Dear Diary,
Here I am again, all rested up and I hope you are too, on account of we’ve got a shitload of ground to cover and I’d hate for you to get lost along the way. However, before I launch into wot happened next, I should make one thing absolutely clear just in case there are some of you out there reading this wot have over-active imaginations or curiosities. And it concerns Misther Patchouli Da Fanny and Floozie Da Smelley and wot happened to them after they went flying off through the storm and sunk into a five-hundert foot deep puddle of mud and pig leavings. First of all, no we won’t be hearing from them for the time being. But that don’t give you no reason to think the worst happened and they’re on their way to the great hereafter, although to be perfect frank I don’t think anything so mysterious is gonna happen to Misther Patchouli Da Fanny after’n he kicks the bucket. You gotta remember, that is if’n you’ve been paying attention and keeping up with things, that his sorry arse is due to be hauled off to the prison farm for his part in selling off dead people to The Gnu-Fanny Premium Luxurious Deluxe Fancy-Schmancy Cat Food Co. to be ground up into Deluxe Cat Food flavourings, after they’d been brought into Misther Doctor Bernie Da Gnu’s ‘Wash ‘n’ Wake Funeral Parlour for a Beautiful Goodbye’ for a Certificated Gold-plated and Diamond-rated Heaven Hallelujah Send-off. And in case you’re pig ignorant and don’t know nothing, The Certificated Gold-plated and Diamond-rated Heaven Hallelujah Send-off entitles you to a coupl’a hours of praying over by Father Brady O’ Flanaghan Murnaghan from the Church of The Immaculate Septum, wot is located down on the bottom end of the island where folks spends most of their time buying shiny stuff off’n one of them TV channels wot sells bad shit to good people. As you can see, Father Brady O’ Flanaghan Murnaghan is used to selling lost causes to God and his friends and on account of this is extra popular with dead folks wot ain’t got a lot going for them. And in case you is still confused, The Certificated Gold-plated and Diamond-rated Heaven Hallelujah Send-off does not include the cat food option, which costs extra and is also on the illegal side. But where was I? Oh, yes, I was reminding folks about wot is in store for Misther Patchouli Da Fanny when my farewell tour of the island is over and he is hauled off to the prison farm for eight hundert ninety-four years or a day and a half, depending on if’n the judge likes the cut of his jib. Personally I’m betting he’ll stay in the prison farm ‘till Hell freeze over, but of course on account of the new globule worming everyone’s been talking about and all the ice cubes melting, ‘till Hell Freezes Over’ll probably mean he’ll only get a suspended sentence. This’d be a shame, in my opinion, on account of there’s a coupl’a dudes in the prison farm wot’re in the mood for some o’that scrawny rectumnal moonshine wot Misther Patchouli Da Fanny can offer up and is looking forward to dropping the soap on the floor in the showers, so to speak. And no I won’t tell you who these dudes are, other than to say their names is Misther Bert Da Biffle, wot’s got no earlobes on account of his bunkmate ate ‘em, and Misther ‘The Professor’ Sheldon La Rue, wot is the aforementioned bunkmate. They is, by the way, closely related identical twins, but other than that don’t know each other more’n to say hello on the street. Their mother, by the way, is Missus Milly Da Fardle, but you probably guess it by now.
And by the way, don’t worry that Misther Patchouli Da Fanny’s gonna die in the mud swill and be spared his fun in the sun with Misther Bert Da Biffle and Misther ‘The Professor’ Sheldon La Rue, on account of he ain’t. It just wouldn’t be fair for Misther Patchouli Da Fanny to get outta the shit he waded into of his own accord by dying in a pool of shit wot was put their by the rain. And so I want to you know here and now that he’s gonna get saved at the last minute before he drowns and is gonna be delivered safely into the arms of Police Constable Humbert Da Elephant and his partner Police Constable Helen Da Barren, wot used to called a woman policeman back in the days when their parts in plays was played by men with tiny willies, and’ll be sent straight to the prison farm. And how do I know, I hear you ask? Well, in case you didn’t notice, I seem to be the one playing with the pencil and if I say Misther Patchouli Da Fanny’s gonna end up at the prison farm with Misther Bert Da Biffle and Misther ‘The Professor’ Sheldon La Rue giving him some of that old time religion, then that’s where he’s gonna end up. But where was I?
Ah, yes, before I had to spend so much time reassuring folks that Misther Patchouli Da Fanny wasn’t gonna disappear into a pool of mud and never come back out again, I was a the point of telling you about when The Widow Fartie Da Whistle, wot was sitting out in the rain in a tree, was forced to come up with an killer idea. You see, on one side of her the waters was rising faster’n a stoat can kill a chicken and threatening to take over the world with floods, which would mean washing the bus (being me) and all wot was in it (being a passel o’biddies) down into the sea and even further down on account of I’m not a boat. And on the other side of her were the two inflating corpus delectables of Miss Parsley Da Onker and Missus Malla Oda Odipossipous, wot had by now blowed up bigger’n the city of Chicago, which I only mention on account of it’s where Old Wanger Nose lives when he’s not being chased around the island by men in black wearing violin cases as hats. And not only were Miss Parsley Da Onker and Missus Malla Oda Odipossipous as big as that, but they were even bigger, on account of a few more minutes had passed since I wrote it.
Well, Dear Diary, I just broke my pencil and I must be the first bus in the world to suffer from carp al tuna sin drums from writing so fast. I gotta rest a spell and practice writing with my other tyre, after which I’ll be back to tell you how The Widow Fartie Da Whistle saved all them biddies from dropping off the end of the world and making lots of folks richer on account of most of ‘em not having no wills. Take a deep breath and count to a hundert, and just as you think I’m never gonna pester you again and are about to scream, “glory hallelujah, so endeth this idiot diary,” I’ll put you outta your misery and say, “don’t be so fuckin’ sure about it!”
Here I am again, all rested up and I hope you are too, on account of we’ve got a shitload of ground to cover and I’d hate for you to get lost along the way. However, before I launch into wot happened next, I should make one thing absolutely clear just in case there are some of you out there reading this wot have over-active imaginations or curiosities. And it concerns Misther Patchouli Da Fanny and Floozie Da Smelley and wot happened to them after they went flying off through the storm and sunk into a five-hundert foot deep puddle of mud and pig leavings. First of all, no we won’t be hearing from them for the time being. But that don’t give you no reason to think the worst happened and they’re on their way to the great hereafter, although to be perfect frank I don’t think anything so mysterious is gonna happen to Misther Patchouli Da Fanny after’n he kicks the bucket. You gotta remember, that is if’n you’ve been paying attention and keeping up with things, that his sorry arse is due to be hauled off to the prison farm for his part in selling off dead people to The Gnu-Fanny Premium Luxurious Deluxe Fancy-Schmancy Cat Food Co. to be ground up into Deluxe Cat Food flavourings, after they’d been brought into Misther Doctor Bernie Da Gnu’s ‘Wash ‘n’ Wake Funeral Parlour for a Beautiful Goodbye’ for a Certificated Gold-plated and Diamond-rated Heaven Hallelujah Send-off. And in case you’re pig ignorant and don’t know nothing, The Certificated Gold-plated and Diamond-rated Heaven Hallelujah Send-off entitles you to a coupl’a hours of praying over by Father Brady O’ Flanaghan Murnaghan from the Church of The Immaculate Septum, wot is located down on the bottom end of the island where folks spends most of their time buying shiny stuff off’n one of them TV channels wot sells bad shit to good people. As you can see, Father Brady O’ Flanaghan Murnaghan is used to selling lost causes to God and his friends and on account of this is extra popular with dead folks wot ain’t got a lot going for them. And in case you is still confused, The Certificated Gold-plated and Diamond-rated Heaven Hallelujah Send-off does not include the cat food option, which costs extra and is also on the illegal side. But where was I? Oh, yes, I was reminding folks about wot is in store for Misther Patchouli Da Fanny when my farewell tour of the island is over and he is hauled off to the prison farm for eight hundert ninety-four years or a day and a half, depending on if’n the judge likes the cut of his jib. Personally I’m betting he’ll stay in the prison farm ‘till Hell freeze over, but of course on account of the new globule worming everyone’s been talking about and all the ice cubes melting, ‘till Hell Freezes Over’ll probably mean he’ll only get a suspended sentence. This’d be a shame, in my opinion, on account of there’s a coupl’a dudes in the prison farm wot’re in the mood for some o’that scrawny rectumnal moonshine wot Misther Patchouli Da Fanny can offer up and is looking forward to dropping the soap on the floor in the showers, so to speak. And no I won’t tell you who these dudes are, other than to say their names is Misther Bert Da Biffle, wot’s got no earlobes on account of his bunkmate ate ‘em, and Misther ‘The Professor’ Sheldon La Rue, wot is the aforementioned bunkmate. They is, by the way, closely related identical twins, but other than that don’t know each other more’n to say hello on the street. Their mother, by the way, is Missus Milly Da Fardle, but you probably guess it by now.
And by the way, don’t worry that Misther Patchouli Da Fanny’s gonna die in the mud swill and be spared his fun in the sun with Misther Bert Da Biffle and Misther ‘The Professor’ Sheldon La Rue, on account of he ain’t. It just wouldn’t be fair for Misther Patchouli Da Fanny to get outta the shit he waded into of his own accord by dying in a pool of shit wot was put their by the rain. And so I want to you know here and now that he’s gonna get saved at the last minute before he drowns and is gonna be delivered safely into the arms of Police Constable Humbert Da Elephant and his partner Police Constable Helen Da Barren, wot used to called a woman policeman back in the days when their parts in plays was played by men with tiny willies, and’ll be sent straight to the prison farm. And how do I know, I hear you ask? Well, in case you didn’t notice, I seem to be the one playing with the pencil and if I say Misther Patchouli Da Fanny’s gonna end up at the prison farm with Misther Bert Da Biffle and Misther ‘The Professor’ Sheldon La Rue giving him some of that old time religion, then that’s where he’s gonna end up. But where was I?
Ah, yes, before I had to spend so much time reassuring folks that Misther Patchouli Da Fanny wasn’t gonna disappear into a pool of mud and never come back out again, I was a the point of telling you about when The Widow Fartie Da Whistle, wot was sitting out in the rain in a tree, was forced to come up with an killer idea. You see, on one side of her the waters was rising faster’n a stoat can kill a chicken and threatening to take over the world with floods, which would mean washing the bus (being me) and all wot was in it (being a passel o’biddies) down into the sea and even further down on account of I’m not a boat. And on the other side of her were the two inflating corpus delectables of Miss Parsley Da Onker and Missus Malla Oda Odipossipous, wot had by now blowed up bigger’n the city of Chicago, which I only mention on account of it’s where Old Wanger Nose lives when he’s not being chased around the island by men in black wearing violin cases as hats. And not only were Miss Parsley Da Onker and Missus Malla Oda Odipossipous as big as that, but they were even bigger, on account of a few more minutes had passed since I wrote it.
Well, Dear Diary, I just broke my pencil and I must be the first bus in the world to suffer from carp al tuna sin drums from writing so fast. I gotta rest a spell and practice writing with my other tyre, after which I’ll be back to tell you how The Widow Fartie Da Whistle saved all them biddies from dropping off the end of the world and making lots of folks richer on account of most of ‘em not having no wills. Take a deep breath and count to a hundert, and just as you think I’m never gonna pester you again and are about to scream, “glory hallelujah, so endeth this idiot diary,” I’ll put you outta your misery and say, “don’t be so fuckin’ sure about it!”
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