Kolee ?Ynnit ( ms. )   
          - The Peeps'  Champion  -   
                                                                            address your concerns



Dear Ms. Ynnit

I awoke this morning with a sore head induced by a bottle of rioHa!
and some very deep-dark thoughts concerning tHeresa mHa!y.
However, the gloom was lifted by the appearance of a small mammal, best
described as a mole/vole cross. This creature, pockmarked, battle-scarred, 
told me stories that made my teeth curl, and set my hair on edge.
It had served its time as a reporter for  The Hole Tooth ( see previous Thoughts of Shrew) and had survived various political struggles, including the unlawful sinking of The Belgrano.
An army sniper's bullet had taken it by surprise in Co.Down, 
where it lost a chunk of its left earlobe.
When I asked the creature its name, it replied simply : 
People know me as   UnwhollyHoleyVoleyHoly !Moley  
For simplicity's sake, might I call you  UHVH!M ?,  I replied.
Whatever rocks your boat,  the creature continued
And to help me remember that acronymal mnemonic, I will use, as a further mnemonic,
the image that spring to mind from said acronym, which is an old video recording of 
Her Majesty The Queen being exposed to radioactive rays.
For simplicity's sake, did you say ?, pondered the creature.
There followed an awkward silence in which I had to ponder the awkwarder fact that I had effectively just been put in my place by a mole/vole cross, if kindly.  It was the kind of moment when we wish the ground to open up for us, but, seriously, what benefit ? could there have possibly been in that, other than for more mole/vole crosses to suddenly appear, bearing ever-more-ridiculous names; which I would then be forced to remember, using double (?even triple) mnemonic; and on top of all this, ever-more-disturbing images
of Her Majesty The Queen would be filling my head, at a time when I was trying ever-so-hard to think about her less rather than more; and besides, what if those deep-dark mnemonics didn't tally up correctly, leaving a hole-host of semi-blind, semi-crippled creatures stumbling around for an identity that was once so very much theirs, but which had now been ripped away, so cruelly ripped away from them in a back garden in the middle of nowhere, by a bloke, half-cut, and wearing half-mast pyjamas. ?Can you begin to imagine what kind of picture that creates.   I can !   !And it aint pretty
But every awkward silence contain an essential and implicit truth, Ms. ?Ynnit, which be this:
that it is not to be discussed; not  ever.
Well  ! WTF  ?! was that all about   Just How Fuckin' Embarrassin' was that !?,  the creature interrupt, finally. And there I'm thinkin' that it don't get worse than a half-cut guy in half-mast jimjams, and !whoa. just how wrong can a voleymoley be  FFS , ?eh   !     !
Had there been room at that point for an awkward silence in which to consider the fact that
I had just been effectively cursed by a vole-mole cross, well, not cross necessarily, 
Ms ?Ynnit, but fractious certainly,              but there wasn't because  bang then  UHVH!M 
unfastened its rainbow trench coat, breathed somewhat more easily, and from a hidden pocket pulled out multitudinous scraps of paper on which were scrawled the letters 
A  E  I  O U,  repeated mercilessly, in erratic temperance.   !It's a message, whispered the creature, under its steadier breath   .    ..   from The Military.  Well, had it been anyone else presenting such a garland of earthly delites at such a time of day to a chap dressed in such a manner, I would have laughed them out of ..  out of the garden. But this was no ordinary messenger, Ms ?Y, and the visitor's T shirt, depicting a hairy, wheelchair-bound Robert Wyatt, joint in one hand, and flashing a somewhat ambiguous V sign with the other, this 
T shirt told me that its wearer was someone who liked to cover all the bases.
oh shit   the visitor then exclaimed    shit shit shit    shit    SHiT     you stupid   fuck      
fuck  fuck    FuCK   ive only gone and forgot      forgot    that    other  big   pile   of    
of   letters      not just   aLL   the     other    fuckin   letters      aaGGHHHH       how can i  possibly give you a crucial  and  essentially sensitive message without     o     FFS       shitfuck        shitfuck         FuCKSHiT

At this point there follows an awkward silence in which    .  ..      .  No, I jest, Ms ?Y. 
There is no  awkwardness.  Not As Such.  For before you can say  appropriatepunctuation the creature has gone, !bang-disappeared, without trace, in a whiff, and boy!what a whiff,!ugh, leaving a half-cut-half-clad wholly distressed!, I can tell you.  A  crucial and essentially sensitive  message is out there  now   somewhere   and it has my name on it. 
Well, someone's name on it.  For sure.  Well, I guess if it's secret and borne by a secretive type it . .  .   well . .  O       FF .  . .        .  !  ?What is a man to do,  Ms ?Ynnit , what is a man to do,  ( ? eh  )




Leo Nitemynks







Dear Mr Nitemynks    (Leo)


I have absolutely ! no idea what your bangin' on about.
(!Seek 'elp )


K ?Y(ms.)


No, I jest ! Leo.
From what i remember of/in school,  voles are  pretty damn shit 
without constonants.
And  if it be any constolation i do know wot your goin' thro'
in a way.  I had a very sore head recemment under the Estaponian stars after a racey bottle of RioHa!  To say I was a bit legless is a bit like sayin' I was a-tad-ratassed ( !indood) I ended up flyin' with all kinda shit BUT(t) not tHeresa mHay ( thank !fuck) 
- no way, she hadnt even bin elected then FFS,! 
twas sill (the)Kammerleg  ( think  ) 
anyhoo
In conclusion

  !GOPHER IT   Mr Nitemynk    ( Leo )   
                            GOPHER   IT    !! 









Dear Ms. Ynnit


I have recently been visited by a strange, trench-coated creature who has taken particular fancy 
to my garden pond. 
Having researched the wee-fella, it would appear that my new friend is either a water-vole 
or a water-mole.
From my own detailed observations, and from what the wee-fella has indicated to me, 
I think I have an extremely strong swimmer on my hands. 
I'm looking to take my friend to the coast and set it across the water to Old Europe with a secret message - tucked inside its trench coat - for an ex-para-mate of mine. 
Since we English are not allowed through continental borders any more, this appear to be the only way to communicate privately with folk on foreign soil.  
JBYAM,  this ex-para - now running a very successful toy-making business, has committed to help set up a more appropriate defence force, given the circumstances we all now find ourselves        in.
JBYAM,  this military op. is to be called The NooNoo- Model-Army, 
for reasons best left be.
I am aware, Ms. Ynnit, that my water-mole-vole has quite a journey ahead of him/herself, 
and I wonder if you have any suggestions as to how I might provide adequate sustenance for such ?!


Yours


Ole Nitemynks








Dear 'Ole'

?Have we ever met or even made aquaintance befor now
Its just that your name is pretty-familial and I don't know
of so many Nitemynk's  in this neck'o the woods  tbph,
Anyhoo  t p.i.s  if tis indood a waterMole  then ull be 
delited to hear that I have a  dry MIK nitecream that mite
stand her/him/(you) in good sted   ?  !
On the other hands, if that beast is, as u have ruminated,
a waterVole, then   t.p.i.s.  your ! litrally fucked
Aside of this again - and re the more general comment on 
adiquate sustanance     I would  simply say this:

       !      SEA KELP   mr./ms. Nitemynks    SEA-KELP    !




?Ynnit   ( ms )










Dear Kolee

Should we heed the geyser who reckon that Shiva came to him
in his sleep and told him to stick all his worldly wealth on
an  Iceland v Lidl  World Cup Final in 2018 ?

yours
Milenny Tesko  /          Ise T/Lemon Ynk






Dear Milenny   Ise  &  Lemon,


!O   FFS       !    -     shiva  me  timbres  'n all    
if we lissened to every religous nut out there, we'd never get out the bleedin'
church         !
My advice  quite simple  is  as follows :

            
          Sikh help    peeps      b4  its  too late               !




?Y







Deer Kolee ?Ynnit (ms.)

We had the neighbours round recently and well, tpib, after a few drinks things started to get a bit y'know?   out of hand,  if you get my drift.
Well,  ms.?Y,  we got chattin' on stuff that one gets chattin' (on) when the drawbridge come down - y'know, usual suspects 'n all,  privet hedges that have become a public talking-shop, roof tiles mysteriously disappearing, then, by some miracle, re-appearing, on the church roof, and,  ashamedly,  l b n l ,   ! old   bangin'   boilers.     O(h)   ! FFS
So anyway, these neighbours are getting all bothered&hotunderthedodgecollar see?, itching to go take a look at our dirty-decrepit piece of kit, knock-sweatin' in the cubbyhole. I could say it was like sex had reared its louche, lascivious head except that would be plagiarising UKIP's  Brexit brochure, and I have no wish to do that for sure ! Besides, the sexhead was less rear than beer (sos again,! UKIP ) and, the cubbyhole being bang next to the bathroom, meant that our neighbour(s) (hubby) could legit go find relief, and simultaneously take a crafty peek in the cubby at the same time. 
Well, not simultaneously maybe, unless hubby had the longest penis known to man (as he had been previously claiming ) or he had decided to use the giant-sized mousetrap game equipment, which we tend to leave set up for special occasions.  
!Holy mo(u)se    cry hubby on return, with a brevity of language borne of ecstasy rather than the literary   there bin some knockin'-and-a-bangin' goin' on there !?rite enuff
Well, Ms. Ynnit, my first reaction was one of real surprise; hub had gone to the toilet on his own, so I failed to see how anything like that might have occurred. Just as I twigged what he actually meant, hub burst into song; what followed was quite astonishing. 
Hub Bryan  starts belting out  The Boiler Man  which he and his partner used to perform as flounder members of  The Beach Bums tribute act.  If you'll permit me, Ms?Y ?,  for the moment still bring tears to me eyes ;
      Take my hand, Boiler Man, take my hand, 
         you got me knockin' and a-bangin'

Oh!it's like Bryan Wilson in da house  quipped the partner.  !Mmmm 
Can you  picture the scene, Ms. ?Ynnit, ?! mmmm, ? can you
!Well I fucking can, even after a dowager of Doombar. 

Okay, t c a l s s, the night concluded with Bryan prattling on about a  'fird'  boiler. 
My anxiety levels were raised to a pitch, thinking he meant a  third  boiler, and that my other half had hidden two spare boilers under the floorboards, for a rainy day.  
Butt no, he meant  furred,  or, technically,  furred  UP     !
Apparently our old beast was not nearly as 'knackered' ( technically, furred up) as theirs.  
He was by now gloating almost at the wretchedness of their equipment, as if urging us on to equal, nay beat such abjection.  Should I have objected to this implication, Ms ?Y  
Or must I simply accept that in  CompetitiveToryBritain,  I have absolutely no option but to compete; to outfox,  nay outfurr the cringing fucker  ?


Yours gratefully & best

Noisy MkLeenit  /
                                Nok Slityemen





              So , N & N ,   ! GO FURR  IT   !

                                                                         ?Ynnit(ms.)


































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