Brendan the Budgie goes to God.
How ya doin' today?
Why do ya reckon they chose such a poofy name as 'demurrage' when they could of just said 'storage fees'? Talk about making things bloody complicated.
Anyways, I have hunted around the place and I reckon I could raise the money in a week or so but I had a chat to Madge down at the Flightcentre and she reckons I've got a snowflakes chance in hell of getting a flight to Europe before early January. The planes are full of teachers and politicians heading North. Now I know you are working to a tight sort a schedule so I thought I'd better check with you before I booked anything firm, like.
What do ya reckon I should do?
We had a bit of a blue today. Me dog Colin ate Raylene's budgie, Brendan. One of those daggy little blue things. We were wondering where he was and we was looking for him when the vicar turned up to give Raylene his weekly bullshit about us getting married and not living in sin and me making a decent woman of her. I said I prefers her indecent but he ignored me. He was jabbering on and on when Colin walked up to us and sorta gives this gasping cough and out comes a cloud of blue feathers! Quick as a flash I jumps up and shouts 'It's the work of the devil! Me dog's possessed! Save us Father!'
Ya know what? The prick disappeared. The bastard scarpered straight down the stairs, sent poor Mrs Jenkins arse over tit, and was last seen legging it down O'Connor Street. God I laughed and laughed. I reckon I hadn't laughed so much since granny got her tits caught in the mangle. Me eyes still ache.
Hope your days been real bonza too,