Vol. 6, Issue 4, April 15, 2008
The Search Engine of Tomorrow!
The Bentinel

It's Not Easy Being Green

Ezekiel F. Watley, Esq.

Our nation, loyal though it is to its red, white and Blue blood, is proudly Green for one day of the Year: on Saint Patrick's day, all cheerfully claim Membership (however fleeting and tenuous) in the Hibernian tribe, and embrace the lush shamrock-laden Culture of that emerald isle, or some reasonable Caricature thereof. But the spell is a Brief one, lasting no longer than midnight on the 17th, after which all such viridescent Whimsy fades from the land, until the following Year of course.

So I was entirely taken Aback to come across a Leprechaun the other morn, during my preprandial Stroll in the Park. The little fellow was snoring Lustily atop a toadstool in a seldom-trod Glen. It was akin to finding old Saint Nick at the Sea-side in August: the sight was quite out of Place.

Thinking at first that I had come across some sort of unusual Cell-phone (for they make all Manner of noises now-a-days) I picked the fellow up by the Scruff. My error was immediately Apparent when I realized that no cell-phone was ever dressed so Well, in spats and emerald Cravat (though somewhat the worse for Wear). Diminutive bushy Brows atop a somewhat florid Face, his nose somewhat resembled a small Strawberry; a delicate brass chain bespoke a tiny Stopwatch concealed somewhere in his Waist-coat. Tufts of orange hair peeked from his small Ears. Zounds, thought I. He resembles a Cousin of mine.

Ere long he awoke to Glare at me through bleary eyes, and swear Unintelligibly in a piping Brogue.

"Begorrah, I'm not as young as I used to be," he grumbled. "Takes too long to sleep it off. That's the third year in a Row I've been caught wi' me Britches down. I s'pose you'll be wantin' me pot o'Gold now."

Looking upon the wee saturnine Countenance, I could not help but Chortle.

"Heavens no," I said. "Pots of gold are Most challenging to explain to the IRS, and I have had quite enough of them this year."

"T'ank heavens," he sighed, mopping his brow with a wee soiled Kerchief. "I'm nae lookin' forward to tellin' the missus we lost the pot again. And you think you've got tax troubles! - you should see the hassles We get. A stolen pot is fully Deductible, of course, but 'tis a Devil of a time findin' the right form for it. Always gettin' audited, we are."

And so I sat with the little fellow, sharing a draught or two from my Flask as we Commiserated about our Taxes. I can think of Worse ways to spend April 15 than in sharing a drink with a new Friend over small talk. And it does not Get much smaller than This.


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