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Posts Tagged ‘Belfast’

 

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You hear me

Then heed me!

And other nights of his dinner

Hitting the wall.

To be picked up and eaten with fingers

Namm namm….

 

Two brothers would be wise enough to be offside

My sister and I instead too damn like him to cower

A younger one, God love her

Never concerned him enough to talk to

Nor to pick on

Just the odd stray snarl

Of the beast caged in dark bars

Our Mum always a target

 

Try not to antagonise him as he’d maybe pick on someone else

Seeing your family suffer being much worse than

Being under the Dull Stupid Bloody lash

Of his forked tongue

 

You damn fool

We were your kin

While you were digging out

All we wanted was that you dug in

When they dug the hole for your ashes

Who of us there could pray

‘Our Father who art in heaven…..’

That first line had us all stumped

 

But I know it’s either

‘Love or destruction’

In this life we do get to struggle and to choose

 

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2014 Open Golf Champion, Rory McIlroy acknowledged the role the Scotch Egg played in delivering his latest triumph in the world of hitting little balls with a stick.

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Rory throws his Scotch Egg into the crowd in celebration

“Playing with Scotch Eggs allows me to have more control over my short game and when I am feeling peckish I can nibble on these  tasty savoury snacks,” he may have said.

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Man and Scotch Egg in perfect harmony

Young Rory, who hails from Holywood, Northern Ireland went on to say, “Me darlin’ Mammy identified a deficiency in my hip stance  and got me playing with Scotch Eggs to improve things. Like it is, so it is. Like.”

But Mammy McIlroy didn’t stop there, “She would make a variety of Scotch Eggs for me to play with. Big ones, little ones, ones with indentations at the top, pimpled ones and even one that was square! As you can imagine that didn’t roll very well!”

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Young Rory & the Scotch Egg of destiny

Gingerfightback’s science correspondent, Damien Semi-Jap-Stranglehold spoke to Ursula Ooh-La-La, Professor of advanced Scotch Eggery at the University of Toulouse who told him, “Mais Oui mon cherie, Je t’adore le Piat D’or – make lurve a moi by the opagne firrreside a hoh – he – hoh.”

It is not the first time that Golfers have turned to meat base products. Jack Nicklaus won the 1978 US Open playing with a pork pie boiled in vinegar.

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A man and a pie and a sand shot to glory

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I’m Squinting

With my glasses lost again

But I know enough to be struggling to see

God,but will I ever stop the drink

Once and for all?

 

Today I saw a Belfast man

Marching the road

Collarete on in the sun

The traditional

Tribal triumph

Seen in his swagger and away of shoulders.

 

But this is Spain

And the collarete was Instead ONCE

(Organización National de Ciegos España)

Tickets

Orange and yellow tickets to be sold

Their luck tacked to his waistcoat.

His swagger and away

Sadly as a result of the twisted racking cracking

Of his body’s being.

It spent moving

His spine choked frame in the ways of his days

Him I squinting saw

Not him then

Thran

With the self blinded

Hurray of the Cyclops.

 

Last time at home

A fella:

Brother to one in the company

Complained to the slow barman

-I’ll get you done!

But the bar was packed

And the barman

(Who I too, thought slow)

Was having none of his old craic.

 

-Get me done?

He hollered

-Get me done?

-You can fuck off,

Yer barred!

 

Old Belfast bashing

Hard man against the new.

The silence of naked fear

That such a statement

might once have entailed

Bloody death or at least a beating

Was gone

The bouncer gleefully bounced the

Soul scarred, jail tattooed poor twerp

Drinkless

Out into the night.

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Mum’s Garden Full Of Birdsong

There’s a tall tree in mum’s garden

That needs chopping

A Blackthorn

It and the Holly beside it

Spreading up up way beyond their bound

Blocking the light from the neighbours

Worrying my mum that someone may complain

Curly and I could not reach over far enough

That time we cut the hedge

But there’s a Blackbird that sings from that tree

He’s singing now

A Mistle Thrush, countless Tits

And the Blackbird and his mate

All in there

The Blackbird is singing

‘Yeooww woo

But isn’t it grand’

It is too

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From The Prisons Of Our Own Minds

It is the sea that makes us realise
That we are indeed small
From the blade of grass
That we are indeed big
And for me
The memory of
The whitest light from the smile once
From of the face of my girl
She waiting at the top of my Street
To then
Go work her Saturday job in the hairdressers
And me mine in the garage.
That makes me know that I have indeed lived

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Hello Oily,

Foraging in the attic the other day I came across a false leg once owned by my Aunt Claire. Often wonder where she is. Last I heard she was opening a chain of shops selling cheap jewellery. Now bankrupt I’d imagine. The way of the High Street it seems.

To get back to my point. The leg got me thinking. I’m kinda lonely.What if I was to go onto Ebay and buy some more lady parts? I could build my own girlfriend. We could talk, hug, maybe even make love puddles together. Good idea or am I a freak?

Hans Lecter

Straightjacket City

Oily Replies;

A wonderful idea!

A variant of this was done by a dear friend and fiend of mine Norman Bates some 50 years ago in the US. It worked for him for sure. And he had a very successful motel business which would probably still be going strong – and smelling even stronger – if the corporate chains hadn’t taken over.

Your question raises a very serious issue about today’s society. In an extensive survey that I made up this morning in the shower it was PROVEN BEYOND DOUBT that in just ONE street in East London MORE people live ALONE than in the WHOLE of the street across way.

To me this shows irrefutably that there needs to be more kink in everyone’s lives. It will ease the loneliness.

To get you started I have a special offer. If you buy 30 of my DVD’s within the next 14 days I will throw in a litre of my oil PLUS a battery operated arm. Vital when your own hand locks. Just let me know if you are a righty or lefty and we can get it off and thus get you off, as soon as possible.

Say No to Mr Lonely!

Oily- The Caregiver.

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