Ministher Dempsey again.

I met Bock recently to arrange to go to devotions. 'Bock', says I, 'I took your advice.' 'Oh great', says he, can I borrow it next weekend because I'm remodelling the kitchen again'. 'Ah fuckit no I said, not about reconditioning the chainsaw with the nitrous oxide turbo kit, about the blog. I have my own one now'. 'Was that you you hoor you?' says he. 'Why didn't you go the whole way'?

Now in my distant and rapidly receding youth, that particular phrase had, certain connotations. People from Tullamore and Crossmolina used to write to Angela MacNamara in the Sunday Press about it. So it was time to tread cautiously on the thin ice on the extreme outer edges of the vast and deep oceans of Bock's wisdom. 'What d'ya mean by the whole way'? says I, with as much extreme nonchlance as I could muster.

Well, says he, why didn't you mention the way Dempsey adds h's to words. He makes wordsh out of them. So you get sentencesh like 'all the membersh of the consthruction indhusthry featheration have sent letthers through their local representhathivesh exshplaining the pershpectivesh they share on sthrathegic issuesh that affect the workersh rights to take indhusthrial action'.

Do you know Bock, says I, you're quite right. That's him.

And all the other decent robbersh lifted their pints in agreement. He's nothin' but a bollocksh, they agreed.

Nuts