Bringing Out the Tramp in You

Bringing Out the Tramp in You ©

By

Michael Casey

Gertrude was a big bubbly girl, maybe a bit too loud, some thought she was a bit of a tramp. Her dad David hoped and prayed she was not, being a Single Dad was hard, he was lucky he could work the hours he wanted, and then raise his daughter single handedly. You see Penny his wife had been killed when a dustcart had backed into her and she fell inside and was compacted. He was crushed by what happened, but spent the compensation on a brand new taxi, so he could support their beautiful daughter Gertrude. Obviously he spoilt her, and she grew fatter, or big and bubbly as girls say.

So David worked the hours around Gertrude’s school times, but now Gertrude was all grown up, too grown up judging by her dress size, but how could a Single Dad refuse his daughter? At least she was always safe when it was time to come home from a late night, David was always there with his taxi to bring her safely home. So Gertrude gained friends because there was a safe taxi to take them home.

Behind her back her friends could sometimes be cruel, and call her a slapper, because she always kissed any boy. But she did stop there, before any hands strayed too far. She had promised her dad, in front of the urn or her mum’s compacted ashes that she’d save herself for the one that would make her dead mum proud. So she wasn’t really a slapper after all.

One night they were up Broad Street the 6 of them, and they ran to get in the Night Club before it was full, a Love Island winner was there, so the place was heaving, while the Love island girl pocketed £10,000  appearance money for one night’s “work”. Gertrude slipped and broke her shoe, she would have fallen into the gutter and been looking at stars, only a strong but smelly hand grabbed her. It was Sam, the future love of her life, and winner of her heart and everything else.

The problem was that Sam was a tramp, and Gertrude was about to scream for the bouncers to rescue her when she noticed his eyes. His eyes were pure hazel, and despite the smell it was his eyes that overpowered her. In that one second, Cupid had shot his arrow. Gertrude said thanks, and reached into her purse and sprayed him. It was that new spray to spray your pooh recently advertised on tv. But Sam really did smell so bad, so he needed it. Sam just smiled his thanks, Cupid didn’t shoot any arrows, but Saint Valentine did.

Gertrude went into the Night Club, all the bouncers knew her, they knew David her dad the taxi man after all. Gertrude went around collecting kisses, it was the weekend after all. But nobody would get her treasure, she had promised her dad in front of her mum’s compacted ashes after all. That tramp was on her mind, why she did not know, but Cupid and Valentine did, Sam may be in the gutter but with the love of a good woman he could reach for the stars and fly amongst them.

So Gertrude hatched a plan. A kiss for an item of clothing. First a pair of flashy shoes. Gertrude was going to do this all on her own,but her friends had seen a few tasty men. So after a bit of snogging, Gertrude had gathered a complete change of clothes for Sam. Once she was in Guildford and it was too hot so she had gone into Zara and bought a complete change of clothes. But that cost money, now 2^nd hand and still warm clothes just cost a kiss. They were getting the clothes off the boys, it was fun, they did it on Love Island, so why not do it on Broad Street Birmingham England, though now the clothes would go to Sam.

They say that clothes maketh the man, and Sam was all man. Once all the clothes were collected Gertrude went outside and told Sam to strip. If you are in the gutter and 6 girls command you to take your clothes of what would you do. Sam obeyed. The girls blocking a shop doorway to give him some privacy, from everybody but them. Sam pulled all his jumpers and trousers off, to reveal a very strong body. But then all 6 screamed, he had a very nasty scar all along his back. He’d been stabbed in the past, only Heartlands Hospital had saved him. At that moment Gertrude’s defences came tumbling down, she just had to love him, to mother him. The scar man was her man, her womb tingled, this was the one. Then Sam was sprayed by all 6 girls with every potion they had. Only then was he given the clothes, they weren’t rubbish clothes either. If the boys in the club wanted the best snog ever they would have to donate their very best clothes.

Then they told Sam to hold out his hand and all six of them spat in his hand, he was told to rub it into his hair. In a flash Doreen leapt forward and gave him a haircut and beard trim, she was a master hairdresser, people begged to have her do their wedding hair, now in a doorway off Broad Street, a tramp was being transformed into a Prince. When Doreen had finished they all stepped back to see the transformation, ---- me, they all said instinctively, the kind of language ladies should never use. But Cupid and Valentine had been working overtime, with a little help from Doreen and the clothes stolen with kisses.

Then Sam went into the night club, the Love Island winner was so jealous, Gertrude just mouthed “too bad he’s mine”. Then the Devil or was it Cupid and Saint Valentine must have been in Gertrude, she kissed Sam like there was no tomorrow. He could have everything, every day of the week. Now the Night club needed a washer upper, so Sam became the glass washer in the back. He was back in the real world now. All because he had saved Gertrude from falling over.

She had fallen for him literally, and now he was her’s and she was his. Soon the Night Club owner realised why should he pay Love Island people appearance money, Sam was soooo good looking. So Sam came out from back of house to front of house. Sam’s life had been turned around.

Gertrude married Sam, and they was a parade of taxis along Broad Street. Now sometimes couples argue, so when they did Sam would strip naked and lie on the carpet covered in newspaper. How could Gertrude be angry with him for long, for he reminded her where she had found him, in the gutter covered in paper. So she would strip naked too and join him amongst the newspaper on the floor. And that’s where their children were conceived, on the floor covered in newspaper.

Two Twitters

I spotted a piece in the Press about a USA journalist having trouble with Twitter. I did try it myself, but it's an addiction that just wastes your time. Ping Pong Name Calling.

So here are 2 pieces of Twitter I wrote some time ago.

Remember Trump is Twitter mad, instead of running the country,
it is his "own private addiction"

Twitter Followers ©
By
Michael Casey

I’m trying Twitter out, in another vain attempt to track down a few readers, or a publisher or radio station that’ll do the hard work for me. I did try FB and LinkedIn only I just got tracked down by mad people, I know what you are thinking already so I’ll just say “shut your face” as Frankie Howerd used to say.
My michaelgcasey has also been abused by millions of variants, on FB I tried restarting my account and the first thing I was asked was how many of these names did I know and study with in, Hydrobad or was it Islamabad or and other bad, all I know was that it was BAD. So I gave up and forgot about FB. There is a Michael Casey in Birmingham but he is a not me, I’ll say no more just in case his account is hijacked. There is another in NY, he is a journalist for the New York Times.

So Social Media has its pitfalls, and I have fallen into all of them. I even tried the French version of FB/LinkedIn and yes you’ve guested it I was pursued by mad people. The usual I am dying and am a good Christian/Jew/Muslim with 14,000,000 in gold bars from a sunken ship that they want me to help to offload on the bullion market. I’d get 50% for my help.

The usual BS in other words.  If people want to send me an automatic Cartier Diamond Blue large version then feel free to send it to the  Lord Mayor of Birmingham England telling him to ask the police to find me, and if he cannot after 3 months he could raffle it for the dogs home.

Now I’ll get loads of emails about this, I would like a big house in Harborne too, so they can talk to the Lord Mayor about that too. He can find anybody, the police do know me after all. He’ll probably be banging on my front door tomorrow, dressed in all his regalia, all because of social media.
Before I forget, hello to readers in:- USA, Russia, Poland, Ireland, Germany, Norman no I mean Norway, Portugal and Spain, I may have missed out a country or two. I’m sure the British astronaut is following me too. I am a needle in a haystack after all.

So now I’m on Twitter, I don’t know how it really works, but strange things happen, and a few have happened today. Perhaps I should tweet Jerry Hall as she makes Rupert Murdoch laugh, hey Jerry get him to look at my comedy writing. Then perhaps I’ll earn that watch and house before I die. Though if I die my kids will get a dog, they got a cat when it was “only” heart problems. Or the Lord Mayor of Birmingham gets it all instead.


Twitter Me I Want to Be Famous ©
By
Michael Casey

I just had a scan of the newspapers and what you notice most of all are people selling their Soul in an attempt to be famous. Why do people want to be 3^rd rate Z List celebrities, Andy Warhol must be cursing his luck in Heaven as everybody crowds the place out, how can he do Cloud Art with the Angels if the place is overcrowded with the newly dead 3^rd rate Z listers. If you remember  your Bettlejuice  Heaven’s waiting room is overcrowded with people like that.

So why do people want this drug so much? Am I one of them? In my case I only want my words to be famous, I have no desire to sell my soul. Look at my chest I don’t wear a vest, look at my legs they go right up to my bum. Look at my bum I’ve been injected with a barrel full of oil to make my bum so large it almost explodes, just make sure you are not standing directly behind me.

Look at the notches on my bedpost I’ve slept with 1000 men or was it women I cannot tell the difference, because I am straight/gay/bio whatever, or was it a robot in the bed, enough said. Westworld. And on it goes, does anybody care or is it just so very very boring. The sexual revolution was back in the 1960s, so now 50 years on to hear it all over again as if this generation were the 1^st to discover what was underneath the undergarments, is so very very BORING.

Celebrities are famous for being famous, everybody is a HERO now, I put 5000 paperclips up my nose and I am in the Guinness book of records. My brother put 7000 up his, up his, I can say but I won’t say, anyway he is in the adult version of the Guinness book of records. It’s called the Guinness with Whisky chaser book of records, with cross eyes.

People do stupid things to chase fame, then they put it on Twitter or Facebook. Thousands of likes and repeats or whatever it is called follow this, until you have 1,000,000 likes for a man who can fart fire and light a candle on a birthday cake 10 feet away. And of course in real life he is a fireman, so that makes it more interesting and his mates hose him down every time, so they can share his fame.
Hashtag #fartingfiremanlightsbirthdaycake is an explosive hashtag, and spreads like wildfire. Then the next week obviously he dies while at work saving a life of a child. So his Twitter goes wild and his Facebook has a flaming bum with smoke spelling the work RIP rising from his behind. Yes this really is the level we have reached. People just want to be famous, now more than ever. Jade Goody would no doubt agree with me, may she rest in peace.

So why the need to be famous or all over Twitter and Facebook. Is it a weakness in the human spirit, Trivia being more important that Real Life. If people live in that Bubble where Kylie being cheated on by her toyboy is more important than the Manchester United results you have to wonder what is going on in the world.
Now I just threw in the line about Man U to see what reaction I’d get from you the reader, in India or Russia or USA or even here in UK, you lot are a scattered group, my readers. Maybe you should have a Tee shirt with michaelgcasey is the FAT Birmingham writer. Then you know what would happen, some little Indian guy in Calcutta would make a fortune in Tee shirts.

 He could have  a 2^nd Tee with  MichaelGCasey Calcutta is the Last Word, and when people asked him what it meant he’d say it’s the last word in   The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, whatever that is.

Me I wouldn’t get a dime from it. He would storm Twitter and Facebook, he would be the face of Michael Casey the Fat Birmingham Writer, even though he’d be a little Indian and I’m the large fat silver haired guy who looks like Santa after a visit to rehab to remove all the HO HO HOs from my wherever they are.
Such is fame, the irony is my best friend is a little Indian guy from Calcutta, who has a PhD in Biochemistry, with his help I no longer fart fire. And on that note I’ll have a toilet break.

persianBBUPORTUGUESE BBU2019China BBU-convertedChina BBU-convertedВ поисках индийской принцессыWydanie polskie Still Alive 2015win Wiersze dla wszystkichThe Polish TranslationsThe Polish Translationspolish Guardian AngelPolish Edition of Still Alive 2015Michael Casey The Polish Translations페이지 1 Quick Stories KOREAN아직도 살아있는 2015ページ1 Quick Stories in Japaneseインドのプリンセスを検索するにはインドのプリンセスを検索するには - CopyЭТО МОЙ ЛИФТ ADСтраница 1shoplife spanishJapanese elevator AdvertBBU GermanBBU French50 Spanish Examples50 Spanish Examplesbbumar2008-en-zh-cn-1BBUMar2008.en.zh-CN (1)BBU in HebrewBBU in Arabic300 وmy new bedBBU Russian Translation microsoft wordBBU in KOREANBBU GermanBBU French50 Spanish ExamplesKOREAN TRANSLATION Still Alive 2015The Polish TranslationsSpanish BBU아직도 살아있는 2015아직도 살아있는 2015아직도 살아있는 2015

Bank Holiday 26th Aug 2019

Bank Holiday 26th Aug 2019

saw a neighbour had a man on a scaffold, no she was not  executing him, it's a workman, so he can see all the gardens.

So that's given me an idea for a story, though the signposts can change once I start the actual story, no  fixed destination, so when I actually sit down to write it it may end up at a different place.

Must do my Homework

Must do my Homework ©

By

Michael Casey

When we are kids we have homework, I did not know what to write today, and as I pondered whether or not to add another piece to the thousands, yes thousands, it stuck me I could write about homework. Are you still doing homework? Or have you passed that age? My small daughter starts her Exam year next week, while her big sister goes off to University with just my story Lech, Boris and Gregorgi Check it Out for company. So can you remember doing homework.

My brother had left home and I was in the homework room, the Middle Room all alone for my Exam year, just as my small daughter is. So there are parallels between us. I never used to do homework on Friday as it was the end of the week, then Saturday was for rugby, so Sunday would come, and that meant being an altar boy and then hitting the books.

I would have done even better if only I’d hit the books more, a little bit often is the trick. Same for dieting and sex, though a diet of sex might be tiring and put you off hitting the books. You have to be self disciplined, but the phone down, put the video games away. In my days we rejoiced when Channel 4 arrived, we only had 4 tv stations when I was at grammar school, so the number of distractions were far less. We didn’t even have a telephone in the house when I grew up, and mobiles had not even been thought of.

So you sit down in front of your desk and start studying. We had a family day out to pick a desk for my brother to study at when he passed the 11plus, 6 years behind the eldest brother. So I the smallest of the Casey brothers inherited that desk. 4 brothers and 2 sisters plus a cat and a dog and a house full of lodgers, not forgetting mum and dad. We were encouraged to study hard, do what you like but do your best, Oxford and Cambridge were reached, and my sister became a teacher.

Latin of course was the hardest subject, do 40 mins was the command by Mr Procter the Latin and Careers teacher. Join the army SPQR and invade Gaul, and give Asterix a good slap, I seem to remember him saying, after he tortured us with the Ablative Absolute. It took the 2nd hour of double Latin before one of the future Doctors worked it out, was in Prasad? The Greeks tired by the war, went home to watch the football on Match of the Day. And yes you had to do double the 40mins so you could present enough to the Latin teacher, dancing would have been so much more easier.

You’d go to the kitchen for a well deserved drink and a doss before returning to the homework room. You’d stroke the dog before going back to do Physics. For Physics we had a great teacher so I actually enjoyed and passed it. Though once we were doing something about pressure, and why boots had studs on. There were 5 questions but I didn’t think and put the same answer down each time. Studs are for grip, but if you have a flat surface there is no grip into the playing field. Something from 45 years ago, I’ve learnt from my mistake.

Then mum would scream come for the dinner, always chops and potatoes and some vegs, the veg I never seemed to eat. I did drink all the milk in the house, so I was sent down the road to get more. We didn’t always have a fridge, so our Minton tiles were our cold store, 4 bottles of Children’s milk,and2 bottle of Tea milk every day. I think dad took some Tea milk in a bottle to work because by the Furnace anything else would curdle.

Back in the middle room, the homework room you just had to learn 20 words and phrases for the morning’s French test, Mr Notzing was probably the greatest teacher ever, though at the time we had other ideas.So I paced backwards and forwards plucking my eyebrows. After 30 mins I knew the French but had no eyebrows. So my sister painted some on for me and nobody noticed. I got full marks in the vocab test too. The 2nd day the lads noticed,but as I was the biggest person there nobody dared tease me. It was a Chemistry experiment I said, a few weeks later a man on the school route actually gave me a Chemistry set.

아직도 살아있는 2015페이지 1 Quick Stories KOREAN아직도 살아있는 2015ページ1 Quick Stories in Japaneseインドのプリンセスを検索するにはインドのプリンセスを検索するには – CopyЭТО МОЙ ЛИФТ ADСтраница 1shoplife spanishJapanese elevator AdvertBBU GermanBBU French50 Spanish Examples50 Spanish Examplesbbumar2008-en-zh-cn-1BBUMar2008.en.zh-CN (1)BBU in HebrewBBU in Arabic300 وmy new bedBBU Russian Translation microsoft wordBBU in KOREANBBU GermanBBU French50 Spanish ExamplesKOREAN TRANSLATION Still Alive 2015The Polish TranslationsSpanish BBU아직도 살아있는 2015아직도 살아있는 2015

God’s Betting Shop

 michaelgcasey  Uncategorized  23/08/2019 4 Minutes

God’s Betting Shop ©

By

Michael Casey

God walks amongst us, he is with us and for us, and against nobody, he does not give us riches here on Earth, he is not is one Faith, he is many and all Faiths and none at all. He does not help people become super rich, and despise the Leper, in fact he prefers the Lepers of Society, Society Matters to him, it his cuddly little teddy bear.

So a Betting Shop is indeed where God hangs out, he’s up the corner sweeping up the betting slips, he is the kid banging the thieving fixed odds machines that steal our money. In the old days the Gambling Shops used to boast, this establishment is air conditioned for your comfort. SMOKING was still allowed in them, gut wrenching smoke was everywhere, little wonder I for one never entered such a place. I think I did once to put a bet on the Grand National for my dad, it felt like going into a STD clinic or Brothel, I did not want to be spotted entering or leaving.

The irony is decades later I became a Trainee betting Shop Manager, one shop had a locked fire door from the outside, my life, the punters lives were not worth one month’s salary, about £1000, though there I earned much less. So what about God as he watches our despair as we pull our hair, know we shouldn’t be there. The Angels and the Saints are all crowded in around him watching those who have lost their way.

There is some Joy and Hope, and friends meet to place a bet then grab a pint of poison, or a real drink, before the wife kicks up a stink, you were supposed to buy Hush Puppies in the sale for the kids before school resumed after the Summer Hols. Instead you put money on a horse called Rose, because your wife’s religious calendar said it was Saint Rose of Lima’s saint’s day. Now you have lost everything, so she will strangle you with her Rosary beads.

Rose of Lima, looks and says God will you Bless Him, for sake of his children’s shoes. God says nothing, the man leaves and stumbles his way home. He helps an old lady carry her heavy bags to the bus stop. He even helps her on the no.11 bus by Saint Mary’s, as she gets on she drops an envelope full of cash. She does not notice, salvation is before him in the gutter. The man is tempted, but he bangs on the side of the bus and hands the old lady her money. God Will Bless You, she says her piercing blue eyes look directly into his.

The man gets home and his wife kisses him tenderly. But,but, but he does not understand. In the living room there are packages galore. It’s like Christmas. Where did these come from? Your friend the old lady came by hours ago with her daughter Rose, they brought everything, they said you did them a big favour, they brought all this. His wife described the old lady. It was the one he helped only a few minutes ago. The man’s head swum. He could not understand.

As he ate his dinner, his children, were so happy, the man was confused. The old lady said you had saved her son Martin years ago, the man’s head swum, what was going on. Many years ago he’d saved somebody’s life by putting his fingers in the stab wounds to stop him bleeding to death. But he’d never met the old woman till today, a few minutes ago, what was going on what was going on.

After dinner his wife handed him an envelope, it was the very same one he’d returned to the old lady when she had dropped it. There was £5000 in it, plus a note. All you need is love, and you have such a beautiful family. Today we have placed a bet on your Future. Martin is my “son” just as your are, he has been praying for you every day of his life, he has been made Bishop today, and he is still praying for.

In the Betting shop, the old lady dropped an envelope the exact same one the man had, but now it appeared to hold nothing but a Rosary made of string and knots. Nobody noticed, all except God, Mum I can refuse you nothing, the Prayers you say Tomorrow will have helped Yesterday. I know Son, but it is Rose of Lima’s feast day and I did not want the man’s children to go barefoot.

persianBBUPORTUGUESE BBU2019China BBU-convertedChina BBU-convertedВ поисках индийской принцессыWydanie polskie Still Alive 2015win Wiersze dla wszystkichThe Polish TranslationsThe Polish Translationspolish Guardian AngelPolish Edition of Still Alive 2015Michael Casey The Polish Translations페이지 1 Quick Stories KOREAN아직도 살아있는 2015ページ1 Quick Stories in Japaneseインドのプリンセスを検索するにはインドのプリンセスを検索するには – CopyЭТО МОЙ ЛИФТ ADСтраница 1shoplife spanishJapanese elevator AdvertBBU GermanBBU French50 Spanish Examples50 Spanish Examplesbbumar2008-en-zh-cn-1BBUMar2008.en.zh-CN (1)BBU in HebrewBBU in Arabic300 وBBU Russian Translation microsoft wordBBU in KOREANBBU GermanBBU French50 Spanish ExamplesKOREAN TRANSLATION Still Alive 2015The Polish TranslationsSpanish BBU아직도 살아있는 2015아직도 살아있는 2015아직도 살아있는 2015

Naked Bear and Writer 20 Aug 2019

What Kind of Words Work

What Kind Of Words Work? ©

By

Michael Casey

I’m very happy that Japan and Korea are passing by, I still live in Hope that I get international exposure and finally make a few quid for my daughters’ Future. I have my own dream too, but you’ve heard about that already, so I won’t repeat myself tonight, though it does involve a speed typist to write my follow up novel as I sit and dictate it.

It’s hard to know where to pitch my words, in the end I have to please myself and hope my readers enjoy what hits the page. Judging from the websites the words do hit the spot all over the world, so a sincere thank you to each and every one of you.

Now if you are talking to Grannie you don’t want to shock her or with her heart she’ll keel over and die. Or she may just reach for the hockey stick and beat the living daylights out of you, depending on what kind of Grannie you have. If you give her a bottle of good vodka that you’ve bought from Lech,Boris and Gregorgi then she’ll give you a toothless kiss and hold you tight as your friends laugh their socks off. You have to choose your words, so that they are kind words, and nice and gentle words, then she’ll lend you 1000 dollars or roubles or RMB or whatever kind of money you use. Then you can buy a 2^nd hand Skoda and then you are mobile, and you then have the back seat of the Skoda to make out in. Alexi being conceived on that very back seat, I should confess our first car was a Skoda Fabia, I’ll say no more than that.

Conversely your Grannie may just say Cut the C*** and Tell the Truth and Shame the Devil, and I’ll not hit you, today. My own mother used to say similar things. Remember too my mother was as strong as a horse, a blacksmith told her that once. In fact my dad said that when my mother died, he was that blacksmith. So you have to pick and chose your words to make them sound right, and suit the right audience.

If I’m talking to Korea obviously I’ll mention Kpop, because it is a very big thing, and I have watched several Kdramas, which I like so much, and yes as a man I like Korean girls, my wife was from the Shanghai after all, so my emotions look East. I also have had Japanese readers, and as a group both countries excel at what they do, so I hope eventually somebody over there uses my comic writing to help teach English with a Smile.

You also have to be respectful of their Culture and not ask for Fish and Chips, and compare negatively with their Culture. Tact in a Word. Though I should say with me What you See is What you Get. And I can see some readers smirking right now, so much to see he must be 250pounds at least. Yes I am but it’s mainly tight fat and not too much Sumo size fat, if I can say that in a complimentary way.  

So words are like advertising, you have to use pretty words or strong words as the occasion merits. An undertaker won’t say Bring Your Own Shovel to save money, though if you read The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker there is a sequence in it, which does use those words in a Black Humour way, black humour is dark humour, not Eddie Murphy humour, it has a different meaning. This is another thing I realise when I write, the Translations will/may miss some of the shades of meaning, because I’ve used a computer. If the miracle happens and I get my Word Domination, which is a pun on World Domination, then the translations will be better. Though I don’t over think anything I write, because I just write and I’m very fast.

I’ve just looked at the clock besides me and that reminded me that Words are Time Sensitive. They expire and have a best before date, just like supermarket food. A word today won’t work forever. One day Trump will be forgotten and he’ll be dust, Ashes to Ashes and Dust o Dust, If God won’t have you the Devil Must. Say Trump and nobody will know anything about him, the sooner that day comes the better, say most of the world.

Now because of what I said in the last paragraph 1/4 of USA now hate me, lets hope the other 3/4s get off the couch and vote. I could go on with more words about Politics,remember I’ve been watching it for 50 years now, yes really, I really am that old. However I hope I’ve given you a taster of the power of words, maybe you prefer just Stories, I just want my readers to smile and laugh and think too, think for yourselves, set up your own websites and have 10,000s of readers like me in over 60 Countries. But most of all I want you all to be happy and pain free, and maybe make a few quid. Or find your own speed typist and dictate your final book, and die happy and content with a smile on your face, and those are my final words, for tonight.