A Great Feet

Middle Oub child volunteered in school. To get his feet washed. At mass tomorrow.

Good for him I say. Go middle Oub boy and your willingness to volunteer for anything.

It's the priest I feel sorry for. The smell from middle Oub boy's feet can kill. You think those leaking nuclear power plants in Japan are a problem? They have got nothing on this boy's feet.

"Keep that stinky fecker away from me!! I haven't been immunised yet!"*

Mr Oub thinks I'm refusing to go to the church cause I've hosting book club tomorrow, but no, it's really because I don't want to have to apologise to the families of all those killed and maimed when he removes his toxic spawg coverings. I, of course, have developed an immunity over the years, so I do survive these type of exposure incidents. But it has shortened my life expectancy considerably.

I am constantly amazed that the CIA don't show up at my door, asking to use the child for scientific research for biological weapons.

I turn away tinpot dictators at least twice a week.

Avert your eyes! They can injure even through the medium of binary!

I use his feet to keep the slugs off my potatoes.

His feet are anti-insured for 8 million euro.

The smell has been known to cause amnesia.

Our neighbours have lead lined walls to help protect them.

Nostradamus devoted a whole chapter to their apocalyptic nature.

They make small kittens cry.


So, what I'm basically saying is, if you are within a two hundred mile radius of Lucan tomorrow evening, around about 7pm - I'd stay indoors.

And keep your windows shut.





*Winner of the 'Most Tenuous Use of a Cute Baby Photo In My Blog Yet' award 2011...