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Husband mauled by a Wild Animal-2 (Alternative AB Version)
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Oct 27th 2012 The Island of Craggy Dreams, somewhere near Mull, Scotland
Farmer Gina McHairlesssporran
It has been, in the words of desktop, a dreadful day, yesterday.
No, I, Gina, had not blocked a sink, toilet or bath as we use the local burn water for washing anything and for the bathroom, it’s a hole dug in our peat so we can start the process of making some more. The whole island is covered in such gness-mantrap holes but they offer great places for setting traps and encouraging our some of food supply to nest and develop.
Let me start by describing Craggy Dreams. It’s idyllically beautiful, wild, open to the sea, 2 miles from Mull and full of bogs. The McHairlesssporrans have lived here for many generations, always crofters, once supplying food to the islanders, long gone now, who once worked the seaweed pits to make AB thyroid medications and lineoleum tiles for Weegie tenement block floors, a market that came unstuck in more ways than one. Me and my OH live here with our daughters Flora-Jan and Cupid-Erica, the one with the KK knockers. The only other living things being a mixture of our sheep, a whippet, cats of all sizes, ferrets, and one-eared rabbits, a result of the myxa of myxomatosis having part set in on the island.
Yesterday was methyl hell, not because of the Customs & Excise looking for our sunny-dave Scotch and illicit NoM wines, but as Ebudae went out trapping, taking our whippet, Sloth, with us and two ferrets, Down and Trousers. For some unknown reason, thinking one of our tony-female goats had gone down one of the holes looking for a shag, randy, horny bugger that it is, stupidly he put his arm in there. Personally, I think it was his Vodka covered-mobile phone that started to ring, being up her vagina, as he had used it to look around in there earlier and lost it. He won’t admit that lurid and gruesome act though, worthy of many of the male members on AB.
However, it wasn’t a goat, but it was a bear perhaps, a cat more likely, there being plenty of Boxtop Rovers, Barmaid strays, rockyracoons, LieinKings or Coolcats on CraggyDreams but then it may have been a PolarBear or Beejay, given the global warming freezing the Island this weekend. Whatever, it bit or scratched into him, leaving a gash the size of a sibton bike and there was an awful of Lottie of blood.
What to do, what to do, a rush for the water, the tea cloths from last night’s supper of roasted rat, spinach and seawort. Oh I was in such a panic and phoned the ABambulance, listed in the Eigg Yellow pages, only to get woofgang, Bard and ummmm advice after advice to drop my Jogger knickers and piss on the old boy, as if he was some commoner, and then, having done that to use hooch on him and bandage with our flax sheets, as instructed by those nurses Mamya and tinks, the latter who I listened to being Matron at the Weege Hospital for Knackered Nuns.
Then some weird disease set in, the Pastafreak Pleurisy Sydrome, immediately resulting in the MTs and a tendency to spout off “Naomi, Goodlife is right, we are all doomed”, whoever this bloody Naomi, I shall be wringing his moonie testes as if I was a ttfn Halloween vampire.
We decided to be Prudi-ent and Erica-Cupid, bless her and her one-legged stump after being attacked by a rabid tony-goat, called for the seadogg inland rescue boat that arrived by helicopter in twenty NHS minutes (one hour in practice), piloted by some pilot called “waterboatman”, side pilot “WelshYorkie” and a gorgeous nurse, Alba, with stonking well-you-know-what, and some Spanish speaking quack called Senor Sqado.
Ten minutes later, we were in the Highland Coo Cock and Balls Inn, Ebudae on the floor, treatment of whacks over the head from the two bar owners, Mrs Minty Murray and Mrs Sandra Overalls. With the threat that they would open their cash tilly’s, Alba made Ebudae "wolf63" down an Eccles cake made by the village sunny hussy, Ann, chefess to the incapacitated Lady J of Eigg and Spoonie.
Farmer Gina McHairlesssporran
It has been, in the words of desktop, a dreadful day, yesterday.
No, I, Gina, had not blocked a sink, toilet or bath as we use the local burn water for washing anything and for the bathroom, it’s a hole dug in our peat so we can start the process of making some more. The whole island is covered in such gness-mantrap holes but they offer great places for setting traps and encouraging our some of food supply to nest and develop.
Let me start by describing Craggy Dreams. It’s idyllically beautiful, wild, open to the sea, 2 miles from Mull and full of bogs. The McHairlesssporrans have lived here for many generations, always crofters, once supplying food to the islanders, long gone now, who once worked the seaweed pits to make AB thyroid medications and lineoleum tiles for Weegie tenement block floors, a market that came unstuck in more ways than one. Me and my OH live here with our daughters Flora-Jan and Cupid-Erica, the one with the KK knockers. The only other living things being a mixture of our sheep, a whippet, cats of all sizes, ferrets, and one-eared rabbits, a result of the myxa of myxomatosis having part set in on the island.
Yesterday was methyl hell, not because of the Customs & Excise looking for our sunny-dave Scotch and illicit NoM wines, but as Ebudae went out trapping, taking our whippet, Sloth, with us and two ferrets, Down and Trousers. For some unknown reason, thinking one of our tony-female goats had gone down one of the holes looking for a shag, randy, horny bugger that it is, stupidly he put his arm in there. Personally, I think it was his Vodka covered-mobile phone that started to ring, being up her vagina, as he had used it to look around in there earlier and lost it. He won’t admit that lurid and gruesome act though, worthy of many of the male members on AB.
However, it wasn’t a goat, but it was a bear perhaps, a cat more likely, there being plenty of Boxtop Rovers, Barmaid strays, rockyracoons, LieinKings or Coolcats on CraggyDreams but then it may have been a PolarBear or Beejay, given the global warming freezing the Island this weekend. Whatever, it bit or scratched into him, leaving a gash the size of a sibton bike and there was an awful of Lottie of blood.
What to do, what to do, a rush for the water, the tea cloths from last night’s supper of roasted rat, spinach and seawort. Oh I was in such a panic and phoned the ABambulance, listed in the Eigg Yellow pages, only to get woofgang, Bard and ummmm advice after advice to drop my Jogger knickers and piss on the old boy, as if he was some commoner, and then, having done that to use hooch on him and bandage with our flax sheets, as instructed by those nurses Mamya and tinks, the latter who I listened to being Matron at the Weege Hospital for Knackered Nuns.
Then some weird disease set in, the Pastafreak Pleurisy Sydrome, immediately resulting in the MTs and a tendency to spout off “Naomi, Goodlife is right, we are all doomed”, whoever this bloody Naomi, I shall be wringing his moonie testes as if I was a ttfn Halloween vampire.
We decided to be Prudi-ent and Erica-Cupid, bless her and her one-legged stump after being attacked by a rabid tony-goat, called for the seadogg inland rescue boat that arrived by helicopter in twenty NHS minutes (one hour in practice), piloted by some pilot called “waterboatman”, side pilot “WelshYorkie” and a gorgeous nurse, Alba, with stonking well-you-know-what, and some Spanish speaking quack called Senor Sqado.
Ten minutes later, we were in the Highland Coo Cock and Balls Inn, Ebudae on the floor, treatment of whacks over the head from the two bar owners, Mrs Minty Murray and Mrs Sandra Overalls. With the threat that they would open their cash tilly’s, Alba made Ebudae "wolf63" down an Eccles cake made by the village sunny hussy, Ann, chefess to the incapacitated Lady J of Eigg and Spoonie.
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