Dear Diary,
Well, in spite of wot I thinks about Missus Milly Da Fardle (and all of it’s bad), I’ll probably miss the old devilled egg more’n a bottom full of piles once I’ve gone to live with the with The Greek God part-Italian Stallion Signore Malvinio Da Flota-Mota and ‘Ol Benvolio Da Trampolio Ducati, who’s got certain possibilities in the lover department (although I’m keeping that thought to myself and don’t want you passing it along to nobody). I’ve got real fond of the Missus Milly Da Fardle, the ‘Ol Pickle, which is more’n anybody else can say, even though I don’t suppose I’ll miss her peeing on my new upholstery every time she goes for a ride in me. Which, in case you haven’t worked it out, is more or less every day. Missus Milly Da Fardle’s nothing if not firm believer in claiming her rights, even down to using free services on every available opportunity, which includes whether she needs to or not. And since she’s got one of them free bus passes wot they gives out to the aged and decrepit, she uses it every time I (being the Community Bus) drives past her little concrete bunker bungalow with the five hundert ugly carbuncle conservatories. Not that she goes anywhere most days, mostly she just sits on her favourite seat and rings the call centre to complain about the service and shares her innards with my new upholstery for good measure. I must say she’s living a good life, wot with her claiming all the rights she has, as well as all those reserved for other folks. She don’t hold with wot she calls ‘the unfortunates, by which she means the cripples and those wot ain’t got no sense, and says their kind oughtn’t’a get anything special all at, one account of them being out to get all the goodies wot should go to her. ‘Course she gets away with anything and everything, and suppose I’ve gotta take my hat off to her for that, even though she’s a miserable crock of sewerage wot never recycles her garbage. But, as I’ve said before a hundert times, Missus Milly Da Fardle knows where the bodies is buried (as you know, right in the middle of tins of cat food made by The Gnu-Fanny Deluxe Premium Luxury Cat Food Company), which’s gotta help in the keeping her happy department.
I started to tell you a coupl’a weeks ago about her having wot you call a ‘conflict of interest’ which was giving her the indigestion badder’n pig wot’s eaten a bushel of rhubarb. As I said, it was all about Missus Milly Da Fardle’s favourite Lithuanian sister-in-law, who they called Bettinka Spalinka Da Fardle, but who probably had a different name way back before she got intelligence and learned to speak good English the way they does on the island. Anyway, one day little Bettinka Spalinka up and choked on a radish, which was a shame. Mind you, it weren’t exactly unexpected, on account of she were only three feet tall from stem to stern (or about a metre if you lives over in Lithuania) and had a epiglottis the size of a peanut. Right from the beginning, the poor little thing were always getting food stuck down in the middle of her windstopper, which was a shame, on account of she was sociable and when she was choking and gagging, no one else knew where they was supposed to look. It also meant none of wot she ate ever got to come out of her bottom drain, which is always something food looks forward to at the end of the day. Anyway, when ‘Ol Bettinka Spalinka first came on over to the island, which was before she had to stick Da Fardle on her name and was still knowed locally as Bettinka Spalinka Pancetta (though that weren’t wot was written on her passport, on account of the real article were unpronounceable over here) her husband to be, Breezy Barry Da Fardle, who was Missus Milly Da Fardle’s brother and still managed to live a decent, hardworking life, kept his eye on her day and night and especially during meals. His little Bettinka Spalinka meant more to him than anything in the world, even more’n a bean does to a tin of sugary tomato sauce. After he persuaded her to join him in holy wedlock and even got Father Brady O’ Flanaghan Murnaghan do do the honour down at the Church of The Immaculate Septum, which, as I’ve said a thousand times, is down at the bottom end of the island and next to Snooter Da Sphincter’s Easy-In-And-Out Trailer Halting Site. Breezy Barry Da Fardle got together some funny money from a job he done for Misther Patchouli Da Fanny and used it to spiff up his new bride, and Missus Barley’s Hair Mess came over and did her damndest. ‘Course, that was just around the time Missus Barley put herself in disgrace, which meant she were cheaper’n ‘Ol Beryl from Beryl’s Hair Parlour for Old Women by a whole shitload. In any event, poor little Bettinka Spalikna didn’t want to be worked on by Beryl, on account of she wasn’t an old woman such as Beryl was used to. Besides Beryl didn’t always smell too good, and Bettinka Spalinka had wot she called a sensitive smeller.
Anyways, Missus Barley did her best to make Bettinka Spalinka look beautifuller’n a bucket of canaries, and so did Mildred Fizpash Da Raddesh Da Drain’O, who ran up a most attractive little number for her to wear in puce and okra. Mildred Fizpash Da Raddesh Da Drain’O, by the way, is the older sister of Misther Pradesh Da Raddesh of Misther Pradesh Da Raddesh’s Fine Discount Men’s Suits and Shoes, and only married Mr. Dormer Da Drain’O, wot were a cousin by marriage to Missus Drain, after she’d burnt herself to death at the funeral of her first husband wot was chosen for her by her family. His name, I think, was Misther Perkabee Da Hasheesh, but I don’t know anything about him. Wot with him being a foreigner and all and one of them wot came over here to take everyone’s jobs, as well as Missus Milly Da Fardle’s free bus pass, he’s not generally talked about as one does a real human being.
I’m sorry to have to say this, Dear Diary, but I’m gonna hafta hide my pencil and quick. I hear ‘Ol Misther Patchouli Da Fanny approaching the garage, and from the way he’s yelling and screaming, I’d say that Floozie Da Smelley’s not far behind him. I’ll get back to you later and finish up about poor little Bettinka Spalinka and why she was Missus Milly Da Fardle’s favourite sister-in-law, even though she was wot they calls a foreigner and from Lithuania to boot. As I’ve said a hundert or more times, so endeth my piece of mind.
Well, in spite of wot I thinks about Missus Milly Da Fardle (and all of it’s bad), I’ll probably miss the old devilled egg more’n a bottom full of piles once I’ve gone to live with the with The Greek God part-Italian Stallion Signore Malvinio Da Flota-Mota and ‘Ol Benvolio Da Trampolio Ducati, who’s got certain possibilities in the lover department (although I’m keeping that thought to myself and don’t want you passing it along to nobody). I’ve got real fond of the Missus Milly Da Fardle, the ‘Ol Pickle, which is more’n anybody else can say, even though I don’t suppose I’ll miss her peeing on my new upholstery every time she goes for a ride in me. Which, in case you haven’t worked it out, is more or less every day. Missus Milly Da Fardle’s nothing if not firm believer in claiming her rights, even down to using free services on every available opportunity, which includes whether she needs to or not. And since she’s got one of them free bus passes wot they gives out to the aged and decrepit, she uses it every time I (being the Community Bus) drives past her little concrete bunker bungalow with the five hundert ugly carbuncle conservatories. Not that she goes anywhere most days, mostly she just sits on her favourite seat and rings the call centre to complain about the service and shares her innards with my new upholstery for good measure. I must say she’s living a good life, wot with her claiming all the rights she has, as well as all those reserved for other folks. She don’t hold with wot she calls ‘the unfortunates, by which she means the cripples and those wot ain’t got no sense, and says their kind oughtn’t’a get anything special all at, one account of them being out to get all the goodies wot should go to her. ‘Course she gets away with anything and everything, and suppose I’ve gotta take my hat off to her for that, even though she’s a miserable crock of sewerage wot never recycles her garbage. But, as I’ve said before a hundert times, Missus Milly Da Fardle knows where the bodies is buried (as you know, right in the middle of tins of cat food made by The Gnu-Fanny Deluxe Premium Luxury Cat Food Company), which’s gotta help in the keeping her happy department.
I started to tell you a coupl’a weeks ago about her having wot you call a ‘conflict of interest’ which was giving her the indigestion badder’n pig wot’s eaten a bushel of rhubarb. As I said, it was all about Missus Milly Da Fardle’s favourite Lithuanian sister-in-law, who they called Bettinka Spalinka Da Fardle, but who probably had a different name way back before she got intelligence and learned to speak good English the way they does on the island. Anyway, one day little Bettinka Spalinka up and choked on a radish, which was a shame. Mind you, it weren’t exactly unexpected, on account of she were only three feet tall from stem to stern (or about a metre if you lives over in Lithuania) and had a epiglottis the size of a peanut. Right from the beginning, the poor little thing were always getting food stuck down in the middle of her windstopper, which was a shame, on account of she was sociable and when she was choking and gagging, no one else knew where they was supposed to look. It also meant none of wot she ate ever got to come out of her bottom drain, which is always something food looks forward to at the end of the day. Anyway, when ‘Ol Bettinka Spalinka first came on over to the island, which was before she had to stick Da Fardle on her name and was still knowed locally as Bettinka Spalinka Pancetta (though that weren’t wot was written on her passport, on account of the real article were unpronounceable over here) her husband to be, Breezy Barry Da Fardle, who was Missus Milly Da Fardle’s brother and still managed to live a decent, hardworking life, kept his eye on her day and night and especially during meals. His little Bettinka Spalinka meant more to him than anything in the world, even more’n a bean does to a tin of sugary tomato sauce. After he persuaded her to join him in holy wedlock and even got Father Brady O’ Flanaghan Murnaghan do do the honour down at the Church of The Immaculate Septum, which, as I’ve said a thousand times, is down at the bottom end of the island and next to Snooter Da Sphincter’s Easy-In-And-Out Trailer Halting Site. Breezy Barry Da Fardle got together some funny money from a job he done for Misther Patchouli Da Fanny and used it to spiff up his new bride, and Missus Barley’s Hair Mess came over and did her damndest. ‘Course, that was just around the time Missus Barley put herself in disgrace, which meant she were cheaper’n ‘Ol Beryl from Beryl’s Hair Parlour for Old Women by a whole shitload. In any event, poor little Bettinka Spalikna didn’t want to be worked on by Beryl, on account of she wasn’t an old woman such as Beryl was used to. Besides Beryl didn’t always smell too good, and Bettinka Spalinka had wot she called a sensitive smeller.
Anyways, Missus Barley did her best to make Bettinka Spalinka look beautifuller’n a bucket of canaries, and so did Mildred Fizpash Da Raddesh Da Drain’O, who ran up a most attractive little number for her to wear in puce and okra. Mildred Fizpash Da Raddesh Da Drain’O, by the way, is the older sister of Misther Pradesh Da Raddesh of Misther Pradesh Da Raddesh’s Fine Discount Men’s Suits and Shoes, and only married Mr. Dormer Da Drain’O, wot were a cousin by marriage to Missus Drain, after she’d burnt herself to death at the funeral of her first husband wot was chosen for her by her family. His name, I think, was Misther Perkabee Da Hasheesh, but I don’t know anything about him. Wot with him being a foreigner and all and one of them wot came over here to take everyone’s jobs, as well as Missus Milly Da Fardle’s free bus pass, he’s not generally talked about as one does a real human being.
I’m sorry to have to say this, Dear Diary, but I’m gonna hafta hide my pencil and quick. I hear ‘Ol Misther Patchouli Da Fanny approaching the garage, and from the way he’s yelling and screaming, I’d say that Floozie Da Smelley’s not far behind him. I’ll get back to you later and finish up about poor little Bettinka Spalinka and why she was Missus Milly Da Fardle’s favourite sister-in-law, even though she was wot they calls a foreigner and from Lithuania to boot. As I’ve said a hundert or more times, so endeth my piece of mind.
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