Coach Parcells
Gently coaxing the Christian Children to football victory
posted by Kitty O'Keefe at 7:22 AM
November 01, 2006
Gently coaxing the Christian Children to football victory
About Me
- Name: Kitty O'Keefe
- Location: United States
A financial professional with 30 years' experience in financial management and education for women.
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- Wet Socks
- Grouchy Catholics Making a List - And Checking It ...
- Catholic League of Religious and Civil Rights
- Business/Workplace/Blogs
- No Need to Pretend
- Anonymouse Says:
- There's Gravity In a Lap Dance
- October 27, Revisited
- In a Humble Spirit, May We Be Accepted by You, O Lord
- Hip Us, Lord
1 Comments:
Sometimes I lie in my little bed behind the foot-
moulding in the sitting room and read a bit of Talleyrand before sleep
in the handy micro-edition
from Prentice-Hall-U.K.
Contrary to what you might
think, the soft droning purr of the big brindle
tabby lying just beyond
my penny-size entryway
(inboard of and slightly above the quarterround) is rather a lovely soporific instead of some sort of dire portent or threat. The best of us simply live
with it, you see. Now and
then we do get the odd
depressed mouse or even an
occasional frankly- psychotic one..though I
personally think, from my
armchair genetics study,
that these traits have been by nature bred out of
us with the help of a harsh environmental mechanism: sad and mad mice are terribly vulnerable and are often 'disappeared'
before they have the chance to marry and create
issue. Take my great Uncle
Maurice, for instance. Not
mad by birth, he came home
from The Great War with a
very odd superbright look
in his little marmite eyes
and a whiskers twitch that
was very very disturbing, especially to the little ones who would whine and
hide behind Mummy. He had been in ground munitions with the BEF throughout the second Ypres Offensive and was always muttering about fuse lengths and flash delays and such like
and seemed to be fond of collecting stinky volatile
liquids.
There was a tom everyone
especially hated, very stupid but extraordinarily
mean. I won't offend your
tender sensibilities by
telling you what he liked
to do to us. Anything you
can imagine is bad enough.
Uncle Maurice began to
call the tom Kaiser Bill
and blurt out things like
"Cut his bloody ballocks off and hang'em on the Wire! That's what I say!"
and "Hangin's too good for
him! He wants another
worser end, he does! Summat like poor old Herbert with his guts draped out all over the parapet and a-crying for his mother 'til he faded!"
I had the feeling it was
only a matter of time. A
day came when Uncle Maurice
turned up absent as we say
and all feared the worst.
I did notice that U.M.'s
materiels were gone missing
and there was an unusual
scent in the general air..
like a garage or a car park
or a petrol kiosk...
By the big hallway hole,
then, the one nearly as large as a shilling that a
catpaw and much of a fore-
arm can get in..a reaching
clawing arm and we knew by
color it was Kaiser Bill..
Maurice by the hole just inside and drenched and ragged and bloody but smiling a hideous smile and with both hands he prepared to
scratch the kitchen match
the size of a mouseball bat
across the lath.."Hai! It's me boys!" his voice
screaming with dark joy,
"anyone care for a bit of HOT PUSSY!! Hahahahaha!!!"
Of course the whole lot
went up..Maurice too, which I must believe he intended all along. We put
him out, too late, while (at the risk of portraying us as sadistic) we enjoyed the sound of a thoroughly
accelerant-conflagrated
Kaiser Bill richocheting
off the household walls
until he, too, like poor Herbert, faded.
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