Hands of the Strangler .....

  I'm in Hugh's, the Butchers today. We're just finishing a good chat and I'm about to leave when some guy comes in and proclaims; 

  " Aaah! The man who'll catch all the rats!  ..... Now, tell me, friend; How do ye catch and kill all these rats? "

 Guy was perfectly serious, of course. People just carry on that way here. So, I answered him perfectly seriously, of course:

 " I strangle them! "

He's, like; " Be' Jesus!!! Ye strangle  them ....?! "

 " Yeah, " I says. " And will ye just look at the state they leave my fucking hands in! All their biting me, as I strangle them! "

 Held up my hand, for him to see.

  Guy was fuckin' mortified, of course. There I stood. Living proof of my own legend. Scars to prove it.


 This shit's in my blood, see? All of it. My Dad taught me my first steps in rat catching. That's true. I knew the principles, plus, before I even had my first day at school. But, that's all taught and learned shit. This, as I say, is in my blood.

  Gypsys 'Tell Fortunes'. Yeah? Well, in Romanes, the one time language of the Gypsys, it's called " Dookerin' ". Look up an " Anglo Romani Dictionary " sort of effort and ye'll find it there. 'Dookering. Dookripen. Dooka. Ducka.' Fucka. 

    It's all bollocks, really. Ask any Gypsy who knows enough of the old language to have a clue and they could tell ye. " Dookering " means Bullshitting! Blarney. Gift of the gab. That's all it is. All it ever was. It's natural to the blood. Repartee. 


 The state of my hands? 'Rat Strangling', my arse! That was in my blood too. Just had a spot of that  'Prickly Heat' shit, a week back. Scratched so much I almost ripped myself to fucking pieces!


 But there's an insight into the ancient Gypsy art of 'Bull Shitzu'. The ability to spin on a pin head. Using what ever's to hand to ones advantage. 

 I have only felt free to pass on this arcane  knowledge after long contemplation of the demise of Brian Plummer. Otherwise, he'd probably have heard of all this and bred a 'Pit Bull' cross Shitzu. Called it the " Traditional Romani Fighting Dog " and written books about it. 

  That would have, no doubt, further boiled Lloydys piss ~ already hot enough, with all that Shiraz and curry. Likely wouldn't have done my own blood a lot of good either. 

 But, there it is. Plummer's dead. Phil and I can't be too far behind him now. How ye'll gnash and wail when we're All gone, eh? Who then to entertain ye?

 Now I must go. Keep getting these texts from some bird who wants to interview me on TV .....

 Ye think I'm joking, don't ye ....?