Killyclogher Man Destroys Supermarket Butter Section, Arrested
A prominent Killyclogher businessman was arrested late last night after rampaging through his local supermarket, at one stage attempting to urinate on particular brands of butter. In an apparent revenge mission for Kerry’s defeat of Tyrone a couple of months earlier, Terence McNabb (45) singled out Kerrymaid, Kerrygold and Kerry Low Low Cheese for particular abuse. An elderly shopper witnessed the vicious attack:
I was browsing through the toilet roll section when I heard a man screaming bad things from another aisle. I looked over to see what the commotion was about and there was a middle-aged man with a Tyrone GAA jersey on him and he was scooping out the butter from various tubs and rubbing it over his face, body, walls and floor. He was shouting things like ‘take that yiz Kerry Nazi hoors’ and ‘you’ll be getting no sales here’ and sort of laughing manically.
Butter Before Attack
Supermarket security arrived just in time as McNabb was unbuttoning his trousers in preparation for urinating on the now-empty butter containers. After an initial struggle, the business hotshot, who had been drinking all weekend whilst watching reruns of the fateful game in Killarney, was escorted off the premises as he shouted abuse at the workers, telling them they were ‘no Tyrone people at all stocking that effin shite’.
The PSNI arrested McNabb for what a spokesman called ‘the last straw’. It emerged that McNabb had earlier sent abusive twitter messages to Kerry Katona, Jim Carey and Paul Galvin before running at, and kicking into the air, a neighbour’s Kerry Blue terrier.
Terence McNabb awaits trial.
Tyrone Lonely Hearts Club Notices
Caring black-headed Cappagh man, 55, stout, likes Glenroe, water, Hungarian poetry, ladybirds, grass, medicine. Heavy drinker. Seeks relatively plump and rich woman (40-70) for long-term friendship. Must relocate to Cappagh and be comfortable with rows.
Attractive red-haired Omagh woman, 65, winner of Miss Tattyreagh 1975, seeks big strong man who is not afraid to cry and likes to listen to Eileen Donaghy records and drink late into the night. Strong stomach required.
Brocagh woman, well built, 61, bit mad (hears voices), seeks caring, strong man who is comfortable dunging out the house. Personal hygiene not important. Time wasters will be hurt.
Bitter Ardboe man, 77, small, slightly stooped, recently divorced from wife of 40 years, would like to meet caring, honest lady, if any exist in this cruel county of hatchet-faced bitches.
Bad tempered, foul-mouthed old bastard, 71, living in a damp cottage in the arse end of Loughmacrory, seeks attractive 21 year old blonde lady, with a lovely chest.
Satan-worshipper, Gortin area, 51, seeks like-minded lady, for eating and drinking, bit of craic, groping, romantic walks, and slaughtering animals in cemeteries at midnight under the murky light of a pale moon.
Optimistic Moortown farmer, 45, seeks a blonde 20 year old flexible model, who owns her own brewery, and has an open-minded twin sister.
Active Drumragh grandmother (81), with original teeth, seeking a young man (21-35) to share steaks, corn on the cob and ice cream.
Greencastle male, 1942, high mileage, good condition, some hair, many new parts including hip, knee, cornea, valves. Isn’t in running condition, but walks well. Seeks any woman who’s happy to clean me out as I hurtle towards the grim-reaper.
Killyman Postman Fails To Deliver Letter Correctly For 77th Time
Popular Killyman postman, Nat McVeigh, was tonight considering tendering his resignation to Royal Mail after failing to deliver the same letter to the correct address for the 77th time earlier today. The letter, believed to be a Littlewoods catalogue bill, has been processed so many times now as “Return To Sender” that the address is almost impossible to make out now.
“It’s like some kind of mental block and it’s destroying me. I deliver the letter and two days later it’s back in my sack again having been recycled through the whole system. My wife says I’m a hateful balax at the best of times but my constant dark mood is making life unbearable at home for everyone. I can’t count the amount of times I’ve sent the cat soaring through the Killyman air at 6pm as I walk though my gate.”
Postman McVeigh on a typical Killyman day
The address which just states ‘Mrs McVeigh, Laghey Road’ happens to be the same road the experienced postman lives on, alongside four other houses all owned by unrelated McVeighs. Killyman is a quiet hamlet and sometimes the mysterious letter is the only mail to be delivered throughout the week.
“I just cannot fathom it. I’m sure I’ve delivered it to each of the other houses at least four times each. Mattie McVeigh at number 3 is getting pretty angry. He warned me that if I deliver it again he’ll blow my brains out. It’s a treacherous job now. I joked with the wife yesterday that maybe it’s our bill. She laughed at me, dressed in a new silk petticoat and diamond slippers, and said we couldn’t be affording Littlewoods stuff before running off to do something important.”
McVeigh will attempt his 78th delivery tomorrow with a special mass celebrated that morning for his intentions.
Beragh Man With No Insurance Repeatedly Fools PSNI For 13 Years
A Beragh entrepreneur boasted yesterday of his ability to drive with no insurance, tax and ‘hardly any suspension on her’ since 1999. Paddy Jacobs, a clown/street entertainer in the area, has decided to ditch the motor for a new mountain bike he bought at a car boot sale in Trillick last week.
“Sure I’d only be traveling as far as Omagh or Cookstown for some child’s birthday party and the bike will do the same job. I was getting tired of hoodwinking the cops anyway. It’s time to come clean.”
Jacobs’ motor car.
Jacobs said he was often stopped by the police at the bottom of his loanan or on the Sheboy Road. He thinks they were sure there were no documentation for the vehicle he was driving and suspicious that there was no suspension at all.
“I’d see them rubbing their hands as I approached, like as if they’d finally got their man now. Sparks would be flying from the back of the Datsun. I’d be all nice and give them my faded licence. As they were squinting to make out my name and address, I’d quietly lift the mobile phone and phone the police to say that there was an on-going robbery somewhere close by. I was whispering like. It’d be phoned through to the cop in front of me and he’d be away like a shot. I’d just wind her up and drive off. I did the same trick over 300 times.”
Jacobs claims he’d change the nature of the prank phone call each time, from a bank heist to sheep rustling.
“There was one time they arrested the parish priest because I phoned through that he was leering at the female cooks in the school canteen. He was in the middle of devotions when they nabbed him and still took him to Omagh barracks. It got a bit silly at the end. I recently fooled them into driving to find a well because I said someone was pishing into it. There is no well in Beragh.”
The Beragh entertainer says he’ll not be getting a helmet for the bike and doesn’t know what an MOT certificate looks like.
Fintona Family Outfoxed Planning Officers And Built Castle
Furious Fintona officials are frantically foraging through a forest of forms to see if they can knock down a castle built under their noses in the outskirts of the village. The discovery was made when the local postman, who had been delivering bills to 1 Castle Lane since 2008, consumed ‘several pints of the hard stuff’ and was overheard by a government official talking about ‘the bastard of a dog’ at Mangan’s castle. An immediate investigation discovered a fortified building with 30-foot wide moat surrounding all sides which had been hidden from the road by a tower of bales.
Fintona’s latest Castle
Fintona Planning Chief Officer Mary Mopper told us:
“To be honest, we’re a bit red-faced about this. How they managed to build at 200-foot high castle with a tower-bridge and dungeon under the tower is beyond us. On one level it’s a remarkable achievement. On another, we’ll crush it. They’ll be back in a caravan by Christmas.”
The owner, self-styled Lord Horace Mangan, believes he has nothing to fear.
“The law states that they cannot do anything about it if they’ve not known about it for at least three years. They deserve it, the stupid bastards. We’ve managed to hire 40 butlers, 20 slaves and 3 jesters, all from the area, as well as imprisoning a few local bucks in the dungeon who were making too much noise in the Main Street at night. Sure half of Fintona were drinking in the Castle Tavern. We even fired a canon ball one night.”
The Planning Officers are planning to lay siege to the castle at the weekend but rumours persist that an army of 300 Fintonians are prepared for battle from the fighting platforms and projecting towers.
Edendork Family Had a ‘Decent Summer’
A respected Edendork family yesterday claimed to have had a “decent summer altogether at home, boys” amid confusing scenes outside the Dungannon Jobs and Benefits Office in Dungannon. The remarkable admission left fellow ‘Dorks perplexed and doubtful of their honesty following the 22nd horrible holiday season in a row in the townland and surrounding areas.
Summer was tough in Edendork
Mr McAnoy, a retired butcher and avid kite flyer, told his fellow jobseekers that he’d had enough of God and the climate and decided to take on the Irish weather head-to-head.
“We were looking out the window every morning and sure it was lashing down. We’d send the children (six daughters, 2 sons) out into the rain anyway but sure they were miserable just standing there quietly in the field, drenched, crying and too cold to move. After the third bout of pneumonia we decided to take matters into our own hands.”
Jim McAnoy came up with the genius plan to throw the whole lot into the car and drive to where it wasn’t raining, within a twenty mile radius of Edendork. Although the mileage was astronomical over time, McAnoy claims a great time was had by all.
“There were days we’d only have to go as far as Coalisland to beat the rain-clouds for a few minutes. If the wind wasn’t too bad, I’d overtake the clouds no bother. As soon as we’d reach the Lineside, out would come the beach balls, deck chairs, lotion and sandwiches. It was great craic. I admit there were times when we’d just got the stuff out of the boot and it’d be pishing down again which would result in a massive row between myself and herself and long periods of silence in the motor but there were fleeting moments of happiness.”
McAnoy claims the highlights included reaching Cabragh and it not raining for 25 minutes. In that time, they managed to fit in an ice cream, a game of Monopoly and had stripped off to their trunks before the heavens opened.
“I’m proud that the children can go back to the school and write the essay ‘What I did In The Summer’ with confidence and pride now. That is, apart from Tom and Catherine who are still recuperating from the early onset of arthritis. We’ll probably go to Peru next year though”
Castlederg To Host Cross-Community Paramilitary Games
The Castlederg Community Project have moved to cash-in on the feel-good factor following the Olympic and Paralympic Games in London by announcing the inaugural 2012 Paramilitary Games. In a concerted effort to develop community relations on both sides of the divide, all paramilitary groups will be invited including the UDA, PIRA, RIRA, CIRA, RHD, UFF, DAAD, UVF, INLA, LVF and the OV.
“We’re really excited to be invited”, the INLA claimed through a coded telephone call. “We’ve been practicing the shot putt for ages now and have high hopes of at least a bronze medal. We hear that the UVF have a few big men but it’s all about how you perform on the day up in Castlederg.”
Paramilitary Games Promotional Photoshoot
All participants are required by the recently drawn-up rules to wear balaclavas and wooly jumpers which does present a problem for the swimming competition. The RHD were a little worried about the strict dress code:
“That is a bit of a hindrance alright. The lads have been out in Belfast Lough practicing in their work clothes so we’re confident we can adapt to conditions. There has been a recent shipment of skin-tight balaclavas from China which will give us an advantage over the provos who still use the 1980s model. The River Derg can be treacherous”
Those attending the opening ceremony in the ‘Derg will witness an array of musical acts including The Wolfe Tones, The Shankill Accordian Band and Willie McCrea who will sing the Games’ anthem called “I hae a leanin’ twards the Laird, bein’ a Christian” in Ulster Scots. The £10 firework display has been cancelled due to concerns about the sound it makes.
Killeeshil Boiler Engineers Protest At Clean Oil
A rally was held tonight in the centre of Killeeshil after it emerged that local boiler servicers have been left twiddling their thumbs as most oil companies decide to go legit and deal only in clean oil. Up until early 2012, dirty oil meant the money rolled in on a regular basis for the Corgi Registered handy men with boilers often bursting into flames. Oil companies themselves were benefitting from mixing the home heating oil with water, cooking oil and general dirt with 50 gallons magically expanding to over double that.
“I don’t know what they think they’re at,” Paddy Morgan told us. “When you think of the severe winters recently coupled with the crap substandard oil swishing around it, we were more important than God. We were worshipped. Our phones would be red-hot from October til April with all manner of boiler problems. The oil men themselves were getting some mileage out of their stuff my throwing in sorts of nonsense into it. I knew of a man near Eskra and he’d even get his workers to urinate into the oil tanks at his garage. It was a win-win situation for all.”
Once happy Killeeshil boiler engineers
In a sudden pang of guilt, most companies have mysteriously decided to go clean and dish out only 100% pure oil, leaving the boiler men up in arms.
“Those money-grabbing wasters are thinking only of themselves and their so-called conscience all of a sudden. Well, what about us? We have mouths to feed too and the skulduggery was doing that for years. Bastards the lot of them. I blame religion”
Remarkably, the protesting servicers were joined by members of the public in an unlikely show of solidarity. One frail, elderly man remarked:
“I miss it you know. I miss the fear that at any given moment the boiler might blow itself up because of the amount of shite in the oil. When you add in the freezing minus 10 conditions and the chance that it’d be lights out for an old man like me with circulation problems at the best of times, the buzz I got from the possibly devastation kept me going. Now I know it’ll be chugging away smoothly in the morning. It’s a bit boring to be honest.”
Rumours that a dissident Boiler Men group have been going around sabotaging boilers is, so far, unfounded.
Derrylaughan Woman Implicated In Turf War
The mystery of the missing turf from McAliskey’s rampart appears to be nearing its conclusion with the revelation that a local woman has been monitored early each morning walking ‘oddly’. A reported £48 worth of turf has been stealthily removed from the McAliskey land over the past three months with various families at war over rumours, speculation and random accusations. A violent field fight during the Washingbay Sports last month resulted in hospitalisations for the majority of the McNulty, Robinson, McAliskey and McGrath families from the area.
McAliskey, yesterday
However, it appears that a small piece of investigative journalism work has moved the conundrum towards the finishing line. 16-year old Gerdy Wallace takes up the story:
“I’d been taking the ass out for a walk every morning at 6 because it gets little real exercise during the day. Each morning, I’d meet Anna Cushnahan and thought no more of it. We’d nod our heads and just say ‘rightly’. However, I did notice she seems to have a bit of a limp. After a week I asked her if the legs were hurting. She told me to mind me ‘own effing business ye wee runt’. “
Suspicious, Wallace from then on kept a good eye on Cushnahan as she approached. He thought he spotted strands of turf root hanging from under her dress. He also noticed her hands were filthy and her backside seemed rather bulky as she passed.
“I can’t be sure but I’m almost certain that Anna has been stuffing two, possibly three, sods of turf down her knickers every morning. My da told me that her great great grandfather was caught stealing about a pound’s worth of peat on the same patch of land in 1856 not too long after the famine and was transported to Van Dieman’s Land.”
Cushnahan refused to comment but a loyal neighbour said that Anna’s clan always had a strange walk, “like a drunk peacock.”
Brackaville Woman Gives Husband Pasta
Brackaville, an outer-Coalisland nether region that most people just drive through, was awash with rumour last night that one of their favourite sons didn’t get his Kerr’s Pinks after work. Patsy Rea, an aged Brackaville labourer, was expecting his daily dose of potatoes, cabbage and bacon but was reportedly furiously enraged to be faced with a plate of curly pasta and a mild salsa sauce. In an attempt to ‘get with the times’, his wife Maisie dished out the unique meal shortly after the Angelus on the wireless, having watched ‘one of them cooking programmes’ on RTE earlier in the day.
“Ask any man”, Rea told us, “and he’ll tell you that all a brickie thinks about from 3pm onwards is the big feed a spuds. It’s what keeps ye going. Like today I was digging a hole again. I’ve been digging the same hole for three months now. To come home after that and to have to look at this oul hatchet-faced bitch is one thing but then to be presented some some kind of foreign shite on a plate. Well, no man could take that.”
Patsy Rea on the rampage
Neighbours reported that Rea went into a frenzied rage through all the gardens in the estate, pulling trees and plants out by the root and shouting obscenities directed at his wife and life in general.
“I was frightened at first”, one neighbour told us. “We had just sat down to watch The One Show after a tremendous gorge of Greek spuds. Out of the side of my eye I saw my wife’s prize dahlias soaring through the sky. I headed out to give Patsy a good hiding until he told me about the pasta. Sure it’s like a death in the family. I couldn’t even imagine his resentment and I can tell you now – I’d completely wreck Brackaville and half of Coalisland if I was given a plate of that shit.”
Rea eventually calmed down and ate the pasta, claiming afterwards that “it wasn’t bad.”
More Sober than Drunk in Kildress for First Time
Kildress teachers, first day back
The Tyrone Pioneers’ Association released their annual sobriety statistics yesterday with the highlights including a higher number of sober men that those permanently drunk in Kildress for the first time since records began in 1909. This startling stat comes as no surprise to the housewives of the area who have put in a sustained and sterling effort since 2010 in order to dry out their husbands, boyfriends, fathers and sons.
Mrs McGurk told the Tyrone Tribulations office:
“You notice the difference. In the past the bin-men, plasterers, joiners, sparks, doctors, teachers and priests were all too drunk to do their jobs successfully, or even at all. There was rubbish all over the fields, houses were dilapidated, no electricity for weeks, women being misdiagnosed as pregnant when they’d just put on beef, children running wild on top of school buildings and no masses. The place was a no-go for tourists. BBC were coming here to film footage and pretend it was Africa for their news programmes. A couple of years ago the women of Kildress decided enough was enough.”
McGurk was at the forefront of the ‘Wolfe-Tone Wicked Women’ (WWW) movement which met once a month to share stories about controlling their men, mostly through violence. The first sign that things had turned the corner was when the postman was getting some of the letters delivered correctly. The proof was in the pudding and with the news that 51% of Kildress men are sober at 6pm every day, Mrs McGurk feels the initiative was vindicated but asked women to remain vigilant.
“This is just the start. We can’t allow ourselves to become complacent. Instead of a pat on the back after yesterday’s announcement, I gave my husband an unmerciful hiding last night for just mentioning the word ‘stout’. Next year we want the percentage up again.”
One male source, who did not wish to be named, laughed at the figures released, claiming that a new Russian vodka was virtually undetectable. He told us, “we’ll alwaysh be one shhtep ahead of the wemen. Themsh Portuguese boysh collecting the bins”.
Urney Mule Talks
Urney woke this morning to the sensational news that a mule in the field beside the shop possibly spoke to a tourist last night, shortly before midnight. The startling claim was made by Lithuanian clown assistant Mustafa Lukatit who was making his way home to Glenelly by foot from Strabane after a children’s party.
“I was just taking in the manure-ridden scenery on the way back from Glenelly when I heard it. At first I thought it was the mind playing tricks but as I turned I saw the mule looking straight at me with sad eyes, waiting for a reply.”
Smoking Urney Mule?
Lukatit marched straight into the local public house, ordered a half’un and spilled the beans to the only other man in the pub, Fr Jake McGraw, the local curate, who in turn paid for the drink.
“Fr McGraw was well-oiled but when he heard the story he staggered out towards the field and began exorcising the mule, gathering water from the shuck, blessing it and then flinging the stuff straight at the Equus Asinas. I felt a bit bad about the whole thing as I couldn’t be sure if I’d heard anything at all. But it definitely looked at me like it had said something.”
When asked what the mule had said, Lukatit was evasive and said it might have “asked for a light“. When it was pointed out that local hobo Francey O’Hagan always lay in the ditch at that exact point, the Lithuanian became aggressive, accusing the journalist of “asking too many effin questions” and retorted that Urney was a “munchie shit-hole of a place” and that he’d not be recommending it to the Lithuanian community back home in eastern Europe. Whilst walking off he added that it was common for mules to smoke on the continent.
Clonoe Girl Sparks Security Alert
An 11-year old Clonoe pupil almost single-handedly suspended Stormont and left the Peace Process in tatters after writing an essay on her first day at St Joseph’s Secondary School in Coalisland. In an initiative to help soften attitudes towards the police in the area, the PSNI were invited to judge an essay-writing contest on day one of the 2012/2013 school year. Entitled ‘My House’, Maire McClure thought she’d a good chance of clinching the award only to be whisked away by the officers in attendance in an armor-plated jeep.
The Tyrone Tribulations office were able to get a photocopy of the first few sentences.
“Hello, my name is Maire McClure. I live in a terrorist house. All the houses around me are terrorist houses. All my friends live in terrorist houses too. My father says he was brought up in a terrorist house and will die in one too as it’s all he knows. Most of Clonoe live in terrorist houses.”
It wasn’t until the Deputy First Minister arrived on the scene that the incident was finally resolved. Maire’s mother quietly intimated to Martin McGuinness that young Maire was a chronic speller and was actually commenting on her ‘terraced’ house and surrounding houses of similar build. Maire’s father and neighbours were released without charge and Maire pledged to stay behind for the rest of the week to get extra help.
Artist’s impression of Clonoe
Loughmacrory Man Caught With Clear Diesel
Shamed Loughmacrory surgeon Peter Whittle has vowed to clear his name after being accused of using clear diesel in his Vauxhall Zafira on the Omagh to Cookstown road last month. In the first of its kind in the greater Loughmacrory area, Whittle was dipped as he made his way to Cookstown to buy a pair of ill-fitting jeans for a dance from a Pakistani merchant on one of the stalls at the world-famous market, and was found to be completely innocent.
“I was being flashed at by cars for about half a mile so I slowed right down to 80 thinking them bastards had the hair drier out. It wasn’t until the traffic came to a standstill that I realised they were dipping. My life flashed before my eyes as I knew I was on the clear, legit stuff.”
Whittle was clean, unfortunately
For fear of serious slagging if the word ever got out, the Loughmacrory medic tried everything to convince the PSNI that he was a hardcore red-diesel dealer in order to save face.
“I threw everything at them. I even gave them the address of my farmhouse hidden around the back of my garage which is packed to the rafters with red, green and all manner of dyed fuel even though I own no agricultural machinery at all. I fix legs for feck sake. I also admitted I was making poitin and was, in fact, half-cut at the time. They just laughed and said ‘you’re clean’ and told me to drive on. Most of Loughmacrory were pulled over at the side of the road and getting details taken. They just shook their heads as I drove past. I was mortified. In order to mend my family’s fine name, never again will I go legit.”
Whittle’s immediate family refused to comment but one uncle did remark that he wasn’t surprised at the news as “young Peter was always a bit odd like that. The sort of boy who never worked whilst signing on. Wouldn’t marry the cousin. His shame knows no bounds.”
Pomeroy Man Gets Colonic Irrigation By Mistake – Didn’t Like It
Pomeroy professional funeral-wailer Denver Douglas has managed to get his life back to some semblance of normality after a terrible mix-up with his GP led to a rectum-cleaning marathon for the 66-year old. In what turned out to be a comedic/almost tragic turn of events, Douglas ended up in the clinic bent over after a short conversation about what he believed to be personal farming problems with Dr Devlin, the local GP since 1944.
“I was saying to the doctor that I was having cramps because the crop of strawberries was terrible this year. That bollox Devlin recommended irrigation and I thought he was talking about field drainage. Little did I know he was thinking of my bowels and sticking a hose up me to clane her out. I said I’d be on for that alright and he told me to call around tomorrow to the clinic for a chat about it.”
The room where the cleansing was performed
Things got out of hand when Dr Devlin ran at Douglas when he came in with a tranquilizing needle to sedate him in case he backed down.
“I thought I was there to see plans for a new drainage system. The next thing I knew I was bent over the desk with Devlin shoving a 20-inch garden hose up my passage and told the nurse to turn her up to the hilt. I was too far gone with the injection to resist. I didn’t like it. I was like that for 2 hours, dignity gone completely like. That nurse would be a niece of mine and she didn’t need to see that side of me.”
Despite the trauma, Douglas says he’s never felt better and apologises to Dr Devlin for shattering his left jaw in three pieces when he came round. He has promised to wail loudly at Devlin’s funeral, free of charge.
Brocagh Man Admits To Having TV Licence
A Brocagh badger-catcher has stunned the loughshore diaspora when he admitted after a few pints in the Emmets clubrooms that he has a TV licence at home sitting on the mantlepiece. The astonishing admission came after a truth or dare session between a few men and women after a local bowling club dinner dance. In surreal scenes later that night, over a dozen drunken locals arrived at Pat Bucker’s abode looking to see proof of the remarkable claim.
Barman at the Emmets told our reporter:
“There was just a bit of craic going on, you know, the same oul shit-talk. Women were standing up saying mad things like they used to wink at the priest in the front row at Mass to see if he’d drop the chalice or the like. It was harmless stuff. The bowling captain has just admitted that he cleaned his arse one time with the Irish News and still read it after, when Bucker got up and shouted ‘I have a TV licence’. There was a stunned silence. Pint glasses crashed to the ground. One elderly woman fainted into the PP’s arms. I almost soiled myself. We’d never heard the like around Brocagh.”
Will this man venture into Brocagh?
There was disbelief as people waited to be told by Bucker that it was a wind-up. When it became clear that the badger-killer was serious, things threatened to turn ugly.
“Men were needing to be held back. Chairs were crashing through the window. I thought fatalities were a cert at one stage. A biggish dog was kicked straight at Bucker. Men and women were very angry that Bucker had gone against a century-long tradition in the area and that he was showing the lot up with his lawful compliance.”
Temperatures soon cooled afterwards when they visited the Bucker household for proof. Mrs Bucker answered the door and when told of the commotion she ordered her husband to “get the feck up thon stairs” and that the licence on the mantlepiece was actually the instructions for assembling the TV bracket on the wall that “the lazy good-for nothing drunken clift hadn’t even attempted since we got it a year ago“.
Omagh Banshee Retires
One of the last banshees in the county, the Omagh Banshee, yesterday announced her retirement from general ghouling and wailing in the Omagh area after weeks, if not months, of unsuccessful spooking at night. The ‘woman of the fairymounds’ had serviced the greater West Tyrone area since the Battle of the Yellow Ford in 1598 before concentrating on the county’s capital after the Home Rule Bill of 1886. Recently, though, she had been making sporadic appearances as rumours persisted of ill-health and deteriorating mental capacities.
“The time has come to hang up the comb,” the Omagh Banshee (known as the Oul Hoor in Omagh) told us on a frequency picked up on an old CB. “People are living longer and I’m sitting there whiling away the time hoping for an illness or two to savage a family. There bes days when I just take a chance and yap away outside a house in the hope that by sheer luck someone croaks it. Taking those chances were wrong and I’m just another failed run-of-the-mill mythological Irish spirit”
The Oul Hoor, depressed, yesterday
The Oul Hoor has been suffering greatly from arthritis because of the recent wet summers, making her existence a miserable all-year round affair now.
“It’s just not worth it. My once frightening keen is now like a kettle whistling. The young’uns just fire bottles and shoes at me as they see all the horror movies they want now. I’m just a joke to them. I blame the parents. In their day all I had to do was leave a comb lying about and they’d have nightmares for months. The only way to frighten youngsters now is to steal their computer games or iPhones. I might be a maggot-ridden fictional miserable old woman, but I’m not a thief.”
The Oul Hoor plans to spend her retirement playing bowls and hanging out with Finn McCool, Cathleen Ni Houlihan and Cuchulainn.
“I Landed On Moon First”, claims Stewartstown Farmer
Was a Stewartstown farmer on this?
A Stewartstown pig-farmer has stunned the astronomical world by claiming that he was the first man to set foot on the moon and not the recently deceased Neil Armstrong. Mr Felix Philpot, originally from Coagh, went even further and cast doubts as to whether the Americans were on it at all. Philpot, who rents pigs to poor homeowners who can’t afford to own a normal pet like a cat, made the startling claim in Maguire’s butchers in the middle of the town.
“All this talk about Apollo this and Buzz Adrin that has sickened me to the balls. I made it to the moon in 1967 before the Yanks or Russians could consider it. Myself and the brother Tomas were messing around in the shed with the lawn mower when the thought hit me. Why not point the mower upwards, build an aluminium cage around it, get a few of those experimental jet-propelled rockets I’d bought the previous year from China and see how far she goes.”
Philpot claims he made ‘a dozen spud dinners and wrapped them in tinfoil, 5 or 6 packets of Rich Tea, a gallon of tea in flasks, a toilet roll and the paper’ before setting off on his journey alone as Tomas watched from below.
“It was a bit of a handlin at the start with the radiation belt almost blinding me 25’000 miles up but once she settled and the oil was massaging the engine, it was shoe to the burd til I landed on the moon that night. I kept er lit as they say”
Felix described the moon as a ‘lonely, desolate and scary’ place but recalls seeing some wildlife on it, casting doubt on Armstrong’s claims.
“There’s no way Neil could have missed the serious amount of Corncrakes flying about. The ground was sandy, not powdery as he said. I’d wonder where they there at all.”
Tomas, when contacted, cast doubts on Felix’s achievement.
“Will ye wise the head for feck sake. He went up about 100 feet and landed in the big sandpit at Tullyhogue. Our boy’s a total head-case. A nut-job. Just ask about”.
Philpot claims he left a reminder up there for future generations to recognise his achievement. “I was dying to go to the toilet and the lunar module was half a mile away, so I let rip in the middle of the Sea of Tranquility. The boyo is still probably sitting there.” The mystery remains.
Cookstown Man Doesn’t Like Sausages
Outrage and anger engulfed Cookstown last night after a 66-year-old man was heard to say he didn’t like sausages. The remarkable outburst occurred as an elderly woman sauntered past Sheehy’s Chippy on Sunday morning after visiting her uncle and overheard a discussion between a Brazilian tourist and local man Seamy Gas.
Mary Mulligan told us:
My hearing aid had been turned up as my 115-year old uncle can hardly speak, so I heard the whole lot. The foreign lad was asking if this was where George Best ate his sausages. Seamy shrugged his shoulders and I distinctly heard him say “sure how would I know, I hate the hoors”. He then gave him the middle finger.
As the man says….was Bestie wrong?
Mulligan told anyone she met for the remainder of the journey of what happened, even knocking on the doors of families she didn’t know. Within an hour, up to 1000 men, women and children formed a mob and stormed through the centre of the town holding lighted blackheads and carrying banners with slogans such as ‘sausages are deadly’ or ‘you’re fuckin dead meat, Seamy’.
Late last night Mr Gas was holed up in his flat outside the Greenvale with over 5000 protesters gathered on his lawn and back field. The police refused to intervene with one PSNI constable telling us, “you reap what you sow. He has made his own bed. If there’s a riot, there’s a riot”. Mr Gas’s lawyer has issued a statement claiming Mrs Mulligan heard it wrong and that Mr Gas will eat a whole plate of sausages in the town square to appease the locals.
Dungannon to Defy Geography and Build Beach
The slant will provide great sliding opportunities
Following yesterday’s unusually tropical conditions with temperatures touching 23 degrees Celsius for the best of three hours, Dungannon Town Council have announced this morning that they’re to start work on building a beach near the town square. In the first of its kind in Ireland, the groundbreaking proposal was tabled after Lord Mayor Hugh Jeers took a spin through the town on the way home from purchasing a dozen ice-pops for his wife and ten children, taking advantage of the Spar’s deals on all ice-lollies in August.
“I couldn’t believe my eyes. The sun came out from between two threatening-looking clouds and stayed in full view for a few hours. At first we thought it was some kind of massive bumble bee but someone checked their iPhone and confirmed that it was definitely the sun. Then, lo and behold, people started taking off their duffel coats and jumpers and then began buying mineral and Frosties. When I saw the young women running about the pavements scantily-clad the Eureka moment just hit me. You could see some of their thongs. It was inspiring”
Jeers managed to fast-track the beach proposal to the male-dominated council with the only objection coming from the DUD’s Cecil Winterbottom.
“It’s bad enough having swings and slides readily available for children on a Sunday, but now we’re going to see bare arses and hairy chests all week long. I’m moving to Cappagh. Hugh O’Neill will be spinning in his grave.”
The beach will start at the bottom of Scotch Street and rise the whole way up to where Wellworths used to be. Further discussions will deal with the inclusion of jellyfish, crabs and women’s volleyball. Darren Clarke will launch the beach but will be prevented from stripping off. It is expected to be completed in 2018, having tendered to the same construction company who build other successful structures in Ireland such as the Giant’s Causeway and the stalagmites in Fermanagh
Tyrone Tribulations 