Tales from Leprechaunia 67
Hello, Sailor
At long last, after untold miles of rattling over rutted roads, the hansom cab finally rolled into the town of Bogmania. Isabella O'Mafiosa sat stiff and sore inside the cabriolet of the vehicle; and Giovanni MacO'roni sat outside on the driver's seat in charge of the reins that had kept Whacked, the dwarf Clydesdale, plodding steadily along. But here in Bogmania it was intended that they rest and recuperate before pressing onwards to the distant town of Broken Harp in County Cork to check out the Leprechaunia O'Guinness brewery.
More specifically, to there garner inside information from an exotic pole dancer with the unlikely sounding name of Sister Minty. Apparently, she performed in some cat house called the Holy Order of Leprechauns that catered exclusively for debauched, unfrocked gentlemen of the cloth. From Sister Minty - undoubtedly a discerning slut - Isabella hoped to learn whether the Vegemite empowered Leprechaunia O'Guinness was a more effective answer for what ailed her husband than the remedy offered by his proxy membership of Brewer's Droop Anonymous.
Although Big Luigi was the Godfather and thus big noise in the Leprechaun Mafia, he wasn't big where it really mattered, as far as Isabella was concerned. After all, every ravishing lady wife - but especially godmothers - had the right to be regularly ravished! Yet this basic right was denied by the flat beer that caused brewer's droop, a flaccid disease feared by lady wives one and all. Whereas Brewer's Droop Anonymous was feared by happily beer swilling gentlemen husbands one and all. Perhaps salvation for both lady wives and gentlemen husbands resided with smiles and grins in Broken Harp.
But Isabella's researching of the cure for her ravishment deprivation had to wait until she reached the brewery town. Now she was back in her own home town of Bogmania. It was the first time since the funeral of her father, Hamish McBog, and thus since her marriage - the blunderbuss-shotgun wedding was held graveside, immediately after the funeral.
To Isabella's shock and dismay, the family home she'd grown up in now had a drunken and faded For Sale sign in the weed infested and overgrown tangle of a front garden. She should have expected that, since her mother had long ago ceased to live there. When at her most impressionable, Hamish McBog had informed his daughter of the facts of life. That her beanpole figure would soon explode, mirroring her mother, who was a slut!
Apparently, sluts were lady wives who loved sailors. Loved them so much that if the United States of Leprechauna fleet happened to be passing by, they swam out to welcome or say goodbye to the troopships. And Mrs Hamish McBog had done exactly that, hotly striking out for the good ship Stallion one moonless night, never to be seen or heard of again. Little wonder that Isabella attributed her then own raging hormones to natural causes inherited from her mother. It also explained that while Isabella had never seen a troopship, she had the reoccurring dream of swimming out to one and then strutting her stuff in the officer's mess to make a clean breast of everything, thereby making the mess an even bigger mess.
But the sale of the family home was something that her half-brother, Franco O'Legless - the disgraced former Mayor of Bogmania - had overlooked to mention. Thus she hesitantly knocked on the door of her other half-brother, Jose O'Legless, to ask for overnight accommodation. Thankfully, Jose was in the backyard where yet again he was throttling his Spanish bagpipes, and its strangled death screams masked the knocking.
With nothing else for it, Isabella knocked on the door of Jezebel O'Legless-O'Corkless, the cousin four times removed from Franco and Jose, although they both always denied there was good cause for their drenching with buckets of cold water during the removals. Naturally enough, Jezebel invited Isabella to stay for as long as she liked. After all, there were many confidences to be shared and secrets to be blabbed and savored - which was not just vulgar gossiping or sacred promises broken because the two of them were distantly related and thus could be trusted to not breathe a word to trouble-making big mouths. Besides which, a good bitching session was good therapy for the soul. And their respective souls needed large and unstinting doses of such therapy.
For her part, Isabella spilled the beans about Big Luigi being small and her disappointment at the failure of Brewer's Droop Anonymous to rectify the matter. Of course, she mentioned her hope that Leprechaunia O'Guinness would be the bracer needed to stiffen him up. Failing that, swimming out to troopships to raise the morale of the fleet would have to be considered.
Jezebel observed that in her experience as a recently divorced lady wife, troopships could prove to be rather taxing and that the long swim back to shore was rather like being hit with a huge bucket of cold water. Far, far better than troopships were aircraft carriers. The crews of the hot-air balloons could be relied upon not only to give a girl a big lift but also to float them deliriously happy back to shore. Float back, as if borne by a big fluffy white cloud ... it was almost like being transported on a champagne bubble - a delightfully intoxicating ride, almost without end.
Of course, Jezebel had to detail the ins and outs of her divorce, ruefully observing that there had been more outs than ins during her marriage. But it all ended up happily ever after because as a good Catholic girl she'd originally committed the mortal sin of marrying a damnable Protestant Boggite- a marriage unrecognized by the Church and thus condemned as living in sin. By divorcing him, she was immediately restored to good standing in the eyes of the Church, after saying a penance of ten Hail Leprechauns. Her ex-husband, as it turned out, had run away to sea with a sailor for gay times.
Thus they talked long into the night - Isabella's intended visit to Hamish McBog's grave could wait ... he was firmly planted, and wasn't going anywhere soon.
See also:
Tales from Leprechaunia - series 1
05 Widow Weeds
09 On the Wagon
Leprechaunia the Brave - Lyrics
Leprechaunia the Brave - Lyrics (re-posted for St Patrick's Day 2009.)
Tales from Leprechaunia - series 2
17 A Werewolf-Vampire by Any Other Name
20 Serendipity
The Leprechaun Stood on the Burning Deck - Lyrics
Tales from Leprechaunia - series 3
22 The Three Wise Homeless Leprechauns
23 The Three Wise Mummy Leprechauns
24 The Three Wise Nun Leprechauns
25 The Three Wise Hari Krishna Leprechauns
26 The Three Wise Buddhist Leprechauns
27 The Three Wise Pilgrim Leprechauns
28 The Three Wise Unemployed Leprechauns
29 The Three Wise Academic Leprechauns
30 The Three Wise Associate Professor Leprechauns
Leprechaunia the Olde - lyrics
Tales from Leprechaunia - series 4
32 First Casualties of the Second Vegemite War
33 The Battle at The Slumped Leprechaun
35 The Victorious Vegemite War
36 The First Goodwill Expedition
39 The Last Post for the Fallen
40 Blessings
Tales from Leprechaunia - series 5
43 Sister Minty
45 Fellow Travelers on the Road
48 Plotters and the Sergeant of Police
Tales from Leprechaunia - series 6
51 The Royal World Mud Wrestling Championship
54 Captain Pegleg Sook & Spotted Dick
56 The O'Mohican-Leprechaunia Nation
57 The United States of Leprechauna: a Potted History
Tales from Leprechaunia - series 7
65 The Holy Association of Hit Men
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Comments: 63
LMAO!!! Vegemite empowered: I hope the story goes upward in piety with guidance from Sister Minty. This is all I've read so far.
Vegemite can empower anything, Bill! It'll all upstanding in the end, I'm sure. LOL
Good old vegemite!
It has no equal, Sheila!
So the cause of unfulfilled ravishings in a marriage is flat beer. Makes sense.
I love it when someone flaunts political correctness. When I read, 'Apparently, sluts were lady wives who loved sailors.' ROFL, LMAO. So, are you a sailor?
So glad Jezebel was reinstated. Gay Times (Groan)!!!
Fortunately I'm just an impoverished writer who tells it how it is - and not a corrected politician. I always wanted to be a sailor - a wish Mr Beelzebub simply wouldn't grant me. He just hurled a pen my way instead. Sigh ... such is life.
You remind me of a Gilbert & Sullivan tune.
The mind boggles!
Transported on a champagne bubble
A delightful, intoxicating ride
Might be the wish of many a poor girl
Not just Isabella, Big Luigi's unravished bride.
The crew of any aircraft carrier, Bob, would be most interested in your observation. LOL
Quantas?
I don't think so, Bob. The onboard staff of the Queensland And Northern Territory Air Service (QANTAS) travel far and wide as it is. But then ....
How about turning these into a book? I think that would be fabulous, chapter by chapter.
I'd love to do so, Kathryn! I'm still mulling over the practicalities of how best to go about it. But there are enough chapters (90 tales in all, written to date) for an eposodic novel.
Featured in the Triple Name Club.
Thank you very much for the honour, my friend.
Magi, I love the way you knock off surreal sentences with such ease:
"Jose was in the backyard where yet again he was throttling his Spanish bagpipes, and its strangled death screams masked the knocking."
Thank you for posting to The Surreal Circus. You are now featured.
Ann, thank you very much for both the praise and the feature.
ROFL of the day... you never fail to raise my spirits high, dear Magi! :-)
Blessings and best wishes - S.
I'm very pleased to hear that, Svetalana. Such affect is the aim of the tales.
Her spirits are high but what about the Godfather's?
Big Luigi is horizontally low on flat beer, Bob. But he will be floating high on Leprechaunia O'Guinness if Isabella has her way.
So let's hear it for Leprechaunia O'Guinness. That's an idea Magi, instead of trying to put together a book for funds, why not ask the little people the recipe for this "uplifting potion"...I'm sure there would be quite a clientel for it.
What a fantastic idea, Bob! Sigh...but such is a closely guarded secret by Father Paddy and Mother Molly.
Hamish being firmly planted and not going anywhere really made me laugh.
Now there is something I am wondering about. If Isabella finds that there really is a magic cure for Big Luigi and utilizes it, this could possibly pull the curtains back for her to find there are other things coming up short about the Big Lug. Then what to do? Or can marital bliss overcome all other shortcomings. Maybe I need to quit thinking and have some Vegemite and that magical brew. Of course, I may run the risk that Crepe Myrtle outside the window may start to look good to me.
How true, Lynn .... Big Luigi has more faults than one. But ravishment deprivation is totally occupying Isabella's mind at this point in time.
Now go and have a toasted Vegemite sandwich and a brimming glass of the good stuff. That will keep the Crepe Myrtle safe.
I'm looking forward to the book as well
Role on the day, Flit, that Tales from Leprechaunia arrive in the book stores!
I see I have much writing/reading of yours to catch up on -- this, I love, and perhaps we ought to all have a lot of vegemite? I did say perhaps...
Marilyn
Excellent writing, even though you're not a sailor, in real life.
Marilyn, if you like smiling and laughing, then a lot of such are waiting for you in the other tales.
BTW: You can't go wrong with Vegemite!
And thank you very much.
Here's hoping Isabella finds that magic cure to make Big Luigi big where it counts. It sounds like she is getting some useful tips from Jezebel in case she doesn't though.
Marge, that is Isabella's ardent hope.
Ah, that Jezebel is full of ideas that really shouldn't be mentioned.
such gracefully handled...Of course, Jezebel had to detail the ins and outs of her divorce, ruefully observing that there had been more outs than ins during her marriage.
Thank you, Bhawana. Such was the way of poor Jezebel's marriage ... but not after the divorce.
Chaos is reigning I hear at the Perzth Zoo where a very capable Orangutan escaped! Heard it on the news just a little bit ago and immediately thought Magi's causing a rumble in the monkey arena.
Yes, Lynn, a young lady orang-utan managed to use a cable that had become undone to swing over the enclosure fence and go and greet her human admirers on the other side. I had nothing to do with it ... I just idly watched it all as I sipped my banana smoothie on the balcony of my condo in the Ape House.
Whoa! Bet that got the humans excited! It would me. When young I was always afraid a tiger would get loose from the zoo and eat me while running across the street. It was a terrible fear. And then there was that alligator hiding under the bed. Life was hard ! But by gosh, I was a good runner.
Now why did you put the hyphen in orang-utan? Is it supposed to be that way? And Magi, we all know the lady O watched you swing over so many times that that is how she knew to do it.
Please pass me one of those banana smoothies. After all this excitement it would be much appreciated.
It did get the zoo visitors excited, Lynn ... and the keepers, who cleared the visitors away and then induced the escapee back into the enclosure.
The Concise Oxford Dictionary hyphenates orang-utan ... it it the spelling Bible for me. And yes, I was a bad example to her.
Now, here, have your banana smoothies ... shaken but not stirred.
Sadly, we had a new born 1 and 1/2 day old elephant calf killed at our zoo. I don't know the details, but something the mother did. It is being called an accident though, so don't think it was a malicious act, and now some are calling for better living conditions for the elephants here and in other zoos, which the elephant activists are calling inadequate and causing deaths to the elephants.
That is terrible ... I'm sorry to hear it.
What evil is within a person's soul to do such cruelty???
I think it is just sheer madness, Bill.
I almost feel bad for Isabella. Almost. The last sentence literally had me laughing out loud, Magi!
Ah, poor Hamish.
:)
I liked this one
I'm pleased that you did, Shelbia.
I love Vegemite and most certainly do eat it!