It's nice to see plus The 19th Hole

It's nice to see

That you all continue to read my stuff everywhere in the world,

from Mexico to Russia and that's just today.

There is even a Persian Translation over on my Wordpress


https://michaelgcaseyfrombirminghamengland.wordpress.com/

so let's Read and Laugh and stop making War, anywhere.

I think because my novel The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker

is about a group of friends of family even  we can all identify with it

When you all start posting about my writing on Facebook maybe

then the word will get out and spread

Meanwhile people continue reading badly written stuff elsewhere

MIAOW MIAOW MIAOW

Moving on quickly before you scratch me, I'd love to know who the reader in

USA is, who immediately reads anything I post. Maybe it's the NRA

so they can print it off and shoot it.

Or are my ideas being stolen while still fresh

It could just be Barron Trump he is a computer wizz after all

VOTE HIM OUT, VOTE HIM OUT  will be the catch phrase regarding dad

As for Barron, I wish you nothing but good, wealth is a handicap, find a few

good friends that'll last you the next 80 years.

Back to me, I may not write as much as I've done these past few years, after

1,500,000 Words that's a big enough legacy for my daughters

https://www.amazon.co.uk/l/B00571G0YC

10 books including the Omnibus stuff, plus a couple of computer translations in

French and German, just to make more people suffer.

I am going to carry on, I'll just pace myself more, be less driven.

Tinnitus means I only get to sleep between 4am and 6am, so I spend the night with music own trying to drown out the HISS, so the smallest of things is the most tiring.

Another reason is if I keep up the pace I'll hit that 27 books target in 4.5 years, as it used to take 6 months to write a book.

And I don't want to tempt Fate by hitting the target.  Besides I want to screw the Pension fund into the ground, so I'll try and reach 100, though I'm smiling at the very notion of that.

The 19th Hole will be the next book I've done 18,000 words  or 18% or 44pages

As You all know the 19th Hole is the bar in the Clubhouse

So for whoever is my quickest reader in the USA, thank you but how about putting me on your Twitter, "Michael Casey from Birmingham England the fat silver haired writer in shades" he stinks but I  have read most of his books, during my executive time. His Words are Good.

Yes, Donald Trump is my secret reader on his special ipad he uses just to read me, locked away in this drawer of his Resolute desk in the Oval Office.

And if you believe that then you have been too long in The 19th Hole

here's what I've written so far:-

The 19^th Hole

24may 2019

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 19^th 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 4^th Dan? Yes, and you can tie me to our bed with it tonight, after you take my Black Belt 7^th 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 7^th 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’ 6^th 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 7^th 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 7^th 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 2^nd 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 4^th.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.