Monthly Archives: September 2012
Dromore butcher, Seamus Hassett, was said to be ‘inconsolable’ after a quick shower this morning unearthed a cut on his shin. The normally mild-mannered meat merchant was blubbering wildly as family and friends rallied around his house in a show of support.
“I hadn’t taken a shower since last Monday and didn’t think much more of it. As I was soaping away I saw a small cut on my leg, about the width of my small fingernail. I have no recollection of how it got there. You’d think you’d remember something like that.”
Hassett gathered his family downstairs and, dressed in only a Transformers towel, questioned them on the cut to see if they could remember anything.
“All I saw were blank faces. Not a dicky. Then my youngest son got his iPhone out and typed in memory loss into the Internet. What he said next has haunted me for the rest of my life, well, since this morning. He mentioned things like Alzheimers, dementia, severe cognitive impairment, aging, depression and death. I just cannot believe it. There was one time, in 1988, when I went out into the shed and forgot why I had headed out there in the first place, for about twenty seconds. I then remembered it was to get a hatchet. I thought that was a one-off but obviously it was a very early warning sign.”
One comfort for Seamus has been the speed of well wishers to the house this morning. A distant cousin, Johnny McMenamin, was the first to arrive at the family home on the Tattysallagh Road.
“To be honest it’s a bit of excitement. Not since the town was burnt to the ground in 1798 has there been this much talk in Dromore. I’m devastated at the news. Jaysus. It could happen to anyone of us at any time and if the Internet says he’s more or less a goner then so be it. My condolences to his family and I can reassure Seamus that we’ll look after his wonderful and beautiful wife as well as the children.”
A collection will be made at the county final involving Dromore and Errigal Ciaran to raise money for whatever Seamus has and if he still has it.
Bonfires blazed well into the night in Caledon as news spread regarding the purchase of a computer by someone near the Iron Bridge. The little plantation village, which is still inhabited by some of the Pictish tribe from northern Scotland, had until now resisted all forms of modern communication including mobile phones, electric showers and kettles.
Recently, though, tribe leader Cecil McCreight expressed fears that Caledon might be wiped off the face of the earth if they didn’t promote it or even make people aware of its existence, especially those “middle-class fcukers” in Dungannon and Armagh.
“Yea, it was a tough decision but the majority of the tribe as well as a few natives agreed that it was time to buy a computer. Sometimes I head into Clogher or Dungannon (spit) and I’d say to people on the streets ‘hi I’m Chief McCreight from Caledon’ and all I’d get is a blank face or sometimes a punch in the bake. It’s time to put Caledon on the map.”
Thousands descended on the home of the person near the Iron Bridge as the delivery van arrived shortly after noon, the first such vehicle to drive through Caledon safely. Previous transport companies had lost fleets of lorries by taking a wrong turn through the village only to be torched and destroyed by the suspicious locals. Local juggler Barney Norris told us:
“Jaysus I’m deadly excited about this. I’d heard that you can see bare women from all over the world. I’ve never seen a bare woman before apart from the streaker at the Caledon Heathen Carnival in 1988. She was my aunt so I sorta didn’t look.”
Excitement levels are expected to reach a crescendo today when someone works out how to turn it on.
Moortown man, heavy drinker, 35. Seeks any type of woman, size not important, who’s interested in a man who loves his pints, cigarettes, Moortown St Malachy’s and has been known to start fights outside the Glenavon at three o’clock in the morning. Good arms for pouring a must.
Teetotal Stewartstown joiner, 55, following a sad recent loss seeks a replacement mammy. Must like biscuits and answer to the name Minnie.
Augher man, 44, hideous looking, obese, bad odour, bad-tempered, cowardly and lazy. Seeks the complete opposite. No time-wasters.
Loughmacrory woman, 39, currently researching animal public executions, seeks man up to 40 for nights of gentle sobbing while shaking clenched fists at the ceiling. Must have own car.
Bitter unsuccessful Omagh woman, 41, wallowing in an unending pit of self-pity, seeks nerdy, leech-type who I can bore to tears with dull tales and listening to K.D. Lang CDs.
4-toed Mountjoy farmer, 51, likes spiders, buttermilk and a good long mass. Seeks chesty lesbian for the challenge. Must have no sense of smell.
Tall, well-built, frustrated Cookstown woman, 40, can’t take any more rejection, seeks man not unused to the sound of wailing coming from a bedroom from which he is strictly prohibited. Needs to tell me how attractive I am on the hour.
Angry, simple-minded Aghaloo widower, 77, balding, partially blind with a passion for pickles and scotch eggs. Seeks a heavily-tattooed hairy woman for nights of passion in the open fields of Aughnacloy. No freaks.
Omagh Woman, 35. Happily married until husband sponsored an African village goat in her name as a birthday gift. Would like to meet man for whom the phrase ‘I’d really like a pair of diamond earrings’ isn’t meant ironically. Must have holiday home in Donegal and Europe.
Beragh’s attempts to rid its streets, loanans and ramparts of crime has been abandoned after it failed to clean up any form of law-breaking over a two-week period. Last month, UTV highlighted the alarming rise in crime in Beragh since the start of 2012 with a 200% increase in jumping that red light they have on the Main Street as well as a general increase in cursing. Soon after the report the Beragh Crime Prevention Committee appointed a ‘Batman’ type vigilante who was given powers to deal with any form of illegal or unchristian activity on the spot.
“Ah Jaysus it was a disaster from the start,” local kitchen-fitter Gary Bogue told us. “Sure we all knew it was the Lord Mayor’s wife. She has that oul gammy leg from she was a wean and you could tell by the dander on her, even with the stupid mask on her. It wasn’t even a good mask either. No more like Batman than I’m like a cow clap. No one paid her any heed. Despite witnessing 45 motors break the red light in her first day, she didn’t manage to apprehend any. Once stopped, the offender would simply laugh at her and then tell her to go feck herself the limpy oul hoor. It was a farce. She should have been given an M45 or something and blown the head clean off the first offender. That’d get the message across.”
Operation Batman came to a head when she entered the local bar and took down the names of anyone who she heard cursing. After filling two jotters comprising of almost everyone in the village, she was taken outside by a couple of hardened drinkers and ordered to squawk like a blackbird whilst doing a close form of Riverdance as they clapped and cheered. The Beragh Batman announced her retirement that evening.
“That’s the last time I’ll try to clean up the streets of Beragh. Savages.”
The traffic light was last night reported missing with a 450% increase in general cursing heard in the area. The UN are keeping an eye on proceedings.
An internal argument in Brocagh amongst the clergy has left Brocagh on the “verge of war” according to local historian Benjamin McCorry. The row was initiated when new PP for the area Fr Davidson told the congregation at 11 o’clock mass last Sunday from the pulpit to stop calling it Brocagh Chapel and to adopt the correct title ‘Brocagh Church’. Word quickly filtered through to Fr McCann, a Brocagh born and bred priest, who used his homily at the 12 o’clock in Clonoe to denounce anyone who was prepared to follow Fr Davidson’s directive.
“Davidson is a Ballinderry blow-in, the bollox. What would he know about the way we talk. I’ve always called it Brocagh Chapel as did my father and my father’s father. I couldn’t give two shites about what the difference is between a chapel and a church. It’s the way we roll. Let me make myself clear – if I hear anyone calling it Brocagh Church who previously called it chapel then don’t be thinking you’ll be getting anything at communion time. I’d like to think that’ll be applied to Last Rites too.”
Approximately 150 loyal Davidson followers walked out at that stage with abuse from the pulpit ringing in their ears. “Aye, away ye go ye good for nothing fat bastard”, Fr McCann reportedly shouted at a prominent Brocagh businessman as he left his seat which resulted in a wrestling session in the aisle between at least a dozen opposing parishioners. A shot was reportedly heard outside soon after, though many think it was just a timed gun-scare for chasing crows from the local strawberry field. Historian Benjamin McCorry predicted that this was just the start of it:
“There’s a history of strife over words in Brocagh. In 1799 there was a massive brawl up near Mountjoy Castle over whether it was ‘Lough Neagh’ or ‘Lock Neagh’. The resulting mini-townland war almost wiped out the whole population. I’d fear for the future. We all know that Fr Davidson is officially correct but that doesn’t mean we should change it. We still say ‘tay’ ‘flure’ and ‘dure’ don’t we? Anyone could saying ‘tea’ or ‘door’ is seen as some kind of marbled-mouthed uppity gobshite. I’m with McCann on this. Chapel for me.”
Although Pope Benedict has yet to intervene, rumours suggest the Vatican is waiting to see how the parish bulletin pans out this weekend as both priests have asked for a few lines each to rally their troops.
A married Donemana stunt man has yet to return to earth following a winning “Deadly Leap” attempt at the Donemana Community Sports Day at the weekend. Francie McBurn was attempting to win the “Deadly Leap” competition for the first time having been out-jumped by his cousin Benny for the last 14 years consecutively. Competition rules stipulate that they are to reach the highest point possible for a human as long as they start from terra firma. He best friend and fellow former inmate Jemmy Hagan told us:
“Francie was determined to win it this year. He developed some kind of turbo-injection shoes that just shot him straight up into the air. I knew he hadn’t done a dry run of it as he thought there’d only be enough power for one shot at it. At first we cheered and yahoo-ed as he shot straight up into the sky. You could see the smile on his face. Then you just couldn’t see him at all. It has been three days now so we are beginning to get slightly alarmed. He definitely won though.”
His wife Kitty and three children still believe he’ll return before the week is out. Kitty, who has the “Deadly Leap” trophy sitting proudly on the mantlepiece for his return, was relatively calm about the prospect of him still being alive.
“Ach yiz are making a big deal of nothing. OK, I understand that if he kept going at that rate he’d be well into our stratosphere and possibly past the moon right now and I am aware of the whole lack of oxygen thing. But my Francie is a hardy lad and could drink anyone under the table. He’ll be here as he has to collect the bru on Friday. Young Francie Jnr does ask if ‘Daddy is down yet’ a lot and that can be a bit annoying. Even if he doesn’t return, he has the deadliest leap in Donemana and you can tell that to Benny McBurn,” she told us, laughing manically.
Kitty McBurn vehemently denied the accusations that this was a different sort of disappearing stunt as Francie is under investigation for benefit fraud.
It has just been confirmed that the two remaining Aghyaran pensioners – Edna Hughes and Johnny O’Neill – have fallen out and are refusing to even mention each others’ names. Due to the high percentage of greenhouse gases produced by the highly flatulent cattle in the ara, life expectancy in the Aghyaran area has remained almost constant since the 1600s at around 40 for a man and 45 for a woman. Hughes (67) and O’Neill (66) hold almost celebrity status in the area such is their longevity, often opening pitches together or attending functions as guests of honour. Hughes and O’Neill are also the last surviving speakers of an almost-extinct West Tyrone dialect called Eoghainish. However, it looks like the locals will not hear a conversation in that tongue for the time being.
“He’s an ignorant fcuker”, Edna told us earlier. “We’d often meet up for a game of bridge or sing songs in Eoghainish but he was always correcting me in my grammar and pronunciation. Just because his father was a schoolmaster he thinks he knows it all. Well, I’ve had enough of his guff. He’s nothing without me. He might think he has the brains but I have the looks. I’m glad to be rid of him. He was always winking at me and making innuendos so I’ll not be missing that. I wouldn’t pish on him to put him out.”
O’Neill was equally adamant that he’ll not be making the first move at reconciliation. Speaking after collecting his pension from the PO, he said:
“I’ve not had a better day than today. Any day not having to look at that maggot-ridden hoor’s face is a good day in my book. I couldn’t stick the unyielding stench anyway. You’d think a woman of that age would wash the odd week. ‘Bini Bacht Gassan Yuru Ata Ici’ is an old Eoghainish phrase my da used to say – ‘there’s no sore ass like your own sore ass’. I don’t need another sore ass to be thinking about.”
The families of both issued a statement advising the media to stay well clear of the row as historically it ends in a bloodbath.
A Gortin soup-maker, Marty Og Coyle, was arrested yesterday close to his own house after he was found to be steering his Nissan Sunny with a pair of pliers. Police noticed something unusual about the offending automobile as it took an extremely wide turn onto the Fintona Road which Coyle currently lives on. They also recognised that the driver was having difficulty straightening up the 1988 model. Out on £15 bail, Coyle took up the story:
“I was at my mother-in-laws and was mad keen to get away and home to see Joe Mahon on Lesser Spotted Ulster. He was in Plumbridge this week. I was maybe a bit excited and yanked the steering wheel clean off the motor just as I reversed back. Luckily I’d a pair of pliers in my pocket so I took it from there. I cannot see what the problem is. Granted, it’s a bit slow straightening up and I am taking the bends a fairly wide but sure everyone knows me in Gortin and usually steer well clear.”
The PSNI were left no choice but to confiscate the car when they asked Coyle to step outside. He proceeded to climb into the back seat, into the boot and eventually managed to get out when an officer opened the boot from the outside.
“What’s the big effin deal? That’s how I’ve got out of that motor for nearly ten years now. I’d get home, beep the horn and one of the weans would run out and lift the boot up. I’m not doing any harm. I haven’t hit another motor yet. I bet them cops are ramming into lads every day. I’ll be back in her before long mark my words, as soon as I get break pads.”
The car has since been crushed.
An Aghaloo snake milker, Ned Johnson, was today recovering at home after a near-fatal misheard diagnosis left him in casualty soon after yesterday’s All-Ireland. Johnson, who milks snakes for research at Queen’s University, visited the doctor on Friday evening complaining of mouth ulcers.
“My gob had been killing me all week. I couldn’t ate a thing by Friday so I visited the doctor’s surgery in the middle of the village. My normal doctor, Dr Fargo, wasn’t in that day as he’s undergoing treatment himself for beer addiction in Armagh. I was seen by an Asian boy who gave me clear instructions when I gave him my details.”
As it transpired, Dr Ahmed couldn’t prescribe any medicine late that Friday as he needed clearance from Dr Fargo who was drying out in Armagh allegedly. Dr Ahmed takes up the story:
“I tried phoning Dr Fargo but he seemed, how can I put it, plastered. I told Mr Johnson to come back on Monday but in the mean time go to the garage and ask for some ice-cream and eat it slowly. That would soothe his mouth pain. They were clear instructions. In Aghaloo it appears not though.”
We now know that Ned misheard the Pakistani medicine man’s advice and asked the boy at the checkout for some ass-cream. He was handed a tube of E45 which the ulcer-ridden Johnson slowly devoured after dinner on Sunday. It was as the Angelus came on that he began retching violently and was driven to Craigavon by his 9-year-old son. Johnson added:
“In years to come I’ll laugh about it but it was a harrowing experience. The stuff tasted worse than shite. Your man just got the wrong hole, God bless him.”
Tyrone Tribulations took a tour around the country this morning to catch people just walking about. We asked them for their views on today’s All-Ireland final between Mayo and Donegal.
Are Tyrone definitely not in it? In that case I’ll be watching the Eastenders Omnibus. It hasn’t been the same since Peggy Mitchell left. She was some blade. Took no crap. Reminded me of Mickey Harte without the stubble. JAMES MCCANN, Drumragh
I’m going for Mayo. There’s something about McGuinness that unnerves me. Some say he looks like Jesus. I see the buckin devil. Those big thick eyebrows. His eyes are dead inside, like Jaws in Jaws 1 and 2. The wife’s fond of him but she also had a notion for Pete McGrath and Sean Boylan so it seems to be a management thing. I’ve applied for a management job at Moy Park. Maybe that’ll rekindle the romance. JOHN MOORE, Edendork
I couldn’t give two fooks. HENRY MCGUIGAN, Ardboe
Ah, I’ll be supporting Donegal. Them big strapping lads like Murphy and McFadden I could watch all day long. Young McHugh and Lacey mightn’t be as easy on the eye but sure look at the ugly fcukers we have in Tyrone. I’d tackle livestock before curtin a Tyrone man. JENNY ARCHER, Dungannon
And I’ll tell you another thing. Shove that microphone in my bake again and you’ll be pulling it out of your hole. Ye hear me? Now fook away aff. HENRY MCGUIGAN, Ardboe (again)
To tell you the truth I’ll not be watching it atall. I’d be big into the religion now and I don’t think people should be playing things are enjoying themselves on a Sunday. I’ve just come back from tying up all the swings in the local play park. God be with you. CECIL WINTERBOTTOM, Tullyhogue
Donegal – no doubt. I’ve seen enough from that day they met us earlier in the year. You shoulda seen the size of their teeth and ears. Their eyes bulged and they were at least 1-2 feet taller than our lads. Penrose looked like a gnome. I’m not saying they’re completely off their heads on steroids but there’s something they’re eating and we need the recipe. Some big mad fecking new spud or something. Donegal by 17 points. PETER RYAN, Omagh
Ach probably Mayo but here listen, were there any cops up the road? The bastards were dipping last night in Donemana I heard. GARY MULGREW, Loughmacrory
Derrytresk Townland Committee have called an extraordinary meeting tonight to consider moving the whole area to somewhere west in the county, it has emerged in the last twenty minutes. Listing a plethora of reasons, it appears that the move could take place with immediate effect or at least before Christmas. Committee member Alfie Fitzgerald was adamant the motion will be passed:
To tell you the truth we’re sick and tired of living down here. For ten months of the year the whole place is flooded, turning the turf to shite. Then when the sun does come out for a few days the midges have you ate alive as well as any flowers or plants you foolishly attempted to grow. Add to that you have the roar of the M1 up the road and those bastards driving the trucks from Tamnamore to Cookstown taking a short cut through Derrytresk, bucking up the road which is re-tarmaced 10 times a year. Plus there’s that noise the Lough makes on a windy night. Who in their right mind would want to live here? We’re getting out. Derrylaughan is welcome to it. Them boys would live in their own mess.
Information on where they’re moving to appears sketchy at the minute and how the actual shifting of Derrytresk to another part of the county will take place. Fitzgerald attempted to clarify the situation:
Sure it’ll be no bother. Tonight we’ll draw up the names of all the families in Derrytresk and they’ll receive a letter this week informing them of how and when to get to their new abode. If we have to shift houses brick by brick we’ll do it. Myself and another boy has spotted an area below Drumquin on the map with no name on it. We’ll move there. Listen, the positives outweigh the bother of moving. We’ll be closer to Bundoran for holidays and maybe Mickey Harte will start picking some of our lads. He doesn’t like the East you know. That’s another thing, we’ll be taking the pitch, Church and school as well as most of the blackberries that haven’t been infested with them there flies that are enormous this year.
Derrylaughan Townland Committee chairman welcomed the move, saying they plan to use the extra space to build some kind of Loughshore Visitor Centre to rip off the foreigners or people from the south.
Residents in Augher and Clogher woke today to the disappointing news that Fifa have rejected their joint bid to host the 2022 World Cup at the first round of eliminations. The ambitious project was hoping to see off rivals Argentina, Australia and China but fell short in what Fifa described as ‘major accomodation issues’. Augher Lord Mayor Jackie McKenna, who headed the bid, announced the decision from Fifa this morning outside the Spar:
“We are bitterly disappointed. My committee put a lot of effort in to taking pictures of fields and makeshift pitches, put them all onto a PowerPoint and sent it in an email. Finding someone who could do all that computer stuff wasn’t easy. Although this is a set-back, we will regroup and perhaps target the 2024 Olympics. We will bring a major world event to Tyrone, mark my words.”
Fifa sent back a list of reasons why they couldn’t advance the Augher/Clogher bid to the next round. They included the need to seat up to 100’000 people in a stadium, house half a million more fans in the area and general lack of media facilities to cope with 188 TV stations from around the world. McKenna claims this was a smokescreen:
To be honest, that’s a load of balls. There’s talk of a new Subway being built in Fivemiletown. We have this Spar, a Post Office and a few pubs. What more do these foreigners want? We got promises from a couple of local joiners that they’d build a big wooden stand and all. Also, my nephew is training to be a spark and he could have wired up a few plugs for the TV boys. As for accommodation, have they never heard of caravans? They’re prejudiced against small rural villages like ourselves. Aghayaran said they were laughed at by Fifa officials in 1970 when they tried to rival the Mexico bid.
In a show of strength, Augher is today hosting their Horn Dance which is performed by six deer-men who wear reindeer horns. The dancers follow a 10 mile course and perform the horn-dancing ritual in 12 different locations in and around the village, whilst the musician plays tunes such as “The Farmers Boy” and “Uncle Mick” on a melodeon, with accompaniment from a triangle.
It has emerged today that the clergy in Coalisland and Clonoe are to descend on Cookstown tonight to gather vital information on how to court and woo women. Following the recent revelation that Jesus may have been married all along, the priests in the East Tyrone parishes are waiting for the green light from the Vatican to begin chasing women.
“This is great news”, Fr Niblock told us. “The news about Christ has changed everything. If it was good enough for Him, well, it’s only a matter of time before Pope Benny gives us the go-ahead to get stuck into the blades. Myself and a couple of newer priests are hitting Clubland tonight to see how it’s done. As you can imagine we’re rightly out of shape. I get very nervous if I look at a woman even from a great distance. Funny, we were practising on each other last night, chat up lines and that, and it was a disaster. We haven’t needed to approach women since we were 14 and back then you’d be acting the hard man and ask things like ‘are ye ridin?’ That won’t work now I’m sure. We all bought aftershave today.”
Local women in the Coalisland area welcomed the news that the local clergy will possibly provide a fresh market in what they describe as ‘cat area’ for finding a man. 22 year old Eilish Chambers pulled no punches:
“Let’s be honest. The boys in this area wouldn’t be the best now. If you’re approached by a lad from the Washingbay Road or the Stewartstown direction you can guarantee three things: He’ll smell of diesel and cattle, he’ll just grunt instead of talking like a normal human and he’ll attempt to carry you under his arm instead of hand-in-hand. I’m sick and tired of courting fellas from here who just talk of twin cams, diffing and bulling. These priests will seem like Hollywood stars. I’m sure they’ll be a bit raw at first but give them a couple of weeks and they’ll get the hang of us. I pray to God every night that the Pope gives them the nod.”
The police are on standby tonight outside the Glenavon area as a backlash is expected from single lads from the lowlands. Although the clergy will be in civvies, the Munchie Militia have issued a statement that anyone who even just looks holy will get a kicking.
The Tyrone Council sparked outrage in parts of the county today when they announced they are to sell off Castlecaulfield to the highest bidder in an attempt to ‘make a bit of money’. The news came as a shock to the inhabitants of the sleepy Tyrone village who were still celebrating their joint third place in the 2011 Ulster in Bloom competition, beaten only by Keady and Swatragh. In a statement released this morning, the Tyrone Council’s Petsey McCann explained the decision:
“People don’t realise who much money it costs to keep Tyrone in the manner they’re accustomed to. They look around and think it’s a great place altogether. Well, we’ve news for them. It doesn’t buckin keep itself. When everyone’s in bed we’re out mowing hedges in Galbally, removing cow clap from the roads in Derrytresk and painting over teenage graffiti in Omagh. The diesel money alone is crucifying us. The red stuff isn’t as cheap as it was and running the engine on cooking oil was attracting large rodents like badgers after dark. One of our volunteers was attacked by a mink in Creenagh. We had to sell a bit to make ends meet and sure some people think Castlecaulfield is a mythical place like hell.”
Residents in Castlecaulfield see it differently. One local, Mary Rankin, told us she wasn’t surprised about the decision.
“Ah holy Jaysus. It’s come to this, has it? I knew those shower a bastards would sell us off. There’s been no Interent here since 2010. They’ve been trying to break us for years and now they’ve taken the cowardly way out. Well, I can tell you this. We’re not going down without a fight. I don’t care if the Vatican buys us. There will be blood! I’ll bate the bollocks clean off any foreigner who thinks he owns me.”
McCann intimated that there has been a few interested buyers already with McDonalds, Louis Walsh, Big Tom, Richard Branson, Rich Tea Biscuits and Sean Quinn mentioned as potential purchasers. All Castlecaulfield members of the Tyrone GAA county teams at every level were told not to show their face again at training, whilst election voting privileges were withdrawn. The word Castlecaulfield has also been outlawed.
The remaining three members of the PBPB (Plumbridge Black Pudding Boys) are still said to be at large after a raid on their underground premises saw two arrested and a confiscated black pudding estimated value of around £120. The five-strong gang have been terrorising other black pudding vendors in the greater Plumbridge area since 2008, cornering the market on the blood-filled sausage. The recent tip off came about after one of the five let it slip to Fr Toner in confessions that he’d fallen out with his comrade over the bulk price of a recent shipment.
“I know confessions are meant to stay confidential but this was simply too big an issue. The poor quality of black puddings in Plumbridge recently has been unbearable. We’ve envied the Gortin and Crannagh lads eating away at their Cookstown Meats puddings whenever they wanted to. Here, with the market monopolised by the PBPB and their terrible Croatian import, life had been almost unlivable, especially in the morning. The clergy were no different. I dare any man, woman or child in The Plum to say they function well without a slap of black puddings in the morning. If they do, damn them to eternal hell.”
PBPB leader Jack Rafferty confessed to Fr Toner that relationships within the group were at breaking point over the pricing system. With the locals dependent on the group for their fix, some wanted to charge them £9.99 for 30g, three times the going rate for the Cookstown variety. This came soon after a previous fallout when Rafferty chastised one of their member for excessive strong-arm tactics. Fr Toner continued:
“Rafferty said there were holes already in the initiative after a junior PBPB member made a show of himself by staring threateningly at a traveling meat van in the area. Although it went unnoticed Rafferty knew some were getting too big for their boots by staring and all.”
Fr Toner said he won’t be revealing any other confessional secrets in case anyone was worried. He went on to claim that he’s put a curse on the on-the-run remaining members that they suffer from severe diarrhea for the next 12 months.
Ardboe poet, James Coyle, was seeking bail this evening after being arrested for illegal traffic directing near his own house, for the last four weeks. The frustrated writer admitted to buying “one of them luminous yellow work jackets and trousers” and getting up at 7am each morning to stop all traffic from driving through the centre of Ardboe for 28 consecutive days.
“I had a fair idea something was wrong,” local shopkeeper Henry Coney told us. “I hadn’t seen a car since August and had only sold 20 Irish News, 16 pan loaves, 3 bulbs and a few litres of milk since school started. I knew James was annoyed that no one had attended his open house poetry reading session in The Battery but what did he expect? The last poet in Ardboe was chased out of it for coming over that oul fancy talk. There’s no place for that here. Ghost oh, sure Heaney wouldn’t last thirty seconds here.”
A close relative of Coyle told us of James’s recent heartache in recent months and can understand why he decided to deprive the rest of Ardboe of any trade.
“Coyle wasn’t good at the fishing and was fired from his job working for Quinn Construction because he couldn’t dig a hole. He’d also been turned down repeatedly by Cookstown District Council after applying for a fuel hardship grant, dog kennel registration, pig-letting license and a caravan site application. Then he took to writing poems and sent a hand-written invite to every house in Ardboe for a reading session in the pub and no one turned up. The Battery’s usually full on a Friday too.”
It now seems that Coyle decided if he wasn’t earning any money then the rest of Ardboe’s business people wouldn’t get a penny either. By simply standing on the road in to the village every morning with a shovel, yellow jacket and a stop sign, he directed every motor towards Brocagh since the 27th of August. He was arrested when, whilst he took a toilet break, the postman finally broke through to find out the roads were in perfect working order. Police arrived before he was almost lynched by local tradesmen who shouted abuse at him such as ‘the oul poety bollocks’ and ‘typical of them there Coyles’. The trial continues.
The former Miss Tattyreagh 1981, Janice McCabe, was today celebrating her stroke of luck after winning some money in the Irish Lotto. Champagne corks were heard all over the townland last night when the news spread of McCabe’s good fortune, coming soon after her uncle Dan won £20 in a scratch card whilst on holidays in Bundoran.
“I nearly didn’t do the lotto this week. My husband told be he’d run out of cigarette paper so I shot down and noticed there was still a couple of minutes before the lotto cut off time. I ordered a lucky dip, a Yorkie and a packet of Rizla. I couldn’t believe my luck that night when I checked the numbers. This couldn’t have come at a better time.”
The McCabes had been experiencing a torrid time recently with the news that a few loose tiles had been noticed outside the shower door hinting at a bit of damp. Her husband Leon had also been suffering from a heavy cold recently and was “a bit of a bear” according to the former beauty queen.
“We need to sit down and decide what to do with the money. There are so many things I need doing here in the house and it looks like thon miserable bollocks isn’t getting up off his hole. Thank the Lord for those three numbers and the bonus. He works in mysterious ways. At last Tattyreagh is on the map”
When this reporter pointed out that she’d only be picking up €27, McCabe initially refused to believe it before launching into an expletive tirade on the Irish government calling them “an fcukin shower of thieving hoors” and “crooks”. She is also refusing to pay the bar bill from last night’s premature celebrations in The Middle House.
A successful raid on most homes in Loughmacrory late last night has proven fruitless despite the discovery of 48 poitin-making distilleries within a two-mile radius. This morning, the judge accepted the unanimous defence plea that they didn’t know what they were doing was illegal. The midnight swoop caught most of the townland on the hop with the PSNI quoting up to 6000 litres of the homemade alcohol retrieved. They had been tipped off by the loose talk around Omagh regarding a permanent state of happy drunkiness in Loughmacrory as well as a persistent alcoholic haze in the general area.
“I’d just finished brewing my 6th bottle of the night and was about to shut up shop when the peelers burst in,” a local cat castrator told us. “I thought they were here for the poaching but they just starting lifting the drop of the hard stuff. I told them it was £7 a bottle and the main man told me not to be cheeky. How were we to know it was illegal? I’d never saw no adverts on it and it isn’t in the ten commandments.”
At the trial this morning it soon emerged that no one in Loughmacrory thought it was outside the law. One mother told the judge that she’d often send her children to school with a pinch of poitin in their flasks “cos it was cheaper than diluted juice”. The jury took no time to decide that the locals should be given a by-ball as long as they all undertake a course in what’s lawful in today’s society.
Judge McGrath concluded:
“It is abundantly clear now that Loughmacrory has been overlooked when it comes to the rules and regulations of law abiding citizenship. Further investigations have shown up no pre-conception of car insurance, road tax, land laws, tv or dog licensing, VAT and every other government tax going. It really is the back-end of beyond, time-locked in a period perhaps before Christ himself. All families will undertake a 12-week induction into normal day-to-day life in the 21st century.”
He added that their skills were above average as he had sampled the poitin himself and that it “wasn’t bad at all for seven quid“.
An Eskra woman, who has lost 3 lbs following a cabbage soup diet she read about in a magazine, has revealed the extent of her misery since the start of her mammoth weight-loss plan. Speaking from her home in Cormore, Elsa Marlowe admitted that although the weight has dropped off her, the stench coming from her every orifice was unbearable for family and friends.
“It was great to start off with. Before this, I couldn’t have looked at a cake for more than three seconds and it was in my gob. All of it. My husband was always trying to get me to take up some kind of dieting fads. He even had an alarm system on the fridge which he activated between the hours of 12am and 6am. I set it off 2-3 times a night. It was then that I tried the cabbage diet. Initially it was tough. The smell of cabbage soup is bad at the best of times but I was drinking a litre of it every hour. It works though.”
Marlowe began to notice a putrid smell seeping from her pores and her sweat was a kind of green colour. The final straw occurred when her husband built a shed out the back for him and the rest of the family to live in.
“I knew it was affecting them. The children would play out in the rain instead of watching TV with me. I just couldn’t give up though. I weighed myself after 21 days of only devouring the cabbage soup and I’d lost a pound. A POUND! I was delighted and from then on I was hooked. I’ve stopped going to the Town Pub because the barman intimated that I was upsetting the regulars. I have my own office at work which is handy but I’ve noticed all the plants have died. My clothes also seem to smell of nothing but boiled cabbage.”
Marlowe says she’ll continue to use the diet until another couple of pounds have fallen off her, before breaking wind. She has also been barred from entering Clogher.