Mac Fecker, The Pig And The Spy (Part One)

      Peter Morris
Mac Fecker, The Pig And The Spy (Part One)

Jack Mac Fecker, pig breeder, farmer and father never thought that he would enter the world of spying, Steven Speilberg, badger rights, home brewing and gay farmers, especially not in the Mountains of Mourne. Temptation, in all its forms, invaded his world and he responded as any half educated Irishman would. Here we meet Jack and his family and find him at the doorstep of a world of espionage.Jack Mac Fecker, pig breeder, farmer and father never thought that he would enter the world of spying, Steven Speilberg, badger rights, home brewing and gay farmers, especially not in the Mountains of Mourne. Temptation, in all its forms, invaded his world and he responded as any half educated Irishman would. Here we meet Jack and his family and find him at the doorstep of a world of espionage, home brew and badgers. Will he go in? Will he cross that threshold and place his family, his farm and even himself in mortal danger? The first in a series of linked funny stories around the Mac Feckers.
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    Par For The Course

      Peter Morris
Par For The Course

A humorous look at the British class system. Meet Buntie and Rupert, stalwarts of the etiquette police, chinless wonders who bellow and bluff their way through life. This story was inspired by the poster that used to hang in the boarding house windows in London at the turn of last century stating, “No Blacks, No Dogs, No Irish.”Once upon a time I was fishing away when a man appeared across the creek from me. He sat down on a large rock holding an acoustic guitar. Yes sir! Yes sir! He was wearing all black with a fedora, silver chains around his wrists, his mouth was stretched in a large wide smile that went from ear to ear. A white tie hung down to his waist with gold buttons in the middle. Not a single word was spoken between us and we did not even acknowledged that the other person was there. Something was odd about this man. Yes sir! Yes sir! Butterflies seem to be flying around his head as if they were being pulled in by his gravity. He was an eerie man. I do not even think my twisted mind could make him up. His presence wasn't erotic, but it was a sick pleasure.
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