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Is this it Butch ?HaHa

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Posted by MM on December 21, 2003 at 21:04:07:

In Reply to: Inquiry????????? posted by Butch on December 20, 2003 at 03:39:40:

12 days to Christmas


Dear Nuala, Thank you very much for your lovely present of a partridge in a pear tree. We're getting the hang of feeding the partridge now, although it was difficult at first to win its confidence. It bit Mother rather badly on the head, but they're good friends now and we're keeping the pear tree indoors in a bucket.

Thank you again, Yours affectionately, Gobnait O'Lunacy


Dear Nuala, I cannot tell you how surprised we were to hear from you so soon again and to receive your lovely present of two turtle doves. You really are kind.

At first, the partridge was very jealous and suspicious of the doves. They had a terrible row on the night the doves arrived. We had to send for the vet, but the birds are okay again and the stitches are due to come out in a day or two. The vet's bill was R120, but Mother is over her annoyance now and the doves and the partridge are watching the telly from the pear tree as I write.

Yours Ever, Gobnait


Dear Nuala, We must be foremost in your thoughts. I had only just posted my letter when the three French hens arrived. There was another sort-out between the hens and the doves, who sided with the partridge, and the vet had to be sent for again. Mother was ragin' for the bill was R240 this time, but now has almost cooled down. However, the fact that the birds' droppings keep falling on her hair while she's watching telly doesn't help matters.

Thanking you for your kindness, I remain, Your Gobnait


Dear Nuala, You couldn't have received my last letter when you were sending us your calling birds. There was pandemonium in the pear tree again last night and the vet's bill was R480. Mother is on sedation as I write.

I know you meant no harm and remain your close friend, Gobnait


Nuala, Your generosity knows no bounds -- five gold rings! When the package arrived I was scared stiff that it might be more birds because the smell in the living room is atrocious. However, I don't want to seem ungrateful for the beautiful rings. Your affectionate friend, Gobnait


Nuala, What are you trying to do to us? It isn't that we don't appreciate your generosity, but the six geese have not only nearly murdered the calling birds, but they lay their eggs on top of the vet's head from the pear tree and his bill was R1020 -- IN CASH! My mother is munching 60 grains of Valium a day and talking to herself in a most alarming way. You must keep your feelings for me in check. Gobnait


Nuala, We are not amused by your little joke. Seven swans-a-swimming is the most romantic idea, but not in the bath of a private house. We cannot use the bathroom now because they have become completely savage and rush the door every time we try to enter. If things go on this way, Mother and I will soon be as bad as the living room carpet.

Please lay off, it is not fair. Gobnait!


Nuala, who the hell do you think gave you the right to send eight hefty maids-a-milking here to eat us out of house and home? Their cattle are all over the front lawn and have trampled the hell out of Mother's rose beds. The swans invaded the living room in a sneak attack and the ensuing battle between them and the calling birds, turtle doves, French hens and partridge made the battle of the Somme seem like Wanderly Wagon1. Mother is on a bottle of whisky a day, as well as the 60 grains of Valium. I'm very annoyed with you! Gobnait.


Listen, you louser -- there's enough pandemonium in this place night and day without the nine drummers drumming while the eight flamin' maids-a-milking are beatin' me poor old alcoholic mother out of her own kitchen and gobblin' everything in sight.

I'm warning you -- you're making an enemy of me. Gobnait

DAY 10

Listen, manure face, I hope you'll be haunted by the strains of the 10 pipers piping, which you sent to torment us last night. They were aided in their evil work by those maniac drummers and it wasn't a pleasant sight to look out the window and see eight hefty maids-a-milking all going round to the ensuing punk rock uproar. My mother has just finished her third bottle of whisky on top of 124 grains of Valium.

You'll get yours, Gobnait O'Lunacy

DAY 11

You have scandalised my mother, you dirty jezebel. It was bad enough to have eight maids-a-milking dancing to punk music on the front lawn, but they've now been joined by your friends, the 11 lords-a-leaping and the antics of the whole lot of them would leave the most decadent days of the Roman Empire looking like Outlook2. I'll get you yet, ya'auld bag, Gobnait

DAY 12

Listen, slurry head. You have ruined our lives. The 12 maidens dancing turned up last night and beat the living daylights out of the eight maids-a-milking 'cause they found them carryin' on with the 11 lords-a-leaping. Meanwhile, the swans got out of the living room where they'd been hiding since the big battle and savaged the hell out of the lords and all the maids. There were eight ambulances here last night and the local civil defence as well. Mother is in a home for the bewildered and I'm sitting here up to me neck in birds' droppings, empty whisky and Valium bottles, birds' blood and feet, while the flamin' cows eats the leaves off the pear tree.

I'm a broken man. Gobnait O'Lunacy

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