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It was the top o’ the mornin’ when a wee fella flew like the wind. Down Dublin 8 Street, passed St. Patrick’s Cathedral and burst through the doors of Kevin Street District Garda Station (that’s a police station fer all ye Yanks) in severe distress. “Ye’ve gotta help me!” He cried out as he slammed the doors and begin barricading them with everything he could lay hands on in the lobby, “They’re after me lucky charms!”

Chief Miles Clancy O’Hara, (Duh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh Batman) who was manning the front desk, looked up to see a diminutive man running about. The little fella was dressed in a wee green frock coat, with wee black knickers and wearin’ gentlemen’s green leathered buckle shoes, which were also wee. He wore a green derby sportin’ a 4-leaf clover from its band, topping off a head fulla fiery red hair.

“What’s all this?” Chief O’Hara demanded, “busting in here with all this hullabaloo?” The little fella turned, looking quite frazzled and restated his position- “They’re after me lucky charms!” O’Hara held out his hands in a placating gesture. “There-there now lad, we’ll get to the bottom of this; but first let’s have yer name.” At this the man bucked up- “I am Sir Lucky Charms serving under General Mills!” He said with much pride.

“Aye, a knighted military man is ye?” O’Hara jotted this down. “Now Sir Charms, tell me where is yer jewelry store located? So we can go about contacting the right proper district to deal with these hooligans.” Sir Charms looked puzzled. “Jewelry store? I don’t have a jewelry store.”

Now the chief looked puzzled. “But you said someone was after yer lucky charms. Were ye not talkin’ about those whot go on braclets?” Lucky shook his head in bewilderment.

Then horrific realization dawned on the chief. “Has someone been about trying to touch you wobbly bits? Yer “lucky charms” as it were?” “Saints be praised, no!” replied an embarrassed Sir Charms. “Then Shoren Begorrah, what are ye on about?” shouted O’Hara.

“It’s me cereal, officer,” Lucky stated miserably, “those feekin’ kids are after it…again.” “Cereal???” O’Hara repeated his voice rising, “you mean to tell me ye come bustin’ in here, raising hell and creation, cause some kids are about stealing yer breakfast? Are ye daft man?”

Lucky nodded in acknowledgment. The chief was fixin’ to toss him out on his ear when he recounted the old “Rubble” incident. It was an archived case, a page right out of history, involving cereal theft that had ended with a bam… bam.

“Easy there bucko,” O’Hara said with forced, contempt sentiment for a man who couldn’t defend his cereal. “I’ll put our recent transfer from bonnie San Francisco, Detective Callahan, on it straight away. He’ll tend to these ruffians that’ve been harassing ye for… how long has this been goin about?”

“Since early 1965.” Lucky replied. The Chief rolled his eyes.

Just a few hours later Lucky was summoned to identify the 5 bodies of his relentless pursuers. He was greeted by Callahan. “I know what you’re thinkin’, did he fire six shots or only five? Well to tell you the truth, in all this excitement, I kinda lost track myself. So you’ve gotta ask yourself one question: “Do I feel lucky?” Well, were we lucky to get the right punks, Lucky?”

“Oh god no!” Lucky replied looking pale, “My one question is — did you just shoot a bunch of kids over cereal? My second is, are you insane?” Callahan quirked a brow, “Insane?” he queried, “I’m not the one who’s been running from children for 50+ years like a little green b**** over cereal.”

As it turns out Detective Harry Callahan had shot the correct perps… with tranquilizers. The kids (all American) were extradited, tried and convicted in juvenile court on charges of truancy, harassment and attempted cereal hijacking. Chief O‘Hara received a commendation for acting so quickly. “Sir” Charms was arrested for impersonating military personnel, faking knighthood and pretending to be Irish. He was deported back to America to stand trial, but was deemed incompetent for reasons of insanity… he was convinced he was a leprechaun.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day to all you Yanks, and if ye see a wee leprechaun running about… let him be and buy yer own cereal.


I welcome almost all questions and comments via FOCUS, or email me at wanderingchainsaw@gmail.com. Hope to hear from ya, until then try and stay focused. See ya.