A Limerick Christmas Tale
Scene:
The men's toilet in the Highway Bar, possibly the world's worst suburban bar. I am there because it's too wet and windy to go into town, and the only other neighborhood bar has an incredibly loud band.They have a drum machine that appears to be the lead instrument. They think Nine Inch Nails covers are conducive to a relaxing Friday night. My brother and I don't.
There is a restaurant adjoining the bar, and inside, a Christmas party is underway. I am in the bathroom, washing my hands. The following scene unfolds across the men's room from the sink, and is reflected in the large mirror on front of me.
There is an older man relieving himself, when a younger (but not young), overweight grey bearded man walks in. He has a rouge crepe paper Santa Claus hat on his head. He appears mildly drunk.
Bearded gentleman in a thick Limerick accent:
Howya Ger?... I betcha didn't recognise me with my hat on.
Guffaws loudly.
Other older man, still pissing, without missing a beat, or looking up, in an even heavier Limerick accent dead pans:
Santy, you fuckin' cunt, where's that bike I asked you for forty years ago?
The men's toilet in the Highway Bar, possibly the world's worst suburban bar. I am there because it's too wet and windy to go into town, and the only other neighborhood bar has an incredibly loud band.They have a drum machine that appears to be the lead instrument. They think Nine Inch Nails covers are conducive to a relaxing Friday night. My brother and I don't.
There is a restaurant adjoining the bar, and inside, a Christmas party is underway. I am in the bathroom, washing my hands. The following scene unfolds across the men's room from the sink, and is reflected in the large mirror on front of me.
There is an older man relieving himself, when a younger (but not young), overweight grey bearded man walks in. He has a rouge crepe paper Santa Claus hat on his head. He appears mildly drunk.
Bearded gentleman in a thick Limerick accent:
Howya Ger?... I betcha didn't recognise me with my hat on.
Guffaws loudly.
Other older man, still pissing, without missing a beat, or looking up, in an even heavier Limerick accent dead pans:
Santy, you fuckin' cunt, where's that bike I asked you for forty years ago?
Labels: Limerick
posted by John Mc at 6:36 PM
7 Comments:
"He appears mildly drunk"
G'waay arr dat ye blaggard.
The Highway Bar? *shakes head in wonderment* Jesus!
Here's hoping Santy is good to you this year.
Brilliant!
Har!
Ha! Very good.
It made a dreary night so much better. Things perked up even more when a neighbor told us how crazy people on his block were, and to prove it told us pants wettingly funny stories about them
That bastard has disappointed us all. Get Santy!
Very funny!
Typical Irish.
Great.
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