Monthly Archives: June 2013
A self-help group for men with wives and girlfriends who participate in the practice known as ‘zumba’ have referred the matter to the PSNI in growing concern that they have no idea what it actually is. The hurriedly-formed ‘Glenelly Action Against Zumba-Mentalists’ spoke to the police after consulting neighbours, colleagues, and reading stuff off the internet.
“There’s no doubt about it, something’s going on”, claimed an anxious husband whose wife he said was a zumba addict. “My wife is lost to thon zumba classes. They’ve brainwashed her. They’ve stripped her of every penny she earns. Well, £2.50 a week anyway. And she comes back all red in the face and a bit sweaty-lookin’, like she’s got something to hide”.
“I’m devastated. They’ve taken my girl away”, added a stricken boyfriend of another zumba-ist, “for 1½ hours every week on a Tuesday and Thursday. I’m struggling to cope”, he admitted. “It’s definitely a religious cult. Or a secret society. Or maybe naked pagan dancing and the like. I don’t know. Is it drugs?”
“It’s to do with special cooking classes so they can feed menfolk food that make them do their every bidding” said another. “I used to hate cabbage and bacon and now I can’t get enough of the muck. What’s that about? And apparently there are squats involved”, he added ominously, “and lunges. Thon zumba hoors need watching”.
“It’s a growing disease” agreed another worried man. “My missus succumbed to it a month ago. Now I can’t even get a hot dinner without her rushin’ off with thon bunch of wemin. What next? Limbo dancing to country music, or some such? These are dark days for the county, dark days. If it’s exercise they want, what’s wrong with a slip jig or brooming the yard?”
The PSNI in Dungannon confirmed they had received an approach from an unintelligible group of men who had made a number of incoherent remarks without any foundation whatsoever.
Meantime, local priest Father Joseph Hannigan got in on the act warning his flock last Sunday that anyone caught doing ‘deadly hip gyrations and stuff’ would rot at the very gates of hell with Beelzebub himself breathing fire upon them. Aerobics however were fine.
Tyrone’s first ever ball-boy at Wimbledon was sent packing today after both tennis players complained about his behaviour on court. Lionel Coyle, an 11-year old student from Donaghendry Road in Stewartstown, had been officiating in only his second Wimbledon game before being escorted off the centre court premises and straight onto a plane from London to Stewartstown. The game in question between Andy Murray and Tommy Robredo carried on regardless with many spectators unaware that one of the ball-boys had been replaced during a break in play.
“He was winding up both players from the start”, referee Peter Willis told us. “He’d loosened all the screws from Robredo’s chair before he sat down on it when he came in. I’d seen him fiddling with the chair beforehand. Then at the end of the first set he handed Andy Murray a banana skin as he’d eaten the banana himself. Worst of all, during the second set he imitated the noise women would make every time both players would hit the ball, like a high pitched squeal and shouting things like “take that ye bollocks” in a Scottish accent. Robredo nearly fought Murray over that comment. It was confusing the spectators and players.”
The players also accused Coyle of messing about during play, throwing them a towel if they asked for a ball. The final straw occurred when he was caught putting glue on the balls was lobbing at the players.
“I was wondering why the balls were sticking to the racquets”, Willis stated. “I kept ordering new balls and the same thing would happen. Then the young lad started firing the balls at wicked speed when the players called for one. A rocket hit Murray on his head and stayed there what with the glue on it. We’ll not be hiring any more ball-boys from Stewartstown again. Maybe Coagh, but not Stewartstown.”
Andy Murray has also requested the return of his favourite sweatbands that mysteriously went missing when Coyle was hoking through his bag looking for “an oul hanky”.
The owner of a new lap dancing establishment in Clogher admitted after its opening night on Friday that it needs more work to make it a success.
The controversial ‘Eye Candy Gentlemen’s Club’, based in Main Street in Clogher, opened on Friday to considerable criticism from customers. Owner, manager, and borderline pervert Seasamh Mallon agreed that there were a number of issues that needed work, and in particular the two dancers employed by the club, one of which was Kitty McVeigh of Crossowen Road.
“Old Kitty did her best, bless her” said an apologetic Mallon. “She was up on the Eye Candy stage doing a nice wee slip jig, and all thon boys were chanting ‘get them out, get them out’, getting louder and angrier. To be fair to Kitty she obliged, but I don’t think she realised they weren’t talking about her teeth”. Matters took a turn for the worse as the men became more and more insistent. “It could have got ugly, I have to tell you”, said Mallon. “Them boys wanted flesh and weren’t leaving until they had got some. Thank god they calmed down a bit when Kitty eventually undid the top toggle of her duffel coat”.
A customer, who didn’t want to give his name said,
“It was dung. I knew something was dodgy when the sign said it 50p a dance, or 25p plus a bag of boiled sweets. And she had a face like a welder’s bench. ‘Eye Candy’? ‘Eye Cabbage’ more like”.
The club fared no better with the club’s other dancer, Peggy Hagan, of no fixed abode. Mallon commented,
“It was a bit of an eye-opener when she started dancing to Beyoncé’s ‘All The Single Ladies’, but it can’t be easy when you’ve just had both your hips replaced”. He continued, “The lads were starting to get into it but when she was unrolling one of her surgical stockings, her back went and she couldn’t straighten up. She’d have couped right off the front of the stage if she hadn’t been holding onto her zimmer frame”.
A furious customer who also asked not to be named, ranted,
“Feckin’ disgrace. I was expecting a clatter of young wemin, not a couple of feckin’ 70 year olds. I had taken along a big bag of 10 pence pieces and barely spent half of it. And if you ask me 50 feckin’ pence a feckin’ dance is a bit steep for the likes of me, especially when dues every Sunday are in decline. How do they expect a priest to be able to afford that sort of feckin’ money? And they didn’t even accept Nectar points. Feckers”.
A Carrickmore school cook has angered her husband after selling off the boot of their red Audi A4 at the Dean Maguire College’s annual car boot sale. Hillary Gormley, a canteen cook in a nearby primary school, took the 2009 Audi to the sale whilst her husband, Pat Gormley, attended a cattle market in Edinburgh. Hoping to surprise her husband with a bit of extra cash, Gormley now admits she completely misinterpreted the nature of a car boot sale:
“I’d never actually been to one for the simple reason that I never needed a car boot. Pat had mentioned before he left for Scotland that I should go down to the school’s car boot sale and sell something. As we’ve only the one motor at the minute, I thought it a bit surprising as he cherished that Audi. But I went anyway and sold the boot within minutes for £2000. How the hell was I to know what a car boot sale meant? I just thought the other people hadn’t cleaned their boots out yet when I arrived and saw toys and cutlery lying about theirs.”
Pat Gormley was aghast when driving up his loanan only to see the beloved Audi cut in half, supported by two barrels at the back.
“I thought it was some type of elaborate joke at first, that maybe it was some kind of optical illusion played by a local magician. It wasn’t until I saw Hilary’s face that I realised she had ballsed something up. This is an appeal to the fellow who bought the boot of my motor. Please can we have it back with a full refund. Hillary reckons he has a Loughmacrory or maybe Pomeroy accent. We’ll weld it back on.”
This is not the first time Hillary got the wrong end of the stick. In 1988, she bought 99 ice creams after her mother sent her to the van man to get her a ’99’.
A statement this morning by the underground ‘Red Hand Priests Are Us’ movement has called on parents and guardians to turn a blind eye to bad manners and general impishness in their children in order to save the tradition of confessions across the county. In recent years priests in many parishes have complained they are twiddling their thumbs between two and three on a Saturday as empty booths and vanishing queues are now a normal sight from Ardboe to Aghyaran. Fr Johnston from Greencastle admitted:
“We might have to abandon confessions completely. The children are now just sitting on their iPads or PlayStations. Even the couple who do trickle in tell us nothing worthwhile like knocking over a vase or sneezing and they end up taking on all the Hail Marys to be given out that day. One girl last week said she forgot to give her mother a hug and I had to hit her with 19 decades of the rosary. That’s not fair, but there’s too much penance to go around now.”
Fr Traynor from Carrickmore agreed:
“Oh how I long for the days when there’d be queues out the door with lads telling you about blowing up frogs, leaving bags of shite on the elderly neighbour’s doorstep or robbing the pub. Nowadays these youngster are too buckin lazy to get up to devilment. What are parents at these days? Can they not see the basic fabric of a young Irish child’s life is disappearing? I’m not talking devil-worshipping here but confessing to giving your brother a kicking or two would brighten the whole process up for us.”
A school in Dungannon has been first to act with a proposed GCSE class on ‘General Bad Manners and Skulduggery’ starting in September 2013. Master Cullen informed us:
“This will be a rigorous course with an element of practical which involves two pupils playing dangerous pranks on each other like locking one in a skip and rolling it down the steep bank. That sort of thing. They’ll be allowed to curse at the teacher too.”
Confessions continue this week at 2pm everywhere.
The village of Pomeroy spent much of Sunday in a state of panic as it prepares itself for the much-awaited return of local singing sensation Andrea Begley, who won BBC’s ‘The Voice’ on Saturday night. After an emergency meeting of the Pomeroy Village Council (PVC), a clearly-flustered Chairman Danny Devlin said,
“Jaysus, we’re sweating like Hugo on Mastermind. We’re expecting Andrea back soon and we’ve nothing ready. Not even sandwiches. What if she turns up this afternoon with all the cameras and there are no sandwiches?”
It emerged that the PVC spent much of Sunday trying to get hold of Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen on the phone to ask if he could give the village ‘a quick makeover’. As Devlin explained,
“If that big floppy-haired bollix or thon Smillie woman can come along to give the place a wee tidy-up that would help. We’d expect a big crowd of people for Andrea and we could ask the BBC if they could CGI out all the odd-looking ones. We don’t want people thinking Halloween’s come early. Fortunately we’ve some of the bunting left over from the time Dermott O’Gara from Altmore won £50 on a scratch card in Costcutter’s in 2008, so that might improve the look of the place”.
Several local residents have queried the whereabouts of a much-touted open-topped bus which the PVC spent £10,000 on only a few weeks ago.
“It’s a touch embarrassing”, said a sheepish Devlin. “We bought this fancy open-topped bus from Carrickmore. They got it as a welcome home for that boy who made it into the grand final of ‘Embarrassing Bodies’ on Channel 4. We wanted it for Obama’s visit because we reckoned he’d take a wee jaunt down to Pomeroy after the G8. As it turns out he didn’t, so a few of the committee members sort of took it out on the bus in a wee fit of annoyance. Understandable like. Turns out we now need it for Andrea. But we’ve got to fix all the dents and the graffiti. And the fire damage. And we can’t do that until we’ve pulled it back out of Dungannon Lake. We’ve really made a hames of it”.
The PVC meantime intend to fax Philomena Begley to ask if she can ‘keep Andrea talking for a bit’ if she arrives too early.
Brackaville, the most pagan village in the northern hemisphere, is today celebrating the longest day in the year by having their biggest party yet according to the postman, Leo McClure. Bonfires lit the landscape coming out of Coalisland up the Brackaville Road from as early as 6am with reports of men and women ‘buck leapin about drinking clear stuff from mineral bottles’.
“Frig me. I’ve been delivering letters up the Brackaville Road for years and thought I’d seen it all. But this morning, it was like a big mad frenzied orgy thing even though there was none of that stuff going on. Just men and wemen leaping about a bonfire buck naked shouting just ‘yahoooo’ and stuff like that. Some of them were teachers, doctors, chapel cleaners and all. They love their midsummer up there, them pagans.”
The name Brackaville itself derives from the old Latin ‘Brak a Vil’ which means Heathens on the Hill. Paganism in the area has been rife since the late 1700s with reports of mad dancing and yahooing in old newspapers at the time. Chief Summer Solstice organiser, Harry Gillis, told us:
“Ah you should see the wee children’s faces this morning when they woke up to hear that it was midsummer. It’s even better than Christmas which we don’t believe in but do it anyway for the craic. How often do you get to see Mrs Campbell out in her bra dancing about and singing songs about goats and flowers? It’s a special day. Them believers down in Coalisland are fierce jealous. Them with their oul sad heads trapsing to the chapel to be told about damnation and looking up the road and seeing the sights up here. It must be tough for them.”
The one-day festival ends at midnight after the sacred ritual of capturing someone from Coalisland and Newmills, placing them in a pot of water and pretending to sacrifice them before letting them go just as the water reaches lukewarm.
A mind-numbingly boring man from Urney has surprised friends and family by embarking on what he has declared as being “a series of extraordinarily reckless adventures” as a result of a mid-life crisis.
“I suppose my life has been a bit dreary” admitted 43 year old Terence ‘Driller’ McDiarmid, an assistant accountant from Urney, “But all that’s changing. It’s time to start acting all deadly, and boy am I doing that in style. It’s been a long time since my riotous youth when I earned the mad ‘Driller’ nickname”.
McDiarmid’s change in behaviour came when when his wife, long-suffering Angela, noticed he had stopped tying a double-knot in his shoelaces.
“He’s a boring pernickety bollix so he is” she admitted. “So I noticed the change straight away. And I knew something was different when he ate an apple after dinner without washing it first”.
McDiarmid, an ardent Elton John fan, also said he had radically changed his musical tastes by buying every Billy Joel album of the last 20 years.
“I know, it’s madness. Nothing’s off limits. Last night I went to bed and left the hall landing light on the whole night”, said a proud McDiarmid. “And it was a hundred-watter”, he added.
A source close to McDiarmid told us:
“Ah Jaysus, Terry’s the most boring man you’ll ever meet this side of Stewartstown. Ask Driller the time and he’ll tell you how to make the feckin’ clock”.
Other reckless incidents undertaken by McDiarmid in the last two weeks have included eating a yoghurt two days past its sell-by date, going to the shops in the car without wearing driving gloves, and walking to work without an umbrella when the forecast said it might be showery.
McDiarmid now says he is contemplating a complete career change and becoming an insurance broker. Meanwhile, his family have admitted that the nickname ‘Driller’ was given in his teens as a result of his ability to bore everyone to death.
A Tyrone employer is lamenting the loss of traditional skills in the area after finding a teenager using the back of his i-Phone to hammer nails into a plank of wood.
Frank Hooley, who runs a small joinery business in Cranagh, took on his nephew, 17 year old Aiden Lennox, as an apprentice to help the family out. He soon discovered that he had set his expectations too high.
“We were making a carcass for a chest of drawers and I told him to nail a plank of two-by-four to the base. Christ, did I not turn round and see him trying to push the nails in with the back of his phone. I told him to use the feckin’ hammer which was sitting right next to him. He went and spent the next ten minutes googling “how to use a hammer” on his phone. Then he tried to use it holding the wrong end. Daft bastard. He ended up trying to glue the nails in. Thon young cubs of today haven’t a clue” said an exasperated Holland. “I gave up and told him to go and get some more nails from the workshop. Did he not ask me whether we could just get some emailed through? Jaysus”.
In his defence, the young apprentice said,
“It’s easy for him taking the haun out of me. How am I supposed to know what a ‘hammer’ is? And the one he gave me must have been broken. It didn’t even come with a joystick. We weren’t all born a thousand years ago. And I had no training neither. How am I supposed to use a great big heavy thing like that to hit one of thon wee spiky sharp things. What are they called again?”
Lennox fared no better after having been found asking one of the other staff if they had “anything for making a bumpy bit of wood smooth, like a flat thing with a rough scratchy thing stuck to the top of it”. It subsequently transpired he was looking for a piece of sandpaper.
The PSNI were forced to respond yesterday to allegations that the extra police drafted in to the county for the G8 summit in Enniskillen have been so bored that they have resorted to playing children’s games and making preposterous allegations against residents.
The claims come following the arrest of Joe McElduff of Cappagh, who was lifted on Sunday evening on a charge of attempted arson whilst trying to light a barbeque in his garden in the rain. A number of what the police called ‘strange-smelling items’ were also removed from his property that subsequently turned out to be some burgers he had bought from Aldi in Dungannon. He was later released without charge.
On Monday, twenty-nine cattle were detained in a field near Benburb for four hours by over 200 officers in a controversial practice known as ‘kettling’, on the grounds that they were ‘acting suspiciously’ and ‘loitering with intent’, whilst a woman having lunch in Askin’s in Ballygawley was cautioned for ‘eating without due care and attention’ after she dribbled some mayonnaise down her chin.
Other people have claimed that a county-wide game of policeman hide and seek is underway, which is why officers are spending so much time parked on top of bridges and key access points across the county, as they try to spot colleagues who are in hiding in ditches, barns and fields.
DI Sean Robertson of the PSNI refuted the claims, saying,
“The PSNI and our mutual colleagues from across the water offer the highest standards of professionalism, a level that is demanded to protect some of the world’s leaders”.
The G8 is being policed by 4,400 PSNI officers together with some 3,600 who have been drafted in from England.
“These ridiculous claims that there’s some sort of childish game going on is a complete fabrication”,
whispered Robertson, from half-way up a tree in a field near Clogher.
Meanwhile 76-year old farmer Finbar Kerr from Plumbridge was stopped for allegedly speeding at over 80 miles per hour in a 1976 Massy Ferguson tractor and link box, whilst going from one field to another.
“80 miles an hour?” said a peeved Kerr. “That thing wouldn’t do 80 miles an hour if you pushed it off a cliff. Them police have nothing to do all day but sit. I have 3,000 litres of dirty diesel sitting out the back in a tank and they never so much much as looked at it. Call themselves policemen?”
“We’re here to do an important job”, said DI Joseph Bruce of the Yorkshire Constabulary. “There are dangerous criminals about and it’s our job to catch them. Which, if they’re as good as hiding as the PSNI, may take some time”.
An impromptu stop-off by the American cavalcade on the M1 resulted in a humiliating mix-up for the townland of Derrytresk, stirring memories of a previous misdemeanour. President Obama had intimated to his driver that he was ‘dying with the thirst’ after the Loughgall turn-off and soon found himself heading to the Derrytresk clubrooms for a cup of tea and hopefully a biscuit. On exiting the vehicle, he was immediately clobbered by a woman wielding a handbag in a case of mistaken identity.
“Some handlin,” admitted local animal whisperer Lisa McGarrell. “I can’t believe this has happened again. Just when Derrytresk had gotten back to normality after the handbag incident last year against Dromid, we’re right back in the spotlight. The worst thing is, it is a different woman to the first. They’re not even related. I appeal to the media on behalf of the people here – stay away. Yiz’ll be clodded if you come near here sniffing about.”
American aides confirmed that, although shook up, Barack took the hit well and completely understands the mix-up. Security man Hank Harrelson told us:
“Listen, crap happens. Barack has a bit of a Kerry look off him and I’ve seen pictures of Declan O’Sullivan. They’re the spit of each other. The president will not hold a grudge but he did say something about not shedding a tear if they were relegated this year.”
A ray of light was taken from the incident after Michelle Obama took a shine to the weapon and put in an order for three of the same handbags to be shipped to the “White House” before the weekend. The unnamed assailant told us:
“Yea, she was deadly interested in the bag. I told her my da made it from the skins of eel, mink and a few other things he killed. She said it was ‘cool’ and wanted a few. I toul her £300 each and she said no bother”.
The majority of residents throughout Tyrone continue to strenuously deny that they are struggling to contain their excitement about Monday’s arrival of the US President to Northern Ireland, despite mounting evidence to the contrary. Following news last week that woman are piling on the slap, subtle signs continued to manifest themselves over the weekend that people are getting all giddy.
Asda in Omagh confirmed that they have seen an increase in housewives purchasing garibaldis and luxury toilet tissue in case the President is caught short whilst driving about the County, whilst its menfolk have been seen tidying gardens, watching ‘The West Wing’, and taking basketball lessons.
“Eh? I’ve been a basketballist for years”, said a guilty-looking Sean McMann, a bouncy castle tester from Drumquin, “with the rings and high jumps and what have ye. So Obama plays the game, does he? Jaysus, I never knew. Tara coincidence that”.
Other retail outlets saw increases in the sale of fast food, baseball caps, and waterboarding equipment, whilst an opportunistic bed and breakfast in Castlederg has somewhat hopefully re-named one its rooms, ‘Presidential Suite’ after they hung up a picture of Nancy Reagan in it.
However, the apparent nonchalant approach has been contradicted by a recently formed on-line campaign called ‘Tyrone ♥ G8, So We Do’ which has amassed a remarkable 120,000 followers, despite a survey last week showing that 92% of residents have no idea what the G8 is, what it means, what it represents, or how to spell it. One man from Strabane, said,
“G8? To be honest, I’m not into all these young bands. Hum one their songs and maybe I’ll pick it up. Tara timing for a big concert seeing as Obama’s coming over at the same time. Or so I’ve been told. Not that I’m bothered. Right? ”
Meanwhile, Aiden Gormley, a 58-year old confetti salesman from Aughnacloy, has been charged with damage to public property by drawing an enormous ‘H’ on the middle of Ballygawley roundabout, hoping that Obama will land his helicopter on it. Released on bail, a defensive Gormley said,
“What, that? Oh, that’s just a big ‘H’ for ‘hello’. You know, for the tourists and that. Just being friendly. Nothing else. What are you trying to say? I didn’t even know Obama was coming to Ireland. And would he be coming by helicopter by any chance? Do you know what time? I don’t care. But others might”.
An experienced labourer and expert hole-digger has expressed his disappointment after receiving his marching orders for continually bringing less traditional fillings for his lunch time sandwiches. Fergal Coyne, 44, claims his ability to think outside the box has cost him his job:
“I’ve been working on sites since I was 15 and recently got sick of eating corned beef and ham sandwiches day in-day out. We’re currently adding a beer garden to the back of the Credit Union and I thought I would spice up my lunch break by bringing in smoked salmon and egg mayo fillings for a granary breaded effort. Well, the looks I got when I explained what it was. One lad from Galbally said ‘your type is not wanted around here’ as he got tore into his apple and chocolate Club bar. I ignored him but then his mate came over and kicked the sandwich clean out of my hand.”
Undeterred, Coyne returned next morning with a mango and cashew filling but was met with an even frostier reception.
“I was digging a great hole and I spotted two boys from Pomeroy going through my stuff. By the time I went over they had smeared ‘stop being a bollocks’ on the gable wall with my filling. It was disheartening. I phoned the Builders’ Union that night to come in and observe the discrimination the next day”.
The Stewartstown Builders’ Union were on site in the morning and witnessed events first hand:
“Yes, we saw what the problem was. Fergal arrived this morning with pita bread filled with beef and vegetables. We were shocked and felt quite angry, almost aggressive, towards him. For decades we’ve been eating the traditional four ham sandwiches, tin of Fanta, apple, Club biscuit and maybe a banana. We’ve no time for this fancy dan American stuff. So we fecked him off the site and told him he’ll never get another job digging holes in Stewartstown again. We’ll also pay out compensation to the other workers for stress related illnesses.”
Coyne is considering moving to Donaghmore.
It emerged yesterday that the main exercise a woman from Brocagh gets at the gym is from ripping the back out of other people. Marie McAleese, 36, from Mountjoy Road, has been spending around three nights a week at Gold’s Gym in Coalisland, in case Obama pops in to the local Asda where she works to pick up some sandwiches and the like.
“I’m not meaning to be unkind, but I was at the gym water fountain last week just giving my lashes a wee touch-up and I spotted this wan dolled up to the nines”, commented McAleese. “For the gym like? She looked like a wrestler in drag, all spandex and attitude. When she started doing the squats I didn’t know where to look. Disgraceful. I watched her for about 15 minutes and caught her giving me this filthy stare. Jaysus, there are some wicked hoors in that place”.
McAleese also recognised a work colleague with whom she works at Asda.
“Every time she’s in the butcher department she’s gigglin’ and flirtin’ away with yer man behind the counter. She ought to be ashamed, her married an’ all. I’ll bet she’s been getting more than just a sirloin steak, that’s all I’m sayin’. No wonder she’s on the rowing machine so often. Trying to build the strength up in her back I’d say”.
McAleese went on,
“And I was at the zumba class having a wee seat to give my thyroid a rest, and I was watching this wan bouncing about in the leotard like she was off of Baywatch. Baywatch? Crimewatch more like. Face like a melted wellie. You could feel the floor thumpin’ like there was an earthquake going on. Tara”, she declared. “And I saw her in the gym café afterwards, eating a Shape yoghurt. The way she was going at it was like a labrador eating custard. Disgusting”.
McAleese’s comments have not been confined to the gym.
“I was at the Balmoral Show the other week, which wasn’t easy in 9-inch heels and a micro skirt and the field like a bog but I carried it off. Anyway, you should have seen some of the poor cows on display. Half of them looked riddled with disease. I was fair put off my WKD Blue after I saw all those flies buzzin’ round their backsides. And the cattle were no better”.
McAleese is looking forward to getting more exercise later in the month when she attends the Strictly Come Dancing event in Pomeroy with her grand-daughter.
Following on from his failed one-day stint as a weatherman, Henry Savage lasted no longer this time after landing a prestigious role as a Children’s TV presenter on Kids TV Live fronting a kids’ arts and crafts show between 1pm and 1:30pm. Savage received his P45 before leaving the studio at 2pm after an unprecedented volume of phone-calls were made to the show complaining about the language and actions carried out by the Brackaville Road media man. Kids TV Live Director General Paul Norton explained:
“I don’t think Savage is cut out for Kids TV Live or maybe any other camera work for that matter. The show got off to a good start when Henry used his lilting Irish brogue to instruct the child to paint a picture of an elephant. Perhaps unaware of how sensitive children are these days, he told the first child (who was Lithuanian) that his effort was “pure shit” and that a “dead man would do better”. Lucky young Silvinas couldn’t understand him but the 2.3m viewers did. He then went over to the youngest girl, Emily (age 4), looked at her elephant, burst out laughing and told her “for fcuk sake, I said an elephant, not a deformed dog with a long nose. Away back to yer seat a that a ye. Crap, pure dung,” whilst crumpling the paper into a ball and firing it against the camera. That’s just not on.”
Things went from bad to worse when he asked the children to make stick men out of lollypop sticks.
“The calls really came flooding in when Henry released a torrent of bad language onto the children for getting glue “all over the buckin joint” before accidentally covering himself in the glue with sticky paper, buttons and tinsel clinging to his face and arms. You just can’t shout ‘Holy Mother of Christ, luk at what tiz have fcukin done to me now ye wee bolloxes’. This is live tv. You cannot do that.”
Henry has admitted he has now given up on a career in the media and will look for his old job back in Landi’s.
A Tyrone drinks manufacturer is hoping to capitalise on the good start to the summer by launching a new type of cider drink, with pig’s blood as the prime ingredient. The brains behind the idea, local businessman and border-line fruitcake Eugene Kerr, explained the deranged thinking that has brought the drink from initial concept to supermarket shelf.
“You’ve got your Magner’s made with apples and of course Bulmer’s is already made out of bulls. One step on and you’ve got Stymer’s made out of pig blood with quare wee floaty bacon bits. Stand aside Strongbow, there’s a new kid in town! Those boys in Armagh can’t be having it all their own way with their fancy apple orchards. What’s Tyrone got plenty of to make cider with? Pigs. Oh, and bog, but I tried that one. I’ve learned from my mistakes”.
If the Stymer’s brand is successful, Kerr plans to expand the range by creating a partnership with Moy Park Chickens. “Once people get used to ‘Pig Stymer’s’, wait until they get a taste of our ‘Chicken Thigh-der’. We’ve more chickens in Tyrone than you can shake a stick at. It’s going to be big. Maybe even as big as Irn Bru”, predicted an excited Kerr.
The marketing launch to the food and drink press took place at the Greenvale Hotel in Craigavon last Thursday night. Launched with the slogan, ‘For Days When It’s Hot. Bacon Hot’, Kerr was evasive about the feedback from the assembled journalists.
“Well, I couldn’t quite hear the comments for all the retching and the like that was going on, but sure people just need to open their mind a bit. I remember folk in Greencastle started riots when they heard some people were adding water to the Bushmills. Same goes for Stymer’s. A few months and people won’t be able to get enough of the taste of fizzy alcoholic pig blood”.
Promotional activity which took place in Dungannon main street on Saturday under a big banner saying ‘Can You Take The Stymer’s Test?!’ was hurriedly abandoned after an outbreak of mass vomiting amongst participants
Approximately 300 O’Neills from all over Tyrone were impolitely refused entry to Princess Madeleine’s lavish wedding with New York banker Christopher O’Neill in Stockholm on Saturday. With numerous pleas from the leaders of the different local clans to Swedish police falling on deaf ears, the former powerful dynasty’s descendants drank the city dry before “completely wrecking half of Sweden” according to a British tabloid journalist. One of the O’Neills, Paddy ‘The Ram’, told us:
“It was some handlin. When we heard that boy O’Neill was marrying into the Swedish royal family, we decided to welcome her into the family by surprising King Carl XVI Gustaf and his clan by landing on his doorstep with gifts from Ireland. We brought over a leg of lamb, plum poteen, 3lb of ham, a box of Tayto, The Irish News from all of last week, a DVD of Diarmuid Corr’s Sketchy and a few other bits and bobs. Well, we mightn’t have bothered. Them Swedish police started batoning us outside the church. There was a whole flaying session for the guts of an hour, all caught on the international news channels. Not friendly at all. Should’ve been marrying in Dungannon anyway.”
Swedish officials say the O’Neills ‘just went buck mad’ and drank every bar dry in Stockholm before jumping through hedges, singing songs about Peter Canavan and lying on top of cars. Chief of Police Johanna Johannason admitted:
“Pure animals. What’s all this “yahooing” they do? It was like a scene out of Braveheart. One boy, Peter ‘The Mower’ O’Neill, cycled the whole way to Malmo, full. The bike was so mangled when he got there that locals thought it was a unicycle.”
Christopher O’Neill has since released a statement saying he is not one of the Tyrone O’Neills and is, in fact, London born and bred. Paddy the Ram refuses to buy into this theory:
“Who’s he trying to kid? He has that oul O’Neill head on him. Sort-of pointy at the top and square at the back. Listen, we’ll have him pinting in Mulligan’s before the year is out. The Swedish princesses will love Benburb, the Island, Tullyhogue and slapping the eel soup down them at the Battery. That was only Round 1. Fermanagh has the G8. We’ll have this shower.”
People in the county this morning woke up to yet another hot day, with many yearning for the typical Tyrone summers of drizzle, cloud and the occasional sleet shower.
“Last night in bed was just awful”, said a 62 year old man from Sandholes who asked not to be named. “Jaysus, I was sweating like a galloping stallion. I had to strip off the flannelette long johns at one point it was so hot, and then did the missus not start getting ideas in her head. I had to turn on the light to wise her up”.
Men are facing the prospect of now having to change their shirt at least once a week before children and elderly relatives start passing out from the overpowering smell, whilst many others have spent the weekend searching through car manuals to find how to switch the air conditioning on.
“This weather’s appalling”, said Jack Dolan, a door handle polisher from Kildress. “All we’re after is a wee bit of nice summer weather and what have we got? Scorching hot sun. Disaster. I’m sure it’s not my imagination, but years ago the summers seemed to be much better. Do you remember that summer of 87? Poured with rain every day for a month. Mighty. The Tones play deadly in the wet”.
A spokesperson for Dungannon & South Tyrone Council agreed.
“What we yearn for is the summers of yesteryear when a Tyrone summer was a proper summer. Lashing rain. At least we knew where we stood. We’re not set up for sunny days. We made the mistake of announcing on Saturday that it was 23 degrees in the shade. So a whole bunch of people from Stewartstown decided it would be better to stay the sun. We didn’t think it through”.
Dungannon Hospital confirmed that it has had an unprecedented number of people turning up with sunburn. “What are they playing at?” said Sheila Quinn from Edendork, one of the doctors on duty over the weekend. “Half of the people in this county would get third degree burns going out under a crescent moon, never mind a boiling hot sun. It’s tara. We admitted one man yesterday with the worst case of sunburn on his legs I’ve ever seen. We had to prescribe Viagra just to help keep the sheets off it”.
The Met Office confirmed that torrential rain is forecast for the rest of the summer.