Sunday, 5 October 2014

A FUN BLOG

A FUN BLOG


IT STRUCK ME TODAY THAT MY BLOGS CAN BE ABOUT VERY SERIOUS AND HEAVY TOPICS.

SO TODAY I THOUGHT I WOULD GIVE US ALL A BREAK.......AND HAVE A FUN BLOG :-)


A friend of mine Called Shane Adams from Ballymena went home one time to visit his mother and stay overnight with her as his father was away on business.

The family had a pet - a pet budgie called Twettie - whose cage was always open so that it had the freedom of the house.

Shane and his Mum had a a nice dinner and a few drinks and they went to bed and slept.

The Mum went out early next morning to work and after a long sleep Shane woke up with a hang over, struggled to the fridge, got a big glass of orange juice and plonked himself down on the sofa.

Unknown to him poor Tweetie had lain down on the sofa and fell asleep.

Shane plonked himself down on top of poor Tweetie and killed him!

I wrote the following poem in memory of the occasion:

Cartoon by the late Eamon Murphy, Carrickfergus and Oratory, Larne worshipper.
AN ODE FOR TWEETIE

You've heard about the birds and bees,
And things that make a chicken sneeze.
You've heard about the facts of life,
and how the Pope can't take a wife.
But now a tale to strike you numb'
Of a birdie murdered by a bum.

Poor Tweetie was a bird of seven,
And Ballymena was his heaven.
The Adams family prized each feather,
Of the gem that brightened every weather.
His cage lay open which left him free,
To wander about like you and me.

One fateful morn as was his way,
About the house he chose to stray.
The previous night there was a do,
When Shane and Mum consumed a few.
Exhausted by those late night drinks,
Poor Tweetie lay for forty winks.

Mrs Adams had gone out to slog,
When Shane awoke in a boozy fog.
The young man raided both fridge and store,
While from the couch came not a snore.
Shane stumbled to the very seat,
Where our snoosing bird ne'er let a tweet.

Our queasy pal then plonked his butt,
Directly onto our feathered mutt,
In seconds flat old Shane had decked him,
'Twas murder foul and "ad rectum".

So all ye birds in Ulster fair,
Heed my warning - please beware!
Not Gerry Adams or armed depravity,
But Shaney Adams and his leathal cavity.

"At the going down of the bum,
And in the morning.
We will remember him"

(Pat Buckley - 6th March 2002)

14 comments:

  1. Pat I love your sense of humour. You made me laugh today

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  2. Me too - even though I lost my budgie last year. We should be able to laugh at life and especially ourselves. Mary. Coleraine

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  3. A nonsense blog by a sick mind. Priest

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  4. Sick minds are those who can not have a bit of fun through the use of lateral thinking. Sean. I appreciate your point of view Pat

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  5. The poem is better when read by pat - enjoyed the recitation this afternoon. Gerry

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    Replies
    1. Gerry - could I be a budding Heaney?

      Please, please tell me.

      Pat

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  6. A congregation of about 20 people, nuts!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. At Calvary Jesus had a congregation of 4 - 3 women and 1 man.

      Until my congregation drops below 4 I will not complain.

      Numbers? I say Mass - I don't run Bingo :-)

      Pat

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    2. And the man at Calvary was gay :-)

      Quinten

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    3. And according to the RCs one of the women was a "Dama de Noche"

      Delete
  7. Since we're in poetic mode, and with apologies to Sir Patrick Spens:

    The bishop sat in Belfast town, drinking altar wine.
    O where out there will help this Chair, and stop Pat Buckley's whine?
    For as sure as sin, my head's done in, my clergy's gone to the dogs.
    Like a hornets' nest, he's done his best. It's all his bloody blogs.

    Then up croaked a creaky cleric, "Your wish is my command.
    I'll shut him up that rebel pup. Be sure I'll have him banned"
    He tottered down the bishop's hall, determined to stop the scandal.
    But well before he reached the door, someone nicked the handle!

    My lord, My lord he shouted loud, they've gone and locked us in,
    and I haven't a clue what we should do. We're stuck, as sure as sin.
    But the bishop came, and pushed the door. Well it opened wide, ajar.
    Down dropped his jaw, for what he saw, ....outside the papal car!

    "Can you explain my good lord Trean, these handles are no joke.
    The bishop broke into a sweat, ........and that's when Noel awoke
    Behind the scenes it seems he dreams, the fuss will all pass by.
    If he's thinking that, I tell you Pat, then surely pigs will fly.
    MournemanMichael

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  8. Is that what you call it? You still call it Mass? I thought you were independent?

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  9. Dear Friend,

    Read the definition of "Mass" in Wikipedia. I am an independent catholic.

    Pat

    ReplyDelete