Wednesday, March 21, 2007

Murdina stops for a smoke.

Murdina, at the butcher shop, has been swamped with work recently. She's trachled.














"Darn chickens are all sneezing," she said, "and those cows wi' the wobbly legs just will'nae stand still long enough for me to aim the rifle. I hit Woodworm Willie in his prosthesis yesterday. Aye, the bullet went straight through the wood, so it did, and rebounded off the chopping block, lodging itself in the pudding mix. Darned if I can find it anywhere. Been up to my elbow ever since. So, black pudding is on sale today."

Poor Murdina. She asks, "Any capable tradesmen out there who can bung the hole in Willie's stump?"

4 comments:

Anonymous said...

Ach Murdina, Murdina..
I will be flying in to the island in the morning to spend the weekend at my island retreat. Ask Willy to come up to my place and we'll find some way of filling his orifice. We have a number of options. Pollyfilla - she may e off tomorrow, sand and cement, and Putty, failing that if Spanners can dredge up some old engine oil from his sump we could fill it with that, failing that what about some satle clapdarnach????

Torquil Mor said...

Hello there Cyril, my good friend, would that be the wee island retreat that you bought from Daft Uisdean? The sheddie where he once abducted Sydney Devine?

Ah, well if it is Daft Uisdean's sheddie that you mean then I'm afraid that you cannae buy it from him now. The deal is off!

The sheddie's value has shot through the roof. It's owrth a fortune now. I'll explain with a photo in a wee while. When you see the photo you'll understand why it is so special now.

Anonymous said...

Hello there Torquil my friend, Wul here....When you next see Willie can you please tell him to hop by the garage. I've got some right fine Cataloy filler that I got cheap on the mainland and, for a small consideration, can confine his whole prosthetics problem to history.

Torquil Mor said...

Hello there my good friend, Wullie Spanners,

My very good friend, Woodworm Willie, says that he's no pleased with the rub down that you gave him after his Cataloy job.

He says have you no got any of those Chinese mechanics wi' the wee feet that'll walk across his back. And can the lady with the paintings provide a re-spray paint job for his leg? If you send him a colour chart he'll pick one he likes. ("That's regarding the Chinese wumin wi' the wee feet," he says.)