22 May 2011
403
R. Linda:
So here it is: I feel silly telling it, but well it needs to be told so that anymore Irishmen don't make the same mistake :::::sigh::::: It came to me attention a while back that some exciting doings were going on in a small rural farming village back on the old sod. And here I will indeed protect the names of the . . . uh . . . sort of innocent and tell it like it sorta happened to the best of me memory.
I know, I know what you are thinking R. Linda, the writer of the blog has had a few and well . . . BUT hark, not true so here it goes.
Seems it was a warm, sunny day and O'Donel Fitzsimmons was standing at the bar having his liquid lunch when he thought he saw something odd in the road. He stood there watching and yes, yes he did see something that gave him pause, ambling up the old dirt road. So Fitzsimmons turned to pub keeper Danny Keagan and asked him if Keagan thought he'd had too much to drink.
"Em . . . no, no more n' usual. Ye had two jars ya haf."
"Well then . . . " Fitzsimmons paused stealing another glance outside. "I tink dere is a . . . a . . . a weasel cumin' oop the road I do."
"A wot?" Keagan asked, leaning over the bar to get a look see. And sure enough, he saw 'sumthin' but he wasn't sure what he was looking at so he came round and followed by Fitzsimmons they stood in the doorway lookin'. Yes, they did and what they saw was as Keagan said to Fitzsimmons, "That looks like a weasel with its head stuck in a bag of crisps!"
And sure enough R. Linda, it was! The silly thing had found a discarded bag of crisps (well, it could have stolen it as well, but I don't know that for sure and don't want to accuse) and had ripped the bag apart with its razor-like teeth and well, it must have enjoyed those tatties because it got its head all the way in to lick out the crumbs, only trouble was, it got its head stuck in the bag and well, there it was wandering down the sunny dirt road in front of Keagan's pub. The two men walked out and followed it at a safe distance (as if it could do any real damage, its head in a crisp bag) and then either because they were both nutters or had a bit of the drink in them, they decided to trap it. Yes, they did. Some drunken talk about the thing suffocating in the bag. Like that would happen, but OK.
The weasel walked straight into a small courtyard garden and wham! The two men slammed the wooden gate shut thus, barring the animal's exit. The only trouble was, they closed themselves in with it! Well, the smell of the humans must have overpowered the smell of the crisp bag and the thing struggled to get it off and it did! Well, you can imagine the fright of seeing two tall human beings barring the way and what was a weasel to do? What weasels do best -- get those snappy jaws going and claws out and attack! Yes, I will say that Mrs. O'Leary, upon returning home for a wee kip in her garden, was very surprised to see her wooden gate resting off its hinges, all her potted plants upturned, and a large piece of fabric (obviously from a pair of men's farm trousers) lying on the brick walk and a garden chair missing!
But we must return to the appointed time of weasel attack. As you can well imagine the two men were jumping and running about like two crazed individuals desperately trying to avoid the aforementioned teeth and claws as the small animal jumped around (and I will say weasels can jump!) after the two (as the weasel saw it) aggressors! It clamped its jaws on the extra fabric hanging off Fitzsimmon's farm overalls and with a fury not matched by any dog living, it pulled and tore and ripped and went flying with a large piece of overall. Yes, it did. But it wasn't finished, no it wasn't, it came back at Fitzsimmon's now bare behind and clamped its jaws and teeth to the waving piece of torn fabric and part of Fitzsimmon's flesh and oh my that had to hurt.
While this was going on Keagan had picked up a folding chair by the garden table and was pummeling Fitzsimmon's in the arse trying to knock the crazed animal off. The only thing that did, was give Fitzsimmons a large black and blue mark he'd wear until it yellowed and finally faded away two weeks later! In his haste to fend off not only the weasel, but his friend Keagan, Fitzsimmons finally ripped the wooden gate off its hinges and out he ran the weasel still attached. Once in the street, he got the insane idea if he sat down, he'd crush the thing and that would free his behind of teeth and claws. I could have told him that was a very stupid idea, but I wasn't there, so with no one to offer free advice, he sat down in the road and all this did was sink the weasel's teeth in deeper. It hurts even me to think about it. So in a lot of pain, Fitzsimmons reached behind to his behind, yes he did, and pulled the thing out of his flesh and well, you know what happened next, it bit his hands to pieces and was running up his arm to his face when finally Keagan caught up and with a well-aimed kick sent the weasel flying for a second time. May I say pub keeper Keagan was a semi-pro footy star at one time? Yes, back in the day, but let's not go there, let's go back to flight school for weasels. Once the weasel hit the ground it was not done. No, R. Linda, that wild and wicked weasel had just begun to fight and now it was really, really angry.
The weasel, chattering with its back arched, sidestepped the two men. Both moving slowly backwards towards the open pub door. I know, I know, what you're thinking and yes, that is exactly what happened, they turned tail quickly and ran for the pub forgetting to close the door, and the weasel came too! Now what to do? They were in a pub full of glassware with a wild weasel on the loose. Well, they got behind the bar and threw bottles of Hobgoblin at it (and let me say this was done with some forethought on Keagan's part, an English beer was worth the waste where an Irish one . . . not so much). The brown beer did nothing but perhaps give the weasel a well-earned drink. They watched as it lapped up the beer, and then after a few minutes of whispering what to do next, they watched as the inebriated weasel walked sideways in a drunk, looking to lap as much of the Hobgoblin as it could. So while it was preoccupied, Keagan crept to the back of his pub and got a burlap sack which he stalked the drunk weasel with. With ease, he had it in the bag. They tied it quickly as the weasel came back to life and was in amok sweat to get out of yet another bag and bite the hell out of the two aggressors (well, that's how the weasel probably saw them). WHAT TO DO?
The idea was to take the bagged weasel out to Fitzsimmons's motor and drive it out of town. Oh yes, sounds like a plausible idea it does. Keagan naturally stayed behind to mind his pub as Fitzsimmons hopped in and started driving out of town. Now this is what the drink can do to you after a fright such as this, it can make your mind stall it can, because neither of the two men gave a thought about a weasel in a burlap bag and what problems THAT could cause. As Fitzsimmons drove he was a sweaty mess concentrating on a good place to release the weasel, but he needn't have troubled himself because said weasel chewed its way out of the sack and well, surprise!
I know you find this funny but believe me when I say O'Donel Fitzsimmons didn't. No, not at all, next he knows he be wearing a furry earring on his left ear he be. And it hurt! Yes, the weasel finally made a face! With this happening so unexpectedly, Fitzsimmons lost control of his motor and plunged bonnet first into a shallow pond. He ripped the weasel off his ear and well the lob of his ear went with the weasel as a souvenir I would guess, and he threw the furry creature from him as he got out and danced around holding his bloody head. I am not making this up! But R. Linda it wasn't over just quite yet. The weasel seeing Fitzsimmons in the vicinity still, decided that part of an ear wasn't enough and so it turned around and chased the poor bloody man, back to the village before it finally stopped exhausted, tongue lolling out of its breathless mouth, watching Fitzsimmons run. No fool the weasel, no, if the human wanted to race, fine win it, the weasel had a trophy and Fitzsimmons . . . missing part of an ear did not.
After many shots to make sure the weasel wasn't rabid, Fitzsimmons ventured to Keagan's Pub. He looks a wee bit different, part of an ear gone, stomach pain from necessary needles to fend off possible rabies bites, and a huge black and blue, yellow and green splotch (that looks suspiciously like the back of a chair) of pain in his lower back, not to forget the fact he needs an inflatable doughnut to sit upon, as his arse is discoloured as well and very tender. SIGH. What I miss not living over there, I tell ya.
Gabe
Copyright © 2011 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
So here it is: I feel silly telling it, but well it needs to be told so that anymore Irishmen don't make the same mistake :::::sigh::::: It came to me attention a while back that some exciting doings were going on in a small rural farming village back on the old sod. And here I will indeed protect the names of the . . . uh . . . sort of innocent and tell it like it sorta happened to the best of me memory.
I know, I know what you are thinking R. Linda, the writer of the blog has had a few and well . . . BUT hark, not true so here it goes.
Seems it was a warm, sunny day and O'Donel Fitzsimmons was standing at the bar having his liquid lunch when he thought he saw something odd in the road. He stood there watching and yes, yes he did see something that gave him pause, ambling up the old dirt road. So Fitzsimmons turned to pub keeper Danny Keagan and asked him if Keagan thought he'd had too much to drink.
"Em . . . no, no more n' usual. Ye had two jars ya haf."
"Well then . . . " Fitzsimmons paused stealing another glance outside. "I tink dere is a . . . a . . . a weasel cumin' oop the road I do."
"A wot?" Keagan asked, leaning over the bar to get a look see. And sure enough, he saw 'sumthin' but he wasn't sure what he was looking at so he came round and followed by Fitzsimmons they stood in the doorway lookin'. Yes, they did and what they saw was as Keagan said to Fitzsimmons, "That looks like a weasel with its head stuck in a bag of crisps!"
And sure enough R. Linda, it was! The silly thing had found a discarded bag of crisps (well, it could have stolen it as well, but I don't know that for sure and don't want to accuse) and had ripped the bag apart with its razor-like teeth and well, it must have enjoyed those tatties because it got its head all the way in to lick out the crumbs, only trouble was, it got its head stuck in the bag and well, there it was wandering down the sunny dirt road in front of Keagan's pub. The two men walked out and followed it at a safe distance (as if it could do any real damage, its head in a crisp bag) and then either because they were both nutters or had a bit of the drink in them, they decided to trap it. Yes, they did. Some drunken talk about the thing suffocating in the bag. Like that would happen, but OK.
The weasel walked straight into a small courtyard garden and wham! The two men slammed the wooden gate shut thus, barring the animal's exit. The only trouble was, they closed themselves in with it! Well, the smell of the humans must have overpowered the smell of the crisp bag and the thing struggled to get it off and it did! Well, you can imagine the fright of seeing two tall human beings barring the way and what was a weasel to do? What weasels do best -- get those snappy jaws going and claws out and attack! Yes, I will say that Mrs. O'Leary, upon returning home for a wee kip in her garden, was very surprised to see her wooden gate resting off its hinges, all her potted plants upturned, and a large piece of fabric (obviously from a pair of men's farm trousers) lying on the brick walk and a garden chair missing!
But we must return to the appointed time of weasel attack. As you can well imagine the two men were jumping and running about like two crazed individuals desperately trying to avoid the aforementioned teeth and claws as the small animal jumped around (and I will say weasels can jump!) after the two (as the weasel saw it) aggressors! It clamped its jaws on the extra fabric hanging off Fitzsimmon's farm overalls and with a fury not matched by any dog living, it pulled and tore and ripped and went flying with a large piece of overall. Yes, it did. But it wasn't finished, no it wasn't, it came back at Fitzsimmon's now bare behind and clamped its jaws and teeth to the waving piece of torn fabric and part of Fitzsimmon's flesh and oh my that had to hurt.
While this was going on Keagan had picked up a folding chair by the garden table and was pummeling Fitzsimmon's in the arse trying to knock the crazed animal off. The only thing that did, was give Fitzsimmons a large black and blue mark he'd wear until it yellowed and finally faded away two weeks later! In his haste to fend off not only the weasel, but his friend Keagan, Fitzsimmons finally ripped the wooden gate off its hinges and out he ran the weasel still attached. Once in the street, he got the insane idea if he sat down, he'd crush the thing and that would free his behind of teeth and claws. I could have told him that was a very stupid idea, but I wasn't there, so with no one to offer free advice, he sat down in the road and all this did was sink the weasel's teeth in deeper. It hurts even me to think about it. So in a lot of pain, Fitzsimmons reached behind to his behind, yes he did, and pulled the thing out of his flesh and well, you know what happened next, it bit his hands to pieces and was running up his arm to his face when finally Keagan caught up and with a well-aimed kick sent the weasel flying for a second time. May I say pub keeper Keagan was a semi-pro footy star at one time? Yes, back in the day, but let's not go there, let's go back to flight school for weasels. Once the weasel hit the ground it was not done. No, R. Linda, that wild and wicked weasel had just begun to fight and now it was really, really angry.
The weasel, chattering with its back arched, sidestepped the two men. Both moving slowly backwards towards the open pub door. I know, I know, what you're thinking and yes, that is exactly what happened, they turned tail quickly and ran for the pub forgetting to close the door, and the weasel came too! Now what to do? They were in a pub full of glassware with a wild weasel on the loose. Well, they got behind the bar and threw bottles of Hobgoblin at it (and let me say this was done with some forethought on Keagan's part, an English beer was worth the waste where an Irish one . . . not so much). The brown beer did nothing but perhaps give the weasel a well-earned drink. They watched as it lapped up the beer, and then after a few minutes of whispering what to do next, they watched as the inebriated weasel walked sideways in a drunk, looking to lap as much of the Hobgoblin as it could. So while it was preoccupied, Keagan crept to the back of his pub and got a burlap sack which he stalked the drunk weasel with. With ease, he had it in the bag. They tied it quickly as the weasel came back to life and was in amok sweat to get out of yet another bag and bite the hell out of the two aggressors (well, that's how the weasel probably saw them). WHAT TO DO?
The idea was to take the bagged weasel out to Fitzsimmons's motor and drive it out of town. Oh yes, sounds like a plausible idea it does. Keagan naturally stayed behind to mind his pub as Fitzsimmons hopped in and started driving out of town. Now this is what the drink can do to you after a fright such as this, it can make your mind stall it can, because neither of the two men gave a thought about a weasel in a burlap bag and what problems THAT could cause. As Fitzsimmons drove he was a sweaty mess concentrating on a good place to release the weasel, but he needn't have troubled himself because said weasel chewed its way out of the sack and well, surprise!
I know you find this funny but believe me when I say O'Donel Fitzsimmons didn't. No, not at all, next he knows he be wearing a furry earring on his left ear he be. And it hurt! Yes, the weasel finally made a face! With this happening so unexpectedly, Fitzsimmons lost control of his motor and plunged bonnet first into a shallow pond. He ripped the weasel off his ear and well the lob of his ear went with the weasel as a souvenir I would guess, and he threw the furry creature from him as he got out and danced around holding his bloody head. I am not making this up! But R. Linda it wasn't over just quite yet. The weasel seeing Fitzsimmons in the vicinity still, decided that part of an ear wasn't enough and so it turned around and chased the poor bloody man, back to the village before it finally stopped exhausted, tongue lolling out of its breathless mouth, watching Fitzsimmons run. No fool the weasel, no, if the human wanted to race, fine win it, the weasel had a trophy and Fitzsimmons . . . missing part of an ear did not.
After many shots to make sure the weasel wasn't rabid, Fitzsimmons ventured to Keagan's Pub. He looks a wee bit different, part of an ear gone, stomach pain from necessary needles to fend off possible rabies bites, and a huge black and blue, yellow and green splotch (that looks suspiciously like the back of a chair) of pain in his lower back, not to forget the fact he needs an inflatable doughnut to sit upon, as his arse is discoloured as well and very tender. SIGH. What I miss not living over there, I tell ya.
Gabe
Copyright © 2011 All rights reserved
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| The varmint terrorising the populace |
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| Weasel gets the last laugh! |
