26 August 2014
754
R. Linda:
First off, it must be said that the Weasil has led a life none of us can relate to. He is incredibly wealthy, has blue blood running through lordly veins, is set to inherit the title of Lord someday, and has spent most of his born days in castles and manor houses, eating gourmet foods and doing pretty much nothing but most of his time was spend and still is on frivolity and mayhem.
Secondly, the Weasil harboured a wish to experience life like the rest of us. Yes, you'd think he'd want to know what it was like trying to make ends meet, worried if you could put enough food on the table, and if you'd have a job or be put out on the dole. But no, that wasn't the part of the common life that Weasil wanted to experience, oh no it was not. He wanted to experience what it was like to buy a house!
I wanted to shake him and inform him that some of us never buy a house, we rent or lease because we haven't the capital to buy. But no, he was off and running on his own and to a Property Advisors' office doth he went.
He bought his first home in Ireland because that was the place of cheap housing. Please someone tell me the logic to this as he had enough money he paid cash and could have just as easily done the same in his mother country of Scotland or his adopted country of England. But no, we decided all poor people live in Ireland so that's where he went. I tell ya!
Passed the council flats he doth go. Passed the ruined castles to be had at a price, passed the city dwellings to a village where there were maybe fifteen-twenty homes clustered together on a dirt road. He bought the only available abode and moved in. He was greeted by his neighbours until they all whispered to one another that an English Toff had moved in among them and who they wanted to know, allowed this travesty to happen? And why was an English Toff dwelling in the dwelling he was and not out buying up Adair Castle or somewhere like that? Well, no one knew and when they found the toffy arse wasn't interested in socialising they left him be. When they saw him, they'd stop and stare. They'd move their caps from their pates, and with the same hand scratch their heads in consternation, put the cap back on and move away to wherever they were at first headed. Weasil was oblivious to this snub, as he was too busy waiting for the "feeling of being poor" to set in.
It never did as you can well imagine as he had all his toys and playthings to occupy his "lonely hours" at home. Finally two weeks of PlayStation fun and games the Weasil was bored. He went into his kitchen and feeling experimental, he mixed green food colouring with his pale ale and did a fair job of creating "green beer." Did I mention it was also St. Patrick's Day? Well, the Weasil had noticed his neighbours were not at a local (there was none in the village), but at the small church at the end of the lane. Not feeling very Catholic (as the Weasil was a dreaded Protestant only his was Church of Scotland so he was awarded some peace by the locals), the Weasil decided to celebrate the day as his American friends would with green beer and crisps.
Well, it poured that day, a good day to be in church for the devout and for the one not so devout well he sat in his bay window stretched out on the window seat watching the drops run down the glass as he munched and drank. When the rain was over, Weasil went outside and spied an old chair outside his door he sat himself down, beer and crisps in hand, and thought to greet his neighbours as they came from church service. You know make a little merry. Uh huh.
Odd it seemed to Mr. W that the churchgoers were all gathered behind the old stone cemetery wall pointing and looking in his direction. He stopped in mid-munch and looked around and nothing out of the ordinary did he see. No not a thing! Yet, the congregation continued to point and stare and chatter to each other in his direction. No one moved from the wall for a good ten minutes when suddenly an RTE News van pulled up followed by TG4 and TV3 News. Out of the vans poured at least two news broadcasters each, with microphones which they hurriedly shoved under the Weasil's lordly nose.
"How do ye explain the rainbow over yer abode?" One asked as another butted his way in.
"Ye are said to be the local rich fella, ye got a pot o' gold in the old abode dere?"
Yet another pushed his microphone under the Weasil's proboscis with, "Yer really a rich fella or a leprechaun? Ye got gold in dere, eh?"
Weasil pushed his way up and out of the milling about to walk across the dirt road and look up at his abode. And what did he see R. Linda? Well, you guessed it a rainbow was making a graceful arch over the home of Weasil. Who'd a thunk that would happen? Well, certainly not me!
"Cor, itz a blimey rainy bow," Weasil whispered to himself marvelling at the phenom.
Microphones reassembled and shoved their way under the Weasil nose once more, and all at once the reporters were firing questions about pots of gold. Weasil, still staring at the rainbow ignored the men and their mics and pushed his way back across the road and inside where he locked the door and stood arms out holding it shut. In his Weasil mind he isn't thinking like a common man would, no he is thinking like the Weasil he is.
He goes down into his dirt-floored basement, finds a shovel and starts digging! And why ladies and gentlemen? Because in his fubar mind, he has convinced himself there is a pot of gold in his basement, thus the only explanation for a rainbow over his house and his house only!
So he digs, and he digs, and he digs until finally and without warning he hits the water pipes and WHOOSH a giant geyser of water goes roaring upward breaking through the basement ceiling to the first and second-floor ceilings and out the roof! Then as if this wasn't bad enough the oil tank exploded and BANG the oil went up making more holes to the outside where it mixed with the water and Bob's your uncle you know what it made. Yes, indeed as the roof parted from the building and Weasil managed to claw his way outside the collapsing floors, what could be seen for kilometres was a giant rainbow.
Everyone had high-tailed it to the cemetery wall for safety as the dazed and stumbling backwards Weasil looked with open-mouthed wonder at the rainbow over his damaged beyond repair home.
"I dunt gits it, I jus dunt." The Weasil said.
And to this day he still doesn't get it. He told me and a few other close "friendies" that if none of that water and oil had happened he'd have found that pot of gold he just knew it. When explained to him by one Wolfie that the water and oil mixture made the rainbow, he didn't believe it. No, Weasil simply did not believe the Wolf's words because as everyone knows, "Oil and water dunt mix."
OK THEN. There is nothing more for me to say, I think Weasil said it all and to this day he believes there is a giant pot of gold under the wreckage. The abode is boarded up and condemned and if it wasn't, you know Weasil would be down there digging. Uh huh.
Gabe
Copyright © 2014 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
First off, it must be said that the Weasil has led a life none of us can relate to. He is incredibly wealthy, has blue blood running through lordly veins, is set to inherit the title of Lord someday, and has spent most of his born days in castles and manor houses, eating gourmet foods and doing pretty much nothing but most of his time was spend and still is on frivolity and mayhem.
Secondly, the Weasil harboured a wish to experience life like the rest of us. Yes, you'd think he'd want to know what it was like trying to make ends meet, worried if you could put enough food on the table, and if you'd have a job or be put out on the dole. But no, that wasn't the part of the common life that Weasil wanted to experience, oh no it was not. He wanted to experience what it was like to buy a house!
I wanted to shake him and inform him that some of us never buy a house, we rent or lease because we haven't the capital to buy. But no, he was off and running on his own and to a Property Advisors' office doth he went.
He bought his first home in Ireland because that was the place of cheap housing. Please someone tell me the logic to this as he had enough money he paid cash and could have just as easily done the same in his mother country of Scotland or his adopted country of England. But no, we decided all poor people live in Ireland so that's where he went. I tell ya!
Passed the council flats he doth go. Passed the ruined castles to be had at a price, passed the city dwellings to a village where there were maybe fifteen-twenty homes clustered together on a dirt road. He bought the only available abode and moved in. He was greeted by his neighbours until they all whispered to one another that an English Toff had moved in among them and who they wanted to know, allowed this travesty to happen? And why was an English Toff dwelling in the dwelling he was and not out buying up Adair Castle or somewhere like that? Well, no one knew and when they found the toffy arse wasn't interested in socialising they left him be. When they saw him, they'd stop and stare. They'd move their caps from their pates, and with the same hand scratch their heads in consternation, put the cap back on and move away to wherever they were at first headed. Weasil was oblivious to this snub, as he was too busy waiting for the "feeling of being poor" to set in.
It never did as you can well imagine as he had all his toys and playthings to occupy his "lonely hours" at home. Finally two weeks of PlayStation fun and games the Weasil was bored. He went into his kitchen and feeling experimental, he mixed green food colouring with his pale ale and did a fair job of creating "green beer." Did I mention it was also St. Patrick's Day? Well, the Weasil had noticed his neighbours were not at a local (there was none in the village), but at the small church at the end of the lane. Not feeling very Catholic (as the Weasil was a dreaded Protestant only his was Church of Scotland so he was awarded some peace by the locals), the Weasil decided to celebrate the day as his American friends would with green beer and crisps.
Well, it poured that day, a good day to be in church for the devout and for the one not so devout well he sat in his bay window stretched out on the window seat watching the drops run down the glass as he munched and drank. When the rain was over, Weasil went outside and spied an old chair outside his door he sat himself down, beer and crisps in hand, and thought to greet his neighbours as they came from church service. You know make a little merry. Uh huh.
Odd it seemed to Mr. W that the churchgoers were all gathered behind the old stone cemetery wall pointing and looking in his direction. He stopped in mid-munch and looked around and nothing out of the ordinary did he see. No not a thing! Yet, the congregation continued to point and stare and chatter to each other in his direction. No one moved from the wall for a good ten minutes when suddenly an RTE News van pulled up followed by TG4 and TV3 News. Out of the vans poured at least two news broadcasters each, with microphones which they hurriedly shoved under the Weasil's lordly nose.
"How do ye explain the rainbow over yer abode?" One asked as another butted his way in.
"Ye are said to be the local rich fella, ye got a pot o' gold in the old abode dere?"
Yet another pushed his microphone under the Weasil's proboscis with, "Yer really a rich fella or a leprechaun? Ye got gold in dere, eh?"
Weasil pushed his way up and out of the milling about to walk across the dirt road and look up at his abode. And what did he see R. Linda? Well, you guessed it a rainbow was making a graceful arch over the home of Weasil. Who'd a thunk that would happen? Well, certainly not me!
"Cor, itz a blimey rainy bow," Weasil whispered to himself marvelling at the phenom.
Microphones reassembled and shoved their way under the Weasil nose once more, and all at once the reporters were firing questions about pots of gold. Weasil, still staring at the rainbow ignored the men and their mics and pushed his way back across the road and inside where he locked the door and stood arms out holding it shut. In his Weasil mind he isn't thinking like a common man would, no he is thinking like the Weasil he is.
He goes down into his dirt-floored basement, finds a shovel and starts digging! And why ladies and gentlemen? Because in his fubar mind, he has convinced himself there is a pot of gold in his basement, thus the only explanation for a rainbow over his house and his house only!
So he digs, and he digs, and he digs until finally and without warning he hits the water pipes and WHOOSH a giant geyser of water goes roaring upward breaking through the basement ceiling to the first and second-floor ceilings and out the roof! Then as if this wasn't bad enough the oil tank exploded and BANG the oil went up making more holes to the outside where it mixed with the water and Bob's your uncle you know what it made. Yes, indeed as the roof parted from the building and Weasil managed to claw his way outside the collapsing floors, what could be seen for kilometres was a giant rainbow.
Everyone had high-tailed it to the cemetery wall for safety as the dazed and stumbling backwards Weasil looked with open-mouthed wonder at the rainbow over his damaged beyond repair home.
"I dunt gits it, I jus dunt." The Weasil said.
And to this day he still doesn't get it. He told me and a few other close "friendies" that if none of that water and oil had happened he'd have found that pot of gold he just knew it. When explained to him by one Wolfie that the water and oil mixture made the rainbow, he didn't believe it. No, Weasil simply did not believe the Wolf's words because as everyone knows, "Oil and water dunt mix."
OK THEN. There is nothing more for me to say, I think Weasil said it all and to this day he believes there is a giant pot of gold under the wreckage. The abode is boarded up and condemned and if it wasn't, you know Weasil would be down there digging. Uh huh.
Gabe
Copyright © 2014 All rights reserved
7 comments:
LMAO Mr. Corticosteroids has too much money to even pretend to be poor. If he was poor, he would have been grief stricken at the loss of his hovel. He wouldn't own more than two pairs of anything. Silly man just to find a pot of gold and see a greasy rainbow.
So you meant Mr. Gotrocks and spell check changed that to Mr. Corticosteriods, LOL. I rather like the spell check choice, it gives a whole new dimension to Mr. Weasil. LMAO
LMAO I guess it does! He used something to get his mind on a living poor frame
.
Ima pumped ROFLMAO Ima corticosteroids! Woohooooooooooooo
You bet you are. Isn't it past your bedtime Weas?
Funny story that. I have heard lots of stories about Weasil but that's the first on that one. LOL Wasn't there one in the UK with a noisy toilet?
Oh yes there is -- see: Adventures in London, November 2003.
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