Maybe after the wake, Skinny McDuck  got off with the wummin in the pub who had stabbed her husband in the belly, and the chest, and the face. He was beating her up at the time, so I'm sorry he's not deid, and I hope Skinny got on okay with that, and managed to get away the next day with all his bits.
                    His brother from Denmark was in Bellshill for two hours before he got knocked unconscious by the kick-boxing champion, but his pal, who was also knocked unconscious, is a taxi driver with a long memory, and that's not a taxi you want to fall into one night pissed if you were involved, due to the retributions.
                     An elephant was buried in the foundations of the chapel in Mossend where the funeral was, and not at lot of people know that.
                      They were not allowed to put a steeple on the catholic church, the same chapel, were my grandfather was married because the protestants wouldn't let them, as it would have been bigger than the steeple of the protestant church at Bellshill cross. But they are all going to hell, Jack. They're all going to fucking hell.
                       The Domestic Bliss thinks I should go to the Holy Isle off Arran from January till the end of March to do the juju, and I think I will. Do you know anyone else who would like to go to jail and lock themselves up like that? Froggy McDuck told me today that I should be going there right now because it is my chance and opportunity to do this. Also, your body starts to die after you are sixty two no matter what you think.
                         You have to accept the world as it is.
                          At the funeral I met the other two folk from the half back line I was in at the Holy Family primary school. Right back, centre half, left back, which was moi.
                          Some folk asked me if I was the writer. Well, I am not, but what can you say?