Author Archives: Gombeen
Eglish Man Breaks Lent. Lets Rip In Aftermath.
McGleenan, after losing to Eskra in 2011
An Eglish Pioneer, John McGleenan, has reportedly smashed his lenten promise in style and is currently ‘worse than ever’ at the cursing, according to his son who has decided to move to Cappagh. McGleenan had lasted over a week without a bad word emanating from his mouth until he heard the result from the Ulster Senior League match between his beloved Eglish and Magherafelt. A former reserve player and waterboy from 1986-1999, ‘Feckin’ John, as he’s called in the area, is a passionate and ardent St Patrick’s supporter but had recently been told to stop his match-going following a high blood pressure reading last month. Enda McGleenan, his 26-year old son and playing member of the senior team, knew his father’s lenten vow of a period of 40-days without cursing was about to end when he got home after the game.
“Ah as soon as the final whistle went I knew it was all over. In normal circumstances a draw in a friendly game with Magherafelt would be seen as acceptable progress, but not when my da’s concerned. He loses the bap completely if we don’t win. Last year we lost to Derrytresk and he locked me in the attic for five hours and burned down the outhouse. We thought the lent cursing thing would help him to curb his temper but it was simply a simmering volcano waiting to explode. 10 days of abstinence erupted yesterday. I muttered “9-all draw” when he asked. He simply set down his knife and fork and walked out to the yard. The next thing I saw was the dog yelping and hurtling through the spring Eglish sky, followed by a string of expletives I’d never even heard of. What is a ‘bollocksing shower of a hoor of a Derry bollocks’ anyway? Made no sense”
Reports suggest that McGleenan went on a rampage for the rest of the day, cursing vehemently at any passers-by regarding land, horse-meat, the Brits, Free-Staters, Europeans, the weather and spuds. 93-year-old Maisie Gildernew near fainted after hearing rude words she’d last come across when the Yank soldiers stopped off at the Brantry in 1942.
Stewartstown Nostalgia Night Draws A Blank
Not much happening
The much-anticipated ‘Nostalgia Night’ organised by the newly founded Stewartstown Historical Society ended early last night as not many could remember much that had happened in the area. The reason for the mass loss of memory is still under investigation with possible theories to be assessed such as some kind of lignite poisoning, too much drink taken over the years or the possibility that nothing has actually happened. The meeting, which started at 8pm and was attended by at least 1000 residents, ended at 8:30pm with a rendition of Faith Of Our Fathers and a goodie bag (pencil, tracing paper and a fudge) for all attendees. Chief organiser, Gerry Fee, was at a loss to explain the early finish:
“To be honest, I thought we’d be yarning away long into the early hours of this morning with tales of daring deeds and humorous turn of events. It wasn’t until the introductory speech had finished and the floor was opened up to the public that the horrible truth was clearly evident. Nobody could remember anything that had happened. After ten minutes, one woman did put her hand up and thought the football team reached an All-Ireland final a few years ago and says she vaguely recalls Fergal Logan in a jersey. She was quickly ridiculed by the others who said it was a foolish thing to claim and that Stewartstown have never nearly won anything. I put All-Ireland final with a question mark on the massive ‘White Board Of Memories’ just to take the bad look off it.”
Events appeared to take a turn for the better when another elderly man says he clearly remembers Dennis Taylor coming home in a van to parade a cup he won in England in the early 80s. A cheer went up at this recollection until it was pointed out that this probably happened in Coalisland as he was born down there. The Historical Society have asked people to email them with any memories they finally recall so they can put something on the whiteboard.
Benburb Man Caught Drink Driving On Tractor Lawnmower
Jordan in happier times
Benburb erotic fiction writer, Jack Jordan, was fined £20 and warned about his future conduct after he was caught ‘zig-zagging all over the place’ and ‘singing his head off’ on his Mountfield 1430M Lawn Tractor yesterday evening on the Clonfeacle Road.
Jordan, 44, has also been enrolled on a 6-week drink-awareness programme in the Moy in order to curb the desire to commit the same offence again. Strawberry pickers in an adjacent field alerted the police after they witnessed an inebriated man revving his lawnmower ‘a wee bit more than normal’. Sarah Mullan told us:
“I was picking away when I heard a loud engine sound flashing up the Clonfeacle Road. He must’ve been doing, say, 7mph like. Then the terrible truth was laid bare when I saw Jack, full out of his head on brandy probably, slurring his way through ‘The Black Velvet Band’ at the wheel of his Mountfield 1430M. I was at my wits end thinking of the damage he could do on that. Mrs Glackin up the road has a lovely bed of daisies outside her front hedge. Jack was capable of obliterating the whole lot in this form so I phoned the cops who arrived before any carnage was committed.”
Initially, Jordan defended the accusations vehemently, insisting that Mrs Hughes had just given him ‘a nip of the craytur’ for mowing her bushes in her back field. The breathalyser indicated he was 20 times over the tractor lawnmower limit after which he admitted he’d downed a bottle of Bush as well as a few ‘glasses of stout’ whilst making a hames of Hughes’ field.
“I was only making the short half a mile journey home sure on the Mountfield. All these bloody do-gooders in Benburb would sicken your happiness. That Mullan girl never liked my singing.”
Jordan will attend the lawn-mower drink-awareness programme after Easter and is at present the only person enrolled.
Cheap Cars For Sale In Greencastle. FSO Shipment Error.
100 left-hand drive FSOs for sale
All roads lead to Greencastle this weekend in what is sure to be one of the biggest bargain days of the calendar year at the foothills of the Sperrins. Car merchant and general wheeler and dealer, Diarmuid Donnelly, has promised to put an entire fleet of FSOs, the famous Polish car manufacturer, up for sale at half price following a fatal error in translation yesterday morning. Donnelly, who famously sold a decrepit Lada to the Vatican in 1986, stands to lose thousands of pounds on the transaction but feels he has little other option.
“Some handlin. I left our blade to do the bartering as she has an O Level in Latin in 1977. Last time I do that. I’d my eye on the Fabryka Samochodów Osobowych (FSO) motors for a long time now as they’re the type of cars that would look well on the roads around Greencastle. I ordered, or well Deirdre did, 100 of them in all kinds of colours. They arrived within hours on a boat from Poland. I nearly choked when I saw they were all left-hand drive. 100 left-hand drive FSOs! When I phoned up the Poles they were unrepentant, claiming that we didn’t stipulate it was Greencastle Co Tyrone, not Greencastle Co Donegal. I was still a bit confused but they put the phone down and I wasn’t paying for another phonecall. I’m in enough debt.”
The FSOs will sell at £3000 tomorrow in his big field, with first come first serve. Donnelly is expecting a quickfire sale:
“Hotcakes at that price. Fair enough the left-hand driving will be a bit of a bollox initially but I’ve asked the council if it’s OK to drive on whatever side of the road we want, maybe on the left at the weekends or something at that. The new roundabout planned for the top of the village can be driven around anti-clockwise and the other one at the bottom can be approached either clockwise or anti. I can’t see many problems, well no worse that the current standard of motoring around here.”
Gate opens at 7am.
Glenelly Fight Night Still Raging, Two Weeks On
The Glenelly Boxing By The River Fight Night, originally staged at the Mellon Country Hotel last weekend, is still raging on as four bouts have yet to witness a knock-out or retirement. Eight boxers from Glenelly, Gortin, Newtownstewart and Strabane have completed a total of 3022 rounds of fighting at the time of writing. The longest fight, involving Sheerin and McGlinchey, has just surpassed the 1000 rounds mark with ‘Give Em Hell’ McGlinchey finally showing signs of tiring today, day 12. Referee Leon McCaul insists it’s only a matter of time before Sheerin hits the canvas:
“You have to admire these lads. Sheerin had an advantage a couple of days ago when McGlinchey experienced a bit of a cold but a good sleep on Wednesday night saw ‘The Red Devil’ in fine fettle at the sound of the bell at 9am this morning. We normally call it quits at 7pm so the lads can go home, watch the soaps and refuel for the following day. I don’t think Sheerin will last that long today. He has only the one tooth left and has been blinded by the swelling since Sunday. It’s only one clean uppercut away.”
Other bouts have been less civilised. The McAnena fight has spilled onto fields in the surrounding area with members of both families taking welts out of each other on a daily basis as the main fight edges towards its conclusion. Local politician, Gary McVeigh, says the madness must stop:
“Ah come on now lads. What does it matter who wins now? McGinchey’s face is resembling his arse at this stage, and that’s not a sight women and children need to see. Tim Harney’s fight (round 886) is just a hugging match. It’s like the slow-set at Sense. Harney’s tongue is hanging out, for the love of God. This isn’t great for Glenelly’s image atall and our bid to host the paralympics in 2022.”
PaddyPower has suspended betting on the four remaining bouts after unconfirmed rumours suggest McGlinchey might take a dive in round 1011.
Poetry In Critical State In Tyrone. Valentine Competition “Cat”.
This year’s Tyrone Valentine’s Limerick Competition was the “worst standard in living memory” prompting the county council to write an email to all school headmasters to “up the literacy skills a notch” according to sources at the Clogher Poetry Society Headquarters.
The annual poetry competition attracts thousands of entries from single men from all over the county looking for a partner. The top three poems are read out at a dance in the Clogher Halls by the winning poets who usually head home with three women from the pack who gather to hear and inspect the talented wordsters.
“Eff me pink, it was cat altogther,” Henry Wisdom, chair of the Clogher Poetry society told us. “I had to wade through mountains of pure tripe. I’d reckon that 90% of the entrants managed to slip in farm machinery or drinking. One boy, from the Moy, was able to somehow rhyme ‘X Factor’ with ‘Caterpillar Track-Type Tricycle Tractor’. Romance is dead in Tyrone. I pity the women, I really do.”
Despite the falling standards, the panel eventually managed to narrow the entrants down to three, with “Ardboe Women” getting top honours for its depiction of a man sneakily looking at a naked woman around the Lough shore.
Winning entries below:
1ST PLACE – ARDBOE WOMEN: By James Devlin
It’s great to live in Ardboe
To Moortown I’d hate to go
The women here are fair
And great when they’re bare
Like my neighbour beside me on Sundays, ghost-oh
2ND PLACE – NICE STRABANE MAIDENS: By John McElhaton
The women in Strabane are wile nice
But there’s none I can entice
What’s wrong with me?
I’ve a diesel turbo SUV
I’d buy you a chicken fried rice
3RD PLACE – LONELY IN BRACKAVILLE By Godfrey Gillis
This year I hope someone says yes
Now that I’ve a permanent address
But, if you say no
I couldn’t stick the woe
And I’ll have to torch the buckin wedding dress (that I bought in the Island)
Time Ripe For A Carrickmore Pope Says Carrickmore PP
Fr Gormley this evening
Following the shock resignation of Pope Benedict today, Carrickmore PP Fr Colman Gormley (69) has gone on the offensive immediately with a series of twitter statements advocating the appointment of a Pope from the Carmen for the first time since Catholicism was invented thousands of years ago. Despite there having been no Irish Popes since St Peter got the first gig, Fr Gormley says that this should be no impediment to the drive for a Carrickmore Pope to shake up the whole Vatican movement.
“It’s about time, to be honest. We’ve had a black President of America, women prime ministers, a TV show called The Manageress in the 90s, Tyrone beating Kerry, men wearing skirts….why not a Carmen pope? Take me for example. I’m in my prime. I love pizza and at the sports day I travelled around the field standing up through the sunroof of the brother’s Mini Cooper, waving at the crowd. OK, it’d be a bit of a culture shock living in Rome but don’t forget, I did a stint in Loughmacrory in the 70s. I have big ideas too: twitter-style masses in 120 words or fewer; good looking Eucharistic Ministers; electro-dance homily music; altar boy reality shows where they are voted off by doing an average mass etc. I’m hoping to get a clipboard with pages for people to sign my petition.”
The Vatican refused to comment on Fr Gormley’s chances but did indicate that they were already in advanced negotiations with a young priest from Tattyreagh.
“It is Vatican policy not to comment on these things but Fr John Donnelly from Tattyreagh is at the top of his game. He did Stations of the Cross last year up in Glenelly in over two hours. That’s unavoidably impressive,” a member of the Holy See told us over the phone.
The Catholic Church have yet to rule out a Pope-Off mass competition at Edendork this weekend between Gormley and your man from Clonoe.
Out And About In Tyrone – The Horse Meat Debate
We visited the famous Augher cattle mart this morning to gauge opinions on the recent horse meat debate:
Is it that bad really? Sure in Asia they eat everything and them boys live til they’re 100. Listen, everything will run out eventually and our future generations will be eating each other to survive. I’d eat a man alright. FONZIE MCCLURE, CLONOE
Lucksee, I’ve begun thinking. Like, see them cows in the field, like, how do we know if they’re really cows like? What if they’re horses or zebras dressed up like cows? Them farmers are capable of anything. PADDY HARBINSON, ROCK
I was saying to the wife yesterday at the pictures. What’s in that popcorn? I’m prepared to question everything I eat now. Cream crackers – like is that cardboard or wood? I’ve long suspected an establishment in Omagh was passing off dirty water as Guinness. HARRY CULLEN, BERAGH
If I see one more horse joke on Facebook, i’ll not be responsible for my actions. SUSAN CASSIDY, COALISLAND
Spare a thought for Gavin Devlin. He must be sleeping with one eye open. He’d make one hell of a lasagne though. BRIAN MCIVOR, ARDBOE
What about the donkeys? They always get the raw deal. Even in a scandal like this, no one is thinking about the donkey. I’m sure ass meat tastes just as good too. There’s a marketing opportunity out there for ass burgers. You’ll find perverts buying them and all. MARY MUNROE, CARRICKMORE
East Tyrone Entrepreneur Invents Cow-Fuelled Vehicles
The future?
In an attempt to add a few more years onto our planet’s lifespan, Derrytresk entrepreneur Harry Campbell has revealed plans to run all motors east of Coalisland on cattle flatulence. Scientists have long suspected that the methane produced by windy cows could be put to a specific use but it has taken the unemployed Campbell, a former Miss World escort, to take the plunge which it is set to make the wacky inventor millions he thinks.
“There’s all this take of compressing methane gas for vehicle fuel but that just sounded like a racket to me to make money for compressing firms. I was driving down the Washingbay Road and the gas motor I have was starting to splutter. The fuel gauge had been running on empty for a couple of days and it was late evening. I just thought ‘feck this’ and drove straight through a hedge and parked beside a couple of cows. I had an oul bit of blue piping so I shoved one end up the cow’s backside and the other into my gas tank. Lo and behold the Datsun burst into life and she’s been running on that dose of methane for three weeks now. Look about you. Every field in the lowlands is full of cattle just staring at you like mobile fuel pumps. I’ve managed to convince a handful of locals to change to gas and their lives have been transformed. Deadly.”
Campbell has patented the bit of blue pipe and is selling it for a fiver outside Spring Island on most days. He is currently drawing up plans with local farmers to get makeshift lanes running into fields as well as some kind of pay scheme for the fuel which is proving difficult.
“Talks are on-going but some farmers are being a bit bollocksy about it. I’d suggested getting a 2-for-1 deal with the methane on one hand and a bit of hand-milking at the same time. £40 for a full tank and a pint of unpasteurised milk. We’ll get it ironed out. I’m also looking at potentially using cow dung as some kind of facial masks for women looking pampered.”
Cow-fuel is available in a field in Drummurrer this weekend.
Pomeroy Family To Quit The Village. Row Over 11+ Money.
Grimes, last night.
The family of Gregory Grimes, the first boy to achieve an A in the 11+ in Pomeroy since 1986, have said they’ll be gone from the village by the weekend and hope never to set foot amongst the “tightest shower in Ireland”. The remarkable turnaround by the Grimes’ seemingly surrounds the level of generosity in the village after young Gregory travelled from door to door last Saturday morning to inform the locals of his top grade in the ‘qualifying’ tests. Gregory’s father Kieran, a former A grade student himself and current Pomeroy tourism officer, claims they’ll never return to Pomeroy whilst there’s a breath left in his body:
“I loved Pomeroy. The mountains, the Diamond, Philomena Begley. We had it all. Well, all that’s wiped from my memory ever since young Greg, the first A in Pomeroy in 27 years, returned on his travels last Saturday with £3.56 in his pocket after telling his good news to 36 houses around the centre of the village. Three buckin fifty buckin six buckin pounds. Themuns couldn’t be happy for ye. The Kavanaghs down the road actually tapped him up for money for to pay the electricity meter. Paddy Devlin, and him a doctor too, gave him 11p after fumbling around in his suit jacket for fifteen minutes. The headmaster himself didn’t even open the door even though I could see him duking from the kitchen window and him boasting about our lad’s result at the shop this morning thinking he’s King Dick. What a begrudging, tight-fisted shower of glipes. Young Gregory, God bless him, was happy with the money and went out and bought a bottle of Lucozade and a giant Snickers. I’m not hanging around to count the pennies after his Confirmation. They can go and shite.”
No one from Pomeroy was prepared to officially comment on the Grimes’ plans to move off but the headmaster was reported to have said the following, on hearing about the A grade the previous night in the pub from the school secretary: “that wee Grimes lad needs taking down a peg or two. Who does he think he is? You’ll get nowhere reading books and spelling things correctly. He’ll be thinking he’s all it. We don’t need that sort in Pomeroy.”
The Grimes family are due to settle in Carrickmore.
DNA Results Indicate Ardboe Locals Emerged From Lough Neagh
Ardboe man, 1000 years ago
Rumours persisted this morning that an Ardboe man who bought a DNA-testing kit over the Internet from India is to release startling results after secretly collating DNA samples from most families in the area. Barman Josh Coney, who boasts of an unhealthy interest in dismembering rodents and small mammals for the craic, stealthily collected pint glasses from punters in the front bar of the clubroom and tested the samples in his makeshift lab down at the bottom room of his house. His scientific henchman, Kyle Devlin, leaked the news to an undercover reporter posing as a priest at confessions last weekend. The transcript makes for startling listening:
“Ghost-oh, we couldn’t believe the results when they filtered back from Bombay, Father. It torns out that all Devlins and Coyles are inextricably linked to the pollan fish. Pollan is a silvery trout-shaped fish, with a dark greeny-blue back and you can sort of see that sort of hue off both sets of families in the winter. They’d have big trouty pouts too. Then there’s the McGuigans. The man in India says they’re closely related to pike. Northern pike are most often olive green, shading from yellow to white along the belly. I used to curt one of the McGuigan girls and she definitely had a green tint off her torso and big pointy gnashers would be showing when angered. Finally, all the Quinns appear to have the same make-up of the eel. I’ve had a few Quinns working here and when I think of it they were long slippery boys too.”
Scientists believe that, centuries ago, local fish may have settled on the land. Evolution saw to it that they began to resemble mankind after dubious and unthinkable mating rituals, not uncommon in that part of the world, were carried out. They claim that it’s not beyond the realms of possibility that Ireland could have a multitude of Olympic swimming golds waiting to be mined if they can get a few from Ardboe to head up to the swimming pool in Magherafelt for a slapping about session.
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.
Carrickmore GAA To Tackle Ferocious Image. Plans For Pink.
In a bold attempt to rid the area of its teak-tough and uncompromising representation, Carrickmore officials project that their new initiatives will see tourism rise at least by 500% over the twelve months. Locals have long lamented the lack of visitors to the Carrickmore high street, a phenomenon explained away by the harrowing perception of people in the area created by rival parishes and certain sections of the media. It is claimed that 1956 was the last time anyone from outside the townland married into the traditional Carrickmore families of the Gormleys, McCallans, Munroes and Dalys. Businesses have suffered as people fear of having to deal with the now mythical ferocious women and men from the village.
In a bold move, Carrickmore officials have unveiled their new strip – an all-pink number with frilly lacings around the collars – to be worn by the senior side in league and championship in 2013. Buying into the whole “connotations of colours” philosophy, club offical Gab Gormley maintains it could be the making of Carrickmore as a community:
“Well, to be honest, something needed to be done. The Carmen was turning into the wild west, where folk feared to travel. I emailed Gok Wan for suggestions and he didn’t reply. So I asked a boy from down the road who knows about colours and stuff and he filled me in about this idea. I was a bit skeptical at first but thought ‘what the hell’. There was a bit of a mini-rebellion when I announced it at training last night and, understandably, the clubrooms were thrashed by angry players. My car was also set alight by a few senior lads who should’ve known better, but no matter. As soon as they see the men and wemen from other places coming here for a pint or a loaf of bread then they’ll know they played their part in changing the future of this great place. We will soon be building skyscrapers and hoarding asylum seekers. People will see Carrickmore as progressive and in touch with their feminine qualities.”
Carrickmore will play rivals Dromore in a friendly next month in what could be a testing first outing. A high profile inter-county defensive player, who does not wish to be named, was furious at the announcement:
Holy buckin Jaysus, we’ll be laughed out of it in places like Derrylaughan and Killyclogher. Pink, like. Any other colour maybe. The renowned green and gold will be no more. I can’t see how this will bring in tourists. We might get some kind of knitting convention or gay pride march in Carrickmore but that’s the best case scenario. They’ve made a hames of this. I can’t see Mickey Harte picking lads who play in pink.
Officials say they haven’t shelved plans of forcing all Carrickmore people to attend night classes in “the art of nose-blowing and coughing up stuff in public”.
New design for Carmen
New Runner In Mid-Ulster Election. 1-2-1 Interview with Seamie McCloy.
McCloy campaign poster
Tyrone Tribulations were delighted to be granted an exclusive interview with Seamie ‘The Red Boy’ McCloy, an independent candidate for the Mid-Ulster seat, from Galbally.
WHAT MAKES YOU AN IDEAL CANDIDATE FOR MID-ULSTER?
Well, lucksee, I’ve been living in Mid-Ulster since I was born. I know all the roads. Manys a night I walked every road on my way home from Clubland or Dormans or even the Cohannon Inn after a night on the tear. I know every pothole and sheuk. Molloy might be a Tyrone man but sure he spent half his time helping them Fermanagh ones. I’ll not be doing anything of the sort. I’m a pure bred Tyrone man.
BUT YOUR CONSTITUENCY COVERS DERRY?
What? Does it? Well, if I’m elected we’ll be seeing about that. And we’ll be taking all of Ballinderry back too. That’s not to say I don’t want them Derry wans not to vote for me. Far from it. Get me in and you get your Derry back for yourselves. Tyrone and Derry have no business mixing with each other. McGuinness was cute about that. He took over when Tyrone were going well and pretended we were all the one. Not any more. A vote for me is a vote for independence.
SO WHAT IS YOUR MANIFESTO?
What kind of question is that? I’ve nothing to hide.
SORRY, YOU MISUNDERSTAND ME. A MANIFESTO IS A DECLARATION OF INTENTIONS IF YOU’RE EVER VOTED IN.
So what are you saying? I’m not intending on anything. I’m open and transparent. You hacks are slippery wee bastards.
OK. IF YOU ARE VOTED IN, WHAT CHANGES WILL YOU MAKE?
That’s more like it. Well, I’ve already told you about the geographical changes. Secondly, I will lower taxes on alcohol, smoking as well as offering financial relief for those caught doing the double or mixing fuel or things like that. They’re the real issues in Mid-Ulster/New Tyrone. I’ll also be asking for permission to stop cops who are stopping cars looking to dip. Turn the tables on them so to speak. Like a new B Special gang under my control. We’ll police the police.
YOU DO REALISE YOU CANNOT LOWER TAXES? ONLY WESTMINSTER OR STORMONT CAN AFFECT THAT.
That’s what you think. Vote for me. Vote for change. Vote for standing up to the man.
OK. DO YOU THINK YOU CAN PULL IN ENOUGH VOTES TO OUST MOLLOY, MCGLONE AND FRAZER?
Them boys wouldn’t have the balls to attempt what I’m going to achieve if I get in. I’m proposing an extra day at the weekend, possibly moving Thursday between Friday and Saturday. The working week will be Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and then Friday. Mondays will also move between Tuesday and Wednesday once a month to give a four-day weekend of Thursday, Saturday, Sunday and Tuesday. You’d get some work done around the house that weekend and still have time for a game or two and a slap of pints. I’ll also be taking five minutes off the journey from Dungannon to Coalisland by allowing buses to fly down the Coalisland Road towards the Bush at any speed they want. I’m thinking of redesigning the graveyards in the constituency by adding spooky music at night in order to attract horror film producers etc. I’ve loads of great ideas like this boy. A tax on red-haired people and priests who take more than forty minutes for a mass.
WHAT ABOUT THE FLAGS ISSUE?
Pressed concrete flags don’t bother me. They’re great for hopscotch for the childer. Anyone tripping on flags just needs to watch where they’re walking.
HAVE YOU A CAMPAIGN MOTTO AND GAMEPLAN?
I’m going to give the people of Mid-Ulster an American-style experience. I’ll be using women in bikinis picked at random from the Dungannon swimming pool to flank me on road tours, probably in the Toyota Corolla shouting at Shinners or Stoops. I’m inviting Molloy to a head-to-head bare-knuckle boxing match down at the Washingbay to raise money for a badger crematorium in Stewartstown, powered by coal bought up at Cappers at Tamnamore. My motto is, “Vote McCloy X. He’ll buck it into them.”
Omagh Newspaper Staff Face The Sack. Hiding Culture Exposed.
Business editor hiding
The entire staff of an unnamed newspaper with offices based in Omagh are facing the axe after a rebel investigative journalist uncovered a culture of hiding from the boss whilst on duty. The renegade hack, a former employee of the newspaper group in question, managed to collate video and photographic evidence of the mass skiving which will form the basis of an exclusive documentary that will be aired on mainstream TV next summer.
“Finally got the bastards,” Deckie Brogan told us, “but I wasn’t aware at the extent of it all. I caught a Stewartstown employee, laden with awards and all, and he was hiding out in the boiler house behind the car park with a mattress, pillow and mini-TV with freeview. The owners thought he was out sourcing stories on farming. He was getting them on the Internet the night before. Then there was a boy from Beragh who was hiding behind a skip in the town when he was meant to be at football matches getting reports. He’d set an alarm to go off about fifteen minutes before the the end of the working day, check the scores on Twitter and go back to the offices looking foundered for effect. It was widespread.”
Fermanagh man Brogan will also relate the story of a Derry journalist who insisted on wearing dark glasses supposedly because of the glare of the screen. He simply slept with his hands on the keyboard. An Armagh employee, who was meant to be sourcing articles on fashion trends, would leave the office at half nine, check into the Silver Berch Hotel and read the Ulster Tatler for a few hours. One of the journalists who was caught redhanded admitted:
“Ah Jeepers, I’m done for now. It’s a sad state of affairs that a private sector worker can’t hide but that’s a sign of the times. I might as well get another job that I can do a bit of skiving in. Teaching maybe.”
The newspaper are asking readers to text in their choice as to who should be sacked first. Texts cost £2.
Brackaville Husband and Wife Still Arguing The Bit Out. Record Broken.
McAlindens arguing about wheaten bread
A Brackaville couple have set a Guinness World Record after a non-stop arguing session lasting nine days, breaking the previous record set in Brazillia in 1985. Felix and Marjorie McAlinden began arguing two weeks ago after Felix’s failure to bring home wheaten bread from the shops in Coalisland for the second time in a month. In a straw that broke the camel’s back, neighbours maintain that Marjorie let rip on Felix with an outpouring of grief encompassing incidents as far back as their honeymoon in Omeath 15 years ago. Next door neighbour, Gerry Turtle, says he heard the whole thing from the beginning.
“Before the wheaten incident, they seemed like the ideal couple. It was all smiles and hand-holding – something you don’t see a lot of in East Tyrone to be honest. Then, when Felix brought back the milk and firelighters but no wheaten, all hell broke loose. The walls are thin here. I could hear her tapping the table and then quietly, at first, saying “you good for nothing oul bollocks. That’s twice since Christmas. Wheaten f**kin bread. Milk, firelighters and wheaten f**kin bread.” It went on in that vein all night. It was savage stuff altogether, much worse than that couple in Fr Ted.”
The Brackaville community have welcomed the news, claiming one over Coalisland whose only world record was in 1982 when a young lad was judged to look the most like Shakin Stevens. Avid walker Pauline Herron told us:
“You should see the looks of the ‘Island ones. They won’t even talk to us now just because the McAlindens have put Brackaville on the world map. Shakin Stevens knows where he can shove it.”
Having been told by the Guinness company that they were now the record holders, the McAlindens ignored the accolade and continued to argue about Facebook and the fact that Marjorie keeps making Felix look at pictures of babies he doesn’t know.
Moy Pensioners Protest Over Tax Rise On Shortbread. Violent Scenes Ensue.
Henrietta Jordan during the riot
Chaotic scenes outside parliament buildings at Stormont this morning are being pinned on a group of Moy pensioners who boarded the 8:20 bus to Belfast in order to protest against proposed government taxes on shortbread. A visiting American delegate told CNN he just witnessed the ‘most savage group of elderly people he has ever encountered’ after being caught up in the crossfire as walking sticks, colostomy bags, false teeth and commodes were hurled at politicans from all parties as they made their way to work. Chad Hogan told CNN:
“Aw men, this was epic. I heard a group of yahooing elderly people coming up over the mound. Some were using motorized vehicles to help mobility, travelling at speeds of up to 7mph. They got up as far as the parliament front door before hurling all sorts of archaic instruments at anyone they saw who wore a suit or frock. Urine crashed against the vehicle carrying the First Minister. Awesome. They weren’t streetwise down-town pensioners either. These were real country hicks. They must’ve been aged between 77-90 and I’m told they were wearing Tyrone or Moy vests. One female threw a bag of boiled sweets and a ham sandwich at an SDLP delegation. You know what, they won me over. Lower taxes on shortbread, dudes.”
The First Minister and his Deputy are currently locked in a cupboard just inside the foyer after the Moy terror gang stormed the building, looking for a nice cup of tea and a Rich Tea after their long journey from the Moy. Robinson and McGuinness are said to be contemplating staying in there for the forseeable future or until a few of the rioting elderly keel over. 86-year old Moy woman Henrietta Jordan says they’re going nowhere:
“This is part of a systematic attack on the elderly in and around the Moy. Take shortbread out of our daily lives and all we have is Hugo during the week and Gay Byrne on a Sunday. We’re not in much of a rush home as the bingo isn’t til Wednesday. We will get what we want as soon as one of us remembers why we are here again. You’re a nice young man. What’s my name?”
The PSNI are said to be attempting to lure the aged Moy protesters out of the buildings with the prospect of scones, Christmas cake and a copy of the Ireland’s Own.
Loughshore Metal Detecting Fanatic Digs Up Derrytresk Pitch
Jim Scott yesterday
Senior County Board officials were called to Derrytresk late last night to mediate in a stand-off between the club’s committee and Jim Scott, a well known metal-detecting expert from the area. Scott, of no fixed abode, has refused to stop digging until he finds whatever is making his metal-detector ‘bleep like feck’. With the county league not scheduled to start for another two months, time is on the side of the mediators although the hole is now said to be deep enough to comfortably hold a JCB or three tall men standing on top of each other. Our reporter descended into the pit to get Scott’s version of the fall-out:
“I was just dandering about the roads with my trusty metal detector and thought I’d try the Hill’s field as it probably hasn’t been covered before. It was near midnight and I hadn’t detected anything since 2009 so I wasn’t expecting much. Then sure didn’t the thing start bleepin like a bollocks around the middle of the field. I had a spade down the back of my trousers so I started digging. 24 hours later I’m still digging and she’s still bleepin away. I’m not stopping til I find out what’s causing it. There’s talk of some boy Hughie or something who might have buried is savings here. Or maybe it’s the cup from 1955 that no one has seen. I’ll be here a while.”
Derrytresk committee spokesperson, Kieran Fitzpatrick, admits that the situation is critical now.
“Jaysus it’s a farce now. The hole is so deep that all we can see is the shine off his wee baldy head when he takes his cap off. It’s the batteries on his detector that’s causing the bleeping. Wee Jim won’t hear of it though. 2009 is a long time ago but he needs to admit defeat on this one. We’re just afraid he’ll come out the other side in New Zealand or something. Then there’s the hole itself. If we play around it it’s possible but sometime surely someone high-profile like the Hub or Dooher will fall into it and we’ll be in for some claim then. There’s nothing there. All Hughie’s stuff is gone. I know that for a fact.”
With snow forecast for later, officials are hoping he’ll stop the digging and head on.
