Paddy O’Table whimsy
Posted on | November 15, 2009 | 8 Comments
Paddy’s Whimsy
Recently
Paddy O’Table said…
Good day to ya Mr. Eleven. Or may I be callin ya Number? Came upon yer website while Googlin people with number names. I see yer thinkin that ya lives on the moon. Ya poor basturd, been takin too many pulls from a bottle of Old Toms Rot Gut ain’t ye?
I took a great liken to one of yer poems.The first stanza reminded me of me dear old father when he told me never to stand on the north end of a south bound mule. He was a dear man he was, may he rest in peace. Died from gangrene of the short leg due to syphillis he did. I kin still hear his screams a comin from the loo.
Poor theeng.
The second stanza brought me dear sainted mither to mind. She larned me” never spit into the wind unless ye be carryin a towel”. Such a dear she was, may she rest in peace. Twice run over by a trundle cart while she lay on the pavement dead stone drunk. A bottle of Fire Belly rye still clenched in her ruddy fist. Well presarved her body was from alcohol. Propped in the corner of me cottage she is to this day. Her cheeks still rosy though she’s been dead these ten years come Friday.
Poor theeng.
The third stanza brings a tear to me eye thinkin of me old granddad. He taught me to always cheat when gamblin. It were a grand lesson he taught me. A great man may he rest in peace. Thrice hung fer stealin from the leper orphans fund. His neck was as thick as a matrons thigh it was. It finally snapped on the third hanging.
Poor theeng.
The last stanza of yer loverly poem brings to mind me dear brother. Taught me to sheath me privy member when visitin ladies of loose morals he did. A great lad he was,may he rest in peace. Twas caught xxxxx and was accidently stabbed in the neck by old Father Flanagans crucifix he was. Burnin in hell as I speak I imagine.
Well, I thank ya for yer potree, Number. I’m a hopin ya get off the bottle and realize yer still on this arth me boy.
Paddy o’Table
Zorbah The Prophet replies:
Thank you for your contribution, Mr O’Table.
I discovered your comment while Yahoo!’ing for outdoor furniture!
I’d better make sure I understand you (Group meeting convened in QT’s Pub):
The resolution:
A person mistaking him/her/itself for a patio table thinks we have illusions?
If you’re able,
Your brain will be quicker,
Mr. Patio Table!
Copyleft Z. T. Prophet
February 15th, 2007 @ 5:03 pm
Ock!! Ya brings tears to old Paddy’s eyes Number. Yers is a sad case indeed. Ya not only thinks yer a moon man but now ya’ve mistaken old Paddy fer a piece a farniture. Taint it grand that yer keepers allow ya to use their compuder. Hell, ya could go into a looney fit at any moment an smash it with yer gnarly fists!
Ya poor daft fecker. Ya brings to mind me old uncle Susie O’Table.Him bein a few bricks short of a load such as yerself. Spent is life tryin to invent hot ice cream he did. Thought he lived on Mars and was constantly yammerin about not havin served any whiskey yit. The poor basturd, may he rest in peace. Was walkin home from bingo one night, blind drunk from drinkin turpentine all day, an fell in an open sewer. Twas a closed casket funeral. Him bein high smellin an all.
Bein as yer one a those savant basturds, kin ya play a song on the pianer that ya’ve only hear’d once? I’ll be senden ya the sheet music from a song i rit. Tis a bootiful ditty called “To”. I hear’d that an arse of an Englishman has tried to claim it as is own. Old Paddy’ll put a size 12 boot up his arse should he try to steal it I will.
I been puzzlin on it Number and I think I knows what yer problem is. It be all that tea yer constantly layin lip to. Pour enuff a that horse piss down yer throat and it’ll drive ya crazed. A bottle of whiskey a day is what ya be needen Number!
I’ll be haven a treat fer ya when next I write. I rit a new song in honor of me dear sainted mither. Ya’ll be the first lucky arse to see it!
Well, tis time fer Paddy to go tip a few cold ones at Sullys.
Tis Paddy O’Table
P.S. What the ever loven christ is goin on here. I writes to one blog and get moved to another rit by a difernt lad named 14 and then answered by some devil called J.C. Coughup or some sich name.
It’s that tea swill it is. Rotten yer brains it is. Ya poor arses.
February 15th, 2007 @ 5:36 pm
C J Coughup? ooze ee?
Looking forward to your (per)verse
February 20th, 2007 @ 5:15 pm
Paddy, the reply is in a more recent post
here:http://community.pjf.org.uk/2007/02/literary-giant-joins-wits-end-poetry.html
February 28th, 2007 @ 3:35 pm
Saints be praised! The feckin Googler has accepted old Paddy back to its bosom. How be ya Number? Have your keepers allowed ya to be outdoors fer fresh air and sun or do they keep ya in yer room a droolin in yer porridge? The arses. Well, I be hare ta cheer ya up. Hare be me latest song. Called “Ode To Me Mither”.
(Sung to the tune: My Bonnie Lies Over The Ocean)
Me Mither is drunk every evenin
Me mither is drunk through the day
Me mither drinks whiskey like water
And in her own vomit she’d lay
REFRAIN:
Bring back, bring back
Bring back me sweet mither to me, to me
Bring back, bring back
Bring back me sweet mither to me
Me mither goes whorein on Fridays
To fill up her pockets with cash
Then comes home drunk as a sailor
And gives me poor headbone a bash
REFRAIN
Me mither lay drunk on the pavement
Then turned with a terrible start
She never even knew what hit her
A man in a big trundle cart
REFRAIN
I hope ya sang the refrains even tho I was too lazy to type them again.
That be me touchin song Number. Sainted she was, me mither.
Mark my word that arse of an Englishman will try to steal me sweet song. I’ve heard he’s quite dastardly. Kicks small children and urinates in public he does. Tho there’s nothin wrong with pissin in public, I does it all the time. But I’ve never kicked a child who wasn’t at least 5 years of age.
Til next time Number! Say hello to 14 and also T. J. Coughup.
Tis Paddy O’Table
February 28th, 2007 @ 4:17 pm
Excellent work Paddy!
The change of email confused Gooogle/Blogger. I’ve resent the invite so it should work again.
1. make googgle account.
2. click the link to join the blog.
3. Click on the VERIFICATION EMAIL (!!) that blogger will send to your VALID email address (sigh …)
P.S. Meredith has just joined and done an awesome smiley! All your posts come straight to my inbox, which is a good idea.
April 24th, 2007 @ 4:38 pm
As I be sprawled on the pub floor last night, I hear’d that you were gonna recite a pome on somethin called a loo tube.I never knowed that a loo had tubes meself. But whut ya does in the loo be yer own biznis. Before ya begs me, I hereby gives me permission to ya ta read me song “Ode To Me Mither” on yer tube. I’d git rid a that flute if’n I was you. It ain’t a worthy instermint it ain’t. I not be a Scot but I loves the bagpipes I do. Now that be an instermint to be larnin I tell ya. Why if’n ya read yer pome wit a bagpipe playin in the background ya’d have a number 1 record ya word. Bigger than the Stones ya’d be and that’s no blarney. Tubes ina loo, oo’d ave thot it?
Tis Paddy
April 28th, 2009 @ 7:15 pm
lawks! we dinna get comments like this N E Maw. it’s all abreviated typos an stuf now!
November 16th, 2009 @ 3:17 pm
Aye lass, eye was full a piss an vinegar back then eye war! Mus be me old age a slowin me down now. Eye be thinkin it's dew ta tha fact that JJ's is gone. Knocked tha prose rite oot of me it did!