Ragtag Giggagon

 Continued from Chapter 11 Part 4 . CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE ESCAPE FROM THE SAFEHOUSE, THE MURDER OF THE LOCAL CONSTABLE AND THE BEGINNINGS OF A FAIR FOLK CONSPIRACY (PART FIVE)             I shuffled into the local slightly left field, more progressive and liberal pub – not the main pub of the town – while a native man of no more than thirty years sat nursing a mug of ale at the bar in a state of shock. The local man, Fletch Curtis, was a cattle and vegetable farmer and he also owned a Fertiliser Creatory. He had just been told by a member of the Auxiliary forces that his sister, Angela Combover, had been murdered the night before by a horde of angry Republicans.             Not to be one to be putting thoughts into another character’s head - but perhaps, be coming a little bit th ird person here - Fletch hoped silently that the Auxiliary soldier had been mistaken, perhaps he had gotten the facts wrong, perhaps there was no truth in the story.             It was then that I approac

Former Governor Mitt Romney refused to answer questions from reporters Monday morning over charges that he targeted the wrong muppet in his election campaign. Leaving his Belmont MA home to attend a series of business meetings, the president-elect took the time to strap and secure three yelping chocolate labradors to his car's roof, while ignoring clamoring protestors and reporters in front of his mansion gates. As he tightened a harness around the neck of Snickers, the latest addition to his car dog collection - bringing the canine's head down so that it was flush with the roof - Mr. Romney ignored the chants that he should have called for "Not Big Bird's head, but Elmo's instead [on the block]". The Sesame Street scandal - involving Elmo - is an American remake of the crisis that struck the BBC earlier this year, when the late television and radio presenter Jimmy Savile was exposed as a serial sex offender responsible for indecent acts over the course of som

Continued from Chapter 11 Part 3 . CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE ESCAPE FROM THE SAFEHOUSE, THE MURDER OF THE LOCAL CONSTABLE AND THE BEGINNINGS OF A FAIR FOLK CONSPIRACY (PART FOUR )   An Early Childhood by Paddy Flanagan is a mock, surreal autobiography by a fictional Irish literary figurehead, champion bodhrán player and broadcaster.                     The inside of the house was a mess. Constable Combover and his wife were hanging upside down in the bedroom from hooks, two pools of blood beneath them, Constable Combover’s funny haircut made a full mockery, hanging off him and starched solid with blood. Their guts hung loose outside of their opened shtomachs. Their eyeballs, gouged out with what could only have been a spoon, dangled from their sockets in a cartoon-like fashion.             Scrawled on the wall in blood was a savage indictment which read:             “The Republicans             are the ones                         who bloody well             did this.”             I wasn’

CHAPTER TWELVE: MY ADVENTURE WITH THE MOST BEAUTIFUL GIRL EVER AND A BETRAYAL BY ONE OF MY MEN (PART THREE) Continued from Chapter 12 Part 2                 Charlo winked at me in a surreptitious manner and I could have felled him there and then because there was no doubt in my mind now that he was a traitor. He shnuck out of the cave and made his way down the hill towards the nearest village as I followed him at a safe distance, ensuring I wouldn’t be seen by him. He glanced back every now and then to ensure he wasn’t being followed, but I melted into the scenery each time. Finally, he turned round a corner between a rock and a tree and reached a British encampment and I watched him go into one of the tents.                 It was getting dark at this stage; dusk was fast approaching so I found little difficulty in sneaking in behind the tent and listening to the conversation Charlo was having with Colonel Sir Edward “Gold Bollocks” Tiptoft.                 “…the Weatherlock is stron

CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE ESCAPE FROM THE SAFEHOUSE, THE MURDER OF THE LOCAL CONSTABLE AND THE BEGINNINGS OF A FAIR FOLK CONSPIRACY (PART THREE ) “An Early Childhood by Paddy Flanagan” is a mock, surreal autobiography by a fictitious Irish television and radio personality. It parodies misery memoirs (such as Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt) and cannibalises from various sources. It's postmodern, don't you know. Continued from Ch 11 Pa rt 2 .             Dawn rose on my home village and I was awoken by a cold, sharp morning mist which hung on the ground like the dry ice prevalent in the music videos which I shot for my band years later.             I woke my four men and we climbed out of the ditch and brushed the dew off each other’s clothes in a comradely fashion.             “Howyeh, Paddy,” said Father Rorty passing by on his bicycle.             “Father Rorty!” I hailed, having to shout quite loud on account of the fact of Father Rorty’s deafness in his later years, “What

CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE ESCAPE FROM THE SAFEHOUSE, THE MURDER OF THE LOCAL CONSTABLE AND THE BEGINNINGS OF A FAIR FOLK CONSPIRACY (PART TWO )   Continued from Ch 11 Part 1 .           Ten minutes later, the smell of burning coal oil and curtains and rugs and carpets and wood alerted me to the fact that the house was on fire, so I climbed out of my cubby hole and set my men free one by one. The four of us strode purposefully through the blazing house into the library in a kind of slo mo shot, and I pulled out a book about Gnosticism within the Catholic faith – or at least, what was meant to be a book about such errant Esoteria – but was in fact a biography of Walter Sickert the London based artist – and the whole bookshelf swung around and myself and my men were on the other side, sliding down a shaft and into a ditch across the road. The Brits were all still outside. I deemed it necessary to approach Tiptoft and ask him a question or two. I donned my tramp’s disguise, comprising a fake bea

Continued from Chapter 10 Part 3 . CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE ESCAPE FROM THE SAFEHOUSE, THE MURDER OF THE LOCAL CONSTABLE AND THE BEGINNINGS OF A FAIR FOLK CONSPIRACY (PART ONE) An Early Childhood by Paddy Flanagan is a mock, surreal autobiography by a fictional Irish literary figurehead, champion bodhrán player and broadcaster.             So there we were, trapped in the safehouse. It felt a bit like the GPO all over again, and I had sudden pangs in my stomach that I was undergoing something French-sounding that I couldn’t remember the name of; not being a French-speaker, I felt that I had had the same experience before, in a kind of postmodern feedbac k loop . Myself, John Fisherman-O’Reilly, Sean Tubridy-O’Reilly (related by marriage) and Tancred Moorphy M’Nally awaiting certain death with approximately forty-two British soldiers, all sixes and sevens, led by Colonel Sir Edward Tiptoft, having utterly surrounded the house.             We were all four of us in the front room, what in

CHAPTER TEN: A MORE DETAILED ACCOUNT OF THE EASTER RISING (PART THREE) Continued from Chapter 10 Part Two . An Early Childhood by Paddy Flanagan is a mock, surreal autobiography by a fictional Irish literary figurehead, champion bodhrán player and broadcaster.               At that stage I’d had enough of the Easter Rising but I had to wait in the GPO for another few days while the fighting continued. The fighting actually ended earlier than that, but you understand I have to stretch it out for literary effect, and to build a bit of tension. The post office was ablaze by the time we surrendered. We didn’t quite surrender; we first escaped out of the building and sneaked away before being captured by the Tommies. We were taken to the gaol and we gave our names to the police officer on duty.                 “Jimmy Murphy,” I said to the prison officer.                 “You’ll have to do better than that,” the incredulous officer responded with a low whistle through his false teeth.    

CHAPTER TEN: A MORE DETAILED ACCOUNT OF THE EASTER RISING (PART TWO) Continued from Chapter 10 Part 1 . An Early Childhood by Paddy Flanagan is a mock, surreal autobiography by a fictional Irish literary figurehead, champion bodhrán player and broadcaster.                 A rather large man with a grey-white beard, dressed in red and white, pulled up in a sleigh outside the GPO, the back of the sleigh full of rifles and murder bombs as they were known. It was The O’Rahilly Himself, dressed as Father Christmas for Easter to throw the Tommies off the scent. Limey bastards. I got a rifle to replace my now redundant flare gun, and it was a glorious amalgamation of various rifles from a number of countries of the world, including a sight lens with beautiful crosshairs forged from the fur of a Tibetan yak that was imported from Prussia, probably the best sight lens in the world at that stage and proud of it I was indeed. I also got a Colt 45 into the bargain for an extra shilling, which I