Did I ever tell you about my friend Jim (may he rest in peace)?
Jim was born and raised in Ireland, and a cute hoor to boot. What a character! If bullshit was music, he’d be a ceili band. Oh, he lived the life of Rielly! With a twinkle in his eye and a quick wink, he could charm the socks right off you.
One day, though, Jim was completely banjanxed. I mean as ignorant as a sack of arses. Completely loopers! He was brickin’ it, bejaspers, stripped right down to his cacks and blathering on about the leprechauns. Never one to let a leprechaun escape, I decided to B.L.O and have a dekko. It was then, in the cupboard, that I discovered a quare thing indeed: he was flamin’ elephants! There be a magnum of Jameson’s Irish Whiskey, with only an inch left in the bottom.
I tell this story today only because one of these two things must be true: either I have had too much of the Irish, or you have been frolicking in the freshly mown grass. Now which is it?