Monthly Archives: March 2013
By Staff Reporter Shengas McGlumphie
A study involving over 3,000 adults in the Castlederg area has concluded that 72% of them only get exercise when drunk.
The study, which took place over a three-month period, interviewed a wide cross-section of the town’s residents. The inebriated exercise took a variety of forms, including dancing at weddings, stealing street signs, picking up dropped food from the floor, and pretending to be Karate Kid. Repeatedly getting up in the night to go to the toilet was also popular.
The Dergvalley Leisure Centre is now working with locals by setting up specific exercise sessions that can be undertaken by men and women under the influence of alcohol.
“We introduced volleyball last week but the match just ended up with everyone singing ‘The Fields of Athenry’”, said a spokeswoman. “Badminton fared better as long as we use the over-sized racquets, and the weightlifting was great fun, although the high diving in the adult pool ended rather tragically”.
The leisure centre plans to extend its range of classes and also its car park, owing to the number of motoring accidents caused by people turning up for the classes.
“One of the farmers from the Drumquin Road who comes to Thursday night yoga nearly drove his tractor straight into the cafeteria. We wouldn’t have minded but by the time we got to the Salute to the Sun pose, he’d fallen fast asleep on his yoga mat”.
One unnamed man from Killeter Road, responding to the study’s findings, said
“This is very unfair. We shouldn’t all be tarred with the same brush. I’m drunk pretty regularly and don’t remember doing any exercise”.
The two most common forms of exercise when drunk were walking home from the pub on a Saturday night when they couldn’t stop a taxi, and vomiting.
A plethora of fathers and the odd mother let rip in Quinn’ Corner last night, intimating that thousands of Tyrone children will wake up on Easter Sunday without the chocolatey surprises they took for granted waiting on them. In what initially appeared to be a series of drunken rants, children are now fearing the worst and are stocking up on Wispas and Yorkies with the intention of melting them into a roundish shape and covering it with tinfoil, in the hope of replicating the same pleasure from tearing into one hollow chocolate egg after another before vomiting. This morning, an unrepentant Ballygawley father, Iggy Kelly, refused to back down:
“I got 900 litres of oil delivered yesterday. It was nearly a pound a litre. If them weans think I’ve the money to be going out buying a dozen KitKat eggs the size of their own heads then they’re in for a mighty surprise. It’s time to end the madness. Last year the missus bought 88 Easter eggs ‘just in case’ and us with just the three children. The floors, walls, ceiling and furniture was covered in the stuff on the Monday morning and there were 80 of the bastards still left. Listen, in my day my oul fella threw us a boiled egg and a piece of blue rope and we were ecstatic. These children today expect 20 Easter eggs minimum, eat two and tramp the rest of them into the carpet. Like, did Jesus say anything about eggs?”
The local Spar reacted to the overnight developments by reducing the price of a Malteser Egg to 50p or 99p for 2 in the hope that they can counteract the sweeping movement initiated last night. Kelly was unimpressed:
“That’s another scam. These shops think we’re stupid like. When you walk in there are a pile of things with a gigantic £1 written on it, convincing you you’re getting a bargain. I saw three women in the space of 10 seconds buy a small packet of Hula Hoops for a pound, just because of the size of the sticker. Sure they’re 60p normally. I even bought one. It’s like hypnosis. Fair enough, I might buy a few of those 99p for 2 egg offers as it’s too good to miss but I’ll be putting them straight in the bin. There’s a logic in there somewhere. We cannot afford this.”
The Donaghmore Parents’ Society released a statement this morning reminding people that there are no such money worries where they come from and that they’ll be setting up an ‘egg kitchen’ to feed disappointed children from Pomeroy, Rock and Carrickmore.
Loughmacrory resident Sean Gormley from the Ballybrack Road is on a mission to claim the pop star Justin Timberlake as a bona fide son of Loughmacrory, despite strenuous denials from the singer himself.
“Everyone gets his name wrong. It’s Justin Timlin, and he’s Irish through and through. He keeps saying he comes from Memphis in Tennessee. It’s ridiculous, when everyone knows fine well he’s from the Loughmacrory Road”.
The singer, who has had acclaimed hits with ‘Cry Me A River’ and ‘Sexyback’ released a statement through his solicitor saying that he and his family can prove for the last 150 years that they were born and raised in Memphis, that Gormley should desist from pestering him and that an injunction against Gormley was currently sitting with his lawyers in Washington.
“Sure, that just proves the point” insists Gormley. “Why is he denying his birthright? Is he ashamed of Tyrone? We all know that river song was about the Lough itself. Come home Justin. You belong right here in Loughmacrory. We’ll show you a deadly night out. You can play your guitar and tunes all you want in Daly’s. They have mighty sessions there on a Friday”.
Gormley claims the Timlins were originally farmers to the north west of Loughmacrory before going to Italy for a week’s holiday in the 80s and coming back all “la-di-dah” and subsequently moving to Tennessee.
“I mind Justin when he was a wee cub on the back of his dad’s John Deere on the way to the Lough Chippy on a Saturday evening. He’s grown up into some chanter. If he just mans up and admits he’s from Loughmacrory we can claim him as Ireland’s answer to Van Morrison,” maintained Gormley.
Gormley is also looking into rumours Beyonce might have a bit of Tattyreagh in her.
A recently discovered book not included in the New Testament bible explains the role a man from Augher played in moving the stone from the tomb of Christ.
Previously known as the Q Hypothesis, the Book of Thomas was recently found by archeologists in Egypt, which unifies the gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke and explains the striking similarities between the three books, all of which share stories, phrases and even direct quotes with one another.
The transcript reveals 13 verses in Chapter 6 about a man from Ireland who was travelling close to Golgotha at the time of the entombment of Christ:
13 A man who was from the place called Augher in the Land of the Sperrins, travelled a long distance from the west. 14 His name was Eugene, and he had made a great fortune selling pallets.
15 He passed the tomb of Christ where nine men stood by the stone, looking at it. 16 He did say unto them ‘Are yous thinking about moveth thon stone?’ And they said unto him ‘Yes’. 17 And the man who was called Eugene did say back to the nine men, 18 ‘Deadly. The stone is heavy but I can help yous coup it for a lock of camels’.
19 And the ten men pushed and heaved and pushed and heaved and there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth, but the stone did not move. 20 So the men stopped and sat and drank tea and ate wheaten and Eugene talked about the evil Clogher and after an hour stood up again. 21 Again they pushed and heaved, and they did sweat and toil, loudly shouting ‘Christ Almighty’. And lo the stone did slowly roll away.
22 The men went into the cave with Eugene and he said unto them ‘Red everything out will yiz’ but there was no sign of the Lord, 23 and the man called Eugene did say ‘This is some handlin’ brethren’. 24 Then he said unto them to go with him to a house of wine where they slaked their thirst with home spirit the man Eugene had made. 25 And there they talked in tongues and drank more spirit and lo they slowly fell to their knees and to the floor where they lay for many hours.
Eugene of Augher’s direct family are to open their family home on the Crossowen Road where people can come and look at the bed he would have slept on if he had been born 2000 years later.
By Staff Reporter Shengas McGlumphie
Onlookers said Moortown’s first attempt at a flash mob was shambolic and badly organised, following the disappointing spectacle on Saturday afternoon.
“I really don’t know what went wrong” said 84 year old organiser Kitty McIlvogue, of Anneeter Road. “It looked like quare craic on the television set with all the people doing the lovely dancing and everything so I thought it would be nice for Moortown to do the same”.
A flash mob is a group of people who assemble suddenly in a public place, perform an unusual and seemingly pointless act for a brief time, then quickly disperse, often for the purposes of entertainment, satire, and artistic expression.
“It said on the programme that a flash mob should be advertised through social sites,” continued Kitty, “so I put it in the church bulletin last Sunday, and a wee note has been in the window of Costcutter’s all week. When 4 o’clock arrived, there were quite a lot of people just hanging about the Battery Road looking all shifty and nervous so it was hard to know who was there for the flash mob and who wasn’t. I just don’t know. Were we maybe supposed to rehearse? Nothing happened other than dancing from John Joe Devlin, but poor John had been in McGuigan’s since opening time”.
The flash mob was eventually abandoned in chaotic scenes when Seamus Quinn of Ardboe Road realised he had misunderstood the entire concept.
“I thought it was supposed to be a ‘back to the 70s’ thing when that flashing was all the rage again. When 4 o’clock came, I threw off the old raincoat, and everyone just stared like I was a pervert. I’m not like. Not since ’84 anyway”.
Seamus was whisked away by his family in case Fr Toner arrived on the scene.
A leaked document this morning has indicated that the Pomeroy Village Council (PVC) met up on Sunday morning to draw up armageddon proposals if the snow didn’t thaw any time soon. With all roads leading out of the quiet townland looking increasingly impassable due to the heavy drifting, the secret council met up after Mass and laid down a two-point plan in case of a worst-case scenario. They were as follows:
1. If the roads become totally impassable for more than 24 hours, a time capsule is to be filled with remnants of what life was like in Pomeroy in 2013. Suggested contents included an xbox, a Dandy yoyo, Pomeroy GAA togs, a bit of the mountain, a Wispa, a piece of hair, the Irish News and Philomena Begley.
2. The human race to be kept going as long as possible. This might necessitate eating each other. Everyone over the age of 18 is to write an essay on why they think they should not be eaten. The authors of the worst essays as judged by the council will be slaughtered and fed to the youngsters and babies as they have longer to live and might survive long enough for it to thaw. The council members will only be considered for consumption when everyone else over 18 has been eaten.
The PVC were quick to play down the meeting and its contents today. Danny Devlin, chairperson, stated:
“Ah we got a bit carried away on Sunday morning. The snow flakes were deadly and cars were queued from the bottom of Pomeroy Street to the Bawn Orange Hall. I admit we panicked. I would like to assure the people of Pomeroy that no one will be eaten. All roads seem to be open. In fact none were closed at any stage really. We’ve made a hames of this. Sorry.”
Calls for the PVC to resign en masse have fallen on deaf ears. Devlin laughed when it was put to him and muttered “I’d like to see them try make us” whilst menacingly reaching into his coat pocket and winking.
A Derrytresk representative at the GAA Congress in Derry came home with no notes and little notion of what actually happened. Sunday morning’s feedback session down at the Hill was hastily abandoned after it became clear that Mr Kilpatrick had underestimated the importance of the event. Derrytresk had tabled a motion that all county grounds should have official lockers for punters to store stuff in especially women with their handbags and other toiletries. Even though it was not expected to pass, Kilpatrick’s inability to recognise his own club’s motion didn’t help matters and it was resoundly defeated by a 100% NO vote which indicated that the Hill man himself also voted against it.
“Ah it was deadly confusing. We all met up the night before for a few drinks and I was a bit overawed to be talking to Brolly and Burns and that sort of boy. I slapped a pup’s feed of stout into me and the last think I remembered was singing ‘Will Ye Come To The Bower’ with Cuthbert Donnelly at 3am. I woke up like a bear and finally made it to the place just as the first motion was to start. They handed me this remote thing with a rake of numbers on it and with my head banging I was deadly confused and just started pushing buttons.”
When pressed on how the Derrytresk motion failed with a 100% No vote, Kilpatrick was brutally honest.
“Aye, I voted against our own motion. Sure by that stage I was retching and sweating with the thirst. All I could see were these boys with iPads and smartphones and red pens writing away with mad accents from all over Ireland and beyond. I knew I was out of my depth and just wanted out of there. By the time they asked me to speak on my motion I was fast asleep with my finger on the no button. I haven’t a clue what happened to be honest.”
One positive though was that he thinks Brolly said he’d present medals to lads if they won anything this year but can’t be sure if that definitely happened.
For the third year year running, Gerry Talbot won the Annual Galbally’s Got Talent competition in the Parochial Hall with his ‘saying the alphabet backwards after a half bottle’ routine. Organisers were hoping for an improvement in the overall quality of entrants following disappointing viewing numbers for last year’s final when Talbot beat off Katy Hurson who made a lasagne in twenty minutes. Their hopes were dashed with the first act as Frank Loughran sang the nursery rhyme ‘Rock-a-bye-baby’, missing out most of the words.
“I don’t think we’ll do another one”, claimed chairman Lisa Teague. “There are only so many times we can acclaim Gerry as our best talent. To say the alphabet backwards is great, and to do it whilst tipsy is admirable, but you’d really think he’d develop his act, like. That’s three years solid he has lifted the trophy doing the same thing. What’s more bewildering was the rapturous applause he received again after he did his bit. I know he does a bit of home-brewing but I didn’t think he was that important. Seems he is.”
Teague detailed some of the other competitors whilst sounding a warning regarding the future of the event:
“In second place this year was Jason Peoples who brought his dog onstage. That was it. Bringing the dog onstage was his talent. Like for Jaysus sake. People even applauded that. In third place was Yori Hussanni, our Portuguese resident. He came on and pointed at objects whilst naming them in his native tongue. At least we think he was. Mickey Murphy just soloed a ball in his Tyrone top. He got a few boos for that. Paddy Tally read out his best lecture notes. It was all a bit subdued to be honest. I can’t see it happening next year.”
As well as the trophy, Talbot received a ten-pound voucher to be spent in the local convenience store.
A black card will be used in gaelic football from January next year. Motion 4 proposed that a new ‘black card’ be introduced to deal with a specific category of foul, relating to ‘cynical behaviour’ and was passed with a 82% majority at the GAA Annual Congress in Derry today. We gauged reaction to the historic decision across the globe:
“Hell yea! Delighted to hear the dudes in Derry passed this. A victory for democracy. We need to show the dissenters the error of their ways. Had this not been passed we would have considered air strikes on the new Garvaghey complex. Here, I bet you Ricey’s glad he retired when he did.” PRESIDENT OBAMA, USA
“Bastards, hi!” NADINE COYLE, DERRY
“Mmmm. Do you know who’s been given the gig for making the black cards? Interesting.” SEAN QUINN, FERMANAGH
“O mama. This is just the beginning. Get me in and I’ll have a baseball-type musical jingle as the ref digs around looking for the correct card. Will it be red? The music builds. Will it be yellow. Faster, faster. It’s black. Pantomime booing. Great TV. I like the idea of the hooter at the end. I’ll get women in hooter T-shirts to do it. Kerching! Nailed it!” LOUIS WALSH, MANCHESTER
“I’m undecided. Up the Carmen.” POPE FRANCIS, ROME
“What colour will the black cards be? I hope it’s pink. I love pink.” JORDAN, ESSEX
“Abusive language? Does that include ‘nordie bastards’? BONO, DUBLIN
“You can’t say black!” JOHN TERRY, LONDON
“I hope Conor Gormley brings a cushion to the games. He’ll be spending some time sitting on benches. Cute though.” KATY PERRY, CALIFORNIA
In their latest newsletter, Nasa scientists have confirmed that Kildress is the most snow-covered area on the planet, beating both polar regions, Siberia and Alaska into the bargain. In an example of its tendency to attract crystalline water-ice, a flash flood on Thursday morning saw three feet of snow fall in ten minutes in the area although it was never reported in the news due to the BBCs policy of avoiding Kildress. The 2011 census revealed that there are now 600 eskimos living in and around the Omagh Road, a statistic welcomed by local PR man Jake McClane.
“It’s a match made in heaven. These wee eskimos are bringing great trade to the local shop. They’re constantly buying chisels, fish, animal hides, kayaks and Husky dogs – things we’ve always traditionally stocked here. We get on tarra well too. The language seems to be amazingly similar. They do a lot of ‘umm’, ‘ooooh’, ‘amm’ and ‘me want ham’ and sure we’re just the same. We seem to understand each other perfectly. They also jump up and down a lot beating their chest whilst wrecking things – hey presto – so do we. It’s deadly.”
Archeologists are now looking into the theory that Kildress might have been an early Eskimo or Inuit settlement 4000 years ago, attracted by the unique micro-climate of the area. Another remarkable connection was uncovered last month when ancient Eskimo poetry was translated by Seamus Heaney which identified their word for ‘eternal happiness’ or ‘paradise’ as ‘Kildress’.
“I can’t deny there has been some protests from the Kildress Independent Front but sure those two boys are harmless enough. They’ll soften their stance when they see young Aipaloovik Alacatchi line out for the Wolfe Tones’ Under 14s this year. He’s a hardy wee footballer. Takes no crap. Great hands.”
The Kildress Inn are holding a cultural weekend of arctic festivities including sleigh-racing, snowball-rolling and the building of a five foot igloo on the pitch itself which is sure to pull in great crowds.
By Staff Reporter Shengas McGlumphie
A 28-year old Benburb joiner finally admitted to his family yesterday lunchtime that he doesn’t like champ, and never has. Aiden Rafferty’s dramatic ‘coming out’ occurred during a chicken roast dinner at his ma’s house in the Tullydowey Road before Eastenders on RTE, when he finally plucked up the courage to tell his father Tom, mother Mary, and two sisters Roisin and Rachel.
“Growing up I knew I was different to the other kids,” said Rafferty. “They were all just horsing the champ into them like mad and I just wasn’t like that. I was always confused about my feelings towards the potato. Some of the kids used to call me hurtful names, ‘potater hater’ and all that. I tried to ignore the cruel jibes but it was never easy, especially the Dungannon ones at the Academy.”
It has emerged that his family are still adjusting to the news. Late last night a fight was reportedly broken up outside the Benburb Arms involving Tom Rafferty who reacted violently to a bit of gentle slagging about his ‘champion son’ and other potato-related puns.
“When I told my da he just stood up and walked out the room. He only came back when mum brought out the Blue Ribands. He hasn’t talked to me since. I think it’s hard for him to accept me as I am, him being originally from Eglish and all. My mum has been more supportive, and my sister Roisin said that she always suspected I didn’t like champ. I’ve been keeping this inside me for so long, I can now be true to myself and get tore into the basmati rice whenever I like”.
Some locals have reacted badly to the news, calling for Rafferty to be chased out of the townland to somewhere like Donaghmore or Castlecaulfield where other fussy food people live in relevant harmony. Others have welcomed the news, intimating that it will help Benburb stumble into the 21st century.
Rafferty is currently receiving support and counselling from the Champ & Colcannon Aversion Trust in Craigavon, which helps those with potato disinclination. Anyone affected by this article can contact them on 02980 665887.
A calamitous series of mix-ups resulted in twelve Carrickmore parishoners fearing the worst as a clearly intoxicated Fr Pollox got confused during the burial of pensioner Caster McCloy this morning. McCloy, a local character and hero to many in Carrickmore due to his dual role as local area doctor and manager of the underage teams, was mourned by over 1000 attendees according to eyewitness reports. Burial proceedings were held up when Fr Pollox, especially requested to carry out the final resting place holy orders, had to be retrieved from the nearby pub after a marathon 12-hour drinking binge.
“Ah poor Fr Pollox,” family friend Francie Gormley told us, “He was tarra fond of oul Caster. It was a hard blow for him and he took to the batter throughout the wake. He was in some shape when he arrived by the graveside. On three occasions, the altar boys prevented him from falling in himself by houling on to his vestments. It was a sorry state of affairs with the wailing in the congregation coupled with the burping and rifting coming from the good Father himself.”
The obviously disorientated cleryman mixed up the deceased’s name at least a dozen times and on every occasion a grief-stricken mourner would leap in to the freshly dug grave, too delirious with sorrow to question his orders.
“I hadn’t seen anything like it. I think the first one was when the Father said ‘we are here to bury Seamie the Red Boy’ and sure didn’t Seamus take a buck leap into the grave. Following him at 2-3 minute intervals was Jake Morrow, Pat Lundy, Dan McCann, Peader Horner, Marty McAliskey, Leo Burden, Henry McNally, Norm Kelly, Brendan Savage, Paul O’Brien and oul Joe Ryan and him 94. I don’t know whether it’s the encompassing effect of mass lamentation or the power of the clergy but there were 12 men standing in the grave with the coffin as Fr Pollox threw soil on them. Even better, didn’t members of Caster’s family throw muck on them too. It wasn’t until the wife of Seamie the Red Boy pulled him out that we woke out of our stupor. Deadly stuff altogether.”
Castor McCloy was eventually laid to rest after two hours of pulling men out. Reports of a missing Norm Kelly have sparked fears he might still be in there.
By Staff Reporter Shengas McGlumphie
An Augher farmer plans to sue Hollywood makers for the theft of an idea which may have been as the basis for the recent smash hit movie, ‘Life of Pi’, currently shown in cinemas across the UK. Phelim McAlinden from McAlinden Farm near Altadavin wrote a poem called ‘Life of Pie’ in 1966 after his teacher punished him for throwing the spit bucket around another pupil by ordering a young Phelim to write a poem about pies over breaktime.
“I’m fuming if the truth be told. Them boys in Amerikay are ruthless. The Master said it was one of the best poems he’d ever seen a 6-year-old write and I’ve sort of been living off that praise since then. I’m known as ‘the boy who wrote the poem’ around these parts, even in my 53rd year. I remember it word for word:
Oh me. Oh my. I love a pie
And always will. I do decry.
Other food I sometimes try
But till the day I die. It’s a life of pie.”
‘Life Of Pi’, the film based on the book of the same name by Yann Martel, tells the story of a spiritual journey of a young boy in India who rejects his father’s rationalism and creates a personal amalgam of Hinduism, Christianity and Islam. Phelim admits he has no idea how they managed to come across the idea, nor accepts that the film has nothing whatsoever to do with his poem, including the title, the basic premise, the plot, the characters, the start, the middle, and the ending. He was originally advised to sue for £20m but has since said he’d settle for a ‘lock of pounds’.
“That’s what they do, lucksee. They change all the story to get out of paying. They’re crafty that way. Sometimes you have to stand up to the man. I don’t want to get in the way of a good movie but credit where credit’s due boys. If them boys in Hollywood send me twenty quid that would probably be the end of it”.
McAlinden says he is also also looking closely at the recent Quentin Tarantino film ‘Django Unchained’, which he believes may be sourced from another poem he wrote in the 1980s called ‘Jangle’, based on the loose change he had in the pocket of his dungarees that day.
A Brocagh octogenarian had been buying groceries in her local shop since 1998 with monopoly money, Cookstown Court heard today.
The pensioner was apprehended last week when the aging shopkeeper’s son finally took over the family business.
Mary McKeevney (88), of Ballybeg Road, had been given the popular Christmas game in the late 1990s and mistakenly paid for a tin of corned beef and a pint of buttermilk on St Stephen’s Day 1998 using a Monopoly fiver. Having realised her good fortune, McKeevney continued to swindle the owner of Davidson’s Greengrocers, Ignatious Davidson (85), on a daily basis until her final purchase last Saturday night.
Davidson’s son and new proprietor of the shop, Kieran, filled in the blanks:
“Daddy always had a notion of Mary, ever since she won the Miss Wrangler Jeans at Brocagh Sports Day in 1966. Even as they approached their 80s he’d be flirting with her in the shop, making suggestive remarks about beef sausages and lemon tarts. I’ve no doubt that Mary’s initial purchase of the corned beef with the fake fiver was a legitimate mistake but it’s also clear her skulduggery spiralled out of control.”
Mrs McKeevney admitted purchasing nearly 400 Monopoly boards over the following years, dishing out £500’000 in Monopoly money in that time for bananas, teabags, Nutty Crust bread and sucking sweets mostly.
“My da is a deadly hoarder can just kept all takings under his bed in a big box. He has over a million pounds in it. Unfortunately half of it is useless unless you want to buy Mayfair or Marylebone Station. He was too busy ogling Mary’s aged and decrepit features to realise he was being hoodwinked. He retired last week so Mary got some shock when she saw me behind the counter. The brazen hussy tried it on with me but I knew straight away it was a Monopoly £20 she was using to pay for the Irish News and 20 white bonbons. She’s good looking for an 88-year old, I’ll give her that.”
Police now suspect that McKeevney’s husband wasn’t actually murdered in May 1991 by Professor Plum with a piece of lead piping in the billiard room as initially believed following his wife’s statement that fateful night.
By Staff Reporter Shengas McGlumphie
Three Galbally men who will debut their three-man comedy show this Friday at the Cohannon Inn admit that with only days to go they have virtually no material to fill the ambitious two and a half hour slot. Plunkett Drummond, Plunkett Quinn and Plunkett Keown, all born in 1986 when Plunkett Donaghy’s dreamy locks was breaking housewives’ hearts in the All-Ireland, booked the gig after deciding their witty banter deserved a bigger audience.
“Us three boys were always having mad craic down the pub and we thought, Jaysus, people would pay big money to listen to this” said Plunkett Drummond from Corlea Road. “Even last Friday night we were out at Nugent’s in Pomeroy, and the craic was ninety. But no-one bothered to write any of it down and the next morning I couldn’t remember a thing. We thought we could really go all the way to the top, maybe even as far as the Community Centre in Galbally. Just look at other successful threesomes, the likes of The Three Stooges or the Three Degrees or the Two Ronnies. Big comedy trio acts raking in a whole lock of pounds.”
However, the group are struggling to re-create the magic by transferring the hilarious pub banter into a tightly-constructed, joke-packed, fun-filled, 2½ hour set.
“We did take a pencil and start scribbling notes on the back of the Auto Trader”, said Plunkett Keown, an unemployed fitter, “but we were laughing so much the writing ended up all shoogly and couldn’t really make it out the next day. The only words I could read were ‘Holland tractor’, ‘mushroom’, and ‘trousers’ and we can hardly squeeze 2½ hours out of that”.
In growing concern that they will not have sufficient material in time for the show, the three men have tried gathering at lunchtime without alcohol to see if they can produce any gems.
“It was rubbish. All we talked about was the new roadworks near the Rock. We’ve even watched Riverdance on Plunket’s VHS with Flatley doing all the high kicks for a bit of inspiration. That might be an option”, muttered Plunkett Drummond doubtfully.
The group now plan to extend the show to include traditional song, with Plunkett Keown singing ‘The Mountains Of Pomeroy’ accompanied by Drummond on the tin whistle. So far, the threesome have a story about a wasp landing on Plunkett Keown’s cheese and pickle sandwich during the Thrills in the Hills in Pomeroy last summer, and an anecdote involving a beer mat sticking to the bottom of Quinn’s pint glass. To date no tickets have been sold, but Plunkett Drummond remains hopeful.
“Tonight’s a last ditch all-out effort. We’re going to Tally’s to get properly hammered, but this time we’ll get the boyo on the next table to listen in and take notes. As long as we remember to ask him”.
Recent ecclesiastical papers released under the 1500 year rule at Trinity College in Dublin have revealed that St Patrick admitted he had his work cut out making Tyrone natives to give up their Pagan ways and embrace Christianity, predominately in Newmills, Pomeroy and Brackaville.
Written in Latin, St Patrick penned a letter to a mate in Wales detailing his frustration and exasperation at the heathen way of life in and around Brackaville and at once stage remarked that it’d be ‘easier to take the wet from water than to get them boys to pray even for a second’. Latin expert, Dr Patrick Mossey, translated his first short letter in its entirety:
This is turning out to be some handling. Converting Ardboe was tough. They worshipped the pollan fish before I arrived. A man fired a dog at me through the window of a pub in Coagh. But none of that compares to the troubles I’m having in Brackaville. These people are something else, lad. Twice I’ve tried to preach from the hill on the Derryvale Road and it’d be going well initially. Then a shower of women from Edendork would arrive and the orgies would start. I’d be shouting over the mass of bare arses. Deadly annoying, Alad.
They still sacrifice things there y’know. Wolves, deer, Armagh people. I’m thinking of calling it a day and hoping the Coalisland ones marry into this area, bringing their more refined ways with them. Ach I’ll miss the craic a bit at Campbell’s shebeen but God didn’t send me to gulp down the black stuff in Brackaville.
Although little evidence remains in Brackaville of St Patrick’s failed attempt to Christianise the area, some of the older members of the community do remember something of a boy called Patrick who tried to do something here but admit that might have been the lignite man they ignored in 1984.
By Staff Reporter Shengas McGlumphie
“Them wee troll boys are bad news” said Terry McGerr from Church Street. “They’ve been nothing but trouble since thon new big road opened. And it’s all because they hang about under all them new fancy bridges. Bridges to trolls is like what a jar of honey is to bees. Anyways, what was wrong with the Ballygawley line?”
A troll is a supernatural being from Norse mythology and Scandinavian folklore. Known for living under bridges, trolls are said to be ugly and slow-witted, often with particularly grotesque facial characteristics.
“I’m sure I’ve seen some hanging about Donaghmore outside Grimes’ place, bold as brass, like they own the shop. They’ll be taking our jobs next, and then what? It was fine when it was just the one wee troll underneath Hopper’s Bridge on the Aughnagar Road. He kept himself to himself. In fact, you’d never even see him. Now you can’t move for feckin trolls.”
McGerr admitted that he hadn’t actually made any conclusive troll sightings but says he has come close:
“Oh aye, two Friday nights ago late on I saw a bunch of them all squatted down under the bridge at Cabragh like a wee witch’s coven, all cacklin away thinking no-one was watching them. It was only when I got up close I realised it was just some Killeeshil lasses on their way home from Quinn’s Corner, stopping off to relieve themselves in the sheuk”.
Undeterred, McGerr intends to continue his not-in-my-back-yard style of Council lobbying until action is taken.
In a moment of weakness, perhaps brought on by the stress of his new job, Pope Francis the First admitted to an aide that he fears Cookstown Fr Rocks will tumble back down to the Intermediate grade having learned nothing from their previous foray into the senior grade a couple of years ago. The Argentinian Pontiff has never hidden his admiration for the Fr Rocks as well as his love for San Lorenzo, his local soccer side. Under his previous name, Jorge Bergoglio, the former Cardinal would combine watching his home team with scouring the Internet for a live stream of Cookstown’s league and Championship outings.
“Ah he’s mad about them Father Rocks”, admitted his best friend Fr Toto Schillachi. “There bes times when you’d catch him dreaming mid-service and you know it has dawned on him that the Rocks are playing a league match that day, probably against the likes of Killeeshil or Urney. One day, in Buenos Aires, he had the whole school dressed in blonde mullets singing ‘Mugsy’s Blue and Navy Army’ in Latin. It was quite a spectacle. He’s a quare eejit.”
Reports that he fears for Cookstown’s ability to stay in the senior grade has come as a blow for the busy market town although early signs indicate it will make the Rocks more resolute to keep their place in the top grade. A club insider remarked:
“Listen, it’s great that His Holiness is part of the Azzuri Army but we can do without the negativity. He should stick to the praying and we’ll do the playing. At the same time, he’s welcome down at Convent Lane any time he wants. It’s usually only a fiver in to club games.”
The Pope celebrated Cookstown’s All-Ireland last month with a slap-up feast of Cookstown Sizzlers, champ and a glass of Buckfast.
A Moortown teacher, Bernie Corkery (nee Quinn), has been hailed as a hero after she locked her husband in a byre for two days following a domestic argument last weekend. Neighbours reported ‘shouting and roaring’ emanating from the Battery Road abode on Sunday night after her Cork-born husband Fonsie Corkery returned home after midnight having attended the Tyrone-Cork game earlier in the day. Reports suggest Corkery stopped off in Quinns and then the Battery Bar itself before returning home in high spirits following the comprehensive rebel victory over the Red Hands. Bernie’s sister, Jackie Quinn, maintains the Cork man had it coming:
“Ah sure, too good for him says I. She should’ve kept him in the byre til the weekend. He’d been crowing away down at the Battery singing about Skibbereen and A Rebel Heart. A couple of the Devlins needed held back from boxing the ears off him but they gave him a fool’s pardon in the day that was in it. I knew our Bernie wouldn’t. That woman should get some kind of recognition for tying that bastard up with the cattle til Tuesday. Fair play to her. It’ll put manners on him.”
Friends of Corkery arrived at the house on Tuesday morning as he hadn’t appeared at the Whist Night in the club the night before. It was only when they heard the gentle whining that they investigated the byre itself. Tony Hurson explained:
“It was some sight, ghost-oh. The cattle were licking away at his head, with the smell rather rancid. A bit extreme I thought from Bernie. She has a fierce temper on her though and with him in a bullish mood after the Cork massacre in Omagh as well as being well-oiled from the stout in Quinns, it was a lethal concoction. I thought I heard screaming coming from their place on Sunday night but thought she was just dishing out a few slaps. I didn’t know she’s tie him up out here.”
Dubliner John McGregory, married to Bernie’s sister Tamsin, says he’ll play it down if the Dubs win this weekend.