O’Sullivan’s Tavern

There was nobody home but himself. He hurried to secure his bank, sweep the wooden floor and wipe down the mahogany bar. Despite some of his sloppy customers the place was spanking clean. Soon the first wave would appear at the door. They’d knock if the door was still closed at eleven. Tom opened the shades and unlocked the door. 

“That’s early enough for a little nip,” said Mrs. O’Harahan, whose now deceased husband had been a regular fixture. He enjoyed his Guinness everyday at three. He lived 96 years in perfect health until one afternoon he didn’t show up for his wet shift and we heard he had passed quietly during the night.

Now the lady passes by each day as if looking for him at the bar. Her short Guinness is on the house.

Yet another wake, surely to be held here at O’Sullivan’s. It’s good for business and gives me a chance to practice my patience. My plan is to stand them all for a drink across the street at Mike Malone’s sometime around ten then lock up and go home. Malone often did the same with me. We had an understanding.

“Friday night is your night for those who have had a wee little too much to drink,” said Malone.

“And on Saturday it’s your turn “to watch the children”, as we called it. “And don’t fret. My son Sean is home from the army and he is a very skilled  at negotiating with the slightly inebriated.”

 Besides, my regulars won’t put up with any monkey business. Christ, they all have their regular seats and are quite jealous of intrusions. They think they own the place.” said O’Sullivan, shaking his head.

“Oh, my boy Daniel will be happy to hear it. He’s on the night shift and the two of them can handle any drama that might rear it’s head amid the jars and suds.”

That bastard Reynolds would be there hanging at the bar by five, waiting for someone to buy him a porter. And if that’s not bad enough he starts to chatting politics, a subject on which he is not schooled. Maybe it’s easier to put up with him than cause a scene. Most of the patrons are the best kind but they all have their opinions on everything.

There’s even old Patsy Mulholland. She always claims I haven’t washed her glass. Looney as the birds but a nice woman.

Tom O’Sullivan finished his cup of coffee and walked out front into the sunlight to observe the comings and goings of Bay Ridge. He was not a young man anymore but if he stopped working it would kill him. He’s have to stay home all day and listen to his wife go on about the weather and the neighbors.

It’s almost opening time. He takes out the sacred flag of Republicanism—the plow and the star from Skibbereen and displays it proudly on the porch. There would be a rugby match on the radio in the afternoon and he could expect the local hurling team after a match with those arrogant bastards from Hell’s Kitchen across the East River.

Another day in Brooklyn, the finest town in America. 

-Melvin Bedwetter O’Toole

Royalty Gene Isolated

(Vail) The long sought after Royalty Gene, that unit of heredity that determines who is royal and who is not, has been discovered in laboratory rats in an underground bunker somewhere deep in the Gore Tex Range. Known to insiders as the Queen Gene, which too forms part of a chromosome, the Royalty Gene appears to be more prolific in rat populations that presume royal heritage or entitlement due to money in the bank.

     “If they think they are the king, then they are more likely to be crowned king than a common rat out on the street looking for something to eat,” said one researcher who was not qualified to speak on the matter and demanded animosity.

     What postulates emerging from these finding indicate is that (according to the late great Inspector John Musick) “the gene pool is becoming a gene puddle” and that only a slim few will live the palatial lifestyle that so many yearn to embrace. Not wanting to appear politically incorrect or insensitive, scientists here carefully stressed that the so-called Queen Gene had nothing whatsoever to do with queries related to sexual preference. 

     The biggest problem they now face is finding enough volunteer rats to continue the experiments.

     “Tests conducted here are no more harmful than a simple flu shot,” explained the scientist. “Crazy as it sounds we need these rodents to step up now, since they are an integral part of the program.

“How rats deal with the residue, the seemingly unbalanced reality is their own business,” said one researcher.

– Small Mouth Bess

“YOU ARE THE BLADDER OF  PIG, THE SNOUT OF A COW, YOU ARE THE LEAVINGS OF A HOUND, THE STING OF A WASP.”

– CURSE LEVIED BY A TRAVELLER IN “SIVE” BY JOHN B. KEANE

US ships Trump to North Korea

(Warshington) The United States has sent former President Donald Trump to North Korea for kimchi futures, vague promises of aid, and players to be named later.

Insiders say there was also an under-the-table cash payment undisclosed at the time of the ballbuster trade.

The move, concluded just moments before the spring trade, deadline aligns Trump with his former batty roach Kim Jong-un and promises to deliver more than a few surprises during the coming season.

Officials would not comment on rumors that fireballer Jared Kushner and base stealing threat Marjorie Taylor Greene would break into the opening day lineup and accompany Trump to Pyongyang. 

“He has been a divisive element in the outfield here here in the United States since 2012 and is expected to act as designated hater in his new Asian home.

-Kashmir Horseshoe

Humans spending 12% of day charging devices

(Omaha Towers) People obsessed with cellphones, laptops and tablets are investing larger chunks of their day keeping the things charged. The robo-chore has dramatically increased with the addition of expanded technology according to watchdog groups.

There are over 550 cell phone companies here in Nebraska alone. That’s thirty times the number of sheep and forty times greater than the number of antelope the otherwise less than stimulating region.

In addition to the on-average time spent actually charging, they spend another 4 minutes thinking about where to charge and a further 2.5 minutes thinking about what they will do while their devices are charging.

-Judy Sockett

Ask Doctor Ed

Dear Doctor Ed:

I am lonely but I hate people. What should I do?

Bridget

Dear Bridget:

Get a plant.  

Doctor Ed

“Michael… Michael O’Sullivan, are you a millionaire?

Now, Jackie, would I spend me time sitting on this old beach if I was a millionaire?

Jackie: “I believe you would.”  

                                  – fromthe film Waking Ned Devine 

Three friends enjoying the sun on the plaza in Jardin, Colombia

Colombia’s most beautiful plaza welcomes a sunny day in February

Nyuk, Whoop, Hey Moe recognized by Websters

Standards created by the Three Stooges Nyuk Nyuck Nyuck, Whoop-whoop-whoop, and Hey Moe, Hey Moe have been accepted by Webster. Nyuck…Nyuck…Nyuck was recognized as a viable breath of Americana while Whoop-whoop-whoop had to be reclassified as colloquial to qualify for the ranking. Hey Moe…Hey Moe, the only honor bestowed on what are are actually words and not just sounds made the cut to the surprise of the grammar gods. Barking in various modes as well as the famous shuffle made popular by Curly could not be classified as verbs or nouns and were thus discarded. Some sort of muddled or frenzied reception is planned for an undisclosed location.

Toole slapped with franchise tag

(Eldridge, CO) Long-winded scribe, Melvin Toole, has been slapped with a franchise tag here according to a testament released this morning. The statement, peppered with scant, illusive data and mumbled information said only that the tag was a surprise.

“It was just a flesh wound,” chided the 112-year-old who refuses to retire, or change his underwear regularly.

“It didn’t hurt but what should I do now,” he plead.

The recipient, speaking from the shaded deck at First Light Liquors here had no further comment and did not field questions.

Toole is the author of more than 200 books on the inner ear.

“He is the kind of person that slices his burger in half before he eats it.” said one close friend. “These little side trips without at least basic micro-dosing often cause a lot of chaos, even some violent episodes. In one case it required 4 large men to subdue the 117-pound Toole and that’s before he started hitting the weight room  twice a day