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Mike Malloy's Maximum Cover

Video clips on Youtube
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2rk6E81EuvU http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BWOQUDg2yvI

Have you heard the tale of Mike Malloy, the man no poison could destroy? Well, harkee folks and lend an ear as y' carry on knittin' or drinkin' beer.

Born long ago in Donegal, And blessed from birth with a stomach of iron, he heard America's westward call, in the depths of the Bronx his body's a-lyin' Boozin' the hard stuff became his life's one great mission, and I guess his life's greatest trial was the Great Prohibition.

The day finally came when he hadn't a dime, so he decided to have himself one last great helluva time, He knocked on the door of this speak-easy dive where there was plenty of water to keep fish alive.

"Say the password, bud," said a guy at the door.

Mike's bleary eyes glowed with alcoholic intent: "Hit the trail," said the guy, but just then he saw Mike's rubicund nose - and had to relent.

"You'd better see Lu," said a guy with a gun, whose menacin' looks promised no fun. Lu smirked, then spat, and all he would say was: "The guy needs a break, I guess he's okay."

"Your poison?" said the bartender with a sinister leer, "It's all on the house, so make it stronger than beer!" "Could Oy have sum of tat?" the Irishman asked, pointing his finger at a bottle of bourbon Its label had on it a dervish with his face masked beneath a lurid fire-red turban.

"I can see at a glance," the bartender remarked, "You sure are a man of impeccable taste," then a guy behind barked: "Cut out the fancy talk, Joe, I got business to do. Say, Mister, it ain't often we have a gentleman like you grace this joint with his honourable person. Say, you fellas back there, we've got us a guest, so quit cursin'! I think it's high time we was introduced. Tony Marino's the name.

Meet my friends - Dan and Frank, quit that damn-fool game, come and meet ... Pardon me, Mr. ... er?" - "Malloy's me name, Mike Malloy."

"Well, Mike, I'd like y' to meet Joe Murphy - wanna be on the right side of dat boy. See, he serves the juice and kinda plays the part of Mother, Say, Joe, your dad came from Ireland too, and Mike sure looks mighty like your ma's kid brother. Yeah! Her maiden name was Malloy, small world, is it not? You two must be related! Now Joe's got a very soft spot for Irish relations, and you'll be interested to know he can be mighty generous with the credit. Joe was a chemist once, which is useful. They call it illicit, Joe just distils it.

Meet Francis Pasqua, an undertaker by profession, That's the line that ain't been too badly affected by the economic depression. Now Dan over there sells fruit and vegetables on a stall down at the dock. That's why the burgundy's from tomatoes, and there's squash in the hock. Frank Manzella - Hi Frank! - is a doctor, which helps, and you see that guy in the chair pickin' his teeth, kinda tall and bony, He's involved in - er - the disposal business, and most people round these parts just call him tough Tony Bastone.

Now, Mike, you certainly strike me as the responsible, level-headed type, and I'd bet my bottom dollar I could do you a big favor. As an insurance broker with wide experience, I'd say the time's ripe for you to give yourself maximum cover. Frank, stop coughin' and pass over the liquor with the soy bean flavor!"

Now, Tony was the kinda operator that never slackened his pace When he'd got business to transact. From a smart leather attache case he produced a bewildering array of booklets and papers. Joe passed a bottle under Mike's nose so's he'd inhale its strong vapors.

"Now Mike, I'd like a few details please: When and where were you born?" "Oy tink it was Donegal Ireland, Oy disremember the rest, but oy coulda sworn Oy had me sixtieth birthday a few years back." Makin' allowances for wear and tear. Tony assessed Mike's age as bein' fifty-four, takin' good care not to stretch credibility beyond the point it could bear. As to Mike's occupation, there was a slight problem to overcome, Since, precisely defined, it would have been professional bum, but since Mike had once served customers in a store, Tony thought 'store manager' would settle the score.

Mike was single, so somebody would be needed to put in A claim, should anything happen to Mike, whose next of kin turned out to be - surprise, surprise - bartender Joe. Thus it transpired that he would be the principal beneficiary on the day Mike expired.

An eight hundred dollar policy was obtained from Metropolitan Life Inc., Two more from the Prudential, each for about five hundred, I think. Tony also interested Mike in a six grand double indemnity clause against death by accident, with a concessionary premium for guys workin' in stores.

"But how shall Oy manage me monthly payment?" asked worried Mike as he was about to sign. Tony, replenishin' Mike's glass, said: "Till you've found your feet, Mike, that worry's mine." "But Oy tought insurance was for fellas wid ten kids to support."

said Mike, "Not for drunken bachelors like me." - "Wrong!" came Joe's retort "If anything should happen to you as a result of an accident, now with a double indemnity clause, I'll make dead sure the six grand paid out will go to a very charitable cause. See, this kid brother of mine's a priest, who runs this old people's home, and he, being influential, would have a memorial set up to you in Rome."

"Then it would be a Catholic home, would it?" asked Mike full of hope."Catholic?" cried Tony: "Now if that place ain't Catholic, then neither's the Pope. They got confession boxes on every floor..." - "And mazusas on every oor ..." Joe's face went bluish. "Keep your face shut, Dan! Mazusas! That's Jewish!"

Now when Mike's mind was put at rest on the question of belief, he signed all the policies, much to everybody present's great relief. To celebrate the event, Mike was promised enough credit to make a drinking man bust. Now, it's about time I told you that Marino ran a so-called 'murder trust.' From the day and the hour that he signed his name on the dotted line, Mike Malloy's continued existence became a highly hazardous enterprise. Beyond the fact everyone dies

Tony said: "Hey, you guys, that man's already a physical wreck. A few bottles more should save us involvement in offendin' the law. On easy credit, Mike downed glass after glass like a thirsty chevvy might soak up the gas,

And the more they poured in, the more he would soak, till Tony got to worryin' he'd land up broke.

To help things along wood alcohol was admixed. "Say, Mike," said Joe, "'bout time I got you fixed one of Joe's specials. You'll have yourself a real treat. You've never had anything like it." Mike said: "Give it me neat. With one single gulp Mike swilled down his liquor, and everybody looked mighty intense to see his eyes flicker.

With one hour gone without so much as a tummy rumble, the Trust's high hopes were beginnin' to crumble. Next they added a suspicion of rat-poison just for good measure. and awaited developments with a strange kinda pleasure.

Sure enough Mike's eyes began to dilate, and Tony was sure about Mike's imminent fate. Then Mike quivered and quavered, then said: "It's loik that stuff I used to get from me mother, God rest her soul, when I was a brat. Would it be askin' too much if y' poured me another." Joe, with a reputation to defend, felt his blood reach the boil at the unkind comparison with cod liver oil.

Next they softened him up with three shots of rum straight, then gave him enough anti-freeze to seal any man's fate. Sure enough, Mike collapsed a heap on the floor.

"Cardiac failure," said the Doc as they carried Mike out through the door. "He can cool off in the back-room where nature can take its course. That dose was enough to demolish a horse!"

But three hours later how they all cursed, when in came Malloy complainin' of thirst. They increased the dosage enough to finish a battalion, Mike slumped onto the floor, slept it off and once again rallyin', slouched to the bar sayin': Sorry leavin' loik dat. Now Oy feel roight as rain. That stuff, how it sizzles and fizzles inside.Would it be askin' too much if you poured me the same drink again?" "That guy's stomach must have a cast iron lining," was all Tony sighed. The joker sure had taken the Trust for a ride.

Next they decided to make Mike wine and dine on ground glass-coated beans and pure terpentine. Just as they said: "This time is for sure, " up bounded Malloy askin' for more.

Undiluted horse linament and beetle killer were all tried and found wantin' - and this is real life, no fifty-cent thriller. Then they treated him to carpet tacks and metal shavings on bread, which, washed down with wood alcohol, would see an elephant dead. Complainin' of indigestion, Mike left Marino's place late in the night, and next mornin', with no sign of Malloy, the Trust's prospects seemed bright. As it happened, they'd counted their chickens too soon, for Malloy turned up in the mid-afternoon.

Next time they hired the services of a cab driver, Harry Green. They got Mike in a drunken stupor. Outside it was freezin' with winds mighty keen. Harry drove Mike and the Trust to an out-of-the-way park, where they left him doused with water to die in the dark. Then they gleefully read through the obituary column, till Mike's reappearance turned their mood mighty solemn.

At last, in despair, they called in tough Tony Bastone, a killer by trade, who was promised a cut when the insurance was paid. "Now you guys, " said Bastone, "quit messin' with this fancy stuff, for murder's the game you play mighty rough." They got Malloy drunk at tough Tony's instigation, and drove him away to a lonely location. In reverse, at full throttle, Harry's taxi cab sped, Hhttin' Malloy with a wham. He was then left for dead. Tough Tony and the rest saw oncoming headlights and fled.

A whole week passed with no sign of Malloy, and the Murder Trust thugs were hoopin' for joy. Now it was time to be filin' a claim. They needed proof, but no evidence came. They called by at the Morgue, phoned wards, read the news, they asked underworld hoods if they'd got any clues. Now the day on which the mystery was solved was the selfsame day their bright dreams dissolved.

In stalked Malloy with a smile and a wink. "There's lots to tell, but first give us a drink. Some fool driver had one too many, you know. My shoulder was fractured, Oy got concussed from the blow. That week in hospital sure did me a power of good. The doctors would have kept me in another week if they could."

"Next time," said Bastone, "we'll leave nothing to chance. Once too often this guy gave us a fool song and dance. Get him drunk, take him to Joe's room, lay him out on the bed, fix a rubber hose to his nose and gas the man dead."

And so it was that Mike breathed in his last. His life, not his legend, belongs to the past. Frank Manzella had a phoney death certificate filled out, which still didn't prevent certain rumors from gettin' about. Forensic experts get goin' like bees in their hives when guys die with several policies recently taken out on their lives. They had Malloy, laid to rest in a twelve-dollar coffin, exhumed. They found traces of gas just as the police had assumed. Tough Tony had already gotten himself shot in a gamblers' lair, but Marino, Pasqua, Dan Kreisberg and Joe Murphey were all sent to the chair.

If Mike had conveniently died from an overdose of alcohol in the first place, no condemnin' proof could have been cited, so you might say it was Mike Malloy's cast iron stomach was what got him indicted.

The Murder Trust crooks are dead and gone, but Mike Malloy's legend lived on and on. In a future age they shall retell with tireless zest the tale of Mike Malloy, Rasputin of the West ________________________________________________

But very much the wiser.

Youtube Video clip http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f5PjU94jyqc
So she finally decided to do what she'd always said she'd do. She left him! Slam went the door with a deafening, mighty wham! But scarcely had the landing and the top of the banisters been cleared, Then she stopped in her tracks, and paced back very sprightly, opened the door of his seedy flat: the same old tatty, sordid scene! Number eighteen, Wormwood Scrubbs Terrace. It had all looked so different by candle-light. Romantic glows conceal cobwebs and grime; so too the tinged, dog-eared papering passed unrecorded. It was the night, so many moons before, when they met. "I'm your host, Mike Randle!" "l'm Pauline Day, a friend of Jack Huntley." From that moment Mike got to work fast.

the country are you, dear. I expect you find London quite bewildering. You'll soon get with the swinging city scene. Have some wine, dear, red or white? Help yourself to all you fancy on the buffet. Bill, could you pass that platter--Edam, cheddar? No one who's been to a party of mine Leaves hungry, believe you me. Care for a little dance in a minute?" "A dance, oh dear!" she thought all in a stew. She remembered Grandma's warnings about the sin devised by the devil and his wicked band to make a girl lose grip of all she should keep to herself until her wedding day. "Try some of this, dear, just a sip." Mike had a shrewd idea where things were heading. Soon they were reeling to the disco sound. "Make the next one slow, there's a good man," said Mike to Disco Dick. Little did she know Mike had a nickname, which was Randy Randle. Soon locked in his tight and firm embrace she was in Heaven. Such sweet nothings he did bandy, whispering his banter into her receptive ears. While she was dreaming of a cottage and tiny tots he was figuring where he'd left those darned dispeptic pills. "You're so ... different from the other girls one meets.

You so remind me of the one girl I truly loved. Leucemia, you know." Oh, how the tears did flow! Muffling his sobs, his face he buried in her flaxen locks. Down her spine his fingers like a piper's nimbly raced. Why don't we two meet tomorrow for a tete-a-tete? There's a very nice little Indian place I know Look, how about me meeting you at Shepherd's Bush around eight? So, over a curried chicken he emptied his heart. While they were waiting for the suite, he clasped her hand. "So like her," he sighed. She gave a little start. Yet her hand remained in his. "Coming on nicely," Randle thought. "Let's get back to my place for coffee...Waitress, the bill!" "lt's rather late," said Pauline, "l'd better get back home." "The night is young," said Mike, "Let's live and have our fill." "Just for half an hour then, but not a minute more." "I've got a new LP. Just your style. I'll play just one side," said Mike, his eyes twinkling, as he opened the front door. She failed to notice his deft turning of the disc and by the middle of the second side, he gently kissed her back. At the end he held her in a clinch. Yes, his style was brisk. Now with fully opened eyes she spied that same sofa, and a tear now trickled down her rosy cheek. Then she looked down on the floor. She sighed. lt was there in that vicinity she lost what Granny had warned her about not lightly letting go.

"There's none so blind as them that will not see." Then their trial marriage, as he so aptly termed it! Soon the sweet nothings turned so strangely sour. To be at his beck and call she enjoyed the dubious privilege. What was it first gave the lie? The smug assumption that she was somehow in his eternal debt, or his habits. his forgetting to clean the washbasin, to pull the chain, his toe clippings on the sofa, his snoring, his moods, his long reads of the Sunday paper at breakfast that made it oh so clear that she was bloody boring. But even after she'd found him out, still she lacked the will to make a break. Habits, good or bad, like iron bands compel. It seemed she would accept her thraldom as an fact of life. till she decided to eat out one night on her own. In fact she went to that Tandoori place in Shepherd's Bush. While waiting for the menu, she heard a not unfamiliar drone: "You're so different from the other girls one meets. You so remind me of the first girl I truly loved. Leucemia, you know...." Oh how the tears did flow. So she finally decided to do what she'd always said she'd do. She left him! Slam went the door with a deafening, mighty thud. Surprised at her own strength, she left never to turn back--a virgin maybe not--but very much the wiser

The Debts of Yore

Video clip http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f5PjU94jyqc HOW SIRE GADDABOUT UNTO HIS NUPTIALS CAME Sire Gaddabout one spring-tide morn his sturdy dappled steed did mount. for he would wed the highly born Maid Ethrelda Holyfount He plucked his lute and sang an air, but scarce a league was trod than came a cry. "Beware, beware! Here comes the knave, Sire Heaviplodde. "Sire Heaviplodde, my mortal foe? Seeks he this day a fight? 'Tis him or me a mortal blow must soon dispatch to endless night." Sir Heaviplodde in armor black rode up to mock and jeer. Then said he, holding high a a sack: "Your head will serve as souvenir." "Make good, black knight, your foolish boast," stern-faced Sire Gaddabout did cry, "or by ye saints your wretched ghost full soon the Stygian strait must ply." The shields did clash, the horses snort, the dust did fly, the swords did ring, and, to cut a long tale short, 'twas Heaviplodde who knew deaths sting. A fullsome wench with babe at breast stood steadfast in the way. Sire Gaddabout at her behest stopped for to hear what she might say. She raised her babe for him to see, she cocked her head and with a sneer said:" Knight at arms, remember me?

You left behind this souvenir." On seeing this the knight did blush. He bade his squire go fetch some beer. Then said he to the young girl "Hush, this bag of gold should help out, dear." Past hill, past hamlet, wood and mire, he rode with noble carriage. Might even yet the fates conspire to dash all hopes of marriage? Who stood with visage grim and old to guard the way before? A man in black held up a scroll, whereon were writ the debts of yore. Not all the gold the knight did hold, not lands, not herds, his dowery, could e'er redeem his debts of old accrued in youthful folly. "I have sinned" the knight did weep, "and mercy is my plea. I must to church my pledge to keep in holy matrimony." The grim collector smiled and said: "As bridegroom you today are free. Your past is like a shadow fled. What counts today is what shall be."

The Tale of a Tail

On Video clip: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cDxAKpthAbU

Herr Schneider and his Heidi Lived a staid and peaceful life

In a suburb prim and tidy, Free of rancour, free of strife. One blessing only Heaven denied To this prosperous married pair. No infants laugh or babys cry Eer pierced their households air. As lifes observers, many note That it often is the case That those from humankind remote Befriend the canine race. Thus Heinrich Schneider and his wife Rejoiced when comfort came. A little puppy changed their life And Spezi (Spetsy) was his name. Those first weeks caused such a muddle When he threatened all known order. "Oh Heinrich, look, another puddle, And the spoilt herbaceous border!" But continence can be well learned Soon Spezi posed a model. No sausage-dog has ever earned More right to proudly waddle.

On business trips to Bonn or Ghent, Up hill or down a hollow, No matter where the Schneiders went, Spezi was sure to follow. Herr Heinrich Schneider and his spouse Felt the need to wander, And for once to leave their house For a land that lay far yonder. Japan at cherry-blossom time! No better place than this Enthralled the German couples mind. The chance they would not miss. "But what of Spezi", Heidi cried, "We cant leave him behind." "Ach! unser Spezi," Heinrich sighed. "Theres a way well find." They gave him anti-rabies shots And medicines galore. All that red tape, and lots and lots Of paper-mountains more.

Off to the orient they flew With hopeful joy and glee.

Oh what wonders bright and new Would soon enthral all three? Imperial palaces they saw And Fujis snow-capped summit, Ornate gardens stirring awe. You name it, they had done it. Immersed in culture and in art They sensed a certain lack. And so it was that they took heart To leave the beaten track.

They hired a car and off they went To some far-distant by-way. And many a pleasant hour they spent Till the dying light of day. They found a cosy place to rest. On the price they made a deal. At last a chance to have a "Fest". The time came for a meal. The menu was in Japanese, As well one might expect. The waiter clearly meant to please And bowed with great respect.

Of English, German and of French He had no scrap of knowledge. He gave each ear a nervous clench. No, hed never been to college. Herr Schneider felt like sauerkraut And Heidi felt like veal, Food of this kind theyd do without Until another meal. But Spezis hunger would not wait. Herr Schneider eyed the waiter. "Wuff, Wuff, our Spezi wants a plate. For dogs one has to cater." While they sat there, a full hour passed. Then the waiter brought some dishes. The Schneiders ate their strange repast, Which fell short of their wishes. It was now time to pay the bill, Which ran to many a yen. Both were feeling somewhat ill. and hardly spoke a word, but then Heidi cried "Is Spezi back yet?" "Wuff wuff" did Heinrich bark. "Please, waiter, tell us, wheres our pet?

In the kitchen? In the park? A piece of fur the waiter brought. Then Heidis face went pale. She had a grim and horrid thought On seeing Spezis tail.

What is the moral of this tale? Down under be a dingo. Where eer you roam you should not fail To understand the lingo

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what's on the way. Dark storm clouds are gathering. Civilization is in a deep crisis. After the first nuclear exchange law and order will break down completely; hordes of desperate survivors will ravage the country pillaging, raping as murdering as they go. There will be cannibalism on a massive Zombie film scale. Be prepared! Think positively. Join Phoenix Enterprises now. We are armed to the teeth. We are NOT - repeat NOT - resigned to our fate. We are optimists. From the ashes of the old, we shall rise forth like fire-spitting serpents to create a new civilization. Invest NOW and let the mortgage take care of itself. We shall begin all over again. We shall defend ourselves against the improvident by every means. We shall create a NEW world - A NEW WORLD

The Ton-Up Casanova

Video Clip (CFF) Film Productions http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5cXsm9Wes3M&feature=player_embedded THE SPIN or HOW HARRY NEWHOUSE, THE TON-UP CASANOVA, GOT CAUGHT OUT IN THE TWENTIETH CENTURY He's the hotrod Casanova, the man who's been all over. Tonight, he's on a bee-line straight for D. Thanks Caroline, thanks Cathy, thanks Clementine, thanks Clair! For last night was a night that was real cool. Elvira, Eve and Esther, Elisabeth and Elsie, He'll be there to kill your sorrows if you hold on till the morrow, But tonight he's on a bee-line straight for D. He's the ton-up Casanova, the K-plus demon rover, And tonight he's fixed his rendezvous with D. The lights turn red to amber man! Howzat for a nifty scramble! Tonight he's fixed a date with none but D. He's the lightning demon bowler that bowled many a maiden over, And he's notched up runs a thousand and a score. His conquests are so many that it's hard to keep a tally, But taking in the restdays, the alphabet he'll manage And that's without his trying - within the month, and often long before. On Tuesday it was Annabel, Amanda, Ada, Abigail, And many more whose names begin with A,

But today is not an A-day, not a B-day, but a D-day, And tonight he's on a bee-line straight for D. Now he's bombing down the main street (damn the limit) doing fifty, And he's heading for the crossroads just off the Gravesend bypass; He's riding hell for leather to keep his date with D, For D ain't the kinda lady takes it kindly if kept waiting Her kisses burn like embers, vice-tight are her embraces, And then the way she dances! I dig the way she prances When she does the tarantella with any guy or fella ... But the speedo points to sixty as he revs his souped up motor, And he's heedless of the colours - green, red or amber-yella; Blood-red the lights are flashing, but onward's he's adashing, And edging up the eighties by this time; down Hampton His name's Henry, the man as hot as curry, and it cost many a maid Her head along the way - but now he's on the M-Way And the needle's touching ninety - he's Batman (some say 'batsman') On the straights he'll be atonning and really making headway; On his shoulders leers the death's head over cross-bones, kinda scary, But now he leaves the M-Way, taking 3 G on the bend now, And the lights that blink ahead show one colour - and that's red But does he give a damn now? He's heading for the crossroads, For the crossroads where she's waiting at a bar named "Sticky Wicket, At last he's reached the crossroads just off the Gravesend bypass, At last he flies into the arms of D. Will she catch him? Yes, she's caught him - howzat for nifty fielding! But aroving he'll be going nevermore. O burning were the kisses, So tight the hugs and squeezes On the night the speedo jammed At 99