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 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”.
  
 A frog hops into the Thurles branch of Ulster Bank, in Liberty Square, before approaching Miss Patricia (Patty) Whack, seated behind teller window No.3.
“Miss Whack,” stated the frog clearly and politely, “I’d very much like to get a €10,000 loan in order to go on an extended vacation to Brazil; my intention is to attend the Brazilian Symposium on Conservation Biology.”
Patty looks at the frog in disbelief, before asking his name and if he held an account already with the Ulster Bank branch in Thurles.
“My name is Kermit Jagger”, said the frog, “I am the son of Mick Jagger and I am sure that there will be no difficulty in authorizing my loan, as I have often played golf with your branch manager.”
Patty goes on to explains that, regardless, Kermit will still need to secure any future loan with some sort of collateral.
“Sure, how about this?” asks Kermit, before producing, from his overalls, a tiny, perfectly formed, porcelain, pink coloured pig, about eight centimetres in height.
Now confused, Patty explains that she will have to consult further with their branch manager, before granting consent for the requested loan. She then duly disappeared, to locate her superior, whose office was situated to the rear of the building.
Patty knocks on the bank manager’s door before entering. Raising his head from his calculator, the manager asks what is Patty’s problem. Patty then proceeds to explain, “There’s a frog out front calling himself Kermit Jagger, who claims to know you and is wanting to borrow €10,000. Oh and he wants to use this thing as collateral.” Patty holds up the small pink porcelain pig, asking, “Anyway, I mean, what in the name of God is this article?”
The bank manager glares back at Patty before stating, “It’s a knick knack, Patty Whack; so give the frog a loan, his old man’s a Rolling Stone.”
 The Irish Primary Counter-Terrorism and Counter-Espionage Investigative Unit, perhaps better known as the Special Detective Unit (SDU) found themselves with a new job opportunity. They found it necessary to employ an assassin.
After a series of stringent background checks, interviews and medical tests were complete, only three finalists, it was unanimously agreed, were found possibly suitable for the solo post.
With Fine Gael insisting that gender equality should be higher on civil service job itineraries, the interviewing Agent decided to include one woman and two men.
To decide the most suitable person for the job, the panel of Agents took one of the men to a large metal door, before handing him a Walther PPK 7.65mm pistol.
“Now”, said the interviewing Chief Agent, “It is necessary that we know that you will follow all instructions given to you, to the very letter of the law, and regardless of circumstances. So, inside this room you will find your wife blindfolded sitting in a chair; your chosen assignment is to kill her.”
The first chosen applicant was shocked, “You must be off your heads, sure I could never shoot my wife.”
“Then” replied the Chief Agent, “I am afraid you are hereby found unsuitable for this post, so take yourself and your wife home.”
The second chosen male applicant was summoned to the metal door and given the same instructions. He took the pistol and went into the room. There was silence for about 10 minutes, before the door again opened, to show the man in tears; stating that he could never kill his wife.
Again, the Chief Agent stated “You do not have what it takes, to succeed to the required post, so take your wife and go home.”
Finally, it was the the turn of the woman. She was given the same instructions, but this time to kill her husband. Taking the pistol she quickly entered through the metal door. Eight shots were heard, one after the other, in quick succession. Then came the crashing, banging and screaming.
After a few minutes, all went deadly quiet. Then the metal door slowly opened and an angry woman emerged, wiping blood and sweat from her face and forehead. ” You bastards”, she said, “This gun was loaded with blanks, so, I had to beat him to death with a chair leg.”
Myself and Mikey Ryan were discussing health issues and the lack of hospital beds currently being provided by the Health Service Executive (HSE), at University Hospital Limerick (UHL).
Seated over a pint in the Arch Bar here in Liberty Square, Thurles last night; from what I could gather, Mikey’s Doctor had gotten him an appointment to have a colonoscopy, to be undertaken at UHL, in order to fully establish the correctness of a possible ulcer diagnosis. After all, as Mikey correctly pointed out, it’s a bit unnerving that doctors, these days, label what they get up too as “a practice”, so better therefore to be sure rather than to be sorry later on.
According to Mikey (and I have no reason to doubt the honesty of his tale), after this procedure, he woke up in UHL with his false teeth missing, an oxygen mask over his face, and a young pretty trainee nurse sponging his face and hands.
A now somewhat drowsy Mikey mumbled, “Nurse, are my testicles black?”
The young trainee nurse blushed slightly, before replying “I don’t know Mr Ryan, I’m only present here to wash your face and hands.”
Mikey struggled to make his speech clearer, once again asking the same question, “Nurse, check are my testicles black?”
A kindly hospital Matron, nearby, observed that Mikey appeared to be in some distress, so naturally she came over to find out what was the problem.
“Matron can you check are my testicles black?” mumbled the somewhat distraught Mickey.
Matron pulled back the bed covers and opened Mikey’s hospital gown. Having made a considered inspection, she again closed his gown and replaced the bed covers.
“You appear to have absolutely nothing wrong in that department”, Matron reassured Mikey.
His hands no longer restricted by the trainee nurses washing, Mikey pulled off his oxygen mask, replaced his false teeth and glaring at both staff members, before asking, “Are ye both feckin deaf, I asked are my test results back.”
As one eye said to the other, “Don’t look now but something between us smells.”
Graffiti, it’s everywhere in Thurles; on every Street; on the Doors and Walls of trading business premises; on Electrical and Telephone interconnecting thingamajig metal casings; Car Parks, River Suir Walkway walls, Signposts, the new Source Theatre and yes we know who is responsible, armed nightly with ladders, it’s ‘The Fairies’.
[Music used with this video hereunder is appropriately called – “King Of The Fairies” ]
Down in Co. Kerry that celebrated and wise old Teachta Dála (TD) Mr Danny Healy-Rae spotted it first, claiming ‘The Little People’ or the fairies were interfering with roads.
He claimed fairy mounds (or ‘Liosanna’) were impeded by the National Roads Authority in the area of the main Killarney to Cork traffic route, resulting in a surface dip mysteriously re-appearing on a regular basis. Those living abroad may not be aware that Fairy forts and prehistoric Tumuli (ancient burial mounds) were seen by previous generations of Irish people as the entrances to the fairy world. Even the cutting of a ‘Sceach-thorn’ bush (Whitethorn) on fairy mounds was punishable by these “Good People”, resulting often in the death of all who performed such acts.
When Graffiti first appeared in Thurles, many of our residents believed that Banksy, the anonymous England-based graffiti artist, political activist, and film director of unconfirmed identity, had come amongst us to reside. Local Banksy experts within Tipperary Co.Co., however, quickly confirmed that this doodling was not his work; claiming instead that this was the mere scrawling of some 6 of our 2,569 Thurles town unemployed persons, armed with ladders, lending further credence to the well known phrase, “the devil finds work for idle hands”.
However a ‘leaked document’, recently seen by this website and emanating from a prominent Tipperary Councillor, rejects this belief, claiming that this graffiti is the work of ‘migrant fairies’; foreign nationalists if you will; latter forced to flee across the border from persecution in Co. Kerry.
This Councillor in his statement, claims that proof; (as if further proof was needed), is that these fairies are totally invisible, with the Thurles closed-circuit television (CCTV), (which cost one hundred thousand Euro to install just 3 years previously), now unable to visually capture the images of these fairies at work, due to night fog.
This leaked document also states that despite efforts by Tipperary Co. Co. to attract employment to Thurles, through the Industrial Development Authority (IDA), alas no site visits by the latter have as yet materialised. This we understand is not due to the lack of broadband speed, nor the fact that Tipperary hospital patients are the worst affected by overcrowding, in the country and most likely to die in an ambulance.
Keep it to yourselves but the remarks reported by one senior official in the IDA and quoted in this leaked document, states; “The town of Thurles looks like shit, and those on paid salaries and tasked with the job of upgrading its profile, are believed to be either dead or in deep slumber”.
To those politically motivated individuals who will send me emails in the coming days, claiming that I am showing Thurles in a poor light; I say get out of your SUV (Sport Utility Vehicle), your BMW, Mercedes-Benz, Lexus, Audi, Ferrai or Porsche; come, take a walk on the wild-side.
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