Monthly Archives: February 2013
Greencastle Man Will ‘Mow The Head Off’ Next Person To Mention The Weather
Tracey this morning
A Greencastle unicycle mechanic, Tommy Tracey, has warned locals that he’ll “mow the head clean off” anyone who mentions anything to do with the weather for the foreseeable future. Tracey, who was arrested three years ago for firing a volley of snowballs at a stranger who wished him a ‘Merry Christmas’ in Omagh, announced his decision in Eddie’s Bar last night.
“I’m sick of that crap. Every day it’s ‘Jays it’s a cold wan’ or ‘gives it bad tomorrow’. Is there nothing else to talk about? Horse borgers, the Superboul, Tulisa’s skirt – there’s loads going on out there. But not here in Greencastle. It’s rain this, snow that. I can’t give two fecks if you’re foundered or sweltering. The next person who mentions anything to do with the weather in my vicinity will have their features rearranged, permanently. I mean it.”
Tommy didn’t stop at that and proceeded to list a plethora of topics which are now banned whilst in his company:
“Distance. I don’t care how far it is from Greencastle to Moortown avoiding the Omagh Road. Last week I said to a lad in the bar that I was thinking of going to Belarus this summer. You know what he said? “What road would you take out to that?” We’re obsessed with distances, roads and the weather. And just to reiterate – no happy birthdays or any seasonal greetings in my company. Happy birthday my hole. As if they give a feck about how happy I am on my birthday. I never get people asking me how happy it was after it is over. Save your buckin breath will yiz.”
A group of lads from Kildress are reportedly gearing up to torture Tracey this weekend at the senior friendly between the sides by talking about the weather, distances and roads whilst greeting each other at regular intervals.
Dear Tessie – Tyrone Agony Aunt Volume 1
DEAR TESSIE,
My husband refuses to go shopping. Years ago, when we were just curting, he’d blissfully browse around Marks and Spencers or the Spar with me as I agonised over whether to buy brown or white bread for three quarters of an hour. Now that we’re married and with twelve children, he won’t set foot in any retail establishment. He says he gets severe panic attacks at the thought of it and when I mention the word ‘shop’ he rocks forwards and backwards, slapping his face with his hand, screeching ‘no’. What can I do? MELISSA, CABRAGH
TESSIE SAYS:
I’ve seen this many times before. I used to have a husband who’d set himself on fire as soon as I mentioned painting the gable wall. One day I called his bluff and painted it myself, a nice big union jack. I never had to ask again. The self-flaming stopped. Call his bluff too, Melissa. The next time you’re out, buy him a pink cardigan and a pair of those jeans that hang down around the arse. That’ll do wonders for his ability to shop himself. Or liver sandwiches.
DEAR TESSIE,
My neighbour’s dog is sniffing around my bitch, a three year old Pomeranian. His dog is a heavy-set Alsatian. Should I be worried? MICKEY, MOUNTJOY
TESSIE SAYS:
Yes.
DEAR TESSIE,
I brought my children up to be good upstanding protestants. I taught them right and wrong, how to be courteous and respectful and to follow the path to happiness. You can understand my great shock when I read my son’s letter from Edinburgh where he is studying medicine. He tells me that he now does Jiu Jitsu. How could he turn against his own religion? GODFREY, TULLYHOGUE
TESSIE SAYS:
Give it time. It might just be a phase. My son went to Bundoran one weekend and came back with a Declan Nerney CD. I locked him in a dark room for a month. He’s OK now.
DEAR TESSIE,
Is it possible for a man from The Rock to find a deadly woman? I’ve been leeching about the Greenvale dance floor since 1999 and haven’t even got a sniff of a woman yet. If you look at all the lads still standing about at the end of the night, they’re either from the Rock of Greencastle. What can I do? I’m sick of piling into a Vauxhall Nova at the end of the night to do a bit of diffing to entertain ourselves. CIARAN, THE ROCK
TESSIE SAYS:
The Rock you say? Get used to it. If you have no second cousins in their mid-30s stuck for a man then you’re snookered I’m afraid. Embrace the diffing.
DEAR TESSIE,
I’ve recently found love but am in a bit of a dilemma. I have three brothers, one is in prison for repeated public exposure, one is a wanted drugs dealer in Dublin and the other lives in Armagh. Both my parents are also in prison for running a brothel in Kildress. My only sister sells counterfeit DVDs for paramilitaries. So, the big question is – do I tell her about the brother who lives in Armagh? PAUL, BERAGH
TESSIE SAYS:
No. Definitely not. She’ll run a mile.
DEAR TESSIE,
I sold the woman from Derrytresk the handbag she used against Dromid Pearses and Kerry man Declan O’Sullivan. Am I a bad person? SUSIE, COALISLAND
TESSIE SAYS:
Yes. Only because you didn’t fill it with hammers.
DEAR TESSIE,
I’d like to reply to the boy from the Rock further up on this page. Are you the boy who bought be a drink last weekend in the Greenvale just before midnight? If so, there was no vodka in the coke ye miserable clift. BERNADETTE, LISSAN
TESSIE SAYS:
Looks like Ciaran from the Rock will be single for another while at least.
Donaghmore Parents In Hiding After Son Expresses Ambitions To The Master
Donaghmore sewage treatment in progress
A once-respected Donaghmore family are refusing to engage in daily pleasantries in the village after their four-year-old son told his teacher about his future plans concerning employment and family. Toby Gallagher, who will be starting Donaghmore P.S. in September, was attending an induction day at the school when the Headmaster lined all the children up to ask them what they wanted to be when they grew up. Donaghmore, with its affluence and tendency to attract former landlords or those with aristocratic ancestors, appeared to have its fair quota of potential doctors, solicitors, barristers and lawyers which seemed to please the Master greatly. Little Toby Gallagher was last in line. Mr Toner, the P2 teacher, takes up the story:
“The silence was deafening. The Master had received twenty-five favourable answers to the question (one said he wished to be an accountant but he let that go) – probably the most promising batch we’d received in my time here – and with young Gallagher left it was looking like a clean-sweep. All heads turned to the lad as he jumped up onto the Master’s knee. Well, his answer will stay with us for a long time. He looked the Master in the eye and said, “I want to be the boy who sucks the shite clean out of the septic tank”. Well, you could’ve heard the thud from the mother hitting the ground. There was a muffled laugh from a couple of the P7s knocking about. It’s hard to see young Gallagher getting a place now. He said he wanted a husband too.”
It appears that the Gallaghers had been paid a visit the previous day by the man who normally does that job and young Gallagher was awestruck at the operation. Toby’s father, Paddy Gallagher OBE, attempted to salvage some respectability from the occasion by intimating that his young son was a great comedian but few appear to have accepted that explanation. The family are now considering moving to Pomeroy.
Tyrone Tribulations 