I have begun to believe my mind is full of tiny little topics that act like pimples.

No one can predict the order they start to fester in, or when they’ll get ripe and burst.

Showing posts with label masterpiece. Show all posts
Showing posts with label masterpiece. Show all posts

Monday, 20 October 2014

Seamus and the Leprechauns



 

 

SEAMUS AND THE LEPRECHAUNS

Once upon a time I wrote a joke I am proud of: this is it.
I wrote it as a teenager a half century ago and I haven’t told it in at least 30 years because society and the times have changed. I come from a family of Irish story tellers and the story is to be told to a captive crowd of listeners preferably around a campfire with the accompaniment of the sound of flames, the clink of beer bottles and Teddy Berg’s farts. It’s a long yarn so settle in and get ready for the hook at the end: it’s worth the wait and I’m going to get you with an amazing solution to a very serious problem with a religious sexual bent. Read on:

 

It was a cold blustery, rain threatening morning when Seamus Donnelly rose from his bed and looked gloomily out his one little kitchen window at all the work that wasn’t going to be done today. Great dark boils of black clouds rolled over the Ulster horizon and the sky was a leaden grey with sudden gusts of wind and occasional lashing rain. His little farm lay before him waiting for his attention and his horse drawn plough to sow the seed that would hopefully yield a crop that would allow him to eke out another year of his pitiful existence.

God, it was cold in here! He pulled on some clothes and quickly and efficiently built a fire in the kitchen stove that slowly but surely warmed the room. He quickly made his customary breakfast of porridge and whatever left-overs he could find and the sat at his little table to consider his dire situation.

He was poor. The little land and small two story cottage he had inherited from his mother just could not produce enough surplus for him to ever better his condition and it was in the depths of despair that he finally decided that he would go fishing. He grabbed his line and baits, pulled on his big heavy boots, threw his cape around him and stormed out the door into the dull grey day.

He decided he would go and fish in a nice pool he hadn't visited in a long time and he hoped he remembered his way as he trod along the narrow path that followed the line of the creek. As he walked, the more he thought about his sorry life the angrier he got, and he finally worked himself into a complete state of frustration that had to be released.
 



Suddenly, just there, back of those trees, appeared a perfect target for his rage. An ancient mushroom or toadstool stood alone in a small clearing. It was huge, at least four feet across, useless because it was way too big to eat, and Seamus vented his rage with a great kick from his boot that spun the cap upside down across the clearing.

As soon as the great lid flew off Seamus found himself staring down into a deep cave, all fitted out better than his cottage and face to face with three very surprised leprechauns who as soon as they sighted him grabbed up their shillelaghs? and launched an attack upon him.

One of them jammed his stick between his ankles and felled him to the ground, where the other two joined in beating him to a pulp. He was struck on his back, his head, his knees, his arms and all the while the oldest of these furious little creatures ranted

“Who do you think you are you big dumb lummox? You come stomping into our yard with your great big clodhoppers and kick off the roof to our house that has taken two hundred years to grow.

Seamus succumbed to the seemingly endless punishment and grovelled before the old leprechaun covered his head with his hands and pled

“Please sirs, cease and desist. I meant you no harm. It is all a terrible mistake. Please, I would make amends, please!!”

The blows stopped at a command from the elder and after a lengthy persuasive argument Seamus convinced them to let him try and rectify the damage he had caused.

He dragged the cap which remarkably had survived in one piece and got it roughly braced in position with supports cut from the willows with his jackknife. He went and gathered long grass and using his fishing line created a thatched roof for the cap and he sealed all the cracks with wattle he made from straw and mud from the creek.

Finally he finished and anxiously waited while the three little men inspected his work
.
When they were done the old man came and stood in front of Seamus and looked him sternly in the eye and said

“I am named ConĂ¡n Cedric which in the Old Tongue means Wise Chieftain and I am. I make the decisions here.

This is my son named
Chad which means Defender and he ensures my decisions are enforced and that our Homeland is protected by his son Aidan which means the fiery one.

I have inspected what you have done and it is good therefore I have decided that you may go but if you come this way again it is at great peril.

Seamus limped home. He was bruised all over his body and he built up a fire and patched himself up as best he could, and he made some supper and then he settled back in his chair by the fire to just sit and heal for the evening. It had been a horrible day!
Thank the Lord it was over.

Just after dark there was a loud knock at the door and when he opened it he found himself face to face with the Elder Conan who stood awkwardly twisting his hat in his hands and who asked if he would please grant him a moment of his time as he was here to see Seamus on a matter of great importance.

Somewhat fearfully Seamus welcomed the old leprechaun into his cottage, but being a good host as all Irishmen are, he settled the old man comfortably at the table, made a pot of tea, and when it was ready poured each of them a half cup of tea then filled each cup with a large shot from the jug of poteen he had been dosing his aches with.

The old man looked Seamus straight in the eye and said "My clan and myself have been considering the events of this day, and we have decided that we have done you a great injustice. Unlike most of your ilk you did not try to capture and hold one of us until we surrendered our gold to you, nor did you make the sign of the Evil Eye when you saw us. We can see you had no intent to harm and you have tried to make amends.

To rectify that injustice done you, we have decided to use the powers given to us and grant you a wish and I am here to find out what that wish would be?"

Seamus refilled their cups and asked the elder if he would mind if Seamus took a few minutes to consider the matter and the old man told him he could take until
midnight if necessary, but then added the stipulation

"But be ye so forewarned that whatever is granted to you will be granted your neighbour in double measure."

Now this required some consideration and it took a while

Seamus was a Protestant and while he really wasn't a churchgoer he had his own little prejudices when it came to Catholics. Now Joe Reilly his neighbour was a Catholic but he seemed a nice enough fellow and they'd always got along when it came to mending fences and cutting peat and such.

Seamus decided that what he needed was farm equipment so he could increase his efficiency and cost. As far as his neighbour went, Well, you can only drive one machine at a time so a double supply would give Reilly no advantage and in fact given the size of his farm would simply be in his way. Bonus.

It took Seamus several poteen refills to clarify his thinking to come up with his wish and he told the old man:

"It was because of my poverty and my inability to get this land to yield a comfortable living that caused me to be in such a foul and angry mood when I assaulted your home. I never want to be like that again and I think that if I had sufficient farm equipment I could have a much better future."

"So be it" said the elder, and putting his right index finger beside his nose muttered strange words in the Old Tongue, strained, farted and then beamed at Seamus and said "Granted".

So to celebrate the deal Seamus proceeded to refill his poteen jug from his secret stash and by
midnight the poor little leprechaun was so pissed he could not navigate. Seamus picked up his now snoring guest and carried him the two miles to his mushroom hut where he delivered his burden to the old fellow’s kin, and then made his way back to home and finally his bed.

The next morning he woke to a cold cottage again but when he looked out the window the rain was gone. It was a beautiful day for working the field and there all along his left fence was every conceivable type of farm machine a man could desire One huge and one small tractor, John Deere no less, McCormick plows, harrows, and seeders, a Massey Ferguson combine and a threshing machine, why there even was a potato picker to gather his poteen ingredients.

Just on the other side of the fence was a duplicate line of farm equipment that matched his to the smallest detail. There sure was a lot of it but Seamus didn't begrudge Reilly his good fortune because they were still even. He spent the rest of his day accomplishing what had previously taken him a week. It was a wonderful day and he finished it off with another atrocious porridge and gruel meal, and then settled himself for a well earned rest beside the fire. Once again there was a knock on the door just as night fell.

There stood
Chad the Defender smiling benignly and asking for audience as his father had. Seamus could not refuse after the good fortune that had been bestowed, so he once again made his guest comfortable at the table and produced another supply of tea and poteen adequate for an evening, and once again settled himself to hear what was coming?

"Sir, you were a real gentleman, a good and generous host, and a good guardian for me Da after he drank himself into the shameful state you brought him home with, and we surely appreciated your leaving some of that excellent poteen that you make just so he could relieve the hangover we expected him to have this morning. I am pleased to report that he is feeling much better; in fact, we all are, since what you left was enough for me and the boy to warm the cockles of our hearts.

In appreciation of your courtesy and care I too have the power to grant a wish and it was decided in conference that another be fulfilled. What will it be? but once again

"Be ye so forewarned that whatsoever is granted to you will be granted your neighbour in double measure."

Again this required a great deal of thought, but then Seamus remembered that the worst point of this day had been waking up in this cold, damp, cottage and that damned slop he ate for breakfast.

He imagined himself waking up when the stove had warmed the room, smelling the smell and hearing the crackle of bacon cooking and why not a nice female voice calling him to a breakfast fit for a king. With his new equipment he could afford it so why not a wife?

He thought about what this double benefit would mean for his neighbour and he began to find merit in the idea that even made him chuckle, why the man had double housekeepers but that meant he in fact had to work harder to feed another mouth, and from what his mother had taught him about two women under the same roof and the disastrous consequences then he was doing the man no favour by ruining his home life and for a brief moment he almost felt sorry for his neighbour. He had gained a real advantage in the competition to succeed.

He refilled the poteen jug and the told
Chad his wish for a wife and laid down a lengthy list of requirements during the following evening. Before Chad left with his gift of a jug of poteen for their house, he faced Seamus looked him straight in the eye,
"So be it" said the Chad and putting his right index finger beside his nose muttered strange words in the Old Tongue, strained, farted and then beamed at Seamus and said "Granted".

The next morning Seamus rose to a warm house just as he had imagined and he soon heard a soft female voice call

"Breakfast is ready, Seamus, my dear!"

So he ventured downstairs and she was everything that he had expected. She was pretty with red curls that peeped from under a lace cap and shy blue eyes that looked at him adoringly. She wore a long full skirt but showed small feet and dainty ankles, and the straining against the front of her blouse gave great promise of secrets yet to be revealed.

She fed him a breakfast fit for a king, spicy sausages and Colcannon just dripping with butter and she sent him out the door to work with a kiss on the cheek and a look that promised adventure when he returned.

He was in high spirits thinking about that return home and what might occur, until he got up on the top of his tractor and a
high point of land that overlooked his neighbour’s farm. There was one blond girl with long hair beating out a rug on a clothesline. That was alright and there was O'Reilly ploughing his back field, but what the devil, there was the second wife, a stunning brunette, on the second big tractor harrowing away in another field. This was not good.

He had lost his competitive edge in his imaginary contest with his neighbour and had just doubled the mans production force.

He brooded all day and came to the realization that things were actually worse than that. He remembered the promising look he had received from his new wife and what he had imagined was going to happen on his return home. He could just imagine what his neighbour was coming home to. Those were two good looking young women he had waiting for him.

Even after supper, when his wife had retired upstairs, Seamus sat and considered a very black future. The future survival of the Donnelly clan was at stake. His children would be in competition for survival with that Papist bastards offspring and not like it or not the prick had a real advantage now. Everybody knew those Catholic bastards didn't practice any form of birth control. That asshole, from what Seamus had heard from the village gossips, was in dire deep shit with the local priest for his frequent inclusion in the confessions of wild sexually explicit act involving one Mary Maguire, widow. That randy bastard was going to breed the Donnelly’s out of existence and there wasn't much he could do about it

Suddenly there was a loud knocking on the door and he opened it to find young Aidan the fiery, on his door step and there was a replay of the previous night’s poteen provision as a pain killer and pacifier before he was once again seated across from a wee leprechaun with something to say:

“Me Granda and Da and I checked out the repairs you made to our house and we have found that it is much better than before. There are no drafts to bother Granda and he’s warmer, and the chimney you put in works a charm and Da’s eyes are almost back to white because all the smoke can get out, and my cough’s much improved and Granda has decided that this deserves a thank you for a job well done. I have been sent here to grant to you the last of our wishes, mine own and thank you very much kind sir, would you care to tell me your wish?
But

"Be ye so forewarned that whatsoever is granted to you will be granted your neighbour in double measure."

Again the evening was lost in copious consumption of medicinal alcohol to keep his thinking clear, and contemplating the outrageous sexual improprieties being performed next door while his wife was plaintively calling him to bed. The hour approached
midnight and young Aidan pressed him for an answer.

Seamus slowly raised his glass of poteen and sighted across its levelled rim right directly into the young leprechauns eyes an quietly asked

“Now tell me truly young feller,
Would you be hurting me too much
if I asked you to remove

One!,


mind you


One only!


of me testicles?”

Wednesday, 18 December 2013

A Christmas to Remember





A Christmas to Remember




In the fall of 1982, my wife Patti and I left Cincinnati and headed for Florida. Over the summer I had rebuilt a 1950 Howard English Caravan Travel Trailer we bought for $350 and pulled out of a hillside. One day we climbed into our monster gas guzzling 1972 Cadillac Sedan de Ville, hooked up to the Blue Goose as we had named her and headed out into the wild blue yonder.

 We stopped overnight in Newport, Kentucky because of a blown tire on the Goose and then in the morning we stocked up. Hey! It’s Kentucky: Cheapest cigarettes and booze in the nation. We stuck 35 cartons of cigs and 30 six packs of beer under the bed and took off again and finally landed in St. Petersburg, Fla.  where we took up residence in the Holiday Trailer Park. We got lucky and landed a spot right next to the Community Hall with access to wash rooms and settled in for the winter.

Things got rough: no work!  The job I had been offered disappeared with a drop in the phosphate market. Florida is a right to work state (no unions) and competition is terrible for what is available given the number of snowbirds that hit every September. This creates a situation where before you can even be considered for a good permanent job by any employer you are required to have one year of residency, a Florida Drivers License and a phone number. Things were really desperate by the end of November but Patti got lucky and found us both a job at Orange Blossom Groves. It was hard manual work packing citrus fruit. Christmas presents to the North by the tourists but it saved our bacon. 21 days straight of 12-14 hour days, minimum wage but overtime no problem and the owners and management treated us well.

Shortly after we arrived, we had renewed an acquaintance with Tara, the daughter of John, our drunken neighbour from next door in Cincinnati. She was living in Clearwater with her Kentucky hillbilly boyfriend, Jim Bob, and they undertook the task of showing us the local amusements that could be afforded by poor white trash. There wasn't much, but there was salt-water fishing and no license was required. One night in late October we arranged to go fishing off the pier at Clearwater. This juts out a couple of hundred feet into the Inland Waterway off Clearwater beach and the water at most might be 15-20' deep. Patti and I both had fishing rods, and guided by Tara and Jim Bob's supposed expertise on what we should use for bait, we bought a bucket of shrimp and went down to the end of the pier with them one night just after dark at high tide. Tara, Patti and I baited up our hooks and waited for Jim Bob to appear with his gear.

He was a long time coming but eventually he showed up with a short fishing rod about 5' long and 1/2" in diameter with a huge reel on it loaded with what seemed to be about 80 or 100 pound test line. He proceeded to string on about a 6 foot stainless steel leader, a huge hook, and baited it with a half a chicken, and fired it out about 50' and sat down to wait for a nibble. Given the fishing expertise he professed to have this aroused my curiosity and I asked him " What the hell are you going to catch with that rig, Jim Bob?" and he calmly replied, "Well I'm fed up tryin' to ketch those little buggers so I'm goin' to catch me a shark!". Things went downhill from there.

We stayed at Holiday Campground until the end of December. We had planned on staying the whole winter but a combination of hillbilly temper and old family rivalry upset these plans and we got our asses tossed out of the park. The day before Christmas, we invited Tara and Jim Bob over to our place for a Christmas dinner. They arrived accompanied by Jim Bob's younger brother, Don, his girl friend, and an adequate supply of beer and smokin' dope. The day was a beautiful 85 degrees and we spent the whole afternoon getting progressively more and more stoned and in general having a real good time while the bird cooked.

After supper we sat outside in the gathering dust, full bellied and content, and watched the faithful old fogeys in the park slowly file into the Community Hall across the way for vespers on Christmas evening. Somehow Jim Bob and I got into a wrestling match on the front lawn to determine who was the better at the game. It took me a while to pin him and we made a fair bit of noise that aroused the further attention of the Peaceable Kingdom crew at their church service.

After I managed to subdue Jim Bob, we relaxed with a few more beer, until suddenly Jim Bob's brother insisted that he have a match to see who was the better man in the family. This turned out to be a fairly even match and it went on for some time. As it progressed it got more and more violent and noisy and near it's conclusion Don was shouting "Mom always did like you better than me!!" and the fight was on in earnest. Punches, kicks, and a whole lot of very loud profanity followed and once again drew the attention of the churchgoers across the street, and they sent Art, the geriatric campground watchdog over to investigate and restore quiet so they could continue their service.

Just as Jim Bob finally won the bout and stood over his brother in the encroaching darkness, Art, the ancient caretaker for the park, arrived on the scene. He noticed Jim Bob had dropped his wallet during the fight, picked it up, and approached Jim Bob from behind. As Jim Bob turned towards him, Art tapped him on the shoulder and thrust his wallet out in front of him directly into Jim Bob's face. On instinct Jim Bob parried the blow he thought was coming and retaliated by throwing a super right cross that caught Art right in the eye and sent him over backwards onto his ass. The shit hit the fan.

Art was helped away by a couple of his fellow churchgoers, and our company, deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, piled into their pickup truck and roared out of the park. Unfortunately Jim Bob let Tara drive, and before they got off the property, she managed to knock down a telephone pole that carried power for half of the park. By midnight, the action was all over. We had been visited by the park manager, hollered and chewed out, our tenancy voided, and we had been asked to leave. It surely was an evening to remember.
One of the most fun ever: shit disturbing the neighbours!
What a night!

Saturday, 13 July 2013

A Zarathustrian Prediction



A Zarathustrian Prediction



I thought all you young fellers out there should have a good peek at your possible path through your future. I can assure you the accuracy of my predictive powers in this regard.  I am now of an advanced age and have traveled the same path to acquire first hand knowledge of the journey and am nearing the finishing chapters myself. To further reassure you of the accuracy of my predictions, I have confirmed each by consulting my Crystal Ball. It’s a beauty. I found it at a garage sale in Whalley I think I’ve traced it all the way back to Merlin and it works like a damn

Read on for enlightenment of your future life and its many benefits


To Honor the Memory of My Master

 

I present

Man's Age, as Determined by a Trip to Home Depot


The Shape of Things to Come

You are in the middle of a few projects at your home: putting in a
 new fence, painting the basement walls, putting in a new garden. You
 are hot and sweaty, covered in dust, lawn clippings, dirt and paint.
 You have your old work clothes on. You know the outfit -- shorts with
 the hole in the crotch, old T-shirt with a stain from who-knows-what,
 and an old pair of tennis shoes.

 Right in the middle of these projects you realize you need to run to
 Home Depot for supplies.

Depending on your age you might do the following:


 *In your 20s:*

 Stop what you are doing. Shave, take a shower, blow dry your hair,
 brush your teeth, floss and put on clean clothes.
 Check yourself in the mirror and flex. Add a dab of your favorite
 cologne because, you never know, you just might meet some hot chick
 while standing in the checkout line.

 And yes, you went to school with the pretty girl running the register.

*In your 30s:*

 Stop what you are doing, put on clean shorts and shirt.
Change your  shoes.
 You married the hot chick so no need for much else.
 Wash your hands and comb your hair. Check yourself in the mirror.
 Still got it.
 Add a shot of your favorite cologne to cover the smell.

 The cute girl running the register is the kid sister to someone you
 went to school with.

 *In your 40s:*

 Stop what you are doing. Put on a sweatshirt that is long enough to
 cover the hole in the crotch of your shorts.
 Put on different shoes and a hat. Wash your hands.
Your bottle of Brute is almost empty, so don't waste any of it on a trip to
Home  Depot.
 Check yourself in the mirror and do more sucking in than flexing.

 The hot young thing running the register is your daughter's age and
 you feel weird about thinking she's spicy.

 *In your 50s:*

 Stop what you are doing. Put on a hat. Wipe the dirt off your hands
 onto your shirt. Change shoes because you don't want to get dog crap
 in your new sports car. Check yourself in the mirror and swear not to
wear that shirt anymore because it makes you look fat.

 The cutie running the register smiles when she sees you coming and
 you think you still have it. Then you remember -- the hat you have on
 is from Bubba's Bait & Beer Bar and it says, 'I Got Worms '


 *In your 60s:*

 Stop what you are doing. No need for a hat any more. Hose the dog
 crap off your shoes. The mirror was shattered when you were in your
 50s. You hope you have underwear on so nothing hangs outta
 the hole in  your pants.

 The girl running the register may be cute but you don't have your
 glasses on, so you're not sure.


 *In your 70s:*

 Stop what you are doing. Wait to go to Home Depot until the drug
 store has your prescriptions ready too.
Don't even notice the dog crap on your shoes.

 The young thing at the register stares at you
and
you realize your  balls are hanging out the hole in your crotch.

 
*In your 80s:*

 Stop what you are doing. Start again. Then stop again. Now you
remember you need to go to Home Depot. Go to Wal-Mart instead.
 You went to school with the old lady greeter.

 You wander around trying to remember what you are looking for. Then
 you fart out loud and think someone called your name.


 
*In your 90s & beyond:*

 What's a home deep hoe? Something for my garden?
Where am I? Who am I?  Why am I reading this?
 Did I send it? Did you?

Who farted?


Sunday, 7 April 2013

A New Story of Creation

The Origin of Google Dot Com
Just
For the Record

In ancient Israel, it came to pass that a trader by the name of
Abraham Com did take unto himself a young wife by the name of Dorothy.

And Dot Com was a comely woman, broad of shoulder and long of leg.

Indeed, she was often called Amazon Dot Com.

And she said unto Abraham, her husband, 
"Why dost thou travel so far from town to town with thy goods when 
Thou canst trade without ever leaving thy tent?"

(And Abraham did look at her as though she were several saddle bags
short of a camel load
,) but simply said, "How, dear?"

And Dot replied, "I will place drums in all the towns and drums in
between to send messages saying what you have for sale, and they will
reply telling you who hath the best price. The sale can be made on the
drums and delivery made by Uriah's Pony Stable (UPS)."

Abraham thought long and decided he would let Dot have her way with
the drums. And the drums rang out and were an immediate success.
Abraham sold all the goods he had at the top price, without ever
having to move from his tent.

To prevent neighbouring countries from overhearing what the drums were saying, Dot devised a system that only she and the drummers knew.  It was known as Must Send Drum Over Sound (MSDOS), and she also developed a language to transmit ideas and pictures - Hebrew To The People (HTTP).

And the young men did take to Dot Com's trading as doth the greedy
horsefly take to camel dung. They were called  
Nomadic Ecclesiastical Rich Dominican Sybarites, or  
NERDS.

And lo, the land was so feverish with joy at the new riches and the
deafening sound of drums that no one noticed that the real riches were
going to that enterprising drum dealer, Brother William of Gates, who
bought off every drum maker in the land. Indeed he did insist on drums
to be made that would work only with Brother Gates' drumheads and
drumsticks.

And Dot did say, "Oh, Abraham, what we have started is being taken
over by others."

And Abraham looked out over the
Bay of Ezekiel, or eBay as it came to
be known. He said, "We need a name that reflects what we are."

And Dot replied, "Young Ambitious Hebrew Owner Operators."

"YAHOO," said Abraham.

And because it was Dot's idea, they named it YAHOO Dot Com.

Abraham's cousin, Joshua, being the young Gregarious Energetic
Educated Kid (GEEK)
that he was, soon started using Dot's drums to
locate things around the countryside.

It soon became known as God's Own Official Guide to Locating
Everything (GOOGLE)
.

That is how it all began.

And that's the truth....

And since it is now circulating on the Net, it must be Truth, mustn't it.

GOTCHA
Blaine