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Nymphomaniacs Conference Due To Return Shortly To Thurles

Mikey Ryan and myself were celebrating, having survived the devastating effects of Monday’s Hurricane Ophelia; sitting as we were and enjoying a few pints above in the Arch Bar, in Liberty Square, Thurles, last night.

As I already confirmed to Mikey; Ophelia was a young noblewoman from Denmark; the daughter of some guy called Polonius and the potential wife of a Prince called Hamlet (poor sod), that the poet and tragedian playwright, Willie Shakespeare dreamed up as a character in one of his stage plays; but Mikey claims to have actually met this same woman.

It was way back in the days when Mikey used to run the marathons.  Due possibly to an excessive intake of drink, he can’t be sure whether it was the Boston City, in the U.S., or the Canberra Marathon in Australia; not, as he says; “It doesn’t make a ton of difference, since I was never in an ass’s roar of winning either anyway.”

Forgive me, I deviate; Mickey, from what he can remember, was making the return trip home to Thurles, and had just boarded his plane, when this “gorgeous bit of stuff “ scantily clad, arrived on board. As Mikey described her, “She had these pair of legs that travelled all the way up to her bum, before they got cheeky”.

Personally, when it comes to luck; if it started raining soup, as sure as God I would be found outside standing in my back yard, holding a knife and fork; but not our Mikey, no this vision of beauty was escorted up the centre aisle by the flight attendant, to be placed in the seat beside him.

With several hours of journey time ahead Mikey decided to get things started by striking up a conversation.  “Miss, would this be a business trip you’re on or will you be just visiting relatives?” queried Mikey.

She turned, giving him a killer smile, before replying “Strictly business this time I’m afraid. I’ve been invited to attend the World Nymphomaniacs Conference starting in Thurles on Wednesday next.”  The blood drained from Mikey’s face.  His first thought was that this woman was having a joke at his expense?  A label on her hand luggage indicated her name was Miss Ophelia Browne, and noting that fact, Mikey maintained his composure; deciding to take her remark seriously. “What exactly will you be doing at this Conference Miss Browne?” he queried in a voice which now arrived from somewhere deep down in his lungs.

“Oh, do call me Ophelia, please”, she insisted, before continuing, “I will be giving a series of lectures extolling my own personal experiences with regard to some of the more popular myths based around modern sexuality.” 

“Really?” said Mikey anxious to keep up the now flow of conversation, “Forgive my ignorance, but what kind of sexual myths are we talking about?”

“Well, there are so many,” Ophelia explained, “One popular myth is that black American men are the best endowed of all males, when in truth that particular attribute is solely the prize of the Native American Indian. Frenchmen make supposedly the best lovers, when in fact, despite their rough exterior, it is actually Scotsmen. I personally discovered just recently for example that the lover with the best stamina are undeniably the Irish male.

Seeing the blood drain even further from Mikey’s face, the lady began to apologise, “Please forgive me, perhaps I am embarrassing you; really I shouldn’t be discussing this topic with a total, perfect stranger”, she continued, adding, “Actually, I don’t even know your name”.

“Cherokee,” said Mikey, holding out his right hand, “Cherokee Mackenzie, very pleased to meet you, sure all me friends call me Paddy”.

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