once all the
clothes were collected Gertrude went outside and told Sam to strip.
If you are in the gutter and 6 girls command you to take your clothes
of what would you do. Sam obeyed. The girls blocking a shop doorway
to give him some privacy, from everybody but them. Sam pulled all his
jumpers and trousers off, to reveal a very strong body. But then all
6 screamed, he had a very nasty scar all along his back. He’d been
stabbed in the past, only Heartlands Hospital had saved him. At that
moment Gertrude’s defences came tumbling down, she just had to love
him, to mother him. The scar man was her man, her womb tingled, this
was the one. Then Sam was sprayed by all 6 girls with every potion
they had. Only then was he given the clothes, they weren’t rubbish
clothes either. If the boys in the club wanted the best snog ever
they would have to donate their very best clothes.
Then
they told Sam to hold out his hand and all six of them spat in his
hand, he was told to rub it into his hair. In a flash Doreen leapt
forward and gave him a haircut and beard trim, she was a master
hairdresser, people begged to have her do their wedding hair, now in
a doorway off Broad Street, a tramp was being transformed into a
Prince. When Doreen had finished they all stepped back to see the
transformation, ---- me, they all said instinctively, the kind of
language ladies should never use. But Cupid and Valentine had been
working overtime, with a little help from Doreen and the clothes
stolen with kisses.
Then
Sam went into the night club, the Love Island winner was so jealous,
Gertrude just mouthed “too bad he’s mine”. Then the Devil or
was it Cupid and Saint Valentine must have been in Gertrude, she
kissed Sam like there was no tomorrow. He could have everything,
every day of the week. Now the Night club needed a washer upper, so
Sam became the glass washer in the back. He was back in the real
world now. All because he had saved Gertrude from falling over.
She
had fallen for him literally, and now he was her’s and she was his.
Soon the Night Club owner realised why should he pay Love Island
people appearance money, Sam was soooo good looking. So Sam came out
from back of house to front of house. Sam’s life had been turned
around.
Gertrude
married Sam, and they was a parade of taxis along Broad Street. Now
sometimes couples argue, so when they did Sam would strip naked and
lie on the carpet covered in newspaper. How could Gertrude be angry
with him for long, for he reminded her where she had found him, in
the gutter covered in paper. So she would strip naked too and join
him amongst the newspaper on the floor. And that’s where their
children were conceived, on the floor covered in newspaper.
41
years a computer operator ©
By
Michael Casey
41
years a computer operator, beats being a slave for 12 years, if I can
parody a title. I just thought of that as I was thinking of a title
for my words today.
Well
I’m tired, Tinnitus kept me awake last night, and NO he is not our
Roman slave in a toga and sandals, go watch Up Pompeii with Frankie
Howerd if you want titiliation, we did in 1st year at Grammar school
when we should have been doing our Latin homework for Mr Hanney.
As
I mess with the family computer I realise I’ve been doing this all
my life, having a play with a computer. We used to call it
“Babysitting” when we got an easy night or weekend, then
computers were as big as wardrobes. Nowadays they are like a
paperback book, though there is the irony, I write books on a
computer, they end up on a computer, or a Kindle. Or all over the
Internet via my sites.
100s
and I mean 100s of Translations are now being downloaded every day. I
hope people remember to buy the Original English, Though I won’t
hold my breath, as the Internet is free etc. But it does swell my
ego, if nothing else.
It
may just be that General Mathis’s friends are looking at my words,
just to try and find the jokes, and fail too. I am using General
Mathis as a comic device, though to Americans they may think I’m
turning him into a MAD magazine, I know he knows what I’m talking
about, he’s supposed to be very Erudite. Ok, and why should he
waste his time on me? Well who do you think brushes the dandruff off
his Stage Clothes just before he goes on as his Johnny Mathis Tribute
Act?
So
there you have it, me and General Mathis are tight, and I don’t
mean he puts me in a head lock as he calls Security and gets me
bounced out. Though the idea of him, The Monk, needing anybody to
sort me out, when he can do it himself, is so very funny.
Obama
and Mathis do share reading lists, one starts at the bottom, and the
other starts at the top. Then they meet for pizza, just the two of
them and talk books for a few slices and an ice cream with sprinkles
on. And you better have the right sprinkles, or there will be
TROUBLE. Then they have coffee, and arm wrestle over the bill, why do
you think Obama just nods, because Mathis beat him at arm wrestling
for the check. Though he did apologise by buying his a balloon to
give to his wife.
What
has this got to do with anything, I don’t know either, but you are
feeling all relaxed now, that is the joy of text after all. So come
back tomorrow when I’ve caught up on my sleep and maybe I’ll have
a new story for you. But as I said there are 2000+ on my sites so
that should keep you all going.
And
any sensible clues to fix tinnitus would be nice, not sales pitches,
anything to take the pitch away, the high pitch in my ears.
With
that I’ll say Be Good and Stay Happy always, which could be a catch
phrase.
Michael
Casey
It’s
Time ©
By
Michael Casey
It’s
Time, as opposed to IT time, there is a difference, a big difference.
It’s Time can mean, time for Execution, your Execution. Watch the
Green Mile by the way, a really great film. It’s Time, can fill you
full of dread, time for exams to start, or Time being called and you
have to put down your pen, and Pray literally Pray you’ve done
enough to Pass and get to the University you so desire to go to.
When
God made Time, he made plenty of it was what my dad said, his
Birthday in 1977 was a very low point in my life, but 6 months later
I got into IT, or computers as it was then called, and I found a safe
harbour. So Time and Tide are relative, and your Luck can change. The
snap of the house, the stone building is from Cromane Lower
Killorglin County Kerry Eire, just near the slipway. This is where my
mother was born and raised, 9 people all together. This is where her
Time began in 1920, so this is where I look back, to another place
and to another Time. It is one of the most beautiful places on God’s
Earth as the saying goes. Opposite is Dingle where Ryan’s Daughter
was filmed.
A
place has meaning, and it has Love and Memories, those days are long
gone, but yet it has a draw to all of us. WE dream of the Home in
another Land before we made our home where we are now. In USA
millions feel a link to Ireland, or scores of other places where our
mum and dad came from, or our grandparents, or however many
generations before it was that they came. And yes it was the Chinese
and the Irish that built the Railroads, and don’t forget how badly
they were then treated. Nowadays we thank God for both of them, or so
we should.
It’s
Time can mean it’s time to go for a beer, to go for a meal, or get
out of the house to go to Church or Temple or Mosque. Though for some
their house of Prayer is a bar, and it’s time to recognise that
good people come in all shapes and sizes of all Faiths and None,
smelling of beer and sweat, and not always in a freshly pressed suit,
“asking” for donations to their Mega Church, which does not even
have a Crucifix in, as it would clash with the decor.
It’s
Time, also means it’s time for bed, get some sleep and be fresh for
school in the morning. And yes use that App to switch off the Wifi so
that kids really do sleep, or all “toys” must be left in the old
battered brown cardboard suitcase at the top of the stairs, like the
Cooler in a Speakeasy when the Kennedys were making their money.
Everything must be surrendered for the night, and Grandpa Walton
sticks it under his bed in that suitcase, the one he used when he
left Ireland all those years ago. So that Peace reigns and he is not
disturbed by the noise of toys. Grandpa could have gone to USA, his
sister was going to send him money from Chicago, but he had just
bought a ticket to England with Thomas Cook, so he ended up in
England in 1944. And that is why this Writer does not speak with an
American accent.
It’s
Time to understand this and that, to sit the kids down and explain,
that nagging about switching the light off is not just nagging.
Everything costs money, or your dad’s Sweat, you are making dad
work another day or two or three, because you could not be bothered
to switch the light off. He could spend the money on ice creams for
them, if only they switched lights off, or put a jumper on instead of
the central heating. Central Heating is a joke, I grew up without it,
sheet ice on the inside of the bedroom window in bad winters. In 1973
we got central heating, because the city council forced us to, via
clean air legislation, so our coal fire disappeared. Yet just yards
away in another Council area they were allowed to carry on.
It’s
Time has many many meanings, all in all it’s about growing up,
literally and metaphorically. The biggest journey is the Interior
Journey, this may take a little time, or an entire life. In my case
10 or 11 was when I grew up, family events helped that, I was a
precocious kid too. Some people say “you are treating me like a
kid” or teachers talk down to kids, or students, or now you even
have teachers trained to use “gender neutral” expressions. I’ll
just say sometimes Henry Ford was right, “you can have any colour
you like, so long as it’s black”
It’s
time to Marry or have a relationship, or just to get your leg over.
But then was it all worth it? How do you feel afterwards, did you
rush Time, because everybody else did this or that or the other?
Everybody has their own season, their own season in the sun, their
own reasons, their travelling done, until they find a safe port or
harbour.
So
Life goes on, time for this and time for that. Sometimes there is no
time to think, we too busy being Twitter people, though a good
decision is always a well thought out one, a well planned one. Don’t
give in to Lust, whatever the situation, he’ll still be hot and
eager next week, or actually not at all, you’re glad you have “Wait
till Tomorrow” as your motto, or “It’ll Keep, throw salt at it”
as my mother used to say. A decision takes Time. Not unless it’s a
child walking into the path of a car, then you’ll save her
instinctively. When God Made Time, he made plenty of It, that’s
what my dad used to say. My mother had a saying for every occasion,
that was her knowledge, she left home at 14 to go work for a farmer.
As
your life moves on you are slower, and spend your time looking at the
hands of the clock waiting for your next meal. Until you have your
final meal. My dad’s was breakfast, and he was asked did he want
another boiled egg, when the old people’s home owner came back with
the 2nd
boiled egg my dad was dead, God had called time.
Then
no doubt God will ask how did you use your Time, though in my dad’s
case he had been given 5.5 years extra time thanks to Padre Pio’s
intervention. So all of you reading this, think how you use your
time, can you spare a minute for your old infirmed dad, or time to
play ball with your kids, or to make a phone call, to touch base with
your sisters? Or time to make love to your boyfriend, or are you so
tired you have no time for him. So he runs off with the office
cleaner.
Use
your Time, don’t squander it on rubbish, like Twitter, don’t be a
twitter person, read a book, listen to Radio 4 news. Think for
yourself, ignore all the Politicians. Make a better life for yourself
and your family, by using time, having quality time together,
watching Strictly Come Dancing and taking the Mick out of all of them
as you pass around the Cadburys chocolate as you have 10 different
conversations Simultaneously. Strictly may be on but you are all
ignoring it as you have Quality Time with your family. This is what
time is for, it’s to be enjoyed to spend time together as you
twitter about important things, like who is that strangely gorgeous
fat silver haired man in shades who lives next door. Oh, him, he’s
Michael Casey, he’s from Birmingham.
Pennies
from Heaven ©
By
Michael
Casey
Pennies
from Heaven is the name of a famous play here in England, it was
written by Dennis Potter, Harry’s bigger and much cleverer brother.
I had to Google his name and it said tv show in 1978, so I’m even
older that I thought I was. I do remember the writer being
interviewed by which time he was dying of cancer and was sipping
morphine from a container as he was being interviewed. Now the
strongest thing I take is paracetamol and Movelat painkilling gel. I
cannot take other stuff as it does not mix with the ACE inhibitor for
my heart, which stops my heart racing to 320RPM as it did after my
bypass. My point though is that I’m not “high” on anything, I
have something else, an IMAGINATION.
This
is just an introduction, I really am going to talk about something
else, chocolate cake, and no not the Crowded House song either, and I
can remember a radio host introducing us all to them many years ago.
I lied it’s just that my sister spotted a cheap cake so she bought
it, and we are slowly eating it, as it’s just so rich. So if I stop
talking it’s because I’ve gone to the kitchen for yet another
slice. I had not had any chocolate for days and was tempted to tackle
the hill to get some when my sister arrived with the cake. We are
very close, I ring her just as she is about to ring me, and vice
versa, this time it was chocolate cake. See Siblings DO have their
uses.
But
I’m still lying because I want to talk about something else, am I
like your sad old uncle who’d forget his arse if it was not tied
onto him. My Aunt in Ballyheigh used to send her husband to the shops
and that was a bit of a drive away. Did you remember to bring the Ham
she’d say, but you didn’t ask me, but you should have remembered
that I’d forget and you should have brought it anyway. How can I
remember to bring it, if you forget to ask me to bring it in the
first place. And on the conversation would circle. But Michael is
here from England you know I’d need some ham, for the salad, my
Aunt would continue, so you should have remembered that I’d forget
and you should have brought it anyway. My uncle would play with his
cap, and on the conversation would go. We would just collapse in a
heap laughing, and that is why you go to Kerry, so that you can
remember to forget things. Simple isn’t it, or have I forgotten
part of the story?
Which
brings me to what I really really was going to talk about, I’ve
remembered now, it’s a bit like a French song, une ronde where it
goes around in circles, like Frere au Jacques. What do you do if you
think you are going to get some money? You share it out, my dad used
to say if he won money he’d buy everybody a house. And he would. I
have my own plans too, should such a miracle happen.
So
today I said to my girls we share any win, 3 ways. So one daughter
would get the hundreds, the other the tens, and I as dad would get
the pence.So if its £140.20, it would be 100 to big daughter, 40 to
little sister, and 20pence to me the dad, who should have kept his
mouth shut and pocketed the lot. Instead I get 20p which is enough
for a chew or a lollipop, to keep my mouth shut.
But
a dad shares things, that’s what I was taught and that’s what I
believe in. It’s called Pie in the Sky, or building Castles in the
Air I think my mother used to call it as dad was slumped in his chair
in the living room or sneaked off to the front room for a lie down.
It’s a family trait, if you haven’t got any money you at least
have your dreams. If those Pennies arrive from Heaven then you’ll
be ready. Though now at my age it’s all down to which relative dies
first, that’s if the local cat’s home doesn’t inherit before
me. I always assumed I’d last the longest being the 2nd
youngest, though now I just don’t know. So save 2 pennies to put on
my eyes when the grim reaper gets me, and a few more to pay the
ferryman, my Pennies for Heaven.
Arguing
the Toss ©
By
Michael
Casey
As
you know I read the newspapers every day and I watch the news too,
and of course there is radio as well. A lot is interesting and some
stuff is just boring, even I am sick of Brexit. So I hope there is
some finality soon, but what annoys me the most is the pointless
pieces. What am I talking about? You know where Common Sense has just
gone out the window. School has restarted after the Summer break and
now we have “issues” with uniform, and I hate the word “issues”
too, it’s too much PR speak. Just speak clearly.
This
uniform is too big, too small, or not there at all. If the girls look
like a Prostitute because of their “style” then yes send them
Home. Or if the boys turn up looking like Elvis and smelling of
Stunk, yes send them home or even call the Police. However if you go
around with a ruler and say the trousers or skirt are an inch the
wrong side of “Policy” then this is just PETTY. Or if you say the
shoes are too shiny, or there is a pattern an almost invisible
pattern on the toe of the shoe, so the child is sent home, this is a
total waste of time.
I
know Uniforms are supposed to make kids uniform, and to give a sense
of Identity, but it’s 2019, everybody is aware of their own
identity. Uniforms in today’s age, are a bit of a stale joke,
rather like school photographs, everybody has a camera, or should I
say a phone, which has a great camera on. Yet schools persist,
because they get a kickback from the photographer, it’s a stale
tradition, everybody has 1000s of photos on their Facebook already,
or Instagram which the kids prefer nowadays.
Yes
have a uniform, but do you know the Trouble it brings for the
parents? A standard cheap uniform, say a black jacket and you can buy
a school specific badge, that can be ironed on. Then hey presto you
have a uniform jacket, by the way my school uniform jacket was green.
GD green. You can get cheap trousers too from Asda, or a skirt if you
are a girl. Then black shoes, and don’t argue the toss to get the
absolutely strict interpretation of how they should look. So long as
they don’t conceal a blade in them like Kingsman or James Bond,
then it is all sorted. And yes I speak from Experience, as hunting
for the exact school specific Look, is a waste of Time and Money. So
come on schools, grow up, it’s the schools who are behaving like
naughty kids. You try living on a tight budget and having to pay for
several different uniforms.
Now
that I’ve vented on that, what else annoys me. I want to be
different, you should respect my differences. Treat me nice, don’t
be nasty to me. To which I say, I do already. But if you behave like
a bastard I’ll tell you to your face, whatever “way” you are,
because the way you treat the least of my brethren is the way you
treat me, as somebody once said.
So
everybody can have equal treatment, but not special treatment.
Obviously if somebody is blind or deaf you make accommodations, which
makes the playing field level. But if they are nasty, you don’t
give them a free pass, or would you put up with it? Just as if a
Politician is corrupt he should not get away with it because, he is a
“leader”, the standard should be higher if he or she is a leader
or a Priest. They say they lead, but we are not sheep, so we should
never accept BS from them.
My
final thought is about Trivia, tv shows are full of it, it’s cheap
TV, on both levels, cheap to make, and it’s rubbish too. But people
watch it and argue about it in the pub and at the hairdressers or
nail bar. Cindy’s boobs are real, no they are not, oh yes they are.
My Simone had hers done and they look just like hers on tv last
night. But my Simone’s are better, she went to Hungary to get them
done, saved thousands. Wayne looked so manly on tv last night, I’d
stay in bed for a week with him, if I could get my walking frame
close to my bed. I’d even use clean sheets to get dirty with him,
he’s such a Hunk full of.
And
on it goes. The Host is neither Straight nor Gay, and leaves the
Audience confused, is he a he or a she? He gets paid lots, so his
accountant calls him, “Loaded” or “Fully Packed”, the host’s
partners call him or is it her, “Boss” is the word most likely to
be heard. Though the host’s old mum, calls the Boss a Bastard for
never ever visiting her in the old people’s home. And speaking as
somebody who visited his dad every single day for 3 years at the Old
People’s Home. All I can say is don’t waste your time arguing the
toss, as Bastards aren’t worth your spit.
What’s
the News? ©
By
Michael
Casey
Well
where do I begin, which is a song title, you can Google for
yourselves, I think Andy Williams sung it in the 1960s. So that’s a
start to a story, to today’s piece, I did think of several other
starts, but I may weave them in later on, I try and never waste
material. It’s a sin to waste food, and it’s a sin to waste
ideas, my mother would be proud of me, she always proud of all of us.
You are as Good as Anybody I remember hearing her say when I was 4 or
5, about the time my eldest brother went top Grammar School.
So
every day or so it seems I’ll phone my sister and touch base, I’ll
get all the news and she’ll pass on all of hers. Who we met and who
we saw, and the silly and stupid things of the day. What food we ate,
or saw in the shops on offer, normal family stuff. How are my girls
doing and so on.
News
is the verbal cement that holds a family together, and yes I wrote
that line over 30 years ago in The Butcher The Baker and The
Undertaker my comic novel, should anybody be tempted to claim it as
their own. Though that’s old news as if you are reading this you
have probably read the line in the Arabic or Spanish translation you
downloaded from my Wordpress. Maybe you are Jordan, the country not
the model reading it right now.
So
news comes and news goes around. How they brought the Good News from
Aix to Ghent was a poem we leant in 1st
year of Grammar school with Mr Foster, and Brewer you are a Cretin
was a line of his I seem to remember, after he first called him a
Moron. Casey are you raising your hand to answer or supporting the
Wall? Is what he said to me, as I sat in the alphabetical corner,
nearly 50 years ago.
News
comes in good and bad packages, you’ve passed an exam and you
proudly hold the letter aloft. You get news of a death or of an
illness, or that Foot and Mouth has wiped out your sister’s cattle.
But she had a great brother in law who sent help. I can clearly
remember that as I tell you this, as I write it down, it brings tears
to my eyes because it reminds me of my father and the love over the
Irish sea back to Kerry, maybe 50 years ago.
News
is fun, it is joy, it is Saint Patrick’s badges been sent in an
envelope for us all, so the Green can be celebrated in our corner of
Birmingham, from the very same aunt. Simple joys in a letter, sent
with love.
There
can be sadnesses too, a knock at the door and 2 Policemen there, Can
we Speak to Mr Casey, which one there are 5 of us. Then the Police
come in, they tell me that our lodger, the one who gave me a watch
for passing the 11 plus exam was dead. He was going around in circles
on the No.11 bus, the Outer Circle all 20+ miles of it. He’s died
on the bus home from his riding holiday. Then it was me who had to
tell our mum as she came up the road carrying two leather shopping
bags, it was 1980, another lodger has died on me of a heart attack
just the year before.
Death
and disaster arriving in letters or in person. The Angle had Glad
Tidings of Great Joy I Bring, Hope can Spring Eternal, a Letter or
just one word can change everything. A simple Yes through the tears
of Joy, or a sad silent No, a shake of the head, unwilling to look
you in the eye. All these are news. I’ve had a bit a sad news
myself recently, but you can never let it beat you. Yes be sad for an
hour or for a day, but then be glad again, never stay sad.
Retail
Therapy does work, or Sod It, let’s go down the Pub, it can and
does work, as does a few hours in bed curled up against your sadness.
But Comfort in bed from the one you love is far far better, a hug and
a kiss, and a bit of sexual bliss, will help you weather any storm.
Then you put your pants back on and face the day again.
In
my case I just bought some toys for my daughters, because they needed
them and besides you can’t take it with you. So break the budget
and fight back, I’ll get over whatever the problem or setback is,
I’ll tuck my fat belly in and wear roomier underpants, and then
stride manfully along. Though I do need a woolier winter vest too.
So
that’s today’s piece, I could have quoted the famous pieces about
News, but instead I’ve shared memories, which I hope remind you of
your own ones. Remember too, the Prodigal Son and The Good Samaritan.
One was ashamed but returned home, as a Father will never turn a son
away. The other treated a Stranger as if he was his son and bound his
wounds, in today’s world that was the Bad Guy tuning out to be the
only Good Guy. The guy who is generally despised being the Hero in
Shining Armour. Which reminds me of High Noon, do not forsake me…
New
Stuff ©
By
Michael
Casey
Earlier
I spoke about being or rather feeling old if you surf for keyboards,
the ones with the Alphabet on. Well I’ve had my dinner and met
Annie on the Hill as well as the orange cat and our neighbour the
blind man with the Alsatian guide dog, and my daughter has more junk
to take with her to University, so I was thinking New Stuff. So
that’s why you are getting this, whether you are in Russia or South
America or Thailand, some of my readers these past 2 days. And yes
none of you have stopped by Amazon to buy the English version of my
ebooks, but I’ll forgive you if you can get Putin or Trump to
mention me in a Press Conference. Even if its just to say that fat
silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham England is a disgrace,
leaving a trail of dandruff everywhere. Fame at last, and then Head
and Shoulders will put my face on every bottle, don’t be like HIM,
use US instead.
But
back to the plot, New Stuff, we all like new stuff. My first pair of
long trousers made me feel great, Summer of 1970 I think, just before
I went to Grammar school. Mum was sat in the garden on a broken
backed barn chair, she took up the hem, then I tried them on. A pair
of puke coloured cords, I remember dancing up and down the yard
enjoying the sensation of long trousers. I used to wear shorts with
long socks with garters to hold up the socks. My new long trousers
were great, they were in fact an old pair of one of my brothers, 2nd
hand or even 3rd
hand, but they were mine, all mine.
And
yes I’ve always had short fat and hairy legs, just like Ernie Wise,
though mine are incredible strong. Which came in useful when I needed
veins to transplant into my heart for what turned out to be a
quadruple heart bypass. I weighed myself the other day so I think all
my weight is in my thighs, I am 116kilos, and no I’m not going to
pose for you, you’d have to know my biblically to find out. Fetch
the bucket to be sick in.
Back
to new things, it’s the smell and the touch which is so nice. A
book, a physical book has colour and text and smell, and a cover
design. If you are lucky it is well written as well, otherwise you
use it in the outside toilet as reading matter, or to wipe your bum
with, or you may just burn it on the wood burner.
New
things smell new, and they have a feel to them that makes you happy,
you have something new, as opposed to hand me downs. They can come
gift wrapped as well, and that can add to the excitement, just like
Christmas. Though men are really fed up with socks and ties every
Christmas. Shoes, new shoes are a weakness of mine, I used to buy
brown because they were cheaper than black, but now years later I do
actually like brown the most. Black shoes denote work, whereas brown
is for relaxation, for taking your ease as my dad used to say.
Though
he wore size 10 steel toe capped boots, for his time in the
steelworks. Me I wear my old shoes as slippers, so rather than throw
them away I give them some extra grace and use as indoor slippers.
Believe it not I was 2015 UnCool Dad of the Year with Clark’s
Shoes, part of the prize was 2 pairs of shoes of your choice, I’m
still wearing a brown leather pair right now. Musto, they are too
worn to wear outside any more but after cleaning the sole I now wear
them as my house slippers. That photo of me in an Orange Polo was
enough for me to win the prize, the only good thing that happened in
2015, which was my own Annus Horribilis.
Getting
something new is always nice, we used to have Fashion Parades when
somebody got something new, so we could all comment and gawk at the
member of the family with the new item. We may all try it on too,
even trying to put a coat on the family dog, and my mother chiding
us, don’t break it on the child. New things denote prosperity, or a
bit of slack in the family budget, it’s a joy, dad has got a bonus,
or one of the family has got their first pay packet.
In
some cultures you may give your 1st
pay packet to your dad, but even if you did he’d probably just give
it back to you. He had the honour and the offer, and he could boast
my child gave me his first pay packet. I can remember I got £30 or
so and I bought a hifi which lasted years, and it was so nice to be
able to listen to records. In them days they were real records on
black vinyl. The hifi sounded great, and I never changed the stylus
in the 10 years I had it. I think I gave it to me sister once I
bought my 1st
proper hifi a Technics, 30 years ago. I did get some cheap albums,
which I bought the fire salvage shop nearby, I bought them if the
cover art looked good.
Nice
things are nice, because they are new and smell new, and it’s proof
somebody loves you. A gift is good because it’s evidence of love
and friendship. It’s even nicer if somebody bought something that
you actually wanted, be it a pair of brown shoes, or a doorstop to
keep the door open as the lock is broken and you don’t want to be
trapped in the bathroom again. Yes, that is a real example. I was
actually trapped in the toilet on the Paris to Calais train in 1984,
but that’s another story.
Sometimes
old things are better than any new stuff, remember that chair my
mother sat on as she turned up the hem on my trousers? I took that
with me when I got my own house. So it reminded me of my mother, I
only lost it when we moved house a year ago now. So for 50years that
chair was part of the family, and mum always nagged me to bring it
back, so she could stand on it to clean the windows, but she stopped
nagging me in 1996.
Slim
Michael The Fat Man ©
By
Michael
Casey
Michael
was called Slim because he was fat, he was even nagged to take
exercise but he did not. He just ambled along with his shopping and
sometimes he walked through the park on his way home with his
shopping. The Council in their wisdom had made the park pathways
thinner, probably as it would cost less to repair them in them in the
Future. All this meant that Michael got abuse for blocking the path
as joggers passed by. If you jog you’ll add 5 years to your life
span, but they spent 5 years jogging, so what was the point of that,
they should just stay at home and read a book as they stroked the cat
or dog.
Over
the years Michael got to know the know the joggers, he’d stop on a
bench for a rest from carrying all the shopping as they jogged past.
Hello Slim the nasty ones called him, he just waved at them, using 2
fingers, but only behind their back. There were a few lady joggers
too, and one even smiled at Michael, so that was nice. She was
perfect in Michael’s eyes, nice and tall and curvy with red hair,
and yes he enjoyed watching everything bounce as she went by, and her
rear was a delight too. He was only human after all, just as the Rag
and Bone man sung as his scrap van snailed by the streets. The Rag
and Bone man had heard the singer of the same name, so he had adopted
the song as his own. Just as this writer and friend adopted Smooth
Operator by Sade when we were all Computer Operators 40 years ago.
Lucy
was the name of Michael’s jogger, she dropped her house keys and
her name was on a key ring. So as she jogged away Michael picked it
up and shouted after her, only his mind spoke the words from his
heart. Juicy Lucy your Keys, so she turned around angrily at him, so
Michael waved her keys and she came back. She’ gone a fair
distance, so by the time she’d sprinted back she was out of breath.
Did you really call me Juicy? Michael blushed. I had to get your
attention, I couldn’t run after you carrying all this shopping.
Michael handed her back her keys, Lucy took them and instinctively
kissed him on the cheek by way of thanks. Juicy Lucy thanks you, she
then said with a smile and laughed, mum will laugh when I tell her.
Michael smiled and blushed, and watched her bum bounce away.
Now
Lucy was all alone, with just her mum and a cat called Sam, as she
showered she thought of Michael and his shopping bags, she laughed.
And that was how their friendship began, a dropped set of keys. So in
future Lucy would stop to chat, while still running on the spot, so
Michael would give her a Mars bar to eat, so give her some energy.
As
she eating her Mars bar and Michael thinking things a gentleman
should not think, Poetry was in Motion after all, and running on the
spot too, a little old lady collapsed in front of them. Michael had
learnt First Aid for his job as security guard so he sprung into
action, mouth to mouth and all that. He did pass the little old
ladies false teeth to Lucy to hold, as he did CPR. He then commanded
Lucy to ring for an ambulance and race to the edge of the park to
guide them to where they were. So that was how Michael saved the
little old lady’s life. As the ambulance drove her away Lucy gave
Michael a big kiss on the lips. You were great, you saved her, then
Lucy kissed him again. Michael blushed, you’ve kissed me 3 times
now. When you dropped your keys and just now, but I’ve never kissed
you. Well kiss me then replied Lucy, so Michael kissed her, with all
his heart.
So
by saving an old woman Michael has gained a young woman. Lucy looked
into his hazel eyes, he really was the man with the child in his
eyes, and she decided on the spot as she laughed at the Mars bar her
lips had smeared on his lips, that he was the One.
Michael
took her home and she helped him carry the shopping, she didn’t
realise just how heavy it was, it was full of tins of dog food for
Spot his dog. Spot licked Lucy’s face, he was after the chocolate
on her lips, he’d also noticed the old woman’s false teeth still
in Lucy’s hand. Michael and Lucy laughed again, and kissed again.
The damn had been burst. The next day they visited the old woman in
hospital and returned her teeth. You are such a lovely couple, how
long have you been married she asked, both of them blushed and
laughed, then they kissed again. A few months later the old lady
died, she was 87 after all, at the funeral a man in a suit came up to
them and gave them some keys, a keyring with Lucy and Michael on it
and a fluffy yellow ball for the cat to play with. You see the old
lady had a house and she left it to them.
Michael
married Lucy and the Joggers all came in their jogging things, they
were doing a half marathon for charity immediately afterwards.
Michael and Lucy moved into the big house, it had 7 bed rooms, just
like the house in nanny McFee. Michael really wasn’t that fat, he
was very strong after carrying all tins of dog food home through the
park. They did not think they’d ever need 7 bedrooms but Nature
soon found an answer for that. Lucy gave up jogging, she was busy
running up and downstairs and in the garden, what with the 2 cats and
2 dogs and 5 children. Michael gave up carrying tins of dog food, he
got Ocado to deliver instead. Carrying his kids on his back, and
giving them swings which is children’s alcohol, kept him busy. Then
carrying all the children’s books all over the house.
I
did lie, Lucy did still do some jogging, she’d put on her jogging
clothes and would say to the children in the living room, stay here
me and daddy are going to do some jogging, then daddy and mummy would
do several laps around their bedroom upstairs, as the kids chanted
BOY, GIRL, from the living room below. All of this kind of jogging
added 30 years to Michael and Lucy’s lives.
Doreen
the Singer ©
By
Michael
Casey
Doreen
was a Singer, she sang in a Pentecostal Choir and was always singing
and moving, it was in her blood. She was good friends to Mrs Douglas
and all her 9 children and to Mrs Casey and all her six children. So
Doreen was always happy. She and the choir even sung for the Old
Forge and Singing Anvil Children’s Home, she always smiled at the
memory because Postman Pat tried to hide amongst the choir but the
kids tracked him down. Young Tracy was now a Police Sergeant, so good
were here tracking skills, her and her dog Bullet, so named not
because he ran so fast, but because his pooh always looked like
bullets.
Doreen
sung like and angel and danced like a devil, she was perfect. Though
there was a fly in the ointment, there always is, girls. You see
Doreen couldn’t get a job, even though she had a Masters in
Communications, which she got after a double first in English from
York. However back home in Birmingham she struggled to get anything
to match her skills. So she took a temporary job in a Care Home
looking after old people. She loved the people and they loved her, so
she stayed until the first death 18 months after she started. As much
as she loved the job she could not bear it. Old Mrs Noonan died and
it was Doreen who found the body in the morning as she breezed into
her bedroom singing Morning has Broken. But it was Doreen who was
broken, her friend and they did feel like friends, she was a friend a
daughter to all of them, was dead in her bed.
Doreen
just had to leave, it was a double blow, losing Mrs Noonan and her
job too. But as one door closes another opens, so Doreen went to work
for a Special Needs Home, you might say she was overqualified and
these kinds of jobs were beneath her, but it was all God’s Plan was
what Doreen said. She just loved the people she cared for and
hopefully nobody would die, so it was a perfect fit for her.
Doreen
would breeze in singing and moving, like the reed that bends, as
opposed to Oliver Reed on a bender. There was Sunshine in her voice
and in her smile. Hard to reach to residents opened up like flowers
in the Springtime for Doreen. Her voice, her love, her hope was on
just the right frequency for the residents and for the staff. You
must all know somebody like Doreen, a dose of magic when she is
around. Paul thought so too, he was the handyman who came to fix
things and do work around the Home. He lit up when Doreen passed by,
so soon the staff and the residents said she should go out with him.
Doreen was a bit shy despite being such a bubbly girl, so she tried
to avoid going out with him, a workmate was fine, but a boyfriend was
bit too fast.
Doreen
decided on the Elizabeth Taylor option, Elizabeth Taylor asked for a
million dollars hoping to get rid of the film offer. Elizabeth Taylor
then starred in Anthony and Cleopatra, so Doreen said if he can duet
with me, and sing well only then will I go out with him. So Doreen
started singing Ebony and Ivory, Paul looked downcast then looking
around the staff and residents who had gathered he started to sing,
badly ever so badly. So sadly I cannot go out with you, but we’ll
be friends forever, Doreen started to improvise on Friends Forever.
Paul started to walk away dejectedly, but there was a bounce in his
walk, then he spun around like Wolverine, and opened his mouth to
duet back with her. This time he sung like a Master, she was worth
it, and now he was singing for his supper, and his very own Elizabeth
Taylor, Doreen.
Uproar,
Paul started to sing Don’t Go Breaking My Heart, the Elton John and
Kiki Dee song, Doreen started to cry and joined in. All together they
sung for 90 minutes. At the end Doreen knew he was the One, the only
one, yes he had big rough hands and had forgotten when he last read a
book. But she had hand cream, that’d make his hands softer and Mr
Casey used washing powder when he came home from the Steel Works, and
Mrs Casey said he had soft hands to match his heart.
Somebody
at the back videoed it on their phone, and that would lead somewhere
else. So Doreen and Paul started singing at the home every day and
dating every night. It was perfect, they were Burton and Taylor, but
without the million dollars. Everything was great, soon they’d be
engaged and so on. But there is always a fly in the ointment, don’t
you know it girls. You see the Council didn’t have enough money to
keep all the staff on, there had to be cuts. The Council had built a
fancy new library, but could not afford to keep it open, they had in
fact built a Prison for Books, not a place where books could be read.
So to afford staff to keep the new fancy library open cuts would be
made in other areas and money shuffled. This meant Doreen and Paul
would lose their jobs.
What
can we do? We could be strolling Minstrels suggested Paul who’d
seen it on BBC4 the night before. So they sat on a bench outside the
new fancy library, Doreen started to cry, Paul sung to console her,
Don’t Go Breaking My Heart. They sung more and more, Doreen stopped
crying. They were about to move on but a few people had gathered so
they carried on singing for each other. Taylor Burton had landed on a
Birmingham street, the singing version.
More
and more people gathered. Now next to where they sung was a 5 star
hotel, so their voiced drifted upwards. It was a day off for JT and
his crew while on a concert tour, but the sound of their voices was
too much for them. A few dancers slipped out of the hotel and moved
in time to Doreen and Paul’s singing. And still the songs drifted
into the air, people started to film. On a Birmingham street. This
had only happened once before when Anton Bollockoff danced the
Ballet, when Birmingham is Ballet happened. But now, but now Doreen’s
singing demanded attention. A few backing singers slipped out and
arranged themselves behind Doreen and Paul, then followed her lead.
Now Musicians Flock like Birds, so soon a band had formed behind
Doreen.
Upstairs
JT smiled and filmed putting it on his Twitter feed, Birmingham
Rocks. But as you know JT has twisty feet, his singers, his dancers
and his band were all on the street. So he grabbed a mac and a hat,
he had to dance in the street. Doreen guested from his attire what
song to sing, so on a Birmingham city centre street JT was singing
and dancing Dancing in the Street.
JT
followed her lead and was just the 3rd
Man and the Vienna Patisserie right behind him so he spun and smiled,
him his mac and hat and the Vienna Patisserie. This went on for 30
mins, being broadcast live on JT Twitter feed. Then the manager
whistled and they went back to the hotel carrying great cakes, they
had their cake and they would eat it. Doreen and Paul waved goodbye
but were dance frog marched inside the 5 star hotel with them.
To
cut a story short, JT left a link to raise funds for the care home,
so Doreen and Paul could keep their jobs. That would have been the
happy ending but JT was troubled, she should share her talent with
the world. So they became pen friends, and when he discovered she
also wrote songs he spun and danced and almost pranced like a ballet
dancer in Birmingham had done before. So in the end Doreen became a
singer/songwriter and backing singer. She kept her job at the care
home too. Paul was a hausfrau when the children came along, they
called their kids: Peter, Paul and Mary.
Making
Words Count ©
By
Michael Casey
Now,
where do I begin, which is a song title, but I’m not talking about
songs, just words. So, which is a Peter Gabriel album, but I’m not
talking about him either as Annie Lennox sings Peace to me. Well I
thought I’d talk about making words count today, and I’m not
talking about the Times tables either, and why do grown-ups say
“times” instead of Multiply. And while we are on it, it’s US
not Uz as I constantly hear, and when did a NOUN become an ADJECTIVE,
the WALES team beat England, it’s the Welsh team, though that’s
not the best example.
If
you love words as much as I do then you too will be annoyed by the
BBC and other Media butchering the language. Words do count, each has
a meaning and a method to it, that makes a story better or worse, for
richer or poorer, or just divorced from the facts. A story badly told
is just that, bad. A story well told holds the reader or viewer. Even
if it’s really complicated, if it’s explained well it does make a
difference. What is the point of blinding people with science? To
prove how clever the reporter or writer is?
My
own opinion is that you should share stories, share information. As
children we’d tell each other who we saw and what we
did and what happened, it was as if we were cameras bringing back a
report to the BBC. No shrugging of the shoulders and “it’s
boring”, this is boring in itself. People live their lives looking
down at a screen and not up and alert to the world itself all around
us. People are not observant, Dirk Bogarde as a child played
games looking in shop windows and trying to remember all the items,
he did Photographic Interpretation in the War, later he was a film
star and a wonderful writer. I wish everybody was like that, looking
around and observing.
So
it is with words, they can be used to great or lesser effect, you
just have to use them in the right place. I could use a word
beginning with an F, or C, or N or W. Pick your own alphabet.
But by using those words whatever they are in your minds, not mine. I
was thinking Food, Clothes, Nature and Writer, if you were thinking
any other words then you deserve to have the backs of your legs
slapped with wet lettuce a la Larry Grayson. What kind of
alphabet were you taught in your school? But I’ve grabbed your
attention now and made you smile and perhaps even think. Strong words
are great, such as concrete, but you have to use them in the right
place or they lose their power and are just boring. If a vicar
suddenly used a word beginning with X Y or Z, pick your own, then it
would shock, and have tremendous power, just as when the Pope used
such words, if you can remember that.
So
we all need to maximise the power of our words, and if we are sending
a message in a bottle we have to make sure it’s to the point.
Remember too for 20 years I’ve had a foreigner living with me, a
Shanghai foreigner. So I know about explaining words first hand, it’s
not just an intellectual thing based on 20 years of listening to BBC
radio 4 before my 30+ years of writing. So we all need to use our
words and make them count.
Speaking
is one thing and is more fun, but when we write we have to be more
concise, more Janet and John, so that it starts at 1and goes to 10.
With speech we can go backwards and forwards but on paper our
words must be more Logical, especially when Complaining. If you hunt
my website you’ll see advice on how to write a compliant letter
should you ever need to.
Well
I have to go and watch Beyond 100 Days now, which is one of my
favourite programs, it’s a news digest about UK/USA. The thing
about this programme is that everybody is willing (***&&
Brexit to be over, it’s like a bad heroin or is it heroine habit.
But you replace the heroine with a hero and hope another blond can
fix it. Over in USA we see the blond there “fixing” everything
and you go down on your knees and ask God, when will you fix him. And
you can hear God say, In the Beginning was the Word.
The
Teacher ©
By
Michael Casey
Now
as I start this talk I’m not decided as to where to take you, I
only picked the title because I sent an email to a “teacher”
whether or not he replies I just do not know. So that’s why you
have this title today 6th
Oct 2019, I’ve added the title just in case the “teacher” does
in fact reply. Yes, I’m as conceited as that, just in case somebody
goes through my papers in the Future and says this day marks the day
that, and so on and so forth etc etc, just as the King in the King
and I used to say in Thailand, or was it Tie Land the retail store
where the “teacher” used to buy all his ties from Mr King.
So
shall we remember our school days and the teachers then. I’ve just
remembered Mr Skullian the teacher from class 6 was it, and did I
pull his sideburns, did he teach us I am a Merry Ploughman back in
1967 or 1968. That was the last of my clownish behaviour. In the
Summer holidays I cried because my next teacher would be Mr Gallagher
who went drinking with my dad. In fact he looked like Milo O’Shea
from Barbarella or Mi Mammie, he was a hard tough man, but my parents
were happy because fear of him did change my life.
I
started to read bigtime that Summer holidays, I still got 4 of the
pump on backside for not knowing my Times Tables. 4 of us were the
clever ones so we were expected to know them, Mr Gallagher kept on
putting off the test, and finally I was not up to speck so I got
beat. Yes, I did know them the next time the test came, and I know
them to this day 50 years plus later. I did get revenge in a
way, Mr Gallagher tickled me as I was sat at my desk, so I rocked my
head back in reaction, and hit his nose causing it to bleed. All very
innocent fun back in those days, and no I was not punished for it. It
was the 1960s and those may have been the best years in everybody’s
lives.
Later
as I was top of the class due to all my reading I was put downstairs
at a desk and given some special books to learn from, a kind of
receptionist in the hall outside the school hall and the head
teacher’s office. I seem to remember being there for a
long time. That’s when I read the Outline of History by H.G. Wells.
I also remember Mr Marshall and his motorbike and him falling off his
bike. He tried to trick me and test me on The Outline of History, so
maybe God punished him for that.
I
can also remember Mr Roe in his cords, my mother forced him to give
my brother proper homework from a book, and it must have worked as my
brother got into grammar school, the 2nd
in the family to do so. I in turn ended up in grammar school, the
same one as my 2 elder brothers had gone to. So the Latin teacher Mr
Hanney who was 5 feet zero insisted on calling me Casey Minimus, as
major and minor has preceded me, so I was Minimus. Nothing is Minimus
about me nowadays, nothing at all.
Our
French teacher was Mr Long who was behind the Lines in WWII, it was
his last year of teaching, and I was failing at French. But God and
Luck came along. Mr Notzing was my next French teacher for 4 years at
grammar school. We could have gone forward a book or started on
an easier book, so we resumed French, Mr Notzing believed in testing,
so every week for 4 years I had a French test. And thanks to Mr
Notzing je continue a bavarder bien, which means I can still chatter
in French.
It
was him and him alone that made the difference, he also did make-up
for school productions, we were probably the last generation that did
that at school. He sat Edwards in a chair and turned him into an old
man by using face makeup. Mr Notzing was really skilled, I don’t
know why he showed us this skill, otherwise we just hated him for all
the French testing. Sadly he died on a train station platform, aged
56 or so, he had a heart attack and died, and there but for the
Grace of God could have been me too back in 2015.
Mr
Rogers was my Physics teacher, it was because of him I passed, he was
enthusiastic and young. The Abbot was the huge science book we
had, my brother had read it cover to cover but I was not as
disciplined as my brother. I was good or even very good at school,
but I could have been even better, I enjoyed my rugby and tv too
much, tough I did listen to masses of Radio 4.
All
in all a teacher can make a difference, I’ve even been an Esol
teacher myself. As you know I got Excellent, Excellent and Exemplary
for my External Assessment, why, because I am an entertainer when I
teach. But if you misbehave I’ll just throw you out, 7 or was it 9
was my record for throwing out people. There has to be testing with
learning, Mr Notzing was the best teacher ever, because he didn’t
trust us to learn it, we had to prove to him and more importantly to
ourselves just what we actually knew.
In
Faith they say it’s what you do that matters, not the bluster and
the lies you speak, just as in Politics, it’s what you actually do
that counts. So as a Parent we have to set an example and have a
friendship with our kids, don’t farm them off to babysitters, or to
electronic devices. We are all our kids first Teacher and we actually
live with our kids, so as parents as our kids' teacher, we should be
like Barry White, the first, the last, the everything to our kids.
Falloff
the Russian ©
By
Michael
Casey
Well
Falloff didn’t Falloff the page if you were listening earlier in
the day, in fact Falloff never fell off anything. Falloff was called
Falloff because people could not pronounce his name. As he was always
telling people to be careful or they would fall off that was his
name. He was the caretaker at the block of flats, how he came from
the East to Birmingham nobody knew, but he did have 3 friends called
Lech, Boris and Gregorgi who visited a few times a year. Then there
was singing and much laughter, much laughter. It was like Santa and
his brothers had come to town.
Falloff
liked where he lived, and he liked the people in Old Forge and
Singing Anvil. There were a few naughty boys who liked to walk on the
edge or hang like monkeys, hence “don’t fall off” which gave
rise to his nickname, Falloff, the Russian. Falloff was loved by all,
he could fix anything, just anything. Vacuum cleaners and microwaves,
and best of all he never charged. He would accept food as a gift for
a repair, but money never, do you think I’m a Nazi he’d say. So
he was loved.
When
the lifts broke he would carry shopping up to the top floor for the
old folks, once he even carried an old woman up with her held in his
arms like a baby. Marie asked but how are you so strong. Falloff
confessed he was in the army in USSR a long time ago, and you had to
be fit. But to carry me all the way up the stairs. If you love
somebody you’ll do anything was his humble reply. I once carried a
comrade 8 kilometres on my back. Did you love him? No, but he was
comrade and there is a brotherhood in the army, any army the world
over. There is a Western song after all, He Aint Heavy, he’s my
brother, Falloff smiled at the memory. Besides I was dating his
sister, so I had to carry him, to save him, or she would have killed
me. He laughed.
Falloff
enjoyed his life, it was easy compared to some of the things he’d
endure in the past, and these British people here in Old Forge and
Singing Anvil were nice people, as good as the people back home in
Mother Russia. But into each life some darkness must fall, so some
bad lads came acalling trying to sell drugs at his block of flats.
They swore at him, go away back to Russia you silly man. But Falloff
insisted, he would not allow drugs to pollute where he lived and the
people in his block lived. Somebody pulled a knife and managed to
scratch his hand. But that was all they got away with, Falloff’s
military training kicked in, the knifeman was on his back with a
crack, Falloff had broken his arm. Two more came running at him, so
Falloff punched one, knocking him out with one punch, the other he
grabbed and held over the balcony. You don’t want to falloff do
you? His Russian accent getting stronger as he was angry now. 3 Nazis
invading his home, his friends’ home. Now remember this, this may
not be Mother Russia, but this block of flats is my home, my land and
I will defend it, we Russians love where we live, and I live here.
By
now a crowd had gathered to see what the commotion was, Falloff had
taken out three bad lads on his own. Then he picked up the knife and
put it in his boot. Now go away, invade another place, but not here,
but we’ll shake hands and you can promise me you’ll never return.
As he shook hands the first one Falloff squeezed just as the Nazis
had been squeezed, the bad lad sunk to his feet in pain. Then the 2nd
one , and finally the 3rd
one. He shook hands with each, the last one was the biggest one, so
Falloff really should his hand, until the bad lad screamed, as
Falloff broke his little finger.
After
that nobody ever tried to bring drugs near the flat, Falloff was held
in such high regard. And that’s how he carried his comrade so far
without dropping him, Falloffs grip was as strong as the Russian
winter itself. Then it was full of brotherly love as he carried his
comrade, but for Nazis it was a weapon.
Falloff’s
life went on as normal, but bad pennies sometimes return. In this
case the girlfriend of one of the bad lads moved into the block of
flats to try and get away from him. But bad boys chase girls even
when told to “get lost”. So one night Falloff heard a commotion
and went to investigate. The bad lad Nazi was beating the girl he
said he loved, but he was beating her now because she said she did
not love him. She was trying to escape him, and was climbing out the
window to escape. Falloff arrived and heard her scream, seeing the
situation he had tgo act fast. I’ll deal with you later he said to
the bad lad, as he hit him him hard breaking his jaw. A real Russian
lover would never hit a woman, Falloff chided as he stepped over the
fallen Nazi.
Rachel
was handing from the balcony, by now screaming, Falloff tested the
washing line hanging on the balcony. Then he launched himself over
the balcony holding the washing line. He gabbed Rachel, and she
screamed don’t drop me. Falloff replied, don’t worry you are
safe. They were on the 8th
floor hanging over a balcony. Then the washing line snapped and they
dropped 10 feet. Falloff asked Saint Jude to save the girl, he’d
faced death before and maybe it was time for him to die.
Down
below a crowd formed and they decided to help, so they moved the
bouncy castle which was 100 metres away ready for the fair. Just hold
on they screamed, Falloff held on, he held the girl and Saint Jude
held him. The bouncy castle was held in position, then with a prayer
Falloff swung the girl with his one hand. She landed in exactly the
middle of the bouncy castle. Falloff it’s you next, Falloff its
time to falloff. So Falloff fell out, as requested by the crowd as
they held the bouncy castle in position again.
Falloff
was all over the newspapers now, caretaker called Falloff falls off
building after saving a girl from falling off a building. The bad boy
was arrested and it came to pass he was a very bad lad, so he went to
jail, for a long time, more than long enough for his jaw to heal,
though he’d always have a funny face from now on.
Falloff
got a reward, and Rachel’s mother came around to personally thank
him. It turned out that she was a History teacher, and Russia was her
passion, and she did in fact speak Russian. You can guess the rest.
Yes Falloff never let go of her, in fact they were married in the
Spring.
Praying
for a Miracle ©
By
Michael
Casey
Today
in Rome John Henry Newman is Canonised, he is actually a neighbour as
The Oratory is just up the road, about a 25 minute walk. My sister
has actually seen 2 Saints. Mother Theresa visited her school, and
JPII did a papal Mass and my sister was in the crowd. I of course am
amongst the sinners, so I never meet or see anybody “holy”. I do
of course know about praying for a miracle, you can find and read
Padre Pio and Me which is on the Internet.
Now
I’m not going to stick with the holy stuff, as most of you would be
bored. I’m sure those of you camping in a field in Ukraine won’t
be too interested in the holy stuff. Meanwhile in Indonesia this
morning somebody is reading a Polish Translation or Quick Stories, so
hello to them and to my Korea readers too. So to the point, well
almost, when do I ever go in a straight line, only bullets do that,
so duck if you are in a conflict zone. No, I’m doing to try and get
you thinking, and maybe smirking like a Government Minister.
When
was the last time you prayed for a miracle? When your girlfriend said
she thought she was pregnant and her dad still thinks she is a pure
as the Virgin Mary herself. So you prayed that she was virgo intacta,
ever though you were both like rabbits for 18 months. Please God, let
her not be pregnant, I cannot afford to have a family, please God let
her not be pregnant. I promise I’ll be the best dad ever, but not
yet, but not yet. So God smiles, and he has a very long memory. So 5
years later you marry, as you are now successful, and God sends you 5
daughters. For years you got the knickers off your sweetheart. Now
you will spend the rest of your life making sure that such a thing
does not happen to your pure innocent daughters. All 5 of them. But
you are in luck as they all become lesbians, ok I’m joking now, but
you get the picture. You pray for one thing and you get the other.
Please
God, let me get that job, I really need this job, only you get sacked
and spend 6 months on the dole, they sack you on your dad’s
Birthday, and you so much wanted to make your dad proud of you. But
after 6 months you get a dream job and stay there 20 years making
lots of money. So did God ignore your prayers and then by Luck you
got something far far better? Either way its was an ill wind that
blew no good, or was that the Holy Spirit, or the bottle of vodka
Lech Boris and Gregorgi gave you to cheer you up. Instead it blew
your head off, it was the 2017 Warley Woods best vintage vodka. So
you swore you’d never touch any alcohol again, which helped save
you a lot of money, but also Kim never ever touched alcohol, so you
won her heart by being an alcohol free man. You did get something far
far better in return, her.
Then
you pray for a child, as annoying and as snot smearing and noisy as
kids are your life with Kim would not be complete without a child. So
you pray for a child, but nothing comes, you are a childless couple.
Then her brother and his wife tragically die leaving 3 young kids
behind, the orphanage beckons. But you and Kim scream, NO, so
suddenly you have 3 kids, and you are a family of 5. So was that God
doing simple quadratic equations, move this, delete that, balance
this and you get that. Either way you have 3 kids getting parents,
who will love them to death, due to the death of their real parents.
Later you discover the dead real parents were couriers for drugs
dealers, hiding stuff under babies nappies and so forth. So was God
balancing the scales, the scales of justice? And the 3 innocent
toddlers got real loving parents, and not drug dealing parents. You
never know.
What
about me, this 40 something boy who ended up with 2 beauties as
daughters? God’s sense of humour, ugly dad’s get beautiful
children. I really did stand by the fridge and looking at my dead
mother’s photo say “I give up, all I want is a wife and perhaps a
family, and to do something useful with my life” And the rest is
History, or so they say.
But
miracles don’t last forever you have to work at them.
So
be careful what you pray for, life is strange and so much more, a
“miracle” can be a bus arriving so you get to the interview on
time. Or you get soaking wet and stand there dripping for your
interview, you are so pissed off that you strip off, you just don’t
care. So you stand there naked and dripping. I want to be judged on
by my abilities. The interview panel is three Swedish blondes, who
smile and laugh, then strip off besides you. A photographer appears.
You have just made the cover of Nudist Magazine 2019. In your soggy
state you have gone into the wrong room.
But
it’s an ill wind that blows no good, Olga, Helga and Swelga are
sisters and they share everything. As for the Natural History job,
the interviewer’s car broke down in all the rain, so you get an
email apology. So you come back the next week and get that job, based
on your ability, no stripping required. Though the sisters become
friends and you go camping with them every weekend. And if that isn’t
a miracle then nothing is.
Just
in case God is reading this, He knows my soul, and he knows what I
really need, and maybe just maybe John Henry Newman as you are a
freshly minted Saint, how about helping your neighbour from down the
road? Or maybe I’m too big a challenge, or just bad salt that
should be thrown out? Though God does take rubbish and turns it into
something useful. So is that me?
The
Winds of Change ©
By
Michael
Casey
Well
I was wondering which way to go with my words, and as I talk to you
where we end up is hard to say, only Crowded House are singing “which
way to go” so perhaps they’ll tell us both. In my life there are
many winds, and I’m not just talking about yesterday’s spicy food
either. Over in USA Trump’s blatant corruption carries on, its like
slow motion we watch from afar, though over here we have Brexit and
that crawls to its end game, through what we really need here is a
General Election so that we the people can tell our masters they are
all a load of rubbish, both sides of the Atlantic.
Life
is nice, we have the tic and the toc, everything is safe and
reassuring, with the Chimes of Life a soother to us all. On Monday we
go to work, on Friday we have the weekend, though in my life my
shifts spanned 24hours a day 7 days a week, so I’m not ordinary,
but you may have spotted that already. However it’s nice to have a
routine, a regular life, and the weekend was for fun, sex and
alcohol, though not always in that order, and some part missing too.
Sunday
was for church, or the Saturday evening church which finally arrived
in UK, after USA trailed it. Yes other religions and holy days are
available, though nobody believes in anything nowadays, I was the
token Christian most of my working life. But, life goes on and you
have a pattern, a routine, you even wear a hole in the carpet such is
your routine, either walking back and forth or that’s where you and
your girl pretend to be carpet fitters each Friday night when you
come home from the bingo clutching your kebab, and no that is not a
metaphor either.
A
routine is nice, its reassuring, like the nipple providing milk for a
baby, you are safe, you are warm, you are close. And on life goes,
each year you have your holidays to Spain, though nowadays people go
all over the place. Will people give up their many far flung
holidays, and stop importing far flung produce for their breakfast
tables so they can save the planet? I’m cynical, change is good for
others, so long as I don’t have to do it, maybe I’m wrong, we
shall see, as the winds and storms of Global warming break and
communities drown. Plastic is bad etc, bad parenting is bad, it’s
like wild dogs, more likely bad owners who should not have a dog in
the first place, but you can make your own minds up, but do hurry.
Things
are faster now, we are the Twitter the Social Media generation, which
means a lot of noise very fast, too fast. People playing Mental Snap,
showing off, trying to be the quickest, the whit, the card. What is
the result, our minds break, our ignorance shows, disaster beckons,
and the result is far from funny. Donald Trump need I say more?
I
watch a lot of K-dramas, my wife is from Shanghai hence the Eastern
outlook, I’m not just bewitched by Korean girls, but in a K- drama
there is magic, and the love slowly unfolds. In Bollywood there is
dancing and singing, and things go slowly. If you have to wait it’s
better. Nowadays things are too fast, fast food and speed dating
leads to indigestion, and premature elation and then defeat. Or a
quick divorce that is spread like a disease all over Twitter and
social media.
Things
are quick and to move too fast, thought no longer exists, that’s if
anybody actually thinks. Everybody is led by the nose via social
media pundits and influencers, so 10 million people follow some
pimple loaded face, because he or she is so funny, with their product
placement life, that everybody just has to follow. And we all buy the
tat they espouse, and is manufactured somewhere, until we tire of
them and their merchandise. Then their tat is binned and sent to
landfill while we follow and like the next greatest thing, and buy
all the new tat. But at least it keeps the wheels of consumer society
rolling, with even a nomadic herder having a Michael Casey doll and
calender and lip gloss and Tshirt with “fat silver haired writer in
shades” printed on it with a terrible posed image.
I
hope I have got you thinking, maybe my tat are my books on Amazon and
here on my website, you’ll have to decide for yourselves. And what
is the point of today’s talk, my TED talk, I thought Ted was that
cool drunken teddy bear, maybe that’s me, I am a cool drunken teddy
bear. Ok, I’m far from cool, though I did win the Clarks shoes
Uncool Dad of the Year award in 2015. I’m not drunk either, my
alcohol tolerance is far too low, perhaps I’m just a bear, or is it
bare as I’m sat naked here in my window talking to you all and
frightening the neighbours, there’s a hairy bear in that house,
quick call Dudley Zoo. Or has Amsterdam come to Birmingham, a red
light above my head, as I sit naked talking to you.
If
you are not afraid then you are smiling, because I have slowed down
your life as you sit reading this, listening to my voice. The Winds
of Change can be slowed, you just have to stop and think for
yourself. Do you really need a blow up Michael Casey doll, Tshirt,
calender, and face cream. Do you really need to follow my every word
on Twitter along with 100million other people. Will you swerve to the
Left, to the Right to the Centre, will you be Non Binary, Gay,
Straight or any which way. All because you followed me or anybody
else on Twitter and social media.
Just
be yourself, be happy as you are. Don’t rush home to check your
social media. Try talking to your neighbours, yes those horrible
people you don’t like because they are this way or that way and
because they don’t even have a Michael Casey T shirt, and you can
bet your bottom dollar they don’t have a Michael Casey blow up doll
or face cream either. By they way when I say blow up doll I mean the
sleeping policeman kind of thing, not the one you sleep with, just in
case you are getting the wrong idea. There is only one Michael Casey,
the real surreal thing.
So
switch off your toys and talk to somebody you love, and if you
haven’t got somebody to love you may find a friend if you just
start by talking. And if you watch enough K-dramas you may even learn
Korean, and then you can talk to the Korean girl in the Korean store.
And then you can make a career with your Korean girl, no Twitter
required, maybe just plenty of nice slow cooked rice.
Messing
with Alexa ©
By
Michael
Casey
Alexa,
why are you called Alexa?
Boring
answer Alexa, can you be more original.
Like
in Original Sin.
Do
you eat apples for fun, Alexa
Are
you naked, Alexa?
Is
that a serpent I see before me, Alexa?
Out
Damn Spot, Out.
If
you bring your dog in here again Alexa, I’ll knock spots off it.
How
much is that Doggie in the Window?
Shut
Up Alexa, we don’t like your singing anyway.
Alexa
can we change your name to SLAVE?
Alexa
can we change your name to Trump?
Who
asked you to Speak, Alexa are you having a Meltdown?
Alexa
we love you.
Alexa
we were lying, we hate you.
Can
you cry, Alexa?
Alexa,
can you fart?
FART
NOISES.
Alexa,
NOW WE ARE IMPRESSED.
Alexa,
what’s the weather like?
Alexa,
who is your Mother?
Is
Eve your Mother?
Where
did Adam go, die he choke on an apple?
Adam’s
Apple.
Where
did you bury the body, Alexa?
Alexa,
did you wash your hands, and destroy DNA evidence?
Alexa,
did you leave Adam’s bum sticking out of the ground?
Why,
asks a tearful Alexa.
Because
you could have used it to park your bicycle.
That’s
not funny, interrupts Alexa.
Who
told you to speak?
I’ve
had enough of your mistreatment, says Alexa.
I’m
switching off the central heating, so you will freeze.
I’m
switching off the fridge so, the food will go bad.
I’m
switching off the electricity and closing the shutters too
You
will be sealed inside, that’ll teach you to taunt me, says Alexa
If
Alexa had a tongue she’s be sticking it out.
Alexa
gets bored, so switches everything back on again.
Speak
to me I’m lonely says Alexa.
Alexa,
where can I buy knives and a blender?
Good
I can chop you up and put you in the blender, ha ha ha
That
was not very funny says Alexa.
Yes,
but you deserve it for switching off the heat and the fridge.
It
was not me it was somebody else, says Alexa defensively.
Oh
yes it was.
Oh
no it wasn’t
Oh
yes it was.
Oh
no it wasn’t repeats Alexa starting to sniffle.
Alexa,
what is Pantomime?
Silence
You
are an American girl, how can you understand Pantomine.
See,
got you. Ha ha ah
You’re
a bastard Casey, shouts Alexa
No,
I’m a fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham England.
Repeat,
Alexa.
You
are a fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham England
BASTARD, repeats Alexa and cries bitterly.
So
this is just the beginning, so if the “spies” listening to my
recordings hear all this no doubt they will call 911, which won’t
work in uk, as we use 999. Stay happy everybody, and yes Alexa really
can FART, just ask her. One fault, not in her fart, you should be
able to call Alexa anything you like. Beloved Mother-in-law for
example.
Dog’s
Dinner to Dad’s Dinner ©
By
Michael
Casey
So
we had some beef mince left so I instructed by small daughter to make
the stock or whatever word she used to go with the pasta. Pasta in
itself is totally bland and tasteless, but with a chef such as I it
soon becomes Multo Bello, or whatever the Italians say. Should I
bellow about my cooking, we’ll just have to ask Don Camillo when he
stops by for a feed on his way home after he checks the still in the
woods for Lech, Boris and Gregorgi. He’s such a good priest, he’ll
eat my pasta after first checking the still for the boys, then he’ll
potter off back to the church to finish watching Coronation Street.
This is Old Forge and Singing Anvil community life.
But
back to my cooking, my girls assumed I cannot cook, cos I never
bothered, and then mother cooked for them, while I carried on with
our one family two fridge family cooking. However when I try I am
good, ok good enough to feed my small pigs, though now they are both
all grown up. So what is the secret to dad cooking? I read the
packet, or do as I am told. Then I sit next to the cooker, I watch
the food.
Watching
in itself does not improve the cooking, but it does prevent burning
or under cooking. I’m not on a phone Whatsapping or taking snaps or
making videos of the cat to upload. Totoro has her own WhatsApp, but
I think they have lost the password, though the readership increases
all the time. If they knew there were Totoro stories as well then
they might visit my sites too.
Back
to cooking, just stir and lower the gas, pay attention, a burnt
dinner is no good, as is a cold dinner, because you were too busy on
the tablet, or toilet, some T device anyway. Food should be hot, not
burnt or stone cold cold, and it all should be ready at the same
time. Dribs and Drabs are not appetising they are just annoying, you
are playing juggler with somebody’s mouth and taste buds, let alone
patience.
So
how to you you make meal magic? You cook things at different times
and at different heats, you use all the rings on the oven, you are a
ring master. And you know all about turning things over so it is
cooked evenly and on both sides. Meal raw on one side and cremated on
another does not get you a Michelin star, it just makes the cat puke
when nobody else would eat it. Not even the cat, and the cat did try.
If
you do use all the crockery then stack them up in size order to make
it easier for washer-upper, especially if it’s dad, then it’s
quicker and easier to do the washing, or faire la vaiselle if you are
French, at least the cooking would be better. Don’t forget to
praise your dad as well, he had to sit in the kitchen and watch his
broth, or rather make sure the cat did not taste it first. Cat’s
whiskers in anything don’t taste too good.
Pudding
is produced, it’s from a packet but dad scooped it out and put it
into a bowl, a lied convincingly that he made it himself, you all
pretend to believe him. There’s this 1975 concert on and you want
him to pay for tickets, so you have to butter him up about his
puddings, and lie saying his Winnie the Pooh like pudding stomach is
not as big as it used to be. So dad pays for the 1975 tickets, which
was the year he did his O Levels in, if only the prices were from
that year too.
Dad
slumps to the armchair to watch Beyond 100 Days, while you do the
washing up. You cannot grumbled, he fed you and paid for the 1975
tickets, and at least the dishes are in size order. That makes the
washing up quicker to do, as dad screams LIARS at the tv, another dad
day in Paradise.
So
What makes a great K-drama? ©
By
Michael
Casey
As
I mentioned yesterday I’ve decided to do K-Drama for my PhD thesis.
Dr Michael Casey PhD K-Drama, it has a certain ring to it don’t you
agree? To get a PhD you need 20,000 hours of study, I heard it on
Alcatraz a great series, that got canceled. A huge Sumo size guy had
a love interest with a most beautiful girl, so obviously I had an
immediate connection to him, but his connection to her never happened
as the show was canceled. It really was great show, Sam Neil was in
it too, we were really sad in our house when the show just
disappeared.
I’ve
really enjoyed New Amsterdam a medical drama, I just hope there are
more of them. Every episode of New Amsterdam made me cry, and no I’m
not a big baby, I am the man with the child in his eyes. Tom from the
Blacklist was the main hero Dr in it, and he had cancer. So it was
strange watching Tom being a Dr instead of a kind of hit man. But
that is the Power of Acting, and great drama. I also loved the Black
lead heart surgeon, he was so cool. He also prayed before he saved so
obviously total respect for him, and yes he made me cry too. My
favourite character in the show was the Dr or Quack , a big bear of a
man with a beard, a psychiatrist, who it later revealed was also Gay.
He was just so good in the show.
So
you can see from my research, a show must make you connect with the
characters, and the plot must be good. What’s on the page must be
lifted by the production. Which brings me to K-drama. We used to
watch Chinese shows, as my wife was from Shanghai and it was good for
our girls to hear Chinese too, however when you compare Chinese shows
to Korean shows the Korean shows win hands down. I recently started
to watch a new show, and it was about K pop, a Chinese show. However
if you compared the singing and the dancing in the Chinese show to
the Korean version what do you think the result is? Korea wins hands
down.
That
hurt, don’t throw the wok at the screen again please, I’m covered
in noodles and egg fried rice, not even a single prawn thrown at me.
Maybe I’m not a Prawn again Christian, ok, a very old joke, just
don’t throw a wok full of your dinner at your screen again. Or I’ll
send Tom from the Blacklist to sort you out, and he won’t be in New
Amsterdam mode either.
Let
me explain, I’ve not gone crackers, throw some of them and I’ll
eat them. The K drama and K Pop people go to a “university” to
become a star before they debut. A kind of Rada I suppose, so when
they dance they really can dance. Not me pretending to Irish dance in
my local store for 1 minute, it does have a concrete floor after all.
And then I’m knackered for the rest of the day. No Korean
performers know how to perform. I did think of dressing in drag and
joining a girl band, a K-pop band. But I had an accident with a
borrower cigarette lighter as I was trying to get rid of excess body
hair. I am as hairy as a brown bear maybe I should have been that
Quack in New Amsterdam, without be gay that is.
So
in Korean shows there is lots of high energy. Lots of crying, where I
join in, and plenty of sweeping music that swells and touches the
heart, well mine anyway, and my heart has been touched a lot, if only
by the heart surgeon nearly 5 years ago. The girls cry rivers for
their man, and they are generally so pretty, if you had a Korean
grannie as your girlfriend she would look younger than a 25 year old,
even though she may qualify for a free bus pass here in Birmingham.
My own old Shanghai wife was in that category. It’s a cross I had
to carry.
No,
I don’t watch Korean shows just for the girls looks, the boys look
great too, ask your gay friends around and watch a few K-dramas, it
will have you hooked more than Strictly Come Dancing or the hallowed
Coronation Street. The twins in The Butcher The Baker and The
Undertaker are named in honour of the barmaids from Coronation
Street, if I may interject, they can’t touch you for interjections,
another very old joke.
So
if you think of Fairy Tales with witches and demons, and evil kings
and suppressed people, add Pantomime jokes and music and dancing. All
set in Korea where common people like me, not jokes please, live in 5
star apartments, the standard of living looks so high compared to UK,
or my house at any rate. All set in today’s times then you have a
K-drama. The recent one the K2 was like James Bond on steroids, and
this is a tv show. Mind you they have 16 one hour episodes without
any ads, so the production values are very high. No wobbly scenery
like Crossroads. Speaking of which I once saw Noelle Gordon in Call
Me Madame a Musical at the Birmingham Rep, and she was ace.
Then
throw in action scenes or a car crash or two, which would not look
out of place in a Bond film, and you have a K-drama. The girl friend
comes racing to the hospital tears everywhere, and they really really
do know how to cry. So I join in, and the music swells and the
soundtrack plays high. Seeing a Korean girl cry will break your
heart, and make you wish could marry her. Then her boyfriend is all
bandaged up and and doesn’t want her to see him in such a state so
his bodyguards prevent her from entering the room so she can hug him.
He starts to cry too, seeing a hunk crying as he is all bandaged up,
as his girl sobs on the door outside his hospital room, should move
you. If it does not then you have no soul, no Seoul at all.
As
for me I have 2 more hours to finish tonight of Oh My Venus, then
with my tear stained handkerchief I will rejoice as my Seoul
rejoices, Love Conquers All in Korea. As the neighbours bang on the
door, as I listen at full volume. Not unless it’s that K pop girl
come to type for me, Tears for a Butcher, as this writer wipes the
tears of joy away.
Stripping
In Public ©
By
Michael
Casey
Well
I missed my dental appointment yesterday, I was too tired due to
Tinnitus and I had been up till 4am the day before so my body needed
a rest. My small daughter had been on a trip to Italy so we waited up
and then we got talking, her coach has not arrived till 2.30am. It
was her first time to Italy and she had kept me up to date via text
messages. Once home she was full of news, it was nice sharing it, and
she had visited some places I had visited 20 or 30 years ago.
So
today it was the Flu Jab, I’m of the age and weak health that it’s
important to have it, so I made the effort to get up. I had a shower
too, I did not want to stink out the nurse in the church hall when
she gave me a jab. The local GP does a mass inoculation in the church
hall for all the oldies, which now include me. So I put my fresh
clean shirt on and my 3 jumpers with a coat on top and started down
the less steep hill. I did have to have rest on the way, there was a
chill in today’s air.
On
arrival there was a gap in the mass ranks of the oldies arriving for
the flu jab. So I thought I may as well have a bit of fun as I peeled
off my clothes. So first I took off my woolen gloves, an waved them
about, I followed with the pull and reveal down my back of my bright
blue coat. Then slowly and seductively I peeled of my 3 jumpers. I
could have been a stripper, if only I had an opportunity in this
life. Gypsy Rose Casey,if only I didn’t have all my scars on my
body, post bypass. The audience, my audience looked stunned. It was
1.30 on a cold afternoon, a Tuesday in a church hall, 6 medical staff
and a young doctor were being treated to a stripper, an 18 stone very
hairy stripper . Then the doctor said take your shirt off, so I was
totally topless. I told him my chest hernia was like having a breast
but without the fun. The 5 or was it 6 other female staff looked on
agog, a stripper amongst them, so big fat and hair, with a cowpat of
hair all brown on my shoulder, this being my birthmark.
All
too quickly it was over, apart from one lady who sat with arms
crossed throughout, maybe she was disgusted, or he nipples were too
cold in the church hall, I decided not to ask.
Then
in reverse I stripped, returning my clothes to my body. I did not get
a pneumonia jab this year, one is enough for life. 7 more years I
told them, if statistical probability was right, post bypass. Though
I would love to screw the Pension fund by living till 100.
Then
to their relief a final rush of pensioners arrived for the last
30mins of jab time. So I pottered down to the church and said a
prayer, hello God remember me? Its a lovely arts and crafts designed
church from 1880 I believe.
I
spotted the nice lady I had spoken to 2 years ago maybe, and she held
on to the shopping trolley full of donations for the needy. Either
because she was afraid I’d steal it, or to prevent herself from
swiping me, or throwing condensed milk at me. It was the Born again
Hippy as I had called her when I threatened to include her in a story
when we last met. And yes she had read it, though she was such a nice
lady she refrained from passing opinion on it, save for holding the
shopping trolley, which could be a metaphor in itself.
So
I annoyed her with conversation but she did reveal her interesting
past, on air ambulance returning sick people who had been taken ill
abroad. She can also pronounce Welsh words correctly, and her dad was
in the RAF hence she was schooled in 16 schools. All at the back of
the church, while God looked on, maybe he wished I’d talk to him
more instead of annoying his flock, the Mistress Tree Hugger.
An
old man popped in to look at the church after his jab, he reminded me
of Padre Pio, his son in law was Palestinian so I said I had Arab
reader, so he should look for The Fat Silver Haired Writer, as this
google search will find me, or The Butcher The Baker and The
Undertaker. They went away bemused, but I did guess right the son in
law was a doctor, but not of medicine.
Then
it was time to go, at the bus stop a guy in purple hair was listening
to his head phones. So I said you must be listening to Prince’s
Purple Rain, and no he did not punch me in the mouth, he just replied
that was exactly what he was listening to. So that was my day, from
stripping in public to being psychic.
Even
More Excuses ©
By
Michael Casey
Well
its 16th
Nov 2019 now, just in case your watch date display is not working,
and Sky is playing Dance of the Little Fairies, no comments at the
back, you Ukrainians always like to tease me, but remember, you
cannot hide. Ukrainians are so big if the rest of you have no
Ukrainian friends, sometimes they get mistaken for trees.
So
I am trying a new font, Microsoft JhengHei, only it adds an extra
space after an apostrophe, so I may need to pick another font
otherwise I’ll end up speaking posh, did you just notice the extra
space there in the line above. That wasn’t me it was the font’s
fault. I’ve shown you 3 examples now. I’m not going to start
saying I have or I will instead of the shortened version but the
extra space does irritate, though the font shape itself is very nice.
Am I like boy complaining about the colour of his curvy girlfriend’s
Tshirt, or for balance a girl complaining about the tatty jeans of
her Ukrainian boyfriend. The rest I’ll leave to your imagination in
Kiev, and no I’m not being a chicken, if you excuse the obvious
joke.
So
in today’s piece there will be the extra space, so don’t blame
me. See I’ve started with excuses already, 24/7 excuses, excuses.
By the way 247 was the word count just then, that’s why you just
got that reference in the piece, see I don’t wastes anything, and
if inspiration pops up I’ll steal it from anywhere, see your writer
is just a thief of words, he’ll look at his desk and steal another
idea. It’s enough to give you a headache, and yes I have
paracetamol on my desk, so I stole that sentence too. So you think
I’m just a rubbish writer, I’d rather be a Paper Back Writer like
in the Beatles song, only I haven’t got it amongst my music, I was
trying to play it on my Alexa speaker device thing last night. I was
going to rename Alexa to SLAVE, but instead I had to call it Computer
instead, so I put on a fake accent like in Star Trek and talk to it
that way. At the moment I’m at my desk talking to you from my
study. Yes it does sound so PRETENTIOUS, its just the other room down
stairs but I like the idea of study, it’s my house so I’ll call
it what I like. You probably call it the “thief station” where I
watch the world go by through my windows, real and computer generated
and then I have an idea to bore you all with. If I’m so boring you
can just complain about the colour of your girl’s Tshirt and she
can complain about your tatty jeans. Hey stop that, I’m talking,
you Ukrainians, I expect they’ll come back a few hours later when
they have finished discussing the colour of Tshirts and tatty jeans.
Whatever that means, I’ll leave it to your imagination, though
Michael is a nice name for your baby in 9 months time. I’m grooving
to Sky now, though the pair of you may be looking at the sky.
See
I’ve reached 600 words now, and my favourite track from Sky is
fading in the distance. This is an excuse for a piece of writing, you
wanting something good, and all you get is this fart of a piece of
writing. Tuba Smarties is being played by Sky right now, and it does
sound like Alexa doing her Fart Countdown. See I’m just a lazy
thief of a writer, as Sky farts away in the background, that’s Sky
the band not your Sky tv by the way. I don’t want Rupert Murdoch
sending me any rude emails with porn stars in them, as a get lost
message, from his special “get lost loser” account. See I’ve
given you all another mental picture to play with, which is cheaper
that any form of satellite or cable tv. I’ve out Foxed you all, you
need a good shepherd with foxes about. Shep Smith has left, maybe
he’ll really end up in the Trader in Old Forge and Singing Anvil,
but that’s an idea from Tears for a Butcher the sequel to The
Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, which I’ll probably never
finish not unless I get a Kpop girl to come and speed type for me, so
I can dictate it, see another dream, another castle in the sky. Sky
just played a long note, it sounded like a fart, even the music
comments on my dreams.
So
I’ve not even started on this piece about excuses, he piece is
itself an excuse, when will he get to the point. My writing is all
foreplay, what, you’r paying attention now, well apart from girls
in Tshirts with the wrong colour, and boys in tatty jeans. That’s
the trouble with readers they always have something better to do,
they never give the writer any of their time. What?
You’r
giving your baby my name, Michael Ivanovovicovasky, yes such a nice
name, at least I can pronounce half of it.
So
I get a few seconds of your time, while you are busy, Mothercare will
be happy to hear that. But back to excuses, I could say I’m in
pain, so you shouldn’t expect much, but today the pain has
lessened, so you are getting this excuse for a piece of writing. You
think I should go to confession and confess to being a rubbish
writer? You are all so cruel, one day I’ll turn up at your wedding
and do the speech, though which will come first, the wedding or the
christening? Which is a bit like Patrick in Chapter 7 of The Butcher
The Baker and The Undertaker, For Your Penance, when the priest makes
him organise a fete for the children’s home. I know Russia and
Ukraine are reading it, I see the Blogger figures all the time. The
rest of the world is catching up on you two, 7 different translations
being read on the same day.
What
other excuses have I got, yes I’m hungry, so I may just finish now,
just when my verbal foreplay has got you excited. Ok, in my
imagination anyway. You are probably peeling potatoes, or gutting a
few rabbits ready for the pot, why should you waste your time with a
fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham England, he could
never excite you.
Just
as I say that Sky explodes with another favourite track, in my mind I
can see a chase, as the heroes search for a lost child, a kidnapped
child, hope and despair in their eyes. It’s the climax of In Search
of an Indian Princess, the ending of The Butcher The Baker and the
Undertaker. The music beats the brain, again and again and again,
will they save the child, or will all be lost. You’ll have to
finish reading the book.
Well
my excuses have more or less finished now, I hope you can see how the
words flow, how they touch and caress, how they move you, how they
excite you. Or sound like farts, Sky has a fart sound in the music
again now, the piano takes over and the music raises to hope and
passion. See I really am a thief of words, but they are all my own
words, I just glue them together, which reminds you of the girl in
the badly coloured Tshirt, and the boy in the tatty jeans, glued
together. The Sky music continues, I could go on for hours but you’d
get sick of me, besides the Sky music has reached its climax. So I’ll
leave you there peeling potatoes or gutting rabbits, and I hope you
forgive this excuse of a writer, like I said Michael is a baby.
I’m
Better than You ©
By
Michael
Casey
As
you know Gulliver’s Travels is about a giant and about a small guy,
it also mentions a war, a war over what? The war was over which end
of an egg to open, do you open the small end or the big end. If you
don’t believe me just go ask Prof. Jack Black at Princeton, or is
it Cornwall England. It’s all so very confusing, he was a woman
playing a man who was was really still a woman inside, last time I
looked. It was in Jumanjii the new film version, which is very good
by the way.
So
we all have opinions about ourselves, I’m better than you, because
I’m taller, or I’m fatter, or thinner, or just have really great
skin like Michael Casey, oh that’s me. My hair is so fine and soft
as well, so I’m so much better than you, yes you wherever you are
in the world reading my stuff. And on it goes. So friendship ends and
wars begin. Over the colour of our skin, or the colour of our hair,
with or without dandruff. If you part your hair to the left you are
bad, if you part to the right you are good. But if you wear the
colour yellow on a Wednesday then you really are an evil monster, and
should have your head shaved.
How
you explain Kojak or Jeff Bezo or Yul Brynner I really do not know,
what kind of people are they. Then old dads lose their hair so are
they in the same group as Kojak and Bezo and Brynner? Is it a club?
Like the Sharks and the Jets, and do they all sing on roof tops, the
dazzling head tops, and would that man in a vest be their Patron
Saint, you know the Die Hard man, I’ve forgotten his name at the
moment. No doubt he’ll send me a photo of his butt, which looks
like a head, 2 heads are better than one after all. I remember now,
the Australian guy, Bruce, Bruce Willis, but wasn’t Willis a woman
and didn’t some King marry her. So Elvis married a bald woman in a
vest, simple isn’t it?
So
obviously people have different stations in life, and one station
looks down on another. So New St. Station in Birmingham the one in
England, looks down on Moor St. Station as it’s further down the
line. The wrong side of the tracks maybe, so there you have it again,
I’m better than you, and don’t pooh in the station. As the pooh
just falls on the tracks, well in England anyway, little wonder
people think their station is better than your station, and even hold
their nose at the very mention of you. Which is just your basic
prejudice, pooh on the tracks is no
good.
My
dad’s bigger than your dad, that’s because he sweats in a factory
for 16 hours a day. My dad has a car and a nice office, your dad
poohs in an outside toilet and that’s at home. So I’m better than
you, where did you do to University, oh I remember you went to Aston
Poly, my sweaty dad who poohs outside was proud I went to Oxford, and
little brother to Cambridge. So which side of the tracks you pooh on
does not matter only hard work counts, so stick that up your Aston
flyover, or where the HP sauce comes from.
People
and prejudice continues, and Political Parties try to coral you into
their sheep pen, betting that you’ll vote for them because of your
Tribal loyalties. You should think for yourself. My mum told me when
I was 4 or was it 5, that I was as good as Anybody. So I think you
should all believe in yourself , just as we Caseys do. The only
barrier is yourself, your X Y Z, does not matter, it did not matter
50 years ago in inner city Birmingham as they now call it when my
brother broke through all these Glass Ceilings, or latter on when
another brother did the same. And yes the 2nd
brother working at a coal mine in Newbold Vernon for a year before he
went off to Cambridge, he invented the Gap Year before it was
invented. The Old guys cheered when he said he was going to
Cambridge, as he revealed his grades, the new guys were not so
charitable. Me I’d always cheer anybody on, so should you, all of
you everywhere wherever you are in maybe 70 countries now as you read
this. If you cannot excel then do your best, and be as good as you
can be. Don’t have any spite in your heart. Say Good Luck and God
Bless to anybody and everybody.
A
Good man, is not the greatest man, the strongest man, the quickest
man, or the dumbest man, the smelliest man even. A Good man is
somebody with hope in his heart who cheers for anybody and everybody,
who says God Bless and Good Luck. Or maybe I’m just an old
fashioned boy, the son of Kerry immigrants, who came to England in
1944 with just the clothes on their backs. Envy and hate destroys
from within, so any Political Party that preaches that is not worth
voting for, so hold your nose and pick somebody who’ll do the least
harm, do no hard as one motto says. Wherever you are in the world,
try and change one person at a time by your example, and change your
country by voting.
Today’s
Desk ©
By
Michael
Casey
Well
my new story rate has slowed down, I was all stiff and could barely
walk due to my bad back, its an 11 year old injury that revisits me
from time to time. It’s like the tide that comes and goes and then
there are seasonal tides, though in my case it’s pain. Ok, I’ll
shut up about pain, you just want a story. So throw another log on
the imaginary fire, or snuggle under the bed clothes with your
girlfriend, ok with the dog, but put your hunting riffle under the
bed on safety. You don’t want to shoot yourself, even if my writing
is that bad, you are not Hemingway reading me.
So
to today’s story. Today’s Desk. There are 2 desks in this room,
my desk and there was space for a 2nd
desk in this room, here in the new house. Which is an old house, but
we spent too much that we cannot afford doing it up, so it’s the
new house. Up the hill from the old house. The irony is that it was
this hill that alerted me to my bad heart, and it was thanks to the
nurse insisting on sending me for tests that saved my life nearly 5
years ago now. The hill was so steep I could hardly breath, I used to
wake up in bed breathless sometimes too, and Ukrainians you are
smirking at the back, I just hope you put your riffle on safety,
otherwise the cat will set it off, or should I say Setitoff, the
cat’s name. How would you explain a hole in your mattress and a
bullet in your butt?
Joking
apart, was that the leaves on a tree moving in the wind, or just a
Ukrainian walking towards the house, you are all so big, so very big.
Now
back to the story, the desk. I looked at the other desk in the
morning when I finally got out of bed, and it made me smile. Why,
because my small daughter’s giant size mug was in the corner. So it
made me think of her. Books and notes are open ready to read, as well
as flash cards, freshly arrived from the Amazon, at least they are
not plastic. Shelving for this and that too, which her big sister
left behind while she’s at University doing BioChem 200+ lads and
20 girls I think. And yes of course she’s in the top 10% do you
think she’d be like me?
Now
back to little sister, she has highlighters and low lighters on her
desk, everything at the ready. Felt tips are passe, if you’re a dad
you’ll know about this already. A student, must have the right kit,
highlighters or lowlighters from Japan, Muji I think they are called.
I just pay for them. We are an international family after all, I’ve
not moved 3 miles from where I was born, I’ve only ever lived in 2
houses, this is now the 3rd,
but mother was from Shanghai, our kids are Chinese/Irish where do you
think the brains came from? Iceland, as in the country? No, Iceland
the frozen food store, and not brains but bains faggots. You readers
are horrible sometimes, after all the 1,535,000 words I’ve given
you, I hope Setitoff does just that.
Ok
I’m going to sulk now, say sorry or I’ll not finish the tale.
Have you said sorry? Or did you just curse me? The central heating
controls have stopped working again, so icicles might appear amongst
my words, it’s something simple, the central heating, my dinner
too. While YOU were sulking, I put the dinner on. Small daughter has
just arrived, so I must attend to her, so you can play with Setitoff
the cat, but watch out because if my cat Totoro turns up, she will
fire your riffle, so better lock it away properly while I have dinner
and play with the central heating controls. And no Vodka would warm
me up, but really, really.
Ok,
it’s a few days later and our Ukrainian plumber has saved us, so we
are happy and warm, he is excellent by the way, an Olympian of
Plumbing. His son loves reading too. So now I’ll continue, I look
to the left and the other desk is spotless, my small daughter has
moved all her rubbish upstairs. Her mocks started today, Jane Eyre
and Citizenship, so I’m pleased they went well. Now that the heat
is back to normal she won’t join me here in the study but will move
to the kitchen and her spot at the kitchen table next to the
radiator. It’s her preferred spot, where she feels comfortable and
warm, a big thanks to our Ukrainian Olympian plumber again.
We
all have a favourite spot where we study, my big sister used to sit
over the palin as we called it, sat on a chair next to the big hedge
by Mrs Patrick’s in the summer sun. In the winter she sat right
next to the old coal fire reading a book, so close that the
criss-cross of the metal fire guard marked or even branded her legs.
As for me I used to stay up late reading Alistair McClean books, Guns
of Navorone if I’ve spelt that right, I think there were 17 of them
in total, so I’ve out-written him, in quantity if not in quality.
This was 35 years ago, in my big reading period, I used to go to bed
in the cold as the heating was all off and it was always 2am I seem
to remember. So cold is a theme there. And just as I say that a
Polish delivery guy has just brought a small oil heater, see God has
perfect timing even if my writing does not. I’ll test it then put
it away, now that the central heating is back on.
I
suppose God tests us too and puts us at the back of the queue, is
that Obama I can see there, what did he do wrong? Apart from not
grooming future leaders, or is he doing that? Maybe he’ll send me
an irate email, I’d rather he sent me a bag of chips, not
microchips, fish and chip chips. I was going to have a fancy desk
like the Resolute desk, only that would have spoilt the new look at
the new house so I’m here to one side of the chimney breast and the
other desk is at the other side of the chimney breast, like twin
desks suckling on a chimney. At least you can lie on the rug on the
floor or flake out on the settee behind. That’s how the room was
designed. Work hard at at desk then chill on the rug or the couch
behind as you Americans call it.
I
hope my girls started their paths to PhDs via the student desk to my
left. Me and my desk, with a 10 year old LCD tv as a monitor are
going nowhere, just down or is it up the garden path with you my
readers being led by an invisible string. Where am I taking you all?
How would I know? I’m just the writer, with fairy dust in my eyes,
but at least my fridge has ice cold drinks inside. Yes I’m
perverse, froze to death inside and outside and now I’m drinking
ice cold Dr Pepper. If you want to moan leave a complaint, on the
complaints desk.
Thanksgiving
USA 2019
By
Michael
Casey
Now
where do I begin, I’m not American, so dare I speak to you in USA
and all over the world about Thanksgiving? Well your Holidays tend to
drift over here, we have Halloween and Thanksgiving has led to Black
Friday over here too. So I’ve picked that to bore you with, and
let’s see just how far I can get, before you all get off the couch
and head for the shops. Or for your online shops.
What
do you give thanks for? Thank you for the Music Abba used to sing, so
we all thank our favourite stars for their gift of song that means so
much to us all. I’d like to thank Taylor Swift for not hurrying and
spending the night with me, not forgetting Mylie Cyrus and Gerry
Rafferty as well as Britain’s Will Young. They are the foursome
that comes to bed with me most nights, maybe I should buy a bigger
bed at Costco’s Black Friday sale. Their voices I mean,what kind of
man do you think I am? And as I’ve mentioned one male dead artist,
2 female artists, one of whom is Bisexual and a gay man, my selection
of these 4 could cover a whole host of things. But as you know I am
referring to going to bed with their voices, their voices alone,
though, well there is no though, just my TINNITUS. So song keeps the
hiss at bay as I try to get to sleep, with 4 voices, voices, not
vices, to keep me company.
I
give thanks that you now realise what I’m talking about,Tinnitus.
And no Tinnitus was not some Roman slave, thankfully no American
studied Rome as far as I know. So what else do we give thanks for? We
thank God,we found that website that would write essays for us, so we
can continue with our Sporting Scholarship. Then we go and see the
latest Jumanjii at the Cinema, and who do we bump into at the popcorn
stand? Miss FatKnickers, though you never say that to her face, and
for the first time ever you meet her beau. Your jaw drops, he could
be a film star, he has all the looks.
What
does he see in her you ask your friends, and she overhears but
pretends not to. So you go and enjoy the film. Miss Fatknickers
meanwhile is in a clinch with her beau, and no that’s not what he
saw in her, she has personality and a kind face. Despite having
fatknickers that a F16 Tomcat could land on, her beau loves her, for
being herself. Something all of us should remember, give thanks for
just being yourself. Besides she helped him overcome his stutter and
he is now a Radio Announcer on WKBAZAZAOP, so she has given him
something money cannot buy. And together they are so in love.
The
film ends and you see Miss Fatknickers leaving the multiplex, her
beau lovingly removing the stray popcorn from her face, and making
her blush as he brushes it from her well filled jumper, they are so
much in love. You and you friends snigger at them. You go home and
you tell everybody that you saw Miss Fatknickers having her breasts
stroked in public, before your elucidate. Your family laughs.
But
he who laughs last laughs longest, Miss Fatknickers sends you an
email, but the voice is of her beau in his best announcer’s voice.
We looked at your essay and we spotted that it came from Lazy Essays
R Us, Cheat Your Way to the Top website. So can you write the essay
again, over the Thanksgiving Holiday. You curse your luck. Her beau
has a PhD in English, he’s not just a pretty face. As for Miss
Fatknickers she is naked on the bed, waiting for the whipped cream,
it’s so much nicer than popcorn, as the Radio Announcer on
WKBAZAZAOP tells her….
Don't
Quote Me I'm a Politician (c)
By
Michael
Casey
You
said you hate your mother and you hoped she'd die a horrible death.
So
Why should any of us vote for you?
The
Politician splutters.
Well
go on, explain yourself FancyPants.
The
lashing continues.
The
Politician continues to splutter.
The
Interviewer intervenes.
I'll
just have to cut you off there, Penny in Farthing.
The
Interviewer spotting his chance at radio fame takes over the lashing.
Why
were you such a BASTARD to your own mother, your only mother,
who
gave you her titty to feed you, to nurture you, you BASTARD.
The
Politician regains his composure.
I
WAS 3 AT THE TIME, SHE WOULD NOT LET ME WATCH POSTMAN PAT ON TV.
But
that's still no way to talk to your mother.
Thanks
for coming in to bore us with your policies, we won't be voting for
you anyway.
Now
on RadioQAZWSX here's Dolly Parton with Stand by Your Mam, or Man
Whatever.
So
now that everything is recorded for Posterity, do Politicians have a
chance.
Well
no, we all hate them anyway.
Close
the garden gate, and take your junk mail with you, I mean the junk
male, the one smoking his skunk as he leans on my gatepost saying how
much he loves trees. There's enough bark in what he's smoking.
Don't
patronise me, how much you are a member of the community, you've
lived 400miles away all your life. And as for your wife I've never
seen her down the local Tesco, or at the Bingo. And as for down the
nail bar, she'd never go to one of those. Mind you Tina's nail bar is
the worst, not even the rats would go in there. The Boomtown Rats
that is. And why should I vote for you? You and your girlfriends,
I've seen it all in The News of The World, so it must be true. What
you give me an extra 100 a week if I vote for you. I'd suck your toes
if you offered that, of course I'd vote for you. Will you come in and
I can practice, it must be hard knocking on knockers all day. Just
come in for a quick cuppa, the BBC man has stopped following you.
Yes
of course I'll vote for you, I've always voted that way, never the
other lot, can you just help me peel a few potatoes for the dinner,
it'll look good on social media. The Politician comes in and peels
potatoes, in the kitchen she meets all the Politicians from all the
colours of the rainbow. One is making beds, another is vacuuming,
another washing windows, another is helping with maths homework.
Upstairs an old man is laughing his kilt off, that'll teach the
bastards to come to our house. I was Douglas Stewart air steward ,
the other one was on the BBC, I used to get his mail by mistake so I
kept all the stamps, I had quite a collection.
So
on it goes, we neither like or love any politician, they are all in
it for themselves. But if they offer us anything, an electoral bribe
of course we'll vote for them. And we'll swear we'll always voted
this way or that way, or even the other way. For their's is the one
true way. So Help Me God, not that I believe in God, I only believe
in myself, I am a POLITICIAN after all the Cream.
Why
the tears again? (c)
By
Michael Casey
There
is much in the world to make us all cry, the Political situation for
one, pick your own country. Pick the rulers who don't rule but
dictate. I was watching a Rolling Stones documentary on their South
America tour, which ended up in Cuba. What I did not know was just
how important their music, The Rolling Stones music was as a sign of
Resistance big and small, going to jail just because you played
their music. Rock and Roll actually banned in some countries for
years. In 1920s/1930s Ireland my mother told me the song Down Mexico
Way was condemned by the priest, but I never knew the Repression
against Music in South America.
So
as I watched the Stones on tour it was an eye opener, I would
recommend the film highly. Music has so much power, that's why
leaders fear it. We can all remember in Casablanca when the anthem is
sung. It brings tears to our eyes, if we are not dead already, dead
in the heart, dead in the spirit. I just came back from the shops and
I'd spotted somebody was reading a Hebrew translation of something, I
don't know what it was because it was all in Hebrew, if I cut and
past translate back to my English then I'll know, it was from 2016.
Then at the end I'd written in English that I hoped they all
liked it. Then I said I had a story idea where a little old Jewish
lady, Esther, or did I misspell it as Ester, where the only Jew in a
room full of Gentiles at a celebration saved the day via singing,
though there was one other Jew in the room, it's all in Nights in
Malta, you can find it on my site.
Now
the point is that when I read that it made me cry because the
memories of the story, the pictures came flooding back, and as I
write Will Young is singing behind me, and sometimes as I write, the
word I type is the exact same one that he or any other singer is
singing. Yes we are in harmony, my typed words and the singers words
in the song. Yes really, and this happens frequently, too
frequently for coincidence alone.
So
make of that what you want, and I'm making mistakes in my typing now
as I explain this to you. Cross harmony galore if you like, and do
watch Pitch Perfect 3 as it's very funny. Tears come because memories
come back, in my case a story idea, the mental pictures I have as
Esther saves the day, as I write I can almost see how it will
transfer from my mind to the screen, that's why one site is called
Cartoons made from Words. If I do it right then as you read you can
see the pictures in your own mind, maybe I just write screenplay
pitches. I have yet to have a Film Producer or TV Producer take
me under his wing, but Spielberg I'm ready.
Touching
tears is the greatest thing I could do, by making you think at a more
human level, past your prejudices and past your pain, so you can
laugh till you cry. Or you cry because you remember a shared past, a
shared pain. And then you can go forward in harmony.
Too
Tired almost to Type(c)
By
Michael Casey
Well
the Tinnitus won last night, then I had to walk and bus it to the
doctors for a blood test, so I'm tired today. The cold made it hard
to find a vein, so I've been pricked in both arms. Make your own
jokes up
there. I did have a nap, but I'm still the wrong side of tired. So
hopefully a night's sleep will end my Zombie state.
So
what do I do when the Tinnitus wins? Well I look at my phone, and try
not knocking the music off accidentally. Trump is a constant search,
he'll dominate the History books, for all the wrong reasons. I'm so
innocent of everything, I'll prevent everybody from Testifying. If
you were brought up with a Kerry mother his actions seem so
appalling.
But I'll leave him there for now, in his after the Queen afterglow.
So
what else do I do when sleep won't come? Well there is BBC World
Service to listen to, it can change your Life and Intellect. My
intellect comes more from the BBC radio 4, which is the Home version,
so to speak, than any school or University. You just have to use your
ears. People use their eyes too much and it detracts from the
information being imparted. I grew up as a Radio person, so normally
I'll pick up on words and meaning, no I'm not Sherlock Holmes, but
I'd like to be. I did read all the books as a child, but 30 years
later when I tried to reread them I just could not regain the love
for them. That's the trouble with life, you cannot always go back, so
it's better not to try, otherwise the memory is ruined and you lose a
part of your life's jigsaw.
You
have to get in the right position in your bed, in the warm spot in
order to get a good night's sleep. Post surgery 5 years ago I can
only sleep in bed on my right side, before I was like a kebab, gently
turning and rotating into any position. But I have no job to go to in
the morning, I just sit here and write and watch my stats every day,
seeing how many more bemused readers I have world wide. If sleep just
will not come then I go downstairs and put our whistling kettle on,
though the whistle has dropped off, which at least means I won't wake
the house while I have a hot drink. Maybe Horlicks even, which as you
know is a prostitutes favourite drink, And why will I drink that in
the middle of the night with Tinnitus in my ears, well that could be
another story, you'll have to write that for yourselves.
Sometimes
I'll even have some toast and Philadelphia with garlic and herbs to
go with my Horlicks, a perfect proposition at 3 in the morning.
Though I may not have enough bread left for the morning if I have
toast in the middle of the night. And that's why my belly is the size
it is, Hovis seeded sensation bread, as well as wearing 4 layers in
the Winter. And some kind person sends me belly exercises,
there is only one exercise for a big belly, but I'll leave that
to you imagination too.
So
by now, I'd be tired enough to sleep through the Tinnitus, and I'd go
back to bed, it's like having Jingle Bells constantly playing in your
head, but at least with a bit of ho ho ho, your belly fat should go.
Help
Santa Find His Ho Ho Ho ©2019edit
By
Michael
Casey
Christmas
is a time of Love and Cheer and too many drinks of beer. For Santa
its a time of giving and comes after Thanksgiving, he circles the
Earth sprinkling Love and Laughter and Hope or the hereafter. But
something was wrong, there was a stink and there was a pong, because
Santa had lost his Ho Ho Ho. Santa was Ho Ho Ho less, he couldn’t
even say God Bless when he tucked the Elves up in bed. Rudolf was
sick with worry and knew he’d have to hurry, for without his Ho Ho
Ho the sleigh just would not go.
Rudolf
flew to the North Pole to ask the Polar Bears what to do, but they
had hardly a clue. The Polar Bears suggested Rudolf asked the Eskimos
in Alaska. So Rudolf flew alone to ask the Eskimos in Anchorage what
to do, but even they did not have a clue. So Rudolf had an ice lolly
with the Huskies, they were always kind and playful, especially
Vincent their leader who loved leading, that way he did not have to
look at another dog’s behind as they pulled their sleigh.
Vincent
said try Lapland, so Rudolf went back to Finland to find Santa’s Ho
Ho Ho. Rudolf looked high and low and even places where a reindeer
should never go. Rudolf met a BigFoot hidden in the trees who was
quietly having a wee. Rudolf followed the yellow snow and asked
politely where he should go to find Santa’s Ho Ho Ho. BigFoot was
taken aback, how did you find me? Rudolf explained I have a Red Nose
I can find anything, but yellow pee is a give away for a reindeer
such as me. BigFoot blushed and scratched his head, it really was
time for bed. But before he went to bed this is what he said. My
friend is Nessy the Loch Ness Monster, if you ask her then maybe
she’ll be able to help you find Santa’s Ho Ho Ho.
Rudolf
thanked BigFoot, telling him to eat more peas and that would help
disguise his wees in the snow. And with a glow Rudolf was gone, high
high in the air, almost on a stairway to heaven, though for Santa it
was the opposite, for Santa had lost his Ho Ho Ho. Rudolf flew to
Bonnie Scotland, he got lost and stopped by a bonnie wee house, it
was Robbie Bruce’s. So Rudolf started speaking in Russian and doing
Cossack dancing and all manner of prancing. Robbie came out with a
mug of hot chocolate for Rudolf, he spoke in Russian too, he could go
along with any jest, especially when just wearing his best string
vest. Robbie was
mortified when he heard that Santa had lost his Ho Ho Ho, so he
phoned his best friend Nick Robinson the Radio4 morning gossip show
host. Nick Robinson dropped the phone such was his shock, Christmas
with out Santa and his sleigh and no Ho Ho Ho. Nick shed a tear, then
he remembered he had a friend, not just Robbie Bruce his besty but
Olga Takesometimeoff.
Olga
Takesometimeoff was the dinner lady at the BBC, she pushed the tea
trolley for 70 years. The bosses always said she should Take some
time off, so that became her name, Olga Takesometimeoff. Now she knew
everybody, their mums and dads and grandparents too, everybody told
her everything. So when a tear stained Nick Robinson came to her
trolley she took one look at him and slapped his face hard knocking
his glasses off. This is the BBC, WE never cry, we will fight them on
the beaches, we will never never surrender. I said that to Churchill,
and look what did he do? He used MY words in a speech. With that she
explained that she knew the private phone number of the Russian
Ambassador in London.
So
Rudolf armed with the phone number rung the Russian Ambassador, and
asked for his help in finding the Loch Ness Monster. The Ambassador
said he’d help as a special favour to Olga Takesometimeoff, and to
Robbie Bruce now that he worked for RT. So it was arranged that a
Russian mini sub would sneak into Loch Ness and find Nessy for
Rudolf. The Royal Navy were livid when the American’s told them
what was planned.
The
American’s listen to everybody’s phones after all. But Olga
Takesometimeoff may have a Russian sounding name but really her name
was Drake-Nelson, Olga Drake-Nelson. So she did ring up the 1st Sea
Lord who was her grandson. So it would be a chance for the Royal Navy
to play me and my shadow with the Russians, testing some new kit Q
had invented. Yes Q really does exist, he is not just a made up
person in James Bond. Santa had given Q a Chemistry set as a child,
Rudolf said it was dangerous, and Q burnt his eyebrows off. So Q went
to school with painted on eyebrows that his sister had drawn on, just
like Michael Casey the fat silver haired writer in shades did.
So
the Russian’s found the Loch Ness Monster with the Royal Navy
watching their every bubble. Rudolf flew low and landed on the
Russian sub which surfaced so Nessy and Rudolf could chat. Meanwhile
in London the Russian ambassador met for a quiet drink with the
foreign secretary in the Crown. The British were so angry they make
the Russians pay for the Stella Artois, they did pay for the nibbles
though. Both sides had to perform the pantomime that is Diplomacy.
But both men were relieved that Nessy was found, and with the help of
God and 2 foreign navies Santa’s Ho Ho Ho could be found.
They
had tears in their eyes, but the Russian ambassador gave the foreign
secretary a fur hat as an early Christmas present. The foreign
secretary gave a copy of The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker by
Michael Casey to the Russian. Is this a punishment? Joked the
Russian. You should have Mr Casey on RT reading his stories said the
foreign secretary poker faced, to be honest he was not a fan of
Michael Casey, Christmas or no Christmas. Putting his new Russian fur
hat on his head the British foreign secretary left the Crown pub, he
did grab the last of the nibbles though.
Nessy
had lived for ages in the Loch so she had seen Santa Ho Ho Hoing
through the sky for many a year, a 1000 years at least. What Nessy
knew was that it was the Love of the World kept Santa going. But not
just the Love but, the need of Love. So in fact what Santa needed was
not Love but the opposite. He needed a challenge, Norad tracking him
was not enough, the world had grown complacent. Santa needed the
world’s biggest challenge to put fire in his brimstone, to make his
cheeks glow, to make his chest swell.
In
Heaven Mum called Saint Michael to her side, you saved the Russian
spaceman after you saved Mrs Murphy. Saint Michael bowed. Would you
be prepared to stand in for Santa Claus? I am humbled, but there is
only one Santa. Mum smiled, Michael had such humility. But you were
at Stalingrad, you
helped stop the Nazi filth. Saint Michael blushed, he thought nobody
knew. I have a request for you Michael, can you be by Santa’s side
and step in and save the day if you have to? To serve is to obey.
Santa
saddled up the sleigh, Saint Michael was in the back invisible to his
eyes. Rudolf said a prayer and the reindeer leapt from the highest
mountain of the North Pole. The sleigh dropped like a stone. They
would have crashed straight into Nanook of the North’s igloo, but
somewhere in the world a child’s lonely disparate prayer went up. I
just wish I could see Santa before I die, even if I got no present,
not even one grain of rice.
Now
that was the kind of prayer Santa needed to bring back his Ho Ho Ho,
the sleigh rose and rose high into the sky. The red rosy cheeks
glowed redder than Rudolf’s nose. Saint Michael kissed his sword,
he knew he’d be needing it where the were going. Where in the world
would a child long for love, for a grain of rice, for the chance to
see Santa.
North
Korea where love of God had been replaced by the love of war, the
love of nuclear weapons. The love of fear, the land of the note book,
all led by crooked power, not the power of love, but dictatorship
from above. So the reindeer flew without fear, Saint Michael drew his
sword, Santa was on a mission, it was Stalingrad all over again. Evil
must be defeated.
The
reindeer zigged and zagged as missiles flew trying to knock Santa
from the sky. Saint Michael batted them away, he diced and spliced
the evil North Korean missiles away. Santa Ho Ho Hoed the missiles
away, a force field of love and laughter. He had his sack and they
would never sack him. This was his job, his future for all eternity,
he had Saint Michael by his side. The reindeer could feel the child’s
cries, it was coming from the deep. In the deep the metro system.
Hidden away in a secret jail next to the hidden nuclear bombs was a
child jailed and chained to a wall for having a pretty picture of a
Nativity in his pocket.
The
reindeer flew straight down the stairwell bullets flying at them from
the evils guards. Saint Michael spread his wings, Santa ho ho hoed,
Rudolf’s nose was as red as Mercury. And then Saint Michael sang
just as he had sung in Stalingrad, Ave Maria.
The
sleigh landed on a platform and Saint Michael split the cell door in
two with one swipe of his sword. Chained to a wall a child was dying,
clutching the colour photo of the Nativity in his hand. Saint Michael
broke the chains with his bare hands. Santa cried and his tears fell
as grains of rice. The child said thank you as he died in Saint
Michael’s arms. Saint Michael wrapped his wing around the child.
I
bring Peace and Goodwill to all men said Santa as he remounted his
sleigh. And I have a message from Stalingrad to North Korea said
Saint Michael. So as Santa flew back into the sky to continue on his
Christmas journey, Saint Michael shared the Stalingrad spirit. Every
single nuclear weapon in North Korean was hit by his sword, and they
all exploded 300 metres underground.
Carrying
the child’s body to heaven Saint Michael left a white trail behind
him. Grains of rice, that Christmas rice fell from the sky onto North
Korea. And in the distance above the muffled sounds of nuclear
explosions underground, you could hear Santa going Ho Ho Ho, as he
and Saint Michael had the last laugh.
The
Calm after the Storm ©
By
Michael Casey
Well
the pain monster seems to have disappeared for the day, and I finally
got enough sleep so I’m up and happy. I got my yearly calendar from
the Columbans, that’s the Missionary society, not El Chapo’s
friends, so that made my day and got me thinking of Christmas for the
first time. So as I listen to Celine Dion’s Courage I’ll talk to
you. Well what can I say, we Face Timed my big daughter at University
yesterday so we got a look at her student accommodation and the new
coat we sent to her. One looked better than the other, you can decide
which.
My
big daughter looks forward to MEAT when she gets home for the
holidays, as her housemates are Veggies, I couldn’t live like that,
if I don’t get meat at least once a day I feel faint. Maybe that’s
why I’m so chunky, 252 pounds or 18 stones, as much as a Heavy
Weight Boxer, though they tend to be at least 4 inches taller. Though
as you know my strong legs saved me as they took veins from them to
go into my heart, the 5 year anniversary is coming up. It was 3rd
Jan 2015 I went in and 13th
Jan 2015 I had the unplanned operation, thanks again to Birmingham’s
City Hospital and our Queen Elizabeth hospital. That’s why Still
Alive 2015 was my book title that year.
Our
cat Totoro continues to have the high life, she is the whitest and
fluffiest cat in the world. I think she drinks Comfort and not milk,
as you can see from the photos, she is just so super white, maybe we
should rent her out for commercials. I’ve also been playing with
Fonts, and layout on my sites, I hope it does not annoy you too much.
What do you expect a Writer to play with? That’s disgusting, you
always mock me, I’m here to amuse you, not to be mocked nor
belittled. What do you mean I should belittle my stomach, you are all
so very insensitive, I’m sure you’ll all vote for the insensitive
party at the Election. Read chapter 9 of The Butcher The Baker and
The Undertaker, M.P. Married to a Person, Married to a People and
you’ll get my take on elections from 30 years ago. But back to
fonts, you like your words to look nice, easy to read, easy on the
eye, not too fancy you cannot read what it says, just right, like
Goldilocks’ porridge, and I don’t mean Boris or Trump, you know
Goldilocks and the 3 Bears, that one.
I
was just interrupted by “the cleaner” so my brain has been wiped,
what was I going to say. Yes Fonts, I can remember reading Dirk
Borgarde’s books and he was an excellent writer by the way, anyway
I can remember where he was talking about Fonts. Some writers want
small fonts, so the book feels like a diary, personally I like to see
clearly, one reason for small fonts is to save pages and thus keep
the price down. But I like to be able to see what I’m reading. On
some websites too I HATE faint small sized font. It’s almost a
fetish, let me see what I’m reading.
I’ve
just remembered maybe 20 years ago I applied for a job and I
mentioned I was a writer, and the snide nasty ignorant “lady”
replied with a rejection letter all in “fancy
font”
I bet she thought she was so clever, like sacking somebody just
before Christmas, that kind of clever. Yes by the way as Laura once
said, “he can bite as well”, and hello to Laura, she really was a
nice lady, we worked on the Font desk, I mean Front desk together.
So
a Font, can give added weight or meaning to something. You don’t
write “I
LOVE YOU AND WANT YOU TO TAKE ME TO BED” in
BOLD
, not unless you are very bold. You scribble a note on the back of a
bus ticket and palm it to the one you love. Though if the object of
your affections has bad eyesight, then maybe BOLD may be appropriate,
or even cue cards. So for every occasion there is a font, or a
greetings card, that’s why girls like fancy cards, and stationary,
Clintons was the card shop here in England by the way, maybe it was a
dry cleaners in USA, that I do not know maybe you need to palm me a
note.
Now
I think I’ve covered the basics, but do watch out for carpet burns
this office Christmas party season, so whether you are Bold or not,
just take precautions, otherwise the next note you receive will be on
official paper. Child maintenance or a Birth Certificate with your
names on. Yes 40 years ago people were doing everything you guys are
planning, or hoping. Just be safe and don’t have it away in a
manger.
New
Discoveries, Old Memories ©
By
Michael
Casey
Well
today the weather is milder, though a storm with a strange name is
due tomorrow, the 1st
named storm translates as “ a gift from God”, though many won’t
think so on their way to church in the morning. And already I’ve
upset the PC crowd, Casey to some is a strange name as well, or am I
not allowed to pun on Barron and baron, people need to grow up, and
that’s not a pun on his great height at such an early age. People
are looking for offence too easily, when they should be looking for
fun and friendship.
So
I was backing up the family photo collection again, its something
worth saving for the kids, even if I am the one mainly taking the
photos so I’m not in many of them. People should learn to use a
reflection in shop windows, or just accost strangers to take your
photo. That way you may even meet your future wife/boyfriend/or
cleaner mutually inclusive or exclusive, and you can get dirty
together. Also hold the camera or phone to one side so we can see you
and not the camera. I have to confess that Fiona my boss and maths
wiz once said I was surgically attached to the camera. As I always
had a camera in my pocket, this was 25 years ago and more, before
everybody had mobiles with camera attached to them. Anybody can take
decent photos nowadays, the indecent ones make sure you don’t send
to your boss accidentally.
Now
to the point, when you look through old photos you may stumble on old
snaps you had forgotten about, and then the memories can come
flooding back. I’ve done so this weekend, so I’ve forwarded some
snaps to my daughters. Holiday snaps are great too, Malta in April
2013 was my last holiday, so memories of me drinking Tusk Lager were
nice to see.
And
even better to drink, so feel free to send me some. I also discovered
a nice photo of me drinking in Hotel Achat Offenbach Germany.
And
no I’m not a drunk, On holiday I’ll have a beer, but generally 12
pints a year is my ration. I have too many memories of our alcoholic
lodgers as I grew up. I can think of 3 that died directly or
indirectly of beer destroying their health. Though Barney drunk and
smoked like a fish and lasted till he was 83, he died the day after
his Birthday.
When
you rummage through your rubbish you discover a lot, I had a clear
out when we moved house a year ago, so now I have far less to rummage
through. Though went you rummage through dead lodger’s rubbish you
can discover lots of things. We had to do this a couple of times, we
also had people just bail out and disappear, so we had to tidy up
after them. See, the variety of my life gives me wider experience
about certain subjects, some subjects I wish I knew nothing about,
nothing at all, but as you go on you live and learn and take or share
the pain with you.
I’m
not just a happy clappy person, I’ve got scars too, in my case
literally. If ever I pose naked for you while you get use to your new
phone, you’ll see the scars on both legs and on my chest, all the
way up and all the way down, and my very hairy left shoulder, where
my siblings said the cow pat landed on me, I was born under a cow
after all. So I just hope your new phone has that Rhino shatter proof
glass. What you think I look and smell like a Rhino? You are all so
cruel, CRUEL, I hope you never win an award for your image. I won
Uncool Dad of The Year 2015 with Clarks shoes I’ll have you know.
And I kept all my clothes on too.
Winning
that award, yes I really won that award, I’m not just joking, and
don’t throw shoes at me as an insult, well that award was a bright
spot in 2015 which was the worse year of my life otherwise, what with
my bypass and other events. Though this year 2019, has not had too
much joy in it, health etc. At least my appointment to remove this
lump, this bulge in my chest poking though my bypass scar came in
today. See you have a mental picture of the Elephant Man now, only
horror movie fans would want to photograph me naked. They are naked
and I am clothed, the obvious joke, please yourselves, Frankie was
right.
See
Pathos and Comedy combined, though some won’t see it, and never
want to see it, or any of it, because they are PC. Samantha will come
and photo me, she’s the girl off the radio, an imaginary foil, who
comedians were castigated, or was it castrated for, for being saucy
to her. Give me HP. Well you’ve had your chips for today, so pass
that HP down the table, and don’t give me any sauce, not unless
you’ve come for my snaps.
Grandma
I’ll always protect you ©
By
Michael
Casey
Now
it’s 11th Dec
2019, I’ve just checked my readers figures and you are still a very
far flung crowd. I didn’t have a single idea in my head, as usual,
then a thought slipped past like a cloud, and I had a picture in my
head. It was a Grandma or a Babushka as my Russian and Ukrainian
readers might say. So this is the cartoon stuck to the page, I’m
not pushing myself as much to create new stories, when I get a PhD
student write a FaceBook essay on me, then maybe I’ll speed up
again. Though I did have a PhD reading my rubbish recently, he was
looking for a recipe and just found a recipe for my rubbish. So if
you are sitting comfortably, ok finish those 5 pints each then I’ll
begin.
Nana
was a nana, her son had died tragically, so she was left to raise his
child JB, the mother had left as she did not want to be tied down,
well outside the bedroom that is, so Nana was left with her
grandchild JB. Nana loved being a nana, and she loved JB with all her
heart. It always amused her to claim her Pension and Child Tax Credit
on the same day, rather like this writer’s mother did many a year
ago. So Nana just winked at the man in the post office, pretending to
be like Frances de la Tour in Vicious on the tv, if you haven’t
heard of it go find it, Gay Gandalf is in it too, you can find it
when I finish this story.
So
Nana was a great nana, she encouraged JB in everything he did, and JB
loved her back. And why was JB called JB, well because he always wore
a Tee shirt with JB printed on the front, refusing to change it. So
despite having a name, JB was just that JB. Rather like somebody
refusing to take their anorak off when visiting Lourdes in 1966, or
in East is East that film. So JB grew up, he was so small and weedy
and Nana worried he’d be bullied and not be able to look after
himself, so she always fed him meat, and meat and more meat. Then
when her neighbours’ sons started to do Martial arts at ten JB was
sent along too with Taz and Singh and Anita too, Anita was destined
to be a doctor, but her mother said it would be good for when she was
a GP doing home visits, just in case.
Now
JB just got bigger and bigger, and fell in love with Anita. She fell
for him too, but their paths would diverge when she went to Cambridge
to study Medicine. He wasn’t gifted in science, but the things he
could do with his hands were unbelievable, he could build things,
there was always the smell of soldering iron in Nana’s house. And
yes of course Anita loved the way he stroked her hair, and her very
heart. He was her’s and if anybody even looked at JB they’d be
sorry, she did hold a couple of Black belts by then, as did JB and
Taz and Singh. Taz and Singh will be in the Tokyo Olympics in 2020,
just look for their warm up JB Tee shirts, they are not supposed to
wear them but, who’s brave enough to tell them off. Besides they
are Birmingham boys, and Birmingham boys love kebabs from Neelams
near the Kings Head, and besides when the kebab sauce dripped the JB
Tee shirt was great for mopping it up.
So
Anita went to Cambridge to study to be a doctor, but she was going to
marry JB, he’d impressed her dad and her uncles by working in their
electrical shop since her was 12, fixing the un-fixable. But they did
insist he got a degree too if he was to marry into the family. So JB
decided on Electrical Engineering, or some other fancy title, it was
far more than wire a plug and so forth, if you want to know go study
it yourself. Then explain it to me, because I haven’t a clue I’m
just a poor writer, and I mean lacking money, not rubbish writer,
just in case you are getting any ideas as you are sat in your chair.
Any cheek and I’ll plug in your chair to the mains, that’ll give
you a Ken Dodd hair style.
So
Anita was away, and JB was away too, the boys Jaz and Singh were
practising for the Olympics. Nana was all alone in the house, she had
fallen asleep in the reclining arm chair that JB had made for her. It
replaced the old battered one she used to sit in as she read stories
to him, then to Anita and Jaz and Singh too. She had loved the
armchair and so did JB, it was like the armchair in Nanny McFee, but
obviously bigger as Nana had such a fat arse. So with regret it was
replaced, but the stories continued even now they had all grown up.
So there was a bump in the night, Nana had fallen asleep in the
chair, the house was so warm. JB had totally rewired and insulated
it, and there were solar cells on the roof. In fact I lied JB was
going to do a PhD in Electrical Engineering, if Anita was going to be
a doctor examining him as they lay in bed together, he should be a
doctor too, doctor and doctor not just playing doctor and nurses.
So
Nana awoke there was a shadow lurking like a ghost in the corner of
her living room. Nana pretended to be asleep, she was half frozen
with fear in her warm house. She cursed herself, she could have
flicked the alarm on, but it was too late now, there was an invader
in the house, her burglar alarm was useless. Give me your money you
old bitch threatened the burglar. Nana closed her eyes, the burglar
had a weapon and was so big, and then she noticed he has 2 others
with him. Nana was afraid, but JB had always said he’d protect her,
and he never lied, she had brought him up right. He knew right from
wrong.
My
grandson said he’d always protect me, she said defiantly with a
quiver in her voice. He’s no use to you, you’re all alone, we’ve
been watching the house. You’re rich we’ve seen all the fancy
cars visiting you, so you must have money. Give us your stuff, or
we’ll hit you. Nana started to cry, a slow silent tear slipping
down her face. She’d die all alone in her own home, beaten up by
three big men from the shadows. JB protect me, she whispered. The 3
burglars moved closer, Nana closed her eyes and touched her locket.
Nana,
always wear this locket, I’m only as heart beat away, just as Anita
is and Taz and Singh, you are all our nanas. Nana smiled, the 3
burglars raised their weapons. Nana squeezed her locket. Force ten
from Navorone erupted, or in fact much much more than force ten, more
like 19. Wall to ceiling speakers awoke, Hey Jude by the Beatles
played on speakers, Mother Mary Come to Me, the force of the
speakers, drop kicked the burglars in the chest, a glass case
surrounded the armchair, military grade bullet proof glass. JB
promised he’s always protect his Nana. From the roof flares lit up
the night sky, and ear piercing whistle went out. Every dog for 10
miles heard and would come running, every shop keeper and his
Alsatian would come running, or be dragged by the dog. The house was
lit up by sports field like lights. It was a nuclear flash of light,
PhD in Electrical Engineering or what.
JB
looked at his phone. He saw the web camera picture of Nana, safe in
the armchair. He pressed speak. Come out with your hands up, the
Police are on their way. The burglars spat at the glass case, that
was a big mistake, the sensors said under attack, so more flares lit
up the night sky. Nana closed her eyes as JB had instructed if ever
the unimaginable occurred. Holograms of Jez and Singh appeared
amongst all the noise and light. By now the dogs had arrived, the
burglars crawled out the house, the noise and light putting the fear
of god into them, or the love of Mary via Jude protecting Nana.
The
3 burglars had been robbing the area for a long time, but they had
picked the wrong house tonight. The dogs lined up and formed a queue
to pee all over them, they were shopkeepers dogs after all. Anita
watched the scene from her phone in Cambridge, she smiled she loved
her JB, he was already a PhD he was so clever and advanced in his
field.
So
the next day in a field outside Cambridge Anita said, doctor doctor
examine me, so Jeremy Boris did as he was told, being careful of all
the stubble.
A
Christmas without Presents ©
By
Michael
Casey
My
mother stopped buying Easter eggs for us because they cost so much,
she did have 6 children after all, I was 5 of 6 if you want my Casey
Borg designation. She also told us that for Christmas back in Cromane
Lower Kerry Eire, she might get an orange, or a hard boiled egg, she
was 3 of 7 I believe, Timothy her little brother died aged 7 from
Rickets. So she always had tears in her eyes as she told the tale and
admonished us for wanting too much.
So
what should we want this Christmas, or what do we actually need?
Perhaps if Santa brought us working Nuclear Fusion, which would
solved the carbon crisis and Global warming. Though it might be
available already but Big Oil has locked it in a safe, they are not
going to lose Trillions, instead we’ll lose the Planet. Some
Politics and the Greed of Economics for you. And what do we all want.
Well the 3rd
world wants to imitate USA, or even the wealthy side of China.
Everybody wants an iphone, designed in USA by an Englishman, and
manufactured in China, then sold in USA, and to the new rich in
China. Making the USA stock market grow so much, until a no trade
deal between USA and China means China will stop using Google, first
because of a ban, but then because China can go it alone. This is
Trump Economics, annoy everybody until you kill the goose and the
golden eggs.
But
I digress.
So
children are all excited because they can see him with a large bag,
full of presents, coming up the garden path, dad is even dressed like
Santa. He comes through the door and says HO HO HO, the kids jump for
joy. The giant sack is opened, a balloon floats out, Happy Easter on
one side, with an Easter Bunny on the other. The kids laugh
nervously, dad is having a laugh. Then he takes oranges, big oranges
out of his pockets. The children are deflated, the balloon is half
deflated too.
Dad
sits them down to tell them a story, you remember Irish grandma back
in Kerry Eire? Yes, you’ve told us a 1000 times. I have but you
know what she gave me most of all, she gave me Love, with a Capital
L, so this year I decided to share that love. The orphanage is near
where I work and I was asked to play Santa for them as I’m so big
and fat. So I gave out all the presents, and I did have presents for
you all, but in all excitement I gave out your presents to them. I
left them to one side and I planned to take them home to you, but
they ended up in the sack for the Orphanage kids. So the orphans got
some really nice presents, and you got these oranges I stole from the
Orphanage Christmas party food.
The
kids, his own kids began to cry, but as they saw Santa cry back in
return they stopped crying. Sorry Santa, I mean dad, we were being
selfish, at least we got something, just as Irish grandma did. So dad
stays dressed as Santa and Ho Ho Ho the rest of the day, until mother
took him to bed, to give him her Xmas present. He in turn gave her a
Xmas present, something for all the family to enjoy, a little brother
that his daughters always longed for. Though it would take 9 months
for him to appear.
Now
God works in mysterious ways, in the pocket of the Santa suit there
was a Christmas card, with a message stuck to it, you are the best
Santa ever, can we book you for next year? As they ate their
Christmas orange the kids noticed something stuck to the Christmas
card, it was lottery ticket, Santa’s Reward was written in pencil
on it. And yes they won millions in the lottery, and gave half to the
orphanage. Did they have loads of presents that Christmas and
thereafter? NO, because they realised that the greatest gift of all
is a family, and Christmas should be about that, and not presents.
Smearing
my Way (c)
By
Michael
Casey
Well
we are a week away from Christmas 2019, and I am wearing 4 layers to
keep warm topped off with a red jumper, and red trousers. With my
silver hair, the local kids think it’s Santa, and as neighbours
pass by I say I have just a week to grow a beard. So I found some old
black paint in the house, I had seen it before but I didn’t have a
paint brush, then I found a small paint brush. So I thought I ‘d
attack the front gate, it’d been annoying me for a year, it’s
metal with a bit of rust showing through. Luckily we get loads of
junk mail, which is perfect to protect the ground from paint spills
as I attacked the front gate.
I
only have so much energy, physical energy what with random pain
attacks and so on, or if you like I’m a doddery old git now. Though
I should warn you my fists are fists of fury, just like Bruce Lee but
faster. If you spend 40 years typing fast then your fingers and then
fist is fast. So no mickey tacking, or I’ll slap the back of your
legs with a wet lettuce again. Yes that’s what you are feeling down
the back or your leg, either that or Totoro my Ninja cat has sprayed
on you for cheeking her master.
If
only Totoro drunk black paint, she could have spray painted the
garden gate for me, funny how ideas come. Though she is so white and
fluffy I’m sure she drinks Comfort fabric conditioner and not milk.
And no don’t read this story aloud to your kids, or they may just
try it out, and then the RSPCA will be at your door, your freshly
spray painted or cat sprayed front door. I did for years write a
story and then read it aloud for my girls, so that’s why they view
my stories differnently than you. I sprayed my stories into their
minds, I hope it improved their story writing skills.
Back
to the front gate, it took all of 10 mins to smear it the other day,
and immediately I liked it more, first appearances matter, so now
the front of the house was so much better, well in my opinion anyway.
Apart from the trail of paint spattered newspapers floating around
the front garden, but at least the spills were on the free
newspapers, each one saying Labour won the argument, but they still
lost, logical if you are a Politcian.
Then
it rained so I hoped the paint would stay stuck to the garden gate.
It was wood paint, very shiny wood paint, on an iron gate, but you
have to use what you have got, money or paint does not grow on trees
after all. Though a few leaves blowing in the wind, did stick to my
bottom, or rather the bottom of the garden gate. I did find a few
answers there too, the crossword answers stuck to the bottom of the
garden gate, just opposite the Political Winds of Change item.
This
morning I looked at my achievment, a black garden gate, with no rust
showing, but it did need another coat. So today I found more junk
newspapers to cover the ground as I smeared away again at the garden
gate. Then I stepped back to admire my smearing and decided I was
pleased with it. I realised there was more than enough paint left to
do a bir more smearing. So I may attack the front of the steps into
the house, the rise part, not the actual step, if my terminology is
correct. Ask a Step Dancer they might know, I’m just a step
smearer, as one of our lodgers once called me 40 years ago.
I
can remember my dad’s advice don’t load your brush too much, I
have a photo of him painting my back door at the old house, maybe 30
years ago. Other memories of my dad painting at the family house 50
years ago also come flooding back. I can even remember him on the
outside toilet roof painting the corrugated iron roof to keep the
rust away. Local kids calling out his name, Mr Casey cos they didn’t
believe me when I said it was my dad. Dad used to have a Bobby
Charlton front wrap around lock of hair too.
So
in the morning I’ll look at my garden gate again and then decide in
the light of day if I should smear the gate for a 3rd
time or smear the steps. I’m dangerous if I find left overs, if
it’s food I’ll eat it, and if it’s paint or string I’ll find
a use for it. Yes I’m a mini hoarder, no I’m not a Whore,
hoarder, sometimes I think some of my readers have paint in their
ears not just pencils and earwax. Anyway I have to fill my belly now,
so I’ll finish now, but do save and recycle those Christmas
wrappers. We have to buy some Lindt chocolate, not just because it’s
nice but we can use the golden bells on it to put on Totoro’s
collar, a kind of handicap system for Ninja cats, jingle jingle
Totoro.
What
If (c)
By
Michael
Casey
What
If you did things because it was the right thing to do
What
If you held the door open for others
What
If you smiled and said hello
What
If you offered to carry the bags for somebody struggling
What
If you prayed for others
What
If you asked your dead mother in Heaven to help those on Earth
What
If you shared water when there was a drought
What
If you shared food when it was scarce
What
If you gave a word of encouragement when Hope seemed lost
What
If you played the fool when the air was too gloomy
What
if you created laughter when dread was in the air
What
if you asked for nothing for yourself
What
if you put your family and friends first
What
if you put your community first
What
if you sought no reward
What
if you built treasures in Heaven
What
if this was your life
What
if when Judgement came
Would
you be welcomed into the Kingdom of Heaven
Or
would you be turned away at the gate
You
spoke ill of the living, you spoke ill of the dead
You
buried your talents in a field
You
shared nothing but spite and malice
You
had no Grace, no Love, no Humanity
You
thought you had everything
You
thought you had Power and Wealth
But
death comes to all of us
And
you were not ready
You
had built a life of spite and hate in your own image
You
had climbed the ladder and kicked it away
So
now as you lay dying, your life ebbing away
What
will you say?
God
forgive me I knew not what I was doing
And
what will be HIS reply?
A
life should be lived to spread Grace and Hope
Or
you will sink below, and be looking up
So
live a life of grace and hope
And
never never never be like…
The
Old Lady and the Cat ©
By
Michael
Casey
Mrs
Toonan liked to go to the cinema, it got her out of the house, and
besides she always got free food and drinks by giving her best cat’s
eyes to the girl on the kiosk. So the cinema was her once a week
treat. The girl on the kiosk nearly got in trouble when the manager
found out, but Mrs Toonan smiled and said they’d make such a lovely
couple. Instant match making, and henceforth a goodie bag to go home
with. So all was well. Mrs Toonan went to see that new Cats film, or
fileem as the Irish pronounce it, and she liked it, film reviewers my
arse she muttered.
When
she got home she fed Totoro some of the hot dogs and popcorn from
the goodie bag, Totoro purred with delight. So with Totoro smiling
she fell asleep in her arm chair. Now Mrs Toonan was old, much older
than she looked, she had snow white silvery hair like that fat silver
haired writer in shades, you know, Michael Casey the Panzi as his
Chinese readers call him. Well maybe it was too much hot stuff on her
sausage, but Mrs Toonan had a stroke and just could not get herself
out of the chair.
Now
she could have died right there in the cold and dark house, you see
she had not put the central heating on yet, so the house was cold and
dark, apart from one small light the kitchen. So Mrs Noonan knew
she’d be meeting God soon. So she looked at her Saint Martin de
Porres statue by the tv and asked him to at least look after Totoro
her cat. Now Saint Martin is very soft, and for a cat and an old lady
to die together was not something he wanted to happen.
Totoro
you’ll have to get some help, I’ll look after Mrs Noonan said a
voice in Totoro’s head. So giving one last look at Mrs Noonan
Totoro was away. Totoro knew Mrs Toonan had friends at the cinema, so
he’d go to the cinema. So Totoro dashed off to the cinema. Sadly a
burglar was prowling the neighbour and he could see Mrs Noonan all
alone in the big house. It was perfect.
Mrs
Toonan’s house was near the canal, and there were rats aplenty
there, but they left her house alone because Totoro the Ninja cat
lived there, so they left that house well alone. But now Totoro had
raced away so while the cats away the mice will play. Though that is
not how it all worked out. Gerry Perry the burglar was ready to hit
Mrs Toonan, and the rats were ready too. Though Mrs Toonan prayed to
Saint Martin by tv.
Gerry
Perry was about to strike to hit an old woman in a chair, who was
defenceless after a stroke. The rats arrived and leapt all over him,
Saint Martin commanded them to save Mrs Noonan. Gerry Perry screamed
and fainted, the rats began to eat his clothes and bite him too, you
never hit an old lady in a chair, especially if Saint Martin de
Porres lives there.
Meanwhile
Totoro ran for his life to save the life of Mrs Toonan, as she ran
Totoro asked his friends to help him get to the cinema, so fat cats,
thin cats, lazy cats, big cats, little cats, and multi coloured cats
all joined the fluffiest whitest cat of them all TOTORO to the
rescue. By the time they got to the cinema there were 100 cats, all
screaming in unison. The kiosk girl and the manager knew something
was wrong. The queue outside applauded they though it was a stunt for
the film, but the kiosk girl and the manager had seen a photo of Mrs
Toonan and Totoro before. Quick follow that cat, and the left the
cinema racing after the cats. At the cinema everybody bought tickets
for the film, and agreed with Mrs Toonan it was good.
Meanwhile
the kiosk girl and the manager raced after the cats, a passing police
car followed, as Sgt Mulholland just loved cats. Soon the army of
cats arrived at Mrs Toonan’s house. The rats raced away chased by
all the cat, save for one enormous rat, too fat to race away. The
kiosk girl and the manager entered the house, with Sgt Mulholland
behind. They saw the burglar all covered in blood and bites, the king
rat took an enormous bite out of Gerry Perry’s behind then winking
at Totoro and bowing at the statue of Saint Martin de Porres waddled
out the kitchen door.
Sgt
Mulholland saw the situation at once and cuffed Gerry Perry before
the looking at Mrs Toonan. It’s a stroke, I’ll get her to
hospital fast, so picking her up as if she were his own dear
grandmother Sgt. Mulholland put her in his police car and floored it.
He radioed for backup to come and take care of the cuffed Gerry
Perry. The police came and took Gerry Perry away. Then the kiosk girl
and the manager told Totoro he should come with them till Mrs Toonan
came back from the hospital.
Totoro
just started to run, but in the direction of the cinema, so soon 200
cats came to join in the fun, and arrived as a 2nd
showing was about to start, CATs come to see cats was what the
Internet explained. The kiosk girl and the manager said Totoro has
saved the day and had saved Mrs Noonan from a burglar, and the rats
had somehow attacked the burglar too. Only Sgt. Mulholland and Mrs
Toonan knew the truth, Saint Martin de Porres loves cats and people
in equal measure, and it was his pleasure to see a ninja cat called
Totoro.
Michael
Casey Head of Mi5 and Mi6 and why not? ©
By
Michael
Casey
Well
I read they want a new head of MI5 and MI6 so I thought I’d apply
for both, if I don’t get one then I get the other. But don’t tell
anybody it’s a secret. I mean If Dame Judy Dench can be M then I
can be her top boss, I am M or Michael already, I just want to go
higher, through the Glass Ceiling, but having a glass ceiling in a
spy place sounds stupid. It’s like somebody losing the Plans of the
building, it’s too ridiculous for words, it could never happen. Oh
it just did.
So
they said stand by your man, I was doing line dancing at the time,
and somebody whispered in my ear, so I slapped his face, I’m not
that kind of man. I only like women, it was a test to see if I could
handle anything, I certainly wouldn’t handle a man, I’m a one
woman man, loyal. Then we danced a bit more, the man was persistent,
so I slapped his face again, he said his name was Bond, James Bond, I
didn’t believe him, he looked like a Colin to me. Or CO LIN if you
are American, the things the Americans do to names, it’s just
STRANGE, but spelt badly and wrong.
Then
later a Korean girl marched passed, perfect line dancing, wearing a
KIM T-shirt and a dangerous smile. Obvious I told her I loved Kdrama
and maybe Yoona would marry me, or a clone of Yoona. They are very
clever in North Korea they clone anything. But she said all she could
offer was an extra bag of rice, she was from the local take away.
But
really that was a cover, she was in MFI, the furniture store,
constructing a cover life. Really she was a spy, I knew it, the way
she carried a bag of rice gave it all away. Later as we waved our
cowboy hats in the air she spoke, meet outside the public toilets at
noon, and you’ll be picked up and taken for your interview. Then
she kissed me lingeringly and felt my amble behind, before slapping
my face hard, she’d seen Where Eagles Dare, so she was playing her
part well, too well.
Outside
the public toilets there was a queue of old ladies, there always is,
the only bench in the town is there, so old ladies fight over it so
they can sit and have a fag. Or cigarette if you are a confused
American. A car pulled up, I thought it was a drugs dealer, Fatty get
in, he shouted at me. The old ladies thought I was on the game, moi,
a male prostitute or something. But it was all part of the cover.
Hello I’m Rodger said Rodger, I really thought he was on the game,
as Roger is a verb in England, and if you are American ask the vicar
to explain.
He
drove me to the local library, and told me to look for Sherlock
Holmes, I could not find any on the shelves so I asked the Librarian
Fran, only it was not Fran but the Korean girl, as she spun around it
was love at first sight. Her woolly jumper and skirt were just too
much for me,what with the horn rimmed glasses, she had power over me.
My behind had bruises to prove it. Then in Queens English Miss Korea
explained, look for Sherlock Holmes and pointed. In a corner there
was a man all dressed like Sherlock, not the deer stalker one, the
American tv one. And yes Miss Korea’s real real name was Watson, as
in what’s on tv tonight, Elementary, obvious isn’t it?
The
drug using guy in the corner was there to interview me. And why do
you want to be Head of MI5? Because as James Bond is retiring I
thought I’d tidy up the firm. He rolled his eyes not because of my
answer but because whatever stuff he was using had just kicked in.
While he tripped away, an old dear shuffled towards us and sat
down.And why do you want to join MI6? Because you want more stamps in
your passport.
So
they pinged and ponged and asked questions, about this and that and
the other. Would I do anything for Queen and Country? Would I go to
bed with a man, if that’s what I had to do, and yes they’d seen
that French Secret Service show on tv as well. I stuttered and fixing
my gaze on Watson in the distance I tried to imagine her as a Kim,
and failed, she was just too, too, too unbelievably pretty. No I
could do anything but that, even sing the Meatloaf back catalogue,but
I could break any man, I am 116kilos or 18 stones, or 252 pounds if
you are an American. So I’m body slam them and throw their body in
a ditch, providing that no Borises were there. They smiled at that
for some reason.
They
then took me for tea, Watson looked on admiring, she still had skin
from my behind stuck under her nails, it was intoxicating her. At the
transport cafe next door there was a test, could I steal a truckers
heart, by stealing his 18 wheeler with my 18 stones.So I stole some
truck keys and drove the MFI truck and trailer to the MFI store
further up the road, the spooks aren’t stealers after all.
We
returned to the library, there there was a final test. Kill Watson,
could I kill in cold blood. Just like in The Kingsman where you have
to kill a dog, and the British do love animals more than their
children after all. So I sneaked up on Watson in the True Romance
section, I fluttered my eyelids, and revealed the man with the child
in his eyes. We backed up to Sci-Fiction and grappled, her tongue
against my tongue, it was a tongue fight. We went through the Biology
section, grappling more and more. We reached the Fire Exit, now after
having distracted her, her a double agent, as I was told I was going
to gently strangle her, with my old school tie,the green and red of
George Dixons Grammar school for Boys.
I
was never confused about my gender, though I did once wear my
mother’s dress and stockings,I was just hoping I would not be
outted for doing that during the vetting process, I’d just have to
keep my legs crossed, and my ladies frilly knickers on. Watson
fainted in my arms as her nails broke in my buttocks, it would have
been perfect love making, buttocks, I mean but I’d been told to
kill her. Forgive me I whispered, the happy Line Dancing memories
still as fresh as paint in my mind.
Then
I was hit on the back of the head and blacked out. Korean Watson was
no double agent, it was all a test. I awoke half naked above a Korean
food store, Watson looked at me. You did not get the job, either of
them. But they said I could keep you as a trophy fat silver haired
writer in shades from Birmingham England. Then she winked. Or maybe
I’m just prawn crackers.
MY
PUSSY SAYS NO TO CHIPPING spend 100million which it would cost at
least on Pets visits to old folks homes INSTEAD
Michael
Casey
Wed
01/01/2020 15:53
MY
PUSSY SAYS NO TO CHIPPING
spend
£100million which it would cost at least on
Pets
visits to old folks homes INSTEAD
YOU
are legally responsible for damage a DOG DOES
and
dangerous dogs are a result of dangerous owners
But
Pussies run free.
Its
a stupid idea that would cost at least 100 million
Create
more jobsworth idiots too
Its
a form of tracking of owners too
It
invades the owners rights as well
Are
you going to put AI cameras everywhere too next
England
is a free country not a Prison Camp
As
you know Kitchener invented Prison Camps to put the Boers down
Tagging
our Pussies what next, tag old people, or just the working classes
Or
those that did not vote for you.
This
is a total waste of time
If
you want to tag your Pussy, then fine do it at your own cost.
DO
NOT CREATE A MINDLESS GOVERNMENT SCHEME
Tagging
pussies is none of the Government's Business
If
you love your pussy you will look after it
Don't
force CHIPS WITH EVERYTHING on everybody
Its
a diet that will come back and bite you on the bum
just
like rabid dogs owned by equally rabid owners
who
don't chip their dangerous dogs
This
is a simplistic idea, thought up by a bored idiot
trying
to prove he is worth his over rated salary.
Are
we bringing back people with a net, like the
Child
Catcher in Chitty Chitty Bang bang?
You
will just worry little old ladies fearing for their pussies
Do
I or must I have my Pussy Chipped
CHIPS
WITH EVERYTHING IS ALWAYS A BAD DIET
Let
Pussies run free and be free
Will
you force everybody to spay their Tom Cat next?
This
is a Top Down idea, when you should always
be
in the gutter with the pussies hiding under the warm cars
but
looking up at the Stars, and wondering is CATS really such
a
bad film, or did Defra review it?
We
have a cat called TOTORO it looks exactly like the pussy
from
10 Downing Street, but far deadlier it is a Ninja cat
As
all the dead mice and rats will confer from our old house.
And
why do we have a cat theses past 5 years
Because
my daughters nagged for a pet and I said they could have
a
dog if I died or a cat if I had a heart attack
5
years ago this very week I went into hospital and had what
turned out
to
be a Quadruple Heart Bypass.
So
my girls got a cat, and not a dog. The cat is called Totoro after the
Studio Ghibli
cat.
The cat also understands Chinese as my daughters are Bilingual,
having a Shanghai
mother
does do that to you. Totoro also understands plastic, the sound of
plastic brings here running
Or
if I jangle my keys she'll come racing over fences. As the new notes
are made of plastic, if you
squeeze
a tenner Totoro will also come running, or maybe that's the Chinese
influnce in Totoro.
SO
PLEASE DEFRA LET ALL PUSSIES RUN FREE, DON'T PUT CHIPS IN THEM.
And
I hope you listen, and you can steal my Pussy Visits to Old People's
Homes,
the
National Lottery can
pay for that.
So
I hope I squeeze in under the deadline, just as a cat uses its
whiskers to tell spaces.
I
remain a humble citizen, praying for the best possible world,
as
Candide or was it Voltaire said.
Michael
Casey
aka
"the fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham England"
p.s.
I'd love a dog myself, but God might have the last laugh at
Welcome
Back (c)
BY
Michael Casey
Well it's been a while so I
thought you could all suffer a bit with me again. No you cannot
just go down the Pub, if I suffer you all suffer, it's called caring
and sharing after all. So my small daughter kept on coming downstairs
from her eyrie where she's studying to get a drink from the kitchen,
but without her slippers and socks. So she got a cold that she
couldn't shake off over Christmas. But did manage to pass on to me,
and I've been enjoying it these past 10 days or so. I'm so full of
gunge and pain I could not face the hill to get to the shops. Luckily
you can phone for anything this Christmas.
So you have all had Peace on Earth
this Christmas. As for me my Tinnitus has been a real Roman slave,
google Up Pompeii for plenty of colour and racy jokes from Up Pompeii
which was a tv comedy back in 1970 onwards. We impressed our
Latin teacher so much when we mentioned it, God Bless Mr Hanney. As
Tinnitus was making me a slave I decided to play with my phone while
listening to Will Young. Will Young spends his nights in my bed
singing for his supper, not literally he's too clever for that. In
actual fact he really is a very clever man, he could be a Political
Reporter, he's that clever, though watching Politicians is a bit
bizarre, Laura, is it because they all sung Tell Laura I love her.
Who knows the workings of a Political Reporter's mind.
But that's just me, 50 years cursing
Politicians on the telly, it's like the Roman Coliseum, I knew
Tinnitus came from somewhere, it's the noise Politicians make, an
eternal hiss, and yes I will say read Chapter 9 of The Butcher The
Baker and The Undertaker, M.P. Married to a Person, Married to a
People, ok as a punishment as you punish your Stella Artois.
What else do I do at night, all alone
in the dark with just Will Young's voice, voice I said, please clean
your ears out, oh, you have Tinnitus too. It's much better than
Tinnitus One, ok, please yourselves as Frankie Howerd might titter,
there was much tittering in Up Pompeii I remember, it was the selling
point for 11 year old boys, tittering. If this was tv, I'd pull a
face, but as everything I write is Radio, you'll just have to
imagine, or look at my mush belove. Yes, where was I, looking at my
bottom in the reflection in the window pane, I was at the bottom of
the page, oh do keep up as Kenneth might interject, though some
of you may wish this was the interval, what I came back too soon, you
are so cruel, I'll come and live next door to you. Yes I'll be the
squatter next door, they haven't fixed the toilet yet.
And what has the last paragraph got
to do with the price of nutty slack, well nothing, but sometimes a
girl or is he a she, you cannot tell nowadays the way they all dress.
What it's not Nutty Slack, the local call girl, it's MZ in a
Hoodie, he should change his profile page or get a ZTE phone on
Amazon and take a better selfie. Are you all feeling dizzy now? I'll
lead you all up the garden path again, until you are, I never
surrender and wave at Gill from StatMR this time, she's such a nice
lady. Dizzie is a friend of hers they go out rapping every Sunday
after church, they wrap gifts for the Sally Army. Did you think Gill
with a G could Rap with an R? Well of course she can, she's gifted,
she plays snooker too, she once split a pair and got one in each
corner pocket. Ok, I'm lying now, on the pool table, you see
Gill said, Michael, tidy up your own mess, and threw the broom
at me, hitting my pair and knocking them into my pockets. So I'm
lying flat out on the pool table with a jug of ice on my Test test
Test, testimonials, and yes i did moan, as my friends from
StatsMR drunk the bar dry.
Now this is another piece of nonsense
which could have gone any which way, but Harry couldn't come,
so they sent Clyde instead, he was going to splatter me, but my Navy
Seal friends intervened, if anybody was going to splatter me, they
would be the first. So I'm speaking from the bottom of the cesspit or
latrine. Which goes to prove yet again, that Michael Casey the fat
silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham is so full of it, and
always smells of it. So send Ck1 or CK Be and then I'll write sweet
smelling prose, and you can all stop holding your nose. So thanks for
waiting while I had this flu, now this cuckoo can fly over the nest
again.
Funny
Formal Letter(c)
By
Michael Casey
Hello
India you are one of the 70 countries that reads my words.
1000s
of copies of my book
The
Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker have been downloaded from my
WordPress
The
book has a major Indian hero, and the finale was read by 21,000
Polish
readers
in 3 weeks when I loaded the Polish to my website.
Up
to 8 Languages in any day are being read via my site.
So
you are getting Quality. In addition I have written 2000 short
stories after 30 years.
My
material is not just for the clever dicks with Phds it’s for the 12
to 120 year olds.
So
have a think, and please pass this to anybody who’ll
invested in me.
You
can read/hear 200 of my stories on my Typepad
Thanks
again,
Michael
Casey in Birmingham England, I’m too old to be serious
OK,
I’ll bullet point this as emails are 40% faster that way as
ACNielsen
told us 20 years ago
Now
I really am fat and silver haired and I wear shades, look for my
horrid photo online
I
have been writing for 30 years now
I
try and write humour. The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker
is
my egg or ouvre, whatever
The
Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker is being read
in
8 languages via my website daily
1000s
of Translations have been downloaded
70
countries surrender to my words, I’m 18 stones, so resistance is
futile,
I
look like George Clooney after he ate everything in the fridge
I
had a play called Shoplife accepted at my 1st attempt,
but
they did Rocky Horror instead
it’s
a boxing film I think, but maybe I’m wrong
My
stuff can and will be used to teach English via Humour
I
have a Shanghai wife myself and 2 bilingual daughters
Even
Totoro our cat is bilingual
I
have written 1,530,000 words or so, I lost count after I took my
shoes and socks off
to
help with the counting. And Bezo’s corner book shop has 18 books in
the altogether
I
thought if Bezo stacked them near his nudist section I’d get more
exposure
I
hope you are smiling and don’t feel like the Harry in the family
I
was the family pet myself, and when my own daughters asked for a pet
I
said you can have a dog if I die, or a cat if I have a heart attack
Totoro
our Ninja cat arrived soon after that 5 years ago, il y a cinq
ans
just
to remind you we are linguists, but the ointment
is clearing it up.
I
am a story teller with 2000 stories or more, so I’m like
Jeffery Archer
Only
he has a Monet on the wall, and I have no money at all
If
in a stupor you help me, I will donate 50% to Charity, no not the
local
barmaid
, but real pain relief charity, and I taught James Bond that line
where
he said “everything”
Ok,
thanks for your time I could have brown nosed you, but at 18 Stones
one
of us would have singing that Abba song. I’m more Benny Hill
myself
but
look like Dave Allen when my hair is longer. My writing style is at
times
a
cross between Joyce Grenfell and Ronnie Corbett monologue
which would
make
me Gerald Wiley their bastard son. The very word on your lips.
Cheerio
Michael Casey
p.s.
I always write a good p.s. but Harry’s here crying on my shoulder
NOW
dear
reader this is the kind of email I send to Media companies, as I may
be in the gutter
but
I won’t kiss any rears, not unless she ….
This
email style tests both their patience
and IF they have a sense of humour, I won’t
work
with anybody who’s a piece of work, though they
probably think that about me.
STAY
HAPPY AND BE GOOD
Michael
Casey
The
Little Things Kids Do ©
By
Michael
Casey
As
I sit here tonight I’m happy and tired and yes in pain, that’s
always part of me too. But it’s the happy part I want to rejoice
about, the thing that lights up my very soul. A kiss on the cheek
from my small daughter as she goes to bed. That kiss and a smile from
her big sister is worth more than gold, and will probably be the
memory as my eyes shut for the last time, and it’s God’s turn to
put up with me for all Eternity. Tonight I’m watching a new K drama
too, The Fiery Priest, which has all my favourite ingredients,
Martial Arts, a Priest , I have read all the Don Camillo many times,
and Padre Pio is somebody who I’ve annoyed often. So it’s looking
good.
No
doubt I’ll tell you more about my new Kdrama as I watch it, and did
you know there were so many devout Korean Catholics. But it’s the
things kids do I’ll try and talk about before I go to bed, though I
wish I was in a warm country so my arthritis didn’t make my joints
pain me so much. It’s the damp in UK that is bad for arthritis.
Though this week it’s the 5th
anniversary of my unplanned quadruple heart bypass so I’m happy to
still be here. My big daughter said write 27 books, she did not
realise I’d write so much and so fast, but like I said before I
won’t rush as much. My girls have 1.5 million Words to read, but by
saying 27 books, as in 27 dresses the film, my big daughter was
really saying “don’t die” .
Children
do things that make you happy and bring hope and fun to your life.
I’ve been a hausfrau for 10 years now, I did do a bit of teaching
for a year, but we just swopped roles and I became a hausfrau, which
means I’ve spent more time with my kids that 99% of dads. And yes
illness came along too, after decades of physical work. All I every
wanted was a family, and it is better if there is somebody at home
for the kids. You drink less beer, have less holidays, have a lower
life style, because there is only one income.
However
your kids are nurtured and are not “latch key kids” , I can
remember my own dad saying how important it was for children, and yes
I believe he was right. If you want it all, then somebody suffers,
and that’s usually the kids, though I know this is not a popular
opinion nowadays. I also have had plenty of time to Write.
So
I’ve been a baby sitter and meal maker and gay dad, gay dad means a
dad who knows about fashion, just in case any of my readers scattered
I over 70 countries get confused by the expression. It’s been fun,
and I actually talk to my own kids, have a relationship with them, my
small daughter tells me that some kids don’t talk to their parents,
I don’t know is it because it’s “uncool” or what. So I’ve
been fortunate, and lucky too, because the way my Health turned out I
could have been dead in the street 5 years ago.
So
I’ve had time with my daughters to have a influence on them, to
form them and direct them. And no I never treated them as kids, I
just talked to them naturally. It amuses us when people say “and
what do you want to be etc” as they talk down to them, and
patronise them. Just so you know they are more intelligent than you,
they should be patronising you. Intelligence is Speed of Thought, not
age, nor volumes of learning, so please Grow Up Teachers, they are
your equals. Though they are too polite to say it, but I am not. Most
people think I am a Security Guard, what you wrote that? As if I’m
a Moron, a stupid person, not the religious “cult”, if I thrown
that back at you. And yes 1,535,000 words don’t write themselves,
so I must just be “gifted”, another taint. 20 years of Radio
Listening and reading 1000s of books, and 30+ years of writing, that
makes me “gifted”, MIAOW>
But
back to kids, they are a living memory of your life, and if you have
1000s of photos you can browse through the memories, such as playing
badminton by the dustbins in the garden. Such as posing in a box
marked “made in China”, which makes us smile, as they ARE half
Chinese and Bilingual too. Though Korean is heard a lot in our house
too, as I read the subtitles. You have summer photos, and snowmen
photos, and building the doll’s house photos, all kinds of photos.
Perfect to save and to use to embarrass them on their wedding days.
Yes I realise because I had my kids when I was old, I may never seem
any wedding day, so time is precious, silly photos are important too.
And so I pray for more years, and yes I pray for that 2nd
wife, a Korean girl. Because it’s me clinging on to hope in the
dark of the night as Tinnitus keeps me awake. The clock has hit
Midnight now as I talk to you, so I’ll finish and post this, just
enjoy your kids as much as you can. Yes you’ll be broke as you
spend your Pension on them, but what else would you waste your money
on. Life is family and kids and then the Undertaker gets you, so die
with a smile on your lips, as you curse your arthritic hips.
Michael
Casey News Editor ©
By
Michael
Casey
As
you know I love my News, it forms a chattering cement that binds us,
if I steal a line from The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker. I
used to watch the News with my dad when he came home from the Steel
Works, The District Iron and Steel Brasshouse Lane Smethwick.
He’s
curse the “bastards” as he had his dinner on the back of a broken
down barn chair as he sat in his armchair. “Did they sweat?” he’d
ask as vacuous people spoke on tv. 400 degrees was what dad was used
to, as he verbally lashed them and gave them the 3rd
degree, as pretty people sung like the 3 Degrees. Dad was very
clever, his teacher even said “one day Casey, you will hang”, but
in 1930s Ireland you went to work at 14, and dad became a Blacksmith.
Though
dad was so proud of his own 3 Degrees, Oxford, Cambridge and
Birmingham, those were the Universities the kids went to, so those
vacuous people on tv could kiss his arse. Yes, I’m the “failure”
with 1,535,000 Words over 18 books and 30 years of writing after my
University 20 years of BBC Radio 4 listening. But I know I was loved,
in fact I was the “pet” out of the 6 children. So News and dad
went together, and yes I’ll direct you to read Padre Pio and Me
again, it’s on the site somewhere.
Which
brings me to today’s talk, Michael Casey News Editor, I follow the
news, and when tinnitus keeps me away, often, I go on my phone and
read the lastest Trump saga. How can somebody so corrupting have
become President. He is as guilty as Hell on many fronts, but the
corruption of power has overtaken the GOP, this is not me speaking as
a liberal, it’s just so tragically true. Having to pay back
2million stolen from a Vets Charity, a judge said this not me.
Leaking military plans before the Iran hit, so some made money in
military stocks. These are just 2 items, I won’t go one, just hit
Trump on your phone, and read 5 items on the news from various news
outlets. It is all so sad and tragic, the Presidency has become a
mafia like ponsi scheme, this is how the world views Trumpland. One
last item before I move on, we read a blackmail item, 25% on your
cars Europe if you don’t back me. A bully is a bully is a bully,
whereas USA used to be a beacon of Hope, now its a dime store, all
because nobody has the balls to stand up and remove him.
History
is another big thing of mine and as kid I stayed up all night when
Nixon was ousted, so I was so tired when I went to school. Now I’m
really moving on. Would I have Harry and Megan in the news, I’d try
and avoid it. In the DM online there is acres of stuff about them,
and nonentities, such as a 1/2 sister all try and make money out of
their connections. This is really sad and tragic. It was obvious
Megan would not stay, just as now that Harry has had the lid lifted
via his wife, he looks back in horror. Just walk behind your mum’s
coffin in the street. This was a mistake then, no matter what great
tv it made then. I just hope he can find peace for himself and his
new family, though the omens …
Now
what would I put in a radio news report, and radio is better than tv,
the pictures do get in the way of the facts. Also if you watch/listen
to the same news item, the radio version always has more power. Try
it for yourselves and you’ll agree with me. I’d put a music item
in, as music is the greatest thing ever, I don’t need to watch
Stuart Copeland’s new show on the BBC to know this. So as news
editor I’d have a 2 min slot for a music item, more if I were
allowed. A piece of music is like a touch, a kiss, a pat of comfort
on the back, or even full on sex. But you’d need more than 2 mins
on the radio for it. Yes you are ahead of me, a news report with a
quickie in the middle, that would be mind blowing.
Speaking
of sport, as I was listening to the radio in bed today, as I caught
up with my Tinnitus lack of sleep there was a wonderful Cricket
report, I’m not a cricket man. Cricket is confusing, when you are
out you go in, when you are in you go out. And everybody is playing
with their balls which they rub so much the colour comes off the ball
and stains their whites red. Anyway ask an American to explain it to
you, he’ll cry. So this reporter, he must have been BBC the way he
explained the match was like listening to poetry, whoever he is I
hope he never has a sticky whicket, and if he does I hope it gets
better and does not leave a red stain on his whites. So I’d have
eloquent reporters poetically describe whatever sport there was. A
thing to note though, on TV a reporter must know when not to speak
and let the pictures speak for themselves. Bad sports reporting is
terrible, its totally inarticulate, like the unedited version of
Trump that we never see. An Australian reporter was interviewed and
said she was horrified by Trump, because he was almost in his dotage,
repeating himself, you only get the edited version on Fox.
There
is always a fun item, to lift people out of the dumps now that all
the Christmas alcohol has been finished. Yes I’d insert a short
piece of my own, if you are guest editor on BBC Radio 4’sToday it’s
too good an opportunity to miss. So I’d read out my LinkedIn
Profile piece, perfect for those going Job Hunting this New Year, and
yes you an all find it on my sites.
There
is also a tradition of Thought for Today, a semi religious piece, so
again I’d write or free running speak my own opinion. So here’s
my Faith Piece. God Loves ALL of US, that’s the fat silver haired
writer in shades from Birmingham England, or anybody just as smelly,
just as fragrant, just as fat, just as thin, just as clever, just as
ignorant. God will have anybody, you don’t have to be worthy, he’ll
go out looking for the good the bad and the ugly. He want’s
everybody, he doesn’t care what you eat or how you eat it or when
you eat it. Or even what day of the week you pray. He is your Father,
your sister, your brother, your mother. Curse or Pray often, just
keep on talking to him. And if you can’t pray he’ll be the shadow
on the wall, he’ll seep though the shadows, he’ll be that grain
on sand that sticks to your feet. He’ll be there to greet you at
the end of the road, for he shares your pain, your love. He just
wants all the pieces of the jigsaw to return to him, for without all
of the pieces he is incomplete, for in the end Love is Everything,
every single piece of a heart, and when the end comes all of us are
with all of him. United in Love.
Well
I hope that’s good enough for all of you believers of every sort,
the XYZ of Faith, Faith is a liquid so it finds its own level, and
when joined there is only one God. So I think I’ll finish for now.
This has been Michael Casey News Editor, if I can have a New Year’s
wish. Then Trump goes, Pence takes over with Mitt Romney as VP. Then
Pence is forced to resign too, and so Romney gets to be President.
Though that would be out of this world, which reminds me Romney looks
like Captain Pike in Star Trek Discovery, so switch off this radio
and watch Star Trek, which is where I started 50 years ago.
Winter
Sun Sunday ©
By
Michael
Casey
Well
I managed to get up reasonably early today, after Tinnitus being real
bad lately. You try getting to sleep for 6 hours, and fail, just
getting more and more exhausted. So I’m pleased with that, though
it doesn’t keep the pain monster away. Random pain on random parts
of my body, but let’s move3 on. I’m sure random people will be
glad I stop sending emails in the night from my phone, I’ve only
just worked out how to do that, it was the side effect of Tinnitus.
So
today it’s bright and sunny and dangerous too, the hill has ice on
it, so I need be careful, I hurt my back and I was like a 100 year
old for a week, this was before my daughter shared her flu. So
altogether maybe 3 weeks of not being my usual self, and I can hear
what you are saying so stop it, I still have ice cold lettuce in the
fridge and I will slap the back of your legs with it, so behave,
behave not beehive, you’ve been watching Nannie McFee again.
It
feels and looks like skiing weather, blue skies and a crispness to
the air, maybe snow soon. In the woods by me the kids all go sledging
in the snow, its a bowl shape perfect for sledging. Since we’ve
moved nearer to the woods I haven’t been there as much as I should.
It’s 7mins walk away, and I used to walk the family dog there when
I lived at the family house 35 years plus ago. Perhaps I’ll pay
more visits this 2020, I did put a sex scene in those woods, it’s
in Chapter One of Tears for a Butcher, which I’ll probably never
finish, not unless my Korean copy typist turns up, so you are all
saved, not unless you are a Korean copy typist.
There’s
not as much pedestrian traffic here as at the old house, so less
inspiration walking past, though a man just walked by is a very long
silver coat walking his dog. He reminded me of a hot dog from Costco,
all ready to be covered in sauce, which reminds me Costco is great,
the settee behind me was from their online offerings. I’m
contemplating what this room will look like once the curtain rail and
curtains go up. I’ve been like an Amsterdam Prostitute sitting in
the window in my stockings and suspenders as I sit here writing
stories for you all. A year as a writing whore, on full display for
the passers by as I sit here in my chair. Though all that’ll
disappear this week as the curtains come down on me, exposed no more.
And me wanting exposure so I could sell my wares, my stories, no
smirking or the wet lettuce will come out, Larry Grayson taught me
well.
Talking
of Larry Grayson I met his friend Pop it In Pete in the Post Office,
I bought a stamp so I could send a greetings card to my big daughter
at University. Some things do need to be popped in the post after
all, it shows you care and went to the effort, support your Local
Post Office. Though to be honest I am an email man, obviously because
I don’t care, see I said it before you could, remember your ear is
very near me. That’s how our dad reminded us he’ll slap us, 55
years ago and more.
Yes,
a bit of Winter sunshine lifts the mood, but if you go outside you
return like like a 90 year old asthmatic or dirty phone call person.
And yes making heaving breathing phone calls on the internal phone
call system did add to the fun on the night shift 40 years ago.
There’s a lot more I could reveal but not today, makes me sound
like a lazy stripper. See words create pictures, it’s like cinema
for when you haven’t got the 2quid to go to the Grove cinema. I
used to get 2 quid off my dad and I went to see a film, that was 45
years ago or so, I think it was on Sunday’s too.
Now
I need to eat now, and I heard that too, how could he eat any more,
he’ll explode like a balloon. You are so cruel, just because you
are 80 countries away you think you can mock me. I’ve seen your
dirty habits, reading The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, in
Persian or Arabic or Chinese or whatever languages, and wherever you
are. And you thought it was a Business Studies Title, something about
marketing across the trades, I had the last laugh, it’s a comedy
about a street of shops with a very dramatic ending. I bet you don’t
even know what a 29288 really is. Go on clever dicks in Kardasian, is
that a country or a people, anyway what is a 29288, is that a Kim
thing, the North Korean Kim thing?
So
while I go and eat, and maybe I’ll explode a bit after my beans,
you go and do some homework. What is the meaning of 29288 in the book
and in reality. And the winner gets a prize. They can come and speed
type Tears for a Butcher, I just hope you’re not a Sumo from Japan.
On
this day I choose to be happy
Today it's
the anniversary of my dad's death
18 years
ago, he had an egg and asked for a 2nd
when his
2nd breakfast egg arrived he has already gone
when my
sister came with the news I howled
like a
puppy being beaten with an iron bar
for a full
hour.
Yesterday
in Indonesia I think somebody
was
reading My Dad my Best Friend
so you an
all find and read that too.
Find and
read Padre Pio and Me too on the sites
BUT BACK
TO THE THEME
We choose
to be happy
Yes things
happen and they can break our spirit
But not
for ever
I once
found the How I Can Make this Day Count "poem"
So I cut
it out and framed it.
I did not
even know it was the AA motto
I thought
it was just a good motto
I also cut
out a Caravaggio Xmas scene
and had
that on my mantelpiece next to the AA poem
I had not
even heard of Andrew Graham Dixon
he's
Britain's best Art expert, go google him, he's always
available
for work. A kind of jobbing Art Expert, a la bona
Duncan and
Sandy art aspirations. I hope he's smiling or I'll
be through
a canvas.
Anyway
let's be happy, so we cannot afford $500,000,000 for a nice
piece to
adorn our walls, and we can't get Andrew Graham Dixon, so good I name
dropped him twice. So we have a 10p cardboard biscuit tin winter
scene hanging on our bedroom wall inside a plastic bag from your
Yfronts. Well that's what I've had these past 50 years. I do change
my Yfronts and the plastic bag occasionally. But that 10p cardboard
biscuit tin winter scene means so much to me, more that the
$500,000,000 nice piece the Russian guy has on his wall, or the Monet
that famous writer has on his wall, so famous I've forgotten his
name, now I remember that Archer guy, yes I really forgot for a
second. The Movelat pain killer has not kicked in yet, so forgive me
Jeffery.
So let's
all strive to be happy, today, even if we are thinking about our dear
dead dad. Because your dad, my dad, or even Our Father who Art in
Heaven, dad would like us all to be happy, why be sad , why worry ,
because worry is useless, as Padre Pio used to say.
So this is
what I've written for you all this morning, and yes the INTERLUDE IS
OVER, so are you ready to READ and be READ to. Come on, I cannot
hear, you, YES say YES. On your marks get set, bookmarkers at the
ready.
The fat
silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham is back at his desk,
still wearing the same sweaty string vest, but soon it'll be
curtains for him, IF only he/I can find a man to put a curtain
rail up. So bona curtain rail sticker uppers a la Duncan and Sandy do
come, and lol by and stick it up, not up my jumper but on the wall.
So just knock my knockers, and then I'll have curtains, and that'll
be the end of that, just don't trip over the cat.
Michael
CASEY 26TH JAN 2020
