Ye Olde Linoleum Shoppe

Wednesday, 2 November 2011

TRICK OR TREAT FIELD REPORT 2011


Todays blog is kindly sponsored by
*Bourke's Patented Brown Gold Lawn Fertiliser*

I had agreed to meet my usual gang of trick or treat chums for our yearly trawl through the neighbourhood in search of tooth rotting delights. My costume had taken some time to prepare and was a post-post-postmodern take on satire in the media and it's venal relationship with religious postcards circa 1952 - in short - I had a paper bag on my head.
Boy racer Aidan O Sullivan arrived at our rendezvous point pushing an empty child's buggy.
'What are you dressed as?' I asked politely.
Aidan shook his head in a disappointed way, 'I know you're not the sharpest twig in the wood report,' he sighed, 'so I'll make this easy for you - I'm pushing a buggy AND I go WOOOO, Woooo, WOOOO in the darkness AND I scare naughty children.'
'Still haven't a clue old bean,' I said.
'I'm the Buggy Man! Isn't it obvious?'
Cathy Moore's timely arrival broke the clanging silence. She was dressed as everybody's-favourite-communist-next-door, Fidel Castro.
'Great fake beard,' observed Aidan.
'Oh it's not fake,' said Cathy drawing deeply on her cigar. 'It's a side effect from working with Alan Hayden for too long.'
'Yes, I had to have mine surgically removed,' I added sympathetically.
Moments later Conor McDermott appeared dressed, as per usual, as a pumpkin. (I've heard he never takes the costume off- wears it underneath his clothes throughout the year.)
'Who's your friend?' I asked waving at the dark masked figure behind him.
'No idea, he just followed me here,' said Conor. The individual had an ominous air about him so I decided not to enquire about his motives and merely signalled to my playfellows that we should begin the evening's bonhomie and hilarity.
After six hours of dragging our festooned carcasses around the doorsteps of Terenure, Conor McD. held out our combined evenings takings - two monkey nuts and a minature tube of toothpaste (the type dentists give out for free.) We were, unsurprsingly, steaming with rage - when, without warning, a figure with with a riding crop, plus fours and a leather mask leapt out at us!
Conor screamed, causing the minature tube and nuts to fall out of his grip (ooh err.)
'Fear not,' said the becostumed person, 'It's only me, Sir Edward of Bourke - here to bring you seasonal tidings.'
'Wow!' said Cathy looking at the bulging bag by Ed's side. 'You look like you've cleaned up on the goodies, what's your secret?'
'It's my careful choice of words when I address the householder,' said Ed (his dainty voice only slightly muffled by the zip across his mouth.) 'When I arrive at a doorstep I don't use that tired old "trick or treat" chestnut. It's so 1979.'
'Oh, what do you say?' Asked Aidan conspiratorially.
'I say,' whispered Ed, 'Give me sweets or I will take a shit on your lawn!'
'And that works??!' Said Conor McD aghast.
'No, not at all, that's why I have to carry this huge sack of jobbies around with me, I wouldn't have the bowel capacity to do a dump on everyone's lawns around here, so I've been saving my shit all year for this night.'
And he then skipped away merry as grig, with his odorous sack, to deliver more treats onto the unsuspecting lawns of Terenure.


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Thank you for your attention and now we resume our narrative:

We then returned to look at our stash of loot when horror of horrors! Someone had eaten the whole minature tube of toothpaste AND both of the monkey nuts!!
'We've been plundered!' Roared Conor McD.
Looking about we realised the dark mystery guest had disappeared . . . (cue dramatic music.)
'Who the hell was that thieving sod?' Cried Aidan.
'Well Muchacos,' said Cathy Moore, with a knowing puff of her cheroot, 'It's elementary isn't it?'
We looked at each other in a confused way.
'Consider his black clothing,' said Cathy, 'His only words of the night - "I am your Father . . ." and his heavy breathing.'
'Oh jeepers,' I said.
'A paedophile priest!' Said Aidan, his face turning white.
'Oh Jinkies, oh Jinkies no! I'm going to sick up!' Squeaked Conor McD.
'What's wrong?' Asked Cathy.
'He kept making me hold his light saber!!' Said Conor as he ralphed a technicolour yawn. AND THAT dear readers, was how we discovered who had really eaten the toothpaste and monkey nuts!!
UNTIL NEXT TIME MUCHACHOS

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Ireland
I am a descended from a long line of conga dancers. I occasionally wear shoes. I gave up going to the toilet twenty years ago - it's a filthy habit. I have a pet bunny called Mucky - he's a filthy rabbit.

AND NOW FOR SOME SHAMELESSLY DIMINUTIVE FACES IN SMALL SQUARE BOXES