Fr. Fiachra’s back / Erection plans scrapped

Well there was fierce craic at mass last Sunday and we are printing an unedited extract from Fr. Fiachra’s sermon which was all about his ‘dark night of the soul’ when the devil came to him in the person of his recent visitor Monica Lucey and nearly destroyed his vocation:

“I was holding onto my vocation by my finger nails, sure all my naïve eyes could see was her beauty when I met her but when she started tempting me to give in to the wicked ways of the flesh I got suspicious. I fought that temptation all night long last Saturday night suffering shocking visions of decadence and tormenting scenes of a graphic nature. I fought it with all my faith and prayed rosary after rosary while sweating profusely and, getting violently sick: all I brought up was green mushy liquidised peas, and I never eat peas. I was certain I was going to die until I saw this vision of a white longhaired man with a beard knocking down a tower made of lego. It was then I realised what it was all about. The longhaired fella was God and the lego tower is the spire I’m trying to build. Right there and then I promised faithfully to shelve my plans to build the spire and then all the torment left me. It was then I understood that even the arrival of Monica Lucey into my life had been linked to my preoccupation with financing the erection of the spire. The erection of the spire was a stupid idea of mine, foolhardy in the extreme. Reflecting back on it I now realise it was God who used the devil to get through to me.”
So there you have it, exciting stuff but I don’t know what he was doing all the fighting for sure a good blow out over a few nights is good for any man or woman. Unfortunately Monica has left the village, there would be no shortage of volunteers for her ‘temptation and torment’and maybe even a bit of punishment if she was dishing it out. Sure the only way to cure temptation is to give in to it. Isn’t it marvellous how some people get great opportunities to sin while the rest of us in rural Ireland only dream of what a sex life might be like. Oh the clergy get all the softness, always did.

Open letter from Tommy from the hill to Michael Ring T.D.,

This week, which is positive ageing week we feature an open letter from Tommy Goggins to Michael Ring T.D., on some of the issues facing pensioners in rural Ireland.

Dear Michael,
I had a letter there last week from Bobby Daly over in Thailand. He left this godforsaken place six months ago because he was crippled with rheumatism and boredom. He’s feeling younger than ever and according to him the women over there don’t have any of the aul hang-ups that they have here in the West of Ireland. His pension buys him all he needs and wants in Thailand, sure you’d just about feed yourself and have a couple of drinks on the pension here.
I have a home help from the Health Board coming around to me twice a week. She is being well paid by the health board to provide me with the services I need but in three years I never even got a decent slobbery kiss off her. Every New Year’s eve I brush me teeth, have meself well shaved and one year I took a bath before she came over on the off chance. I nearly caught me death of cold out of having that bath, I was in bed for a week after it. It wasn’t the result I was hoping for. Every New Year’s Eve she comes over and I don’t even get a hug off her. Sure its time there was proper services available to bachelors living on their own in rural Ireland. Bachelors have needs too. See Michael when you have a nice fire down and a bit of grub in your stomach you’d be ready for other things especially when you’d be feeling clean after a bath. It’s like bringing a horse to water, getting’ him in the mood for a drink and then telling him he’s not allowed to drink, sure that’s pure cruelty.
And there’s no point in telling me about the public health nurse she’s no better she doesn’t even wear a proper nurses uniform when she calls. Mary Beatrice Clancy is lively alright but she is only into middle-aged men not pensioners.
I have me hopes that you’ll be able to do something for me because of your new portfolio with responsibility for rural affairs. The more affairs we can have in rural areas Michael the better. Looking forward to hearing from you soon.
All the best,
Tommy Goggins.

Tourists gone

Well they’re all gone now. Sure it was a quiet enough aul summer: there was a fair amount of excess drinkin’ done but sad to report very little in the way of debauchery or scandal. Not one local made a complete eejit out of themselves in the last three months. It’s a bad do. Sure people are gettin’ far too self-conscious. Well there’s nothing to be got from being too feckin’ miserable and careful, it’s good to have the bit of craic. Once upon a time there was plenty eejits in every village and you’d have fellas going around off their heads especially when there was a full moon. Sure all the local characters are drugged into being normal now. Even when Davy Darby threw aside the tablets last week he was still fairly sensible. There was a time he’d have gone off the head completely: even mental illness isn’t what it used to be. It’s worrying. I wouldn’t wonder but that asshole George Bush is beaming stuff at us from them satellites in space, making us all too normal. Sure who knows what the yanks would be at?
Anyway the summer was quiet and sure the weather was desperate. The Henry sisters only wore their minis for one night back in the month of May and only a handful of people saw them. Most of the lonely bachelors didn’t and were robbed of havin’ a decent bit of fantasy fodder in for the long cold damp winter ahead.
Speaking of the Henry sisters, they’ll soon be headin’ back to college and this feckin place will be even more miserable, even in their red anoraks and baggy jeans they’re a sight to behold.
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Céad míle fáilte

A big welcome to Malachy and Fidelma O Keeffe who have moved into Pateen Tom Dickie’s aul cottage up beside the bog. They’re down from Dublin on a witness protection programme. Apparently Malachy was chief witness in a big drugs trial up there recently. Pa Brophy reckons they got a big lump of money to do up Pateen Tom Dickie’s aul place. Bernard O’ Hagan is his real name but let ye not be telling strangers that because the wrong gang could find out. The last thing we want here is a shower of feckin criminals comin’ down from Dublin shootin’ up the place.
Anyway they seem like a nice family. I’m not a lover of the Dublin accent meself but sure it could be worst: they could have northern accents.

Sunday Dinner and Big Houses

Well God be with the days when we all sit around the kitchen table in the family home on Sunday afternoon and had the dinner. Sure everyone is eatin’ out on Sundays now. The gas thing is that in all them new houses they’re building their kitchens are as big as what you’d get in a small hotel; dishwashers, American fridges, aga’s, the works. How in the name of God did our grandmothers manage with an open fire and our mothers with a small gas cooker and a sink in a room the size of a postage stamp. Oh they’re big into having their own space and plenty of it these days, and sure most of them need a lot more space with the amount of food that they’re eatin’.
Feckin’ monuments, that’s what they’re building these days, monuments to their own poor view of themselves. God help them they’re more to be pitied than talked about: feckin’ eejits! Sure they spend very little time in their big houses, they spend most of the week at work and then they’re gone away most weekends.
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Ask Uncle Larry

Dear Larry,
I have been off work for the summer holidays and am dreading returning after the break. I am really fed up teaching young children. They are so silly and always doing stupid things. It is just not fair, I feel like screaming Larry. I cannot take another year of it. I am waking up at night in cold sweats, shaking and having nightmares of meeting the new junior infants class with their demonic eyes staring at me knowing that they will crack me with all their psychological torture, the screaming, the crying, the fighting, the destruction of my property, scratching my car. Last year’s class drove me crazy Larry I can’t take it anymore.
Gerry.

Dear Gerry,
Sounds like you’re in bad shape. See that’s what long holidays and a soft job can do to a man. I have no pity whatsoever for you or your likes. Some of us don’t get a holiday at all and the rest of the country has to do with four or five weeks. You have nine weeks at summer, two at Christmas, another two at Easter, mid terms, in-service days. Sure ye spend nearly half the time on holidays and a secure pensionable job at ya where you would probably have to shoot a few of the junior infants class to get sacked. Stop your whinging now like a good little ladeen and get on with it or take early retirement: you have a cheek bothering this column with your aul shite.
Larry.

Scraped through the Leavin'

Well done to Mike Fitzgerald, son of popular local couple Bridie and Mick Fitzgerald, on passing his leavin’ cert. Sure he’s the first in that family to pass it, the rest of them failed it in style. Fair play though the odds were against Mike from the start because it certainly wasn’t from Mike senior or Bridie he got the brains. But sure when all’s said and done what good is a pass in the leavin’ these days with young wans going around with eight A1’s at them, eight A1’s at them and they can hardly string two decent words of conversation together, full to the feckin’ neck with education. Sure they’ll probably end up as doctors, consultants, vets or senior civil servants: at least they’ll never need any social skills in those jobs.
Anyway Mike Fitz was out celebrating his pass in style. Fluthered, out of his mind above in Pa’s on Wednesday night, no one had the heart to ask him which university he was going to. Sure what harm is there in a few pints, it’s the drugs that are the killer.
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Bobby Daly's Leaving Do

Well there was a grand turn out for Bobby last Saturday night and there was a few women there very upset with the news he was headin’ to Thailand. Bridie Hanratty confided in Maggie McGudgen that she might have made a move on him if she knew he had ‘leavin’ in the head.’ It’s a cautionary tale, sure there’s far too many people wandering around this village in first gear like they’re waiting for a certain alignment of the planets or something to get them going. Its no rehearsal folks, let ye go for it and take the bull by the horns.

Marx: The Elephant in the Room?

Dear Larry,
Do you think is Marx still the elephant in the room?
Joey Carroll

Dear Joey,
I think I remember seeing a film about that one time but I think the elephant was in a bowl of soup or something. Apparently that Marx lad was a bit of a big awkward lout alright. The thing is Joey, elephants are afraid of mice so I’m just wondering if there was a mouse in the room also, and if there’s a mouse you can be sure there’s a trap somewhere and some cheese. And then of course what sort of a room is it and if God is everywhere then presumably he’s in the room also. But that Marx lad had no time for God. Apparently he used to say that going to mass was as good as takin’ drugs - he never went to one of Fr. Fiachra’s masses or he’d have a different story. Our local philosopher and intellectual Wally ‘the wart’ Walsh was tellin’ me that Marx was a drab enough aul character and wanted us all to live in a ‘classless society’. Well living in a place that has no class might have been good enough for him but he’s welcome to his depressing outlook.
So Paddy if he’s still hanging around in any rooms, then describing him as a big, depressing, grey, awkward lump is spot on. He wouldn’t be the partying sort and from what I hear his followers are about as exciting. They’d have a distinct tendency as Myles McPartlin puts it ‘to be lost up their own …’
Best of luck.
Larry.
You can contact The Village Notes by email at: villagenotes@eircom.net

Women and Third Level Education

Sure the cost of education is only scandalous these days and look at the amount of women that are going on to third level, sure that’s a complete waste of tax payer’s money unless they’re Lesbians. They’ll surely end up changing nappies, probably working part time and only earning enough to get their hair done, keep a second hand car on the road and buy some make up and the odd bra and knickers – sure what sort of an investment is that? At least the lads will work long hours and earn decent money to support a family. The women would be better off learning how to snare a well off man and how to cook good wholesome meals for a family. Sure all them women going off to university are only a distraction for young lads and making the lads perform poorly in exams. I don’t want to be sexy about this so I suppose if the humour still hadn’t worn off them when they have raised the family, then that would be a good time to let them off to University. There could be something in what aul Pa Moore used to say:
‘an educated woman is a curse in any household and will only lead to more rows, givin’ out and loads of money wasted on useless stuff.’
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Best Before Dates

Did you ever hear such nonsense - as if things go rotten in hours? Sure it takes days for that to happen. They just put those dates on things to sell more stuff. It’s all about turnover, and making sure the wild animals get their share of food out of every house. I can well remember going into shops and buying rashers cut off a side of bacon that had a dozen blue bottles walking on it and poor aul Malachi Brophy coming out to serve me and him pullin’ up his fly and then cuttin’ a pound of ham for me. Sure it never did me a bit of harm and the ham going them days had a good strong taste on it, not like the tasteless soft watery stuff you get these days. They have stomachs as weak as kittens nowadays, sure the least little bit of dirt they eat they get the scour and then they’re into the doctor and the doctors are throwing them bottles and capsules. It was rarely you saw a doctor in my day and if you did you knew you were fecked. Make no mistake about it every generation is getting weaker.
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Toilet Bowls Getting Blocked

Cllr., Miley Madden has called for toilet bowls to be redesigned to prevent the occurrence of blockages, speaking from the caravan out the back road he told the Village Notes:‘the outlets in them feckin’ toilet bowls going these days are far to narrow. There’s loads of people having problems with them, Big Johnny Mulcahy was telling me that he always has to bring an aul’ clothes hanger or a length of stick with him when he’s getting on the throne. It’s past time something was done.
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Interactive Famine Memorial

The council have paid €10,000 of good ratepayers money to that scrawny hoor from Galway Billy Bragg for the new monument below at the cross. We were all expecting something massive for that money. Sure what is it but a woman holding a bucket of rotten spuds. A feckin disgrace! The rotten spuds are real, that’s what makes it interactive according to the sculptor’s statement:
‘my famine piece is a visual and olfactory engagement with the famine.’
Mary Halpon from the apostolic works society is doing well out of it, she has the job of replacing the spuds with ‘fresh’ rotten spuds once a week. Martin Breheny is doing well out of it too, he’s getting a hape of money for growing spuds and then blighting them. It’s criminal but sure that’s farming today, they’re either paying people not to grow things or paying them to produce shite.
The spuds are proving to be great ammo for the lads coming home from the disco on Saturday nights. When the council heard about the lads and the rotten spud fights they said this was ‘a very welcome development’:
“what started out as primarily a visual and olfactory engagement with the famine has now become a tactile experience for the youth. Billy Bragg’s reputation as custodian of the avant garde in sculpting circles is safe.”
Did you ever hear such shite?

DAVY DARBY IS OUT

They’ve let him out. Apparently the treatment is agreeing with him now and he’s no longer a danger to himself or anyone else. They reckon if he keeps takin’ the tablets and stays off the drink he’ll be sound. He’s still going on about St. Patrick, the Blessed Virgin and Big Tom appearing above at the bridge. According to the bauld Davy, Big Tom has undergone a conversion and is warning people against country and western music sayin’ it’s the work of the devil. The Blessed Virgin is still giving out about the state of the world and sayin’ that hard times are comin’ and that the end is nigh. I don’t know why it’s always the same depressing, negative message from her, maybe she has spent too long appearing in cold and damp places. She’s always fierce pale lookin’ in the pictures and the statues anyway, she could do with a bit of sun on her back to liven her up. But I suppose it’s easy for us to be saying things like that: getting pregnant at such a young age and then ending up with that aul’ lad Joseph was bound to affect her. It was no joke in fairness. Anyway her moanin’ is gone past a joke, people are fed up of it - they must be damn glad to see the back of her upstairs when she leaves to go on tour.

Is This Tommy Tiernan's Twin?

Who is He?

Rumour has it that this man is a candidate in the general election. Does anyone know who he is?

FOR FECK sake look what they did to Bev!

Fine Girl

Frankie Claus!

Well at least Frank will have a job for Christmas, but not in the Dáil of course.

Painting Competition 2 - The Ring master

Well fair play to Anne in Westport for sending in the following picture of Ringo. Anne you have succeeded in making him look like an intellectual which we all thought impossible. Anyway we decided to publish it.

Thanks again Anne but we felt it was important to make a few further amendments lest we mislead people. Keep sending them in folks.

Painting Competition!!!!!

Well the posters are up and aren’t they all looking mighty, not a pimple between them. There’s a few budding artists around the village who have taken out the markers. In fairness some of the efforts are very good. Time to get painting lads and lassies. Leave your comments and your photos and we'll publish, especially if they are Mayo candidates. There might even be a prize for best poster. Here's a sample of local shinner Gerry Murray...let the games begin!

Ask Uncle Larry

Dear Larry,
Is it true that Billy Breslin is on the way out below in the hospital or is the wife right when she says they’re just doing tests? ‘Wires’ McLoughlin and meself have a tenner on it.
Mick Shelley.

Dear Mick,
Bad news on Billy Breslin I’m afraid, sure you know you’re fecked when they say they’re doing tests, it just means they don’t know what’s killing you. Doing tests, I think half of them in that hospital should be doing tests – they know feckin’ nothing and they’ll never give you a straight answer. They’re always covering themselves.
“Have I got cancer Doctor?”
“Well we couldn’t find it if you have.”
“And how good are ye at finding cancer Doctor?”
They’ll just smile at that stage and pretend not to hear you.
They’re an awful shower them Doctors.
All the best Mick, hope your piles are improving.
Larry.

Rain Dance

Well there was a small turn out for the dancing but there was plenty gawkers out walking who were supposedly ‘just passing by’. Fair dues to Mary Gilhooley and Bridie Hartigan, they both had body painted bras and grass skirts and Johnny Fadden was all out in a goatskin lookin’ the dead spit of Tarzan. He had fierce roarin’ and leppin’ and was going around to the women shouting “Me Tarzan, you Jane, we make little Tarzan.”
He ended up going home the back road with Mary and Bridie and there was quare laughin’, roarin and moanin’ heard late into the night. Paddy Mulcahy’s herd of prize freisians broke out and Mike Fitzs’ bull did himself a bad injury when he tried to jump a barbed wire fence. Fair play to everyone who got involved in the dancing, there was a grand drop of rain on Sunday and Monday.

Air Conditioned House

Young Packie Moore is after spending the guts of €15,000 on putting air conditioning into that monstrosity of a two-storey house that he’s building above near the lake. One thing is feckin’ sure, he didn’t grow up in a house with fresh air in it. Sure there was no such thing as fresh air in houses when we were growing up – all we had were houses with different smells. If it wasn’t the smell of cowdung from outside the door, it was the smell of sweat, dampness, turf smoke, farts, hairy bacon and cabbage boiling in a big pot, a child’s shitty nappy or the smell of an aul’ fellow sitting beside the fire who had wet himself. You had to be tough to survive in those days. They want their comforts now but with their air conditioning and all their gadgets they’ll end up in bad health I’m telling’ ye. They’ll end up sick oftener than we were and all we had to put up with. Sure every generation is getting weaker and then there’s eejits going around claiming that evolution is plausible.
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Quare goings on

There was pandemonium down the back road on Wednesday night and it all ended in tragedy. Someone smoked the two gay yanks out of Hackett’s place by stuffing a donkey jacket down the chimney in the middle of the night. When the lads emerged coughing and choking they were then met by someone covered in a white sheet wailing like the banshee. It was a frightening ordeal for them. The fat lad Billy got a massive heart attack and died in the ambulance on the way to hospital and Robbie who wears the pink dungarees is still fierce shook. He’s still in hospital getting treatment. Garda Xavier Macgillacuddy updated me yesterday on the current investigation:

“I can tell you Larry that I am following a definite line of enquiry on this one, I started by ruling everything in and then started ruling most of it out very quickly again. I have made dramatic progress but am unable to reveal my suspicions to any journalist for operational reasons. An arrest could be immanent and I’m hoping to send a file to the DPP, I never got a chance to send him a file before.
Speaking off the record Larry, I’m sure it was that young upstart Johnny Price that did it but sure if I named him in the paper he would only get a chance to do a runner, so I can’t tell you officially Larry.”

Things are lookin’ up

Well isn’t it fantastic weather. Spring is in the air, the women’s skirts are gettin’ shorter and the tops are getting skimpy. Sure there’s nothing like it to liven up the place. Even aul’ Tommy from the hill was wearing a new outfit at mass on Sunday and him clean-shaven for the first time in six months. He was tellin’ me that he’s going all out this summer to ‘sow as much oats’ as he can. It could be the summer for it.
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They Burned their Bras

Well it’s easily known who them feminists were: you’d spot them a mile away. They’re paying for it now. Look girls, we all know there’s signs everywhere these days about keeping your headlights dipped but girls there nothing like having your full heads on to get a man’s attention.

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Saint Patrick on the Reek.

New evidence suggests that the time St. Patrick spent on Croagh Patrick, (The Reek), outside Westport, in the fifth century AD may not have been the 40 days and 40 nights of penance we were told about at school.
A recent excavation at the top of the mountain has found that there was in fact a thriving community there at the time the saint lived. Indeed the original 2 meter square excavation pit of an ancient structure near the summit has expanded and now covers an area of more than 34,000 square feet. Features uncovered include over 300 bedrooms, four large areas that look like swimming pools, some form of ancient steam room, 8 Jacuzzi’s and a large hall possibly used as a recreational drinking area.
Dr. Erin O’ Ratheillaigh-Wong says that the evidence collected so far indicates The Reek was the site of the biggest Inn and Health Spa outside of the Roman Empire.
“The greatest mystery”, she said, “is not who built it or how it was built, but how in the name of God they got planning for it”.
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Cllr Miley Madden’s Five Point Plan

Well after all the wheelin’ and dealin’ The Village Notes can exclusively reveal that popular Councillor Miley Madden will be standing as an Independent in the forthcoming general election. He’s calling his campaign ‘Puttin’ the ura (euro) back into Rural’.
It’s a plan to rejuvenate rural areas and he’ll be launching it at the community centre next Thursday night. Speaking to The Village Notes he said:
“All Mayo has got from the famous five over the last few years is politics in noddyland. They can’t even get on with one another: fighting about who will get to the top of the poll first and who has the biggest van. Sure that shower above in Dublin are only laughin’ at them.
Yer man in the black coat is camped up above in North Mayo living as a hippy giving out pills – sure he has to stay somewhere when they keep throwing him out of the Dail. Ringo is behind in Westport delivering free bread to pensioners from his new van. Kenny, the brainy nice guy is squeaky clean but who ever took that sort seriously in politics: if he never got things for people who didn’t deserve them then sure what business has he being a politician. Then there’s Bev, a grand girleen, she was the only one of them that ever bought me a pint-she wouldn’t take no for an answer. It’s a pity she didn’t buy Charlie Bird a pint in time or arrange a dose of Bird flu for him. That’s four, but there’s one more. I can’t for the life of me remember the name. I think she lives over in the east somewhere. Is her name Geraldine McCarthy?”
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Cllr. Miley Madden's Hiace

He was spotted at the back of the house during the week washing th’aul hiace van. Apparently young Joey ‘the spanner’ Houlihan is putting some seats in it. There’s no formal announcement yet but there’s no doubt Miley has something up his sleeve. I’d say his name will be on the ballot paper. Watch this space!

Fr. Fiachra’s Erection

As ye know he wants to rebuild the church spire. Sure it’s very few priests who don’t want to leave some sort of construction after them. Sure wasn’t aul Fr. Flood responsible for the development of the football pitch and the car park. It was no harm calling the pitch after him; the feckin’ thing is waterlogged half the year. Rumour had it that Fr. Fiachra was going to do the full monty if he got enough sponsorship for the spire. Well I can tell ye now that that was only gossip among the aul’ wans. Didn’t Old Betty Brogan say she’d pay a week’s pension to see him and wouldn’t mind if she ended up having a stroke.
“I’ll definitely have a stroke if I get close enough.”
Anyway it’s not going to happen. Fr. Fiachra is organising a fund raising fashion show instead. He’s looking for models at the moment. Let ye contact him on the email: frfiachra@eircom.net
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Suspended Sentence

Big Maggie Henderson received a two-month suspended prison sentence for assaulting Barry the stripper at the Valentine’s night party in Pa’s. She represented herself in court and claimed that she got all confused when he shook his exposed tackle at her.
“I thought it was the head of a turkey Judge and I lashed out at it. See I lost an eye two years ago when a turkey savaged me.”
Judge Matilda Divine said she took a very dim view of the matter and told Maggie that she should be at home saying her prayers with a hot water bottle beside the fire and not out ogling strippers in Pa’s.
“If you come to my attention again you’ll be doing time. You should be ashamed of yourself.”Barry is recovering well from the groin strain but had to wear a large coat in court to cover the swelling.
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Ructions at Valentine's Night Party

The bus was on time, Pa’s was packed, the chips and cocktail sausages went down great and the strip show for the men worked a treat. Then Barry the Pole and Paul from down Pontoon way got up on stage. Well nearly all the men went out for a smoke at that stage except young Stevie Reilly from the Back Road and Marty Doheny: you wouldn’t mind Marty staying sure he’s stone mad.
Anyway the lads were giving it loads and no sooner had Barry the thong off but didn’t Big Maggie Henderson who was sittin’ at the front lunge at him like a thing possessed. She yanked, pulled and dragged him all over the place. Didn’t a few other pensioners start to join in at that stage. Poor aul’ Barry ended up with a ferocious groin strain and bad bruising in the tackle area. Dr. Mc Donald says it could take a month for the swelling to go down. Maggie was unrepentant and went home shouting ‘kill all turkeys,’ ‘kill all turkeys,’. She farmed turkeys for years until she lost an eye when one savaged her two years ago. She is up on an assault charge at next weeks court sitting.
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Valentine’s Night Party

There’s a big night in Pa Brophy’s next Wednesday night. There’s male and female strippers lined up, Pa will be laying on the cocktail sausages, chips, chicken wings and sandwiches. Terry Hafner, the pioneer, will be using the secondary school bus to do a round of the village and collect everyone at 9:30pm after the news and weather and dropping everyone home at 12:30am. He has promised to give the bus a bit of a clean but sure the smell of hormonal teenagers might stir some of ye up a bit. Ye have no feckin’ excuse for not turning up. Be at yer gates in time. Ye can drink as much as ye want. Cover charge is €3, sure you wouldn’t insult a child by giving them that for sweets these days. The Department of Education is sponsoring the bus but we’ll say no more about that.
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Twenty Percent EXTRA FREE

Twenty Percent EXTRA FREE!!
“Sweet sufferin’ Mother o’ Jee...” That was the cry heard up and down the country this week as householders opened up their new and improved ESB bills.
20% extra free – but not for you.
The people in charge at the ESB have to live too – they have their own exorbitant ESB bills to pay.
But what can we do to keep the cost down?

Get rid of the telly.
There’s nothing wrong with sitting quietly. Think of the money you will save.

Turn off lights, even when you are in the room.
There’s nothing wrong with sitting quietly in the dark. Just think of the money you are saving.

Turn off the heat and put on your coat.
There’s nothing wrong with sitting quietly in the cold dark wearing a coat. Think of the money you are saving.

Stop taking showers.
After a few weeks the body will begin to naturally cleanse itself. Either that or you just get used to the smell.

Don’t use the washing machine.
After a few weeks you’re clothes will begin to naturally cleanse themselves.

Don’t boil a kettle.
There’s nothing wrong with sitting in a quiet, cold, dark room wearing a coat and drinking a cup of cold tea.

Get fit and cut your costs with a pedal power generator.
It’s basically an old bike connected up to a large dynamo, it doesn’t generate much electricity but it helps you pass the evening without any TV or lights.
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Church Care Team

Trials for the church care team will take place at 3.30pm next Sunday. Anyone interested can sign up in Pa Brophy’s at 3pm. Fr. Fiachra will be doing the judging. The first round will be shining the candleholders with a dry cloth; anyone found with a tin of brasso will be disqualified. Second round will be a stretching competition: who can reach the highest cobweb and the third round will be the really physical side of things. Ye’ll be put through yer paces by Fr. Fiachra, he’ll make ye run 3 laps of the high field while trying to shine chalices. Tea and sandwiches in Pa’s after the competition. All welcome. Proceeds from the event will go to the church spire restoration fund.
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Nature Report

When you think of all the things we take, without a second thought, from this beautiful land of ours: the rivers and lakes give us water to drink and fresh fish to eat, the rich earth grows our nutritious vegetables and the grass to feed our livestock so we can have meat to eat, grains for our bread and to feed our chickens who lay us eggs. We take, take, take, but do we ever give anything back?
I do. Three or four times a year I go up the bog and bury a trailer load of tin cans, glass and plastic bottles, old clothes, crockery, maybe an old bike or a broken TV, anything to hand really. Over time these will rust and rot away and enrich the surrounding soil with their goodness. It’s a long term investment, they say a child’s nappy takes a million years to break down in the soil – well a million years from now the soil might be glad of it.
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Garda Prank Call Now Animated

Tommy, just when we thought we had heard the last about the Garda prank, hasn't some bright spark added animation to it. Isn't it great what can be done with computers, Tommy.
Click this link:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9YwQ9mRyBjc

More Strippers Wanted

Feckin hell Tommy, we have competition. I see there in this weeks Mayo Echo that they're lookin for strippers as well in the recruitment section at the bottom of page 19. It was the bright colours that drew me to the advert: naznookie.com is the website. If Pa Brophy wants a class act in the pub to draw the crowd he will have to pay handsomely for it now. It's supply and demand Tommy. Anyway Tommy, maybe our successful applicants didn't see it. It would be a pity to lose them now to another crowd and have to go through the recruitment process again. Still I suppose if we have to interview a new batch and get them to audition, so be it.

A Great Response!

Ye'll have to excuse the silence over the last few days but Tommy and myself have been busy looking at all the stuff ye have sent in auditioning for the stripping gig in Pa Brophys. Fair play to ye girls, there were some saying ye wouldn't be up for it. Tommy and meself are both suffering from eyestrain at the moment and a trip to the optician will have to be on the cards before long. We have decided not to adjudicate on the pictures ye lads are sending in. We're sending them to Georgie over in Garrymore who's a good judge of men-so he says anyway. The smart alec who sent in the picture of the old cow and poor aul' Mary Bessie from the Low Road must have something better to do with his time. Anyway let ye keep them coming girls, the calibre of entrant is high at the moment.

Mike's Question.

Mike asked: Do you seriously think that people in Rural Ireland wil go to a strip tease act in their local pub?

That's a good question Mike and the answer, according to our market research, is - Yes!
The results of a questionaire we circulated show that the top five entertainments people would like to see in their local are:

5: Big Tom and The Mainliners. (after 33 years at number 1, how times have changed.)

4: A Seance. (Talking to the dead is as popular as ever.)

3: Topless Mud Wrestling. (There was a pub in a village not far away that tried to liven up the atmosphere with topless mud wrestling a few years ago, it was a massive sucess but had to be stopped because it was disturbing the game of 25 that was taking place in the corner.)

2: 25 Drive. (The old reliable, but the top prize of a turkey is under review. Suggestions are welcome. Any ideas - Please leave a comment.)

1: Strippers. (We were as surprised as anyone but that's what they want. We'll just have to wait and see how it goes. Although, I have to admit, it is hard to imagine Pat from over the bridge and old Tommy from the hill having a discussion about the price of buttermilk in 1952 while Bernie -(The Bouncer)- McGettigan is getting her kit off in front of them.

Strippers Wanted

Poor aul Pa Brophy reckons he’ll have to close our local because the takings were down badly over the Christmas. Tommy and meself have been racking our brains on this one but we reckon a few strippers could be the answer. We don’t want to be sexy about this so both men and women are needed. All ye hunky men and feisty women out there can send your entries to Tommy and myself. We may have to compile a shortlist and conduct interviews before making our final selection......
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The Fella on the right with the sheep.

Yes, that is indeed Georgie Gilmartin, he was a bit of a ponce I’ll give you that, but that picture doesn’t show him at his best or tell the whole story. It is true that he had not a sheep to his name but that is only because he was allergic to them and came out in a rash if one was near, and this was why he had to wear the cotton dresses.
If you look closely at the picture you will se a relation of your own Larry – Paddy the Fish. So called because he had not yet fully evolved. Sure my family were developing a tolerance for alternative cultures before your family had managed to crawl out of the swamp. Some say ye didn't get far from it anyways.
No offence.

The Garda Phone Prank

Tommy did you see where the local paper has just found out that someone played a trick on the guards with two mobile phones. Sure that was up on the internet on 25th December 2006 on http://www.gingerpixel.com You know what they say Tommy, better never than late.

How to Handle the Bum Question

After the annual festive indulgences no doubt the Missus is feeling a little sensitive about her weight. She turns around and arches her back slightly, her jeans almost ripping at the seams, and asks:
Question: “Does my bum look big in this?”

Answer1: I can’t see because your fat arse is blocking out the light.
Consequence: Cold meals until March.

Answer2: Wow! Yes, but you know how I like a woman with a big ass.
Consequence: Cold meals for the rest of the week and you are watched like a hawk every time Majella Freebody cycles by the house.

Answer3: Are you sure those are the right jeans? They seem away too big for you.
Consequence: Even though she knows you’re lying through your teeth, she will feel much better. Warm meals and a if you’re lucky a bit of “dessert” too. (Warning: many men get to this stage only to make the cardinal error of slapping her big bottom and quoting some lines from a cowboy movie. Try to resist this, it could be fatal.)

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The Picture of the Fellow with the Sheep over there on the Right

Jasus Tommy, I was wondering for a long time where that picture over there on the right painted by my great great grandfather went. So it was you that had it all along. Of course you know that that's a picture of a distant uncle of yours in the red jacket. Georgie, all dressed up in his tights. He was a great man for coming around the back door was Georgie. You'd think from that picture he was one of that shower that lived above in the big house and only an aul' hovel at him warmed by the breath of his two pigs. They're not even his sheep in that painting, sure he hadn't a sheep to his name.

What was New years day like in 1907? – I interviewed Peteen “The Awkward Bollox” McGonagle for some info.

Tommy: Howaya Peteen.

Peteen: Hah?

T: Howaya Peteen.

P: Hah?

T: HOWAYA PETEEN.

P: HOWAYA TOMMY.

T: ANY CHANCE YOU MIGHT TURN THE HEARING AID ON?

P: OK

T: Good Man. Tell us about New Years Eve 1907.

P: Who wants to know?

T: It’s me. Tommy Gilmartin, from the far bog. You’re nephew.

P: Oh, Mikey’s youngest son, the nosey little bollox with the girls hair, is it?

T: Er, yeah, I suppose so.

P: I never liked you.

T: Ok. Any chance you might tell us about New Years Eve 1907.

P: They said you were queer.

T: Lookat, I can go and talk to old Stevie Vaughan just as quick.

P: No doubt. He is queer too.

T: Allright, good luck. But there was a bit of cash in it.

P: New Years Eve 1907? Times was hard.

T: “Times was hard.” Look Peteen, I’m not a fucking yank y’know. I’m
asking about New Years Eve – not the conditions in the workhouse during the famine.

P: Fuck off so.

T: I will. And I’ll take the hundred and fifty euro fee with me.

P: New Years Eve 1907. I spent it in a hay barn hiding out from the Tans.

T: The Tans didn’t arrive until 1920.

P: Hah?

T: How old are you Peteen?

P: I’m 97. And I’m still as horny as a ram. (Don’t get any ideas.)

T: Ah for fucks sake!! You weren’t even born n 1907!

P: Or maybe I’m 107. I forget.

T: Yeah, well you can forget this too. Good luck.