And The Results Are In

 

17 June 2026

1170

R. Linda:

Unfortunately, the first to submit proof of being in their favourite pub were the very two individuals I had been hoping would finish dead last. Fate, as usual, chose differently.

What puzzled me, however, was why these two geniuses sent photographs from a Scottish pub rather than an Irish one, despite both of them living in Ireland. Their defence was that I had said "your favourite pub anywhere in the world." Technically correct, which is the most irritating kind of correct. I didn't mean on holiday, which was why they were in Scotland. What I obviously meant was the pub they haunt often enough for the staff to know their drink before they sit down.

Therefore, in the interests of fairness, justice, and complete unfairness, I disqualified both of these crafty rogues and reassigned them to last place. They are now the proud holders of the coveted title: Donkey Barrel Champions of Regret (their regret that is). A title earned through equal parts cheek, loophole-hunting, and poor judgement.

The rest of the clan kindly provided explanations of where they were, who they were with, and what was happening. Very thoughtful. Almost suspiciously thoughtful. 

When Tomas asked if he could participate, I was genuinely surprised. Why would a sensible man willingly jump into this circus? As he put it, "family be family," and since he played no part in the now legendary Donkey Race Incident, he hoped his involvement might help wash away the bad blood and restore peace to the kingdom.

I informed the young laddie that I was not responsible for starting the ruckus. That honour belongs entirely to his half-brother, enthusiastically encouraged by the diabolical Uncle Jamie, a man who treats bad ideas as if they were Olympic events. Any fellow who downs an entire bottle of Bushmills and then decides he can tame a wild horse in five minutes is either completely mad or missing enough screws to assemble an entirely different person.

I gave him, to give to his uncle at their next family gathering, a copy of the Rolling Stones "Wild Horses." Of course, I added words like "wild, wild horses, can't keep me away from the Bushmills, etc.," Whether it causes emotional distress remains unclear, but the song be coming your way, Uncle Jamie.

I did meet young Tomas in Boston (he said he was flying out from Chicago to Beantown on business) and took him to my favourite pub, the Black Rose. We had a grand time and quickly discovered we had far more in common than either of us expected. Sadly, we failed to produce the sort of deranged photographs submitted by the others, but we did receive assistance from the one and only Ms. Jaio.

Now, I am convinced Ms. Jaio had taken a shine to Tomas. Tomas, meanwhile, was about as aware of this as a brick is aware of weather. Later, I gently informed her that Tomas was married. She immediately denied having any interest whatsoever, which, of course, confirmed everything. i

As for the other one, the Wolf, I had no idea how far he would go for "the commercial," except for the two aforementioned champions of failure, the losers, Jamie and Padraig.

I must admit I took great pleasure in seeing the Wolf caught in a downpour and soaked to the skin. Strangely, the rain seemed unable to diminish his handsome visage, which is frankly annoying. The weather bothered his ex-wife far more, whose birthday celebration happened to be taking place at HIS favourite pub in Belfast, unbeknownst to Himself. 

He described the situation as "awkward as hell," which may be the understatement of the century. Yet there he was, dripping like a rescued Labrador, posing cheerfully for the camera while somehow convincing his ex-wife to join in and look as ridiculous as she could, and she did! What a guy, I tell ya.

I can only imagine how much that grated on him. Still, being the consummate ex-professional model, he revealed none of his true feelings. Watching a man look like a drowned rat while pretending everything is perfectly normal is one of life's simple pleasures. Absolutely priceless. So priceless, I gave him first place for the angst that whole pub episode must have cost him, rain and ex-wife, going against his better judgment, but taking it on the chin.

I did ask if I could share the photos and was met with a yes from some and a no from two, me being one of them, but after much cajoling and bribery, I got permission to post them, only if I blurred them and put me own fizzog in too. I did me best, well, sort of me best on that. I attest I am no photographic genius, without any further ado, here we go:

Photo 1 - Proof of being there - The Dignity:

The two rascals: Jamie & Padraig, at Deacon Brodie's in Edinburgh, Scotland

They said they were in Scotland because of the World Cup and thought it would be great to celebrate with their Scottish cousins. Okay, these two are Scots Irish, so there is that. The World Cup first game for Scotland was held in Boston, with Scotland winning, in case anyone is curious about that outcome. I think the real reason was not so much the World Cup parties in Edinburgh, but the chance to wear skirts and get away with it. Just sayin'.

Photo 2 - Proof of being inside the establishment - The Documentation:

The two hell-raisers inside 

I can just imagine how many of those they downed. And finally, the photo we were all waiting for, I did laugh when I opened it.

Photo 3 - Proof they made a commercial sort of - The Public Embarrassment:

The roped-in bystanders seemed to enjoy the experience, and the too culprits of mayhem seemed to bask in the attention 

That's the kind of photo I should have expected. Fits them perfectly. And neither was embarrassed, which figures; it looks like they took great pride and joy in the whole bloody mess and put some thought into it.

So, onto a gentler scene: Tomas and meself in Boston, USA at the Black Rose Pub. Neither of us neophytes had a clue, as you can see by our photos of proof.

Photo 1 - Proof of being there  - The Dignity:

Tomas and I, he's the handsome one on the right. Yup, little did we know how serious the others would take me challenge 

It was a lovely day in Boston; we were well away from the Scottish invasion at the time, but there were still some kilt-wearers inside. When I showed this photo to him, he remarked that we "look like two fellas who don't know each other," and yeah, I see it; we look tentative, and we didn't know each other.

Photo 2 - Proof of being inside the establishment - The Documentation:

Settled for a great chat and were more relaxed with each other

Me Ms. Jaio was there, and she agreed to assist with our very low-budget commercial.

Photo 3 - Proof we made a commercial sort of - The Public Embarrassment:

The last thing Ms Jaio likes is beer, especially dark beer, thus the face, which seemed to amuse Tomas no end. Our commercial was that even women enjoy Guinness, but you can see that this one does not. She was in fear that Tomas was going to challenge her to drink it. She didn't mind posing with it, she said, but downing it was out of the question.

Ms. Jaio, I already knew would be at the pub. She had to work (the poor dear), so I told her to drop by, and I'd treat her to lunch since I'd be in the vicinity (and needed someone for our proof of commercial, yes, I cheated a little). She held the glass in front of her, which was about all she'd do. She said she couldn't do it, could not drink beer to save her life. Who knew? Tomas convinced her to take one sip, which is why her face in the photo looks like it does. She was afraid he'd ask her to take another, and so the FACE. She tells me she still has the taste of it in her mouth, and we did her no favours. I think I won't hear the end of this for a very long time.

And the winner (mostly because I felt sorry for the trials and tribulations he went through):

Photo 1 - Proof of being there  - The Dignity:

And the rain came down outside Kelly's

Ah, too bad, while all of us were enjoying sunny weather, Belfast, Northern Ireland, had rain. Here is our winner getting drenched in front of Kelly's Cellars.

Photo 2 - Proof of being inside the establishment - The Documentation:

Putting a wet face on it, he did well considering he was soaked

Nothing more itchy than a wet sweater, I imagine. Sigh. 

Photo 3 - Proof he made a commercial sort of - The Public Embarrassment:

Here's the one you might be waiting for. I know I was when I found out this was his ex.

Yessiree, she was a good sport about it, not looking her best, LMAO

I have to wonder how hard that was for him to let her wet self cuddle next to his already wet self, LOL. I am sorry, I can't help but find this humorous. He did say she came in right after he did (which made him suspicious) and was wetter than he was (which secretly warmed his black heart).

And so, me challenge was met, there will be no more mention of that unmentionable race. All is well with everyone, except maybe with Ms. Jaio's disappointment and probably the ex-Sally girl who hoped to maybe win the hubby back? I forgot her name, just remember something about Sally, and I do think she planned to waylaid him and what a birthday present, huh, LOLOLOLOL

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved

I Issued A Challenge to the Irish Clan

15 June 2026

1169

R. Linda:

Since the ill-fated donkey barrel race (see Story #1165 Donkey Barrel Racing - You Haven't Lived! 06 June 2026), I needed to challenge the 'guys' to get back for all the shenanigans they pulled on me during that absolute masterpiece of chaos. 

Rumour had spread that I wouldn't let it go, and to be fair, I wasn't going to. By the time I'd finished composing meself (and questioning me life choices), I decided the response (or, more truthfully, revenge) would be less about speed, balance, or livestock-related humiliation—and more about dignity, documentation, and public embarrassment.

Therefore, in me infinite wisdom, I issued them a challenge: no more donkeys, no more barrels (the empty kind, which I now suspect is a deeply suspicious phrase), no more questionable 'rules' explained mid-race by men who clearly made it up as they went along. This would be simple, straightforward RULES (made by ME).

I challenged each one of them to visit their favourite pub—anywhere in the world they happened to be hiding, avoiding responsibility, or recovering from their last poor decision. They must take three photos: one clearly outside the pub, to prove it wasn't just a cardboard cut-out situation or a suspiciously convincing mural, or something they simply described convincingly after the fact. A second one inside the pub, ideally showing them looking as though they belong there (or at least haven't been thrown out yet), and the third, holding their fav beverage like in a low-budget commercial, they are not absolutely not being paid to promote. Yes, no causal crap, no, it has to be like they are in a freaking commercial and to look convincing, no matter how embarrassing it is in front of a roomful of strangers. Yes! 

Failure to comply would result in immediate forfeiture of all future bragging rights, along with the formal admission that I did not lose the donkey barrel race—it was, in fact, a "strategic misunderstanding involving terrain and livestock temperament, which be a completely normal thing that happens to winners."

Here is the list of the RULES OF ENGAGEMENT, which this time would be simple. Clear. Unfairly enforced. As all good rules are.

1. The Outside Proof

•     Must clearly show the pub sign or entrance
•     None of that: "I stood vaguely near a brick wall and called it culture." Submissions will be accepted only if they can be authenticated.

   1a. The Pub Clause

•      Must be a real pub, not "Donnie's Garage Bar & Grill (question legality pending and emotionally questionable)."
•      Must be their favourite, not the nearest one they either crawled or collapsed into by accident.

2. The Inside Proof

•      At least one photo inside.
•      Alternatively, the pub must clearly contain other humans, proving it is not a set piece built for deception (oh, I know they are capable).

3. The Witness Rule (optional chaos)

•   A stranger must appear in one photo (preferably confused but legally consenting).
•   Bonus points if they look like they're mid-story or mid-toast in what resembles a low-budget COMMERCIAL, even if no product exists and no one asked for this.

4. The Victory Condition

•      First one to complete the 'mission' earns "temporary dignity restoration."
•      Last one is officially crowned "Donkey Barrel Champion of Regret."
•      Upon completion, the donkey barrel race henceforth be referred to only as: "The   Incident That Must Not Be Mentioned."

And yes, yours truly will participate to show them how it's done. Stay tuned, I set this in motion last weekend and already have one submission, and I gotta tell ya, it's a doozy. Not saying who, or mentioning Jamie and Padraig's names, no, no, I'd never do that. 

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved

Things Happen In Threes, Fours, Fives And Sixes

14 June 2026 

1168

R. Linda:

It's that time again, when Tonya gets her massive garden going. It's a thing of beauty, it truly is. She's gone to great lengths to make it both magical and functional. She even has a small greenhouse for growing flowers and a larger one for vegetables. 

Me fav dusk snap of her garden as the pirobugs come out early evening

Her peonies along the garden fence

I wanted to surprise her for Mother's Day by buying her flats of plants, but it was too early. Now that Memorial Day has come and gone, it's planting time, I am told. So, to surprise her, I went to the local nursery she likes and bought a load of flowering perennials. I had help, yes, I did. The Dragon had asked me where I was off to, and I foolishly told her. Out of character, she asked me if I needed help picking out the plants. Well, yes, I said, come along if you like. And she did.

The ride over, she chattered on about her gardens of old and what she had at the Jersey house that could withstand salt air and such. When we got to the garden centre, she suggested plants that were not only useful but also pretty. Like bee attractors, bloomers that grow in shady areas, plants that keep certain pests away, that sort of thing. In the end, it was all my decision on what I'd get for Tonya. 

When Tonya got home, I was rather excited with my selections, and I just knew she'd love everything and be surprised, since she had no idea I had got plants because I don't usually. I put all the flats at the door of the greenhouse and was figuring out a way to get her to go out there, and SURPRISE! But I needn't wrack me brain because as soon as she pulled in, the Dragon Lady was hopping down the stairs to greet her with this gem: "Wait until you see the plants I had Gabriel buy you! I knew you'd want polenators and shady growers, come see."

I stood there next to the plants with me mouth hanging open in shock. The Dragon was animated and chattering on about all the plants she inspired me to get for the garden. Why is it that when I do something nice or even useful, Dragon steals the credit? I don't get it. 

I didn't have long to ponder that because the wee one came running over to tell me our cat was stuck in a tree. 

"Oh my," Dragon groaned like this was the worst thing that could happen. No longer were we gushing over HER choice of plants; it was directing me to find a ladder quick and save the cat. I was not a happy man. I wanted to talk to me wife, but now I had to get the cat on the ground, which meant Gabe above the ground, probably about to be scratched to shreds trying to save it.

When I saw the tree, I had instant reservations about trying to rescue it. It was a massive oak with arms that don't start sprouting out until 30 feet off the ground, and THAT was where the cat was meowing its plight. 

"Get the double ladder for your father," Dragon instructed the two older boys who had come out to see what the trouble was. They ran off; the cat was yowling to get down; the Dragon was leading Tonya back to the flower flats; and I decided to follow along until the ladder was brought out. I should have stayed put because when the kiddos came to get me, the double ladder was two ladders, not the shiny aluminium one that extends. They found, and God knows where they found, two of the most rickety ladders I'd ever seen and not only that, the rungs got smaller as they went to the top! I was gobsmacked and asked where on God's little green acre they found those things. 

They told me they couldn't find the "big ladder," just these two, and since I wanted a double ladder, there they were! Such geniuses I raised. 

Yes, indeedy me!

Don't laugh, it wasn't funny.

Well, I'd like to say rescuing the cat was a piece of cake, but it wasn't. I have scratches up and down both arms to prove it was a risky, bloody affair. But did I get any praise for me efforts? Of course not. As soon as I had the feline down, the Dragon snatched it out of me hands. She was wearing oven mitts! She had her picture taken with the now glad-to-be-out-of-the-tree cat and sent it to all her friends and family with the caption: I rescued my daughter's cat! 

She took the credit because it was HER who directed me to get the cat out of the tree and get a ladder. I can't catch a break.

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved

How Many Years In The Nick Do You Think I'd Get?

12 June 2026

1167

R. Linda:

Me little apple-cheeked Mam prides herself on running a tight ship, so to speak. She is fastidious about cleaning, and everything has its place. So you can imagine what happened when the bored house guest, one Dragon-in-law, decided to "help the old lady out." Now, for one, me Mam doesn't want the help, and two, she was not happy about being referred to as "the old lady," especially when the Dragon is four years older than her diminutive self. 

Here are some of the antics (for lack of a better word, well, me Mam would use the word sabotage), that started an unbearable situation between the 'ol wans' (me description of them both) that somehow spilt over to moi. 

Dragon got it into her head that everyone in the U.K. is a tea drinker, and my Mam's penchant for coffee was unhealthy for her "this late in life." Oh, the way Mam bristled at that. So, unbeknownst to me sainted little grey-haired Mam, Dragon replaced the coffee with herbal tea. When Mam came down to brew the morning coffee, she noticed, in her sleepy state, that the coffee grounds looked different, but went ahead and got the "coffee" going.

The rest of us came down in our groggy state, poured a cup of coffee, and sat down at the kitchen table to vegetate as we woke up sipping the morning brew. Well, I can tell you we all noticed the taste wasn't coffee right off the bat. Not only that, but the delicious aroma of fresh-brewed coffee was not wafting in the air. In our groggy state, and making faces like "ICK!" We looked at each other. Tonya was the first to sound off with this gem, "WOW, Mother O, this is awful. What coffee did you buy?"

To which Mam's eyes narrowed in response, as she placed her cup on her saucer and looked around. She reached over for the coffee container, opened it, looked piercingly at it and then took a whiff. Immediately, she put it away from her and stood up, hands on her hips, and said, "I dunt new who be the joker, but THIS (pointing at the coffee container) be not fonny!" 

"What is this?" I asked her, really wanting to know.

"It be sum kinda tae!"

"TEA?" Tonya gasped and slid her cup away from her. "Who would put tea in a coffee canister?"

Really, tea leaves? Who indeed!

Yes, who would do such a thing? Well, I knew it wasn't Weasil, he had left a few days ago, and yes, he would have been me first choice, but I knew right then, and there it HAD to be the Dragon lady! Who just happened to saunter, yes, saunter in at that very moment.

"YOU!" Mam pointed at her, "YOU arr nut fonny!"

"I'm not funny, is that what you're trying to say?"

Uh oh. Here we go, I thought.

I will spare you the argy that went on between the ladies in the room. I didn't have to say a word, no, I did not. They got on Dragon's case, and Dragon got on theirs, and round and round it went. The Dragon told the "ungrateful" women they drank too much of the black stuff and should be drinking tea because it was better for them, more CALMING, and relaxing. Hint, hint.

They were far from calm and relaxed; they were in a coffee-less tizzy. I had to laugh, and in bursting out with it, I was set upon by all of them, and so I fled the room for Dunks. That's right, I left them to hash it out and went to Dunks, where I sat at a table by meself and enjoyed the most delicious dark roast on earth. Yeah, so what, I was in me PJs. Most of the time nowadays, so is everyone else, so all was right with the world of Gabriel Aloysius O'Sullivan. 

And that didn't last long.

After me fifth cuppa the heavenly brew, I made me way back to the house. As I pulled up, there was me comfy chair being hauled down the front steps to a pick-up truck with two guys hoisting it in, as the Dragon got out her money to pay them. I sat in me car, too shocked to move, watching this unfold before me unbelieving eyes. What the feck?

Getting angry, I slammed out of me vehicle just as the two culprits started their engine and began pulling away! 

"What the hell are ye doin'?" Me Irish came out.

The passenger rolled down the window.

"We are taking this old thing to the dump. Do you want to buy it?"

Do I want to buy it? Me own comfy chair? WHAT? WHAT? WHAT?

They pulled off laughing before I could answer that YES I DO!

I marched inside, and there she was with O'Hare and Guido, directing them to move the coffee table where me sainted comfy chair USED to be, so it wouldn't look so empty. For their trouble, she gave them a couple of bucks, and then, heaving a satisfied sigh, she sat on the couch and clicked on the TV. Everything was right with the Dragon World.

Well, I decided to make things not right, and so I had a tirade to top all previous tirades and ripped her a new one, but it didn't faze her. Plus, Tonya put a stop to it when she came down to find out what all the yelling was about. 

"Mother, why did you give his recliner away?"

"It looked tired, Tonya. No shabbier piece of overused furniture have I seen since . . . hum . . . since I was forced to go to that dump you all call a transfer station, where there were several old, dilapidated chairs dumped. That one looked as bad as, if not worse than, those. What an eyesore, so I did you all a favour and got rid of it. No, don't thank me, it was nothing." And with that speech, she settled into watching the boob tube. 

I had remained silent, listening to that sorry excuse for an explanation, I did. As soon as it was over, I had more choice words, but before I could open me cakehole, Tonya silenced me with a look and a nod of her head to follow her into the kitchen, where she closed the door so we wouldn't be overheard. 

I thought she was going to give ideas on how to get me chair back, but no. And you won't believe what she said to me: she said, and I quote, "You aren't going to cry, are you?"

I stood there stupefied. WHAT? I started to laugh like a loon. I couldn't help meself it was ridiculously funny suddenly, and it really was not. 

"Get control of yourself, Gabe," said she. "I have been looking at recliners for a while, and I saw one I think you'd like BETTER than that old thing. Mother is right, it was beyond its time as a decent recliner, and you have to admit it was getting pretty gross."

"Gross? How dayamean gross?" I challenged.

"Well, there was old popcorn in the cushions from the kiddos spilling it, dried cola down the sides from where kiddos spilt that, the leather was cracked from age, the cat had used it as a scratching post, and the stuffing was starting to spill out."

Me old comfy chair, it isn't that bad, is it?

I stopped her with, "Okay, okay, okay."

She smiled triumphantly. "So you'll at least look at a new one?"

I sighed. "Fine."

The next afternoon, me new recliner arrived.

It had built-in cup holders, lumbar support, heated cushions (for those colder-than-cold New England winters), USB charging ports, and enough buttons to launch a satellite. 

I sat down reluctantly, not sure, because this thing was light-years from me old comfy chair.

Three hours later, me wife found me grinning in the dark.

"Well?" she asked.

I took a long sip of hot coffee (yes, coffee) from the cup in the cup holder and pressed the massage button.

"What old recliner?"

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved

Nightmares Are Made Of THESE

07 June 2026

1166

R. Linda

At Guido's school, the board of eddie (his words) did a fundraiser to buy a few ping- pong tables for the recreation of the "children" when they finish lunch, so they are occupied with something safe and something that will keep them from smoking outside, or running to the local general store for snacks. I mean, when I heard this, I was thinking "yeah, sure." But Guido said he and his "buds" thought it was a wonderful idea, and they are all into ping-pong. Who knew?

I have since found out ping-pong is a real pastime for teens, and well, I say to the board of eddie, "You go!" 

Now we just happen to have a ping-pong table that no one uses. With the school buying a few tables, Guido and "buds" wanted to brush up on their skills, and yours truly was informed that the "gang" would be over to play. Ok then. I had no problem with that. As long as they weren't in my basement guzzling beer, I was good and said so. 

Tonya went out and got chips and sodas, then stored them in the mini fridge, making sure the place was presentable and everything was ready.

Until…

Guido came home to check it all out and discovered there were no ping-pong balls. Oh, what to do? I'll tell ya, he came up out of the basement and had a hissy fit, and somehow it was all me fault that we had no ping-pong balls, and geez, what was he to do? Worse, what would the "buds" think?

Tonya told him to hold his water; she knew where there was at least one. And that was in the cat's toy basket. The cat seemed oblivious to the ball's disappearance until the night the "buds" were down in the basement, batting it around. Then there was the cat on the ping-pong table, and no one could play until someone caught the cat and locked it upstairs. I tell ya, the trials and tribulations of being a teenager and worse the cat!

I was later informed that everyone had a great time and that they had arranged a tournament of sorts at the school as soon as the tables arrived and were readied. SO, meanwhile, it would be great if I got some more ping-pong balls so they could practice, since the cat's was somewhat dented from the power swipes the "buds" were employing.

I went to Amazon to shop, and they couldn't get the ping-pong balls here in time. SO, I went Internet surfing and found a company that could send me a package of ten, and I could get $3.00 off if I ordered as a subscriber. Well, okay, I could (like Amazon) cancel that later. Or, so I thought. Since they were so cheap, I had them overnighted, and that cost me more than the $3.00 I was supposed to save, but what the heck, if it kept teens out of trouble, I'd have no problem paying the extra for delivery.

Well, the very next day, the ten-pack arrived, and I told Guido we were in business. Little did I know what business. Because the day after that, I got 25 more ten-packs of ping-pong balls. I was puzzled, I was. It was late when I came home, so I was knackered and thought to deal with the delivery the next day.

The next day, I got 25 more ten-packs of balls, which added to the prior package and, including the first ten-pack, brought the total to 510 ping-pong balls. I unfortunately had overslept and didn't have time to deal with all this craziness, so I went to work. When I came home again, I was too knackered to think, so I went to bed. The next day, the same thing: 250 more ping-pong balls arrived. Again, unfortunately, I was working on a series of important articles, and I just didn't have the time to deal with all this nuttiness. I did ask Tonya to "handle" it for me (probably the wrong word because she was not happy), and when I came home to 250 MORE ping-pong balls and a crazed wife, I was ready to get on the damn phone, no matter how tired or late it was, to get these stupid things out of me life. 

I looked up the invoice, and well, feck me, I had inadvertently signed up for a life of ping-pong balls! The subscription could not be cancelled until the end of the month! What's up with THAT? I suddenly was in the ping-pong ball business. I had enough to supply everyone in Japan! 810 ping-pong balls (and counting) was ludicrous in me opinion. 

I did not see the fine print that said, and I quote: "Your subscription will begin immediately, with an initial 10-pack of ping-pong balls delivered right away. Following this, the first 25-pack delivery will occur on the next business day. Please note that all subscriptions require a minimum commitment of one month, after which you may cancel at any time. If we do not hear from you, AUTOMATIC RENEWAL BEGINS IMMEDIATELY."

WHAT?

I looked at me credit card, and yup, I was being charged for 25 packs of ping-pong balls a day, plus POSTAGE! I rang the company up and was told I had to wait until the end of the month to cancel. I was also told they cannot legally stop sending them! My life is slowly becoming dominated by ping-pong balls! Every cupboard is full, the neighbours are asking questions, and Dragon's suggestion that I'm now one administrative error away from opening the world's least successful sports shop is not helpful.

Here, take a look at this. There must be 20,000 of them!

Feck me!

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved

Donkey Barrel Racing - You Haven't Lived!

06 June 2026

1165

R. Linda:

All right, here it goes or is, as the case may be. I was told, for a good cause (the abandoned mice charity), that yours truly was signed up to ride a donkey in a barrel race! Yes, R. Linda, barrel race. You know the drill, usually with a horse and not a donkey, where one barrels around set barrels at high speed to get the best time and win the competition. Someone tell me how that's done with donkeys, please? Because I can attest there is no speeding around barrels, no, there is not, but there is such a thing as being mounted on a slow-moving donkey that has a mind of its own, and it isn't on speed or going in a straight line or any line for that matter.

Yup!

I swore after the Captain, and of course, the Weasil had me entered in that donkey race way back when, I'd never get pulled into anything that was a race, or riding a donkey. But no, this time the Wolf boys got on me case about horseback riding when I told them I'd never been on a horse, and they told me I wasn't a true Irishman to not have ridden a horse. I, in turn, informed them I was a city boy from the lovely little borough of Newry in County Down, and horses didn't exactly flood the streets. This started a back-and-forth. It started with one Wolf, the one with the good hair. Somehow, one of his cousins got wind of this and wrote me that I needed to get on a horse or something akin to a horse to achieve true Irishness. At first, I thought this was funny, and they were joking, but then the son of the first Wolf chimed in that he had a horse I could borrow, and he'd take pictures to prove to the other two I had done the deed and was to be knighted as a true Irishman. Right. 

Here is a three-way conversation that just frustrated me.

Wolf #1: Um, if it's a horse you need … wait a minute, but it isn't, is it? You're in fear of the animal itself, is that it? 

Wolf #2: I already told him I have a horse for him. You know the one, the mare?

Me: I heard it's a gentle animal, and no, I'm not afraid of a horse. You forget I am not in Ireland.

Wolf #2: We will send ya a ticket, and you can fly over, fly back if it suits ya.

Me: That is not the problem, and you both well know it. Seems ludicrous for me to fly all the way to the old sod, jump on a horse, have me snap taken and fly on home just so you two can declare me what I already am. 

I won't bore you with the rest of this malarky, but they decided between themselves that if I got on a four-legged horse-like animal (I should have been suspicious then) that they would indeed "knight" me as a "full-blown Irish Person." Whatever the hell that means. I said, NO! 

They told me a llama would do the trick if I couldn't find a horse. I mean, really! I also found out the so-called gentle mare was anything but. Un huh. I further heard one of them drank a full bottle of Bushmills before attempting to "jump on that devil of a mare" and got thrown for their trouble into a bog no less, after being taken for a whirlwind of a ride for three miles at full speed. 

Then it dawned on me I was already on a four-legged horse-like creature, thanks to that insane donkey race of long ago, and said so. BUT because I couldn't find the pictures of that fiasco, they said they didn't believe me. 

I heard from the third clan member, the cousin, whom I don't know. He was worse than the other two on this subject. Suggesting all kinds of ways to get on a horse in the States, short of stealing one. Typical Irishman, HE! The thought that they had no proof of me riding a horse or donkey brought to me addled mind the thought that I had not seen them on a horse or a donkey, and I challenged them to show me the money (so to speak). Unfortunately, they took me up on that, and they did. 

When a challenge is a challenge

And they had the nerve to inform me they took that picture on a rainy day and did not look their Irish best! Like I care. Anyway, with the arrival of the Weasil, I should have known they'd put him up to making me the baffoon of an "Irish Person."

A day later (I know, no prior notice or anything), I found meself at the fairgrounds ten villages away! I was shown a donkey named Old Jasper, saddled up and ready for me to get on. I complained I was too tall for such a thing and, in turn, was told to just pick me legs up so they didn't drag on the ground, and scuff up me shoes. Right you are!

I was directed to the field where two yellow barrels were placed, and told to (you'll see the humour in this statement) "gallop" around the barrels; if my time was the best, I would win $10.00 toward the mouse charity and bragging rights. Oh, that's what I live for, NOT. And $10.00? This wasn't worth $10.00.

It was too late to back out of this stupid fiasco, so I made the best of troubled waters, got on Old Jasper, who grunted when I did (not a good sign), and as soon as I took up the reins, he let out that ear-piercing bray that just keeps on giving. I think both eardrums were shattered because when he finally stopped protesting, I couldn't hear the directions I was given. I just sat atop Old Jasper, wondering who the hell I really was, that I'd let meself get into these predicaments that I seemingly have lost control of. I didn't have long to sit there thinking about that because someone took a strap and slapped Old Jasper on the hind end, and we were off, me more than him, because I almost lost me balance and would have slid off his behind if it wasn't for the saddle horn I gripped by reflex. 

Old Jasper didn't gallop; he trotted maybe three feet and stopped. It took me 30 minutes to get him to the barrel. It took me 20 more minutes to get him to sort of go around it; it took me another 45 to sit there admiring the barrel before he slowly, and I mean slowly, moved off in the opposite direction to where we were supposed to go. It took me 4 hours tops to get from and around both barrels to the so-called finish line (which I couldn't see). See for yourself:

Yup, fun times for Old Jasper and Old Gabe

So, I won $1.00, yes, I did. I was fourth in a field of four. A photo was sent to the Wolf Clan, and they, in turn, declared me an honorary member of the Irish Race, after they laughed their arses off. How nice of them, the prats. The rest of the time, Weasil, Dragon, and some people they picked up drank themselves stupid with beer. Not only did I ride a donkey, but I had to drive EVERYONE home. No one was in any condition to drive but the one sober IRISHMAN, me!

I tell ya!

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved

Another Unwelcomed Visitor With A Hairbrained Offer

 05 June 2026

1164

R. Linda:

I did not want to tell you about this latest fiasco, but I feel like me arm is being twisted by certain members of an Irish clan who thought me troubles were funny. As if the Dragon-in-law cooking up strange brews was not enough, and as Murphy's law seems to be the way of it, what was left of my sanity was blown to hell and back by the timely arrival of THE WEASIL!

Yes, the young scamp (not so young anymore, I might add) appeared out of the blue (or in his case, fire dancing around his vintage, implying he was thrown out of hell for a wee bit), on me doorstop. I was speechless, I was. I couldn't get the word 'why' out of me mouth for the life of me. He, of course, was all cheery and glad to be out of the fire (I be guessing) and ready to wreak havoc on what was left of me life.

I reluctantly let him in, to the sound of Tonya's voice, saying NO, over and over. What could I do? He was already inside and headed straight to her for a bear hug she did not want or appreciate. Then it was onto the kitchen for coffee without asking, and when he saw the Dragon, it was this:

"OCK! Me girl, cummere, ye beautiful thing!"

After I barfed in the loo, I came back to find him sitting at table with her majesty the Dragon and the two of them chatting up a storm, both overtalking the other, to which it was a mad gab fest between them, that made no earthly sense to normal souls, but to the two children of Lucifer made perfect sense.

Meanwhile, the wife was leaning against the kitchen counter, holding a wooden spoon as though for protection and shaking her head NO this can't be happening. I wanted to console her, but truly, who's going to console me?!

I watched as Weasil went for the coffee pot, and you know he drinks straight out of it, and that got not only me in action, but Tonya got herself between him and the coffee as I grabbed his arm to hold him back.

"Just wait a minute!" I told him. 

With an evil smile, Tonya turned to the cabinet and got out the special cup we bought just for Mr W.

 

Weasil's Special Cup

Tonya and I thought this looked enough like a coffee pot he'd use this instead of the real thing. AND, he was thrilled with it. He insisted he'd pour his own coffee into his new cup and just wait. He reached into his bag and brought out another cup he just happened to have for ME! He poured us both black coffees, and while I was trying to find words for his generous thought for me, he chattered on about the fact he'd been in contact with the Wolf clan and how he'd signed me up for something THEY told him about, and all thought it was a perfect fit for me!

Talk about squirming in one's seat, that was me. UH OH. I knew this could not be good, BUT it was better than Captain Jack coming up with something for me, and that thought was short-lived because it was just as stupid an idea as Jack would come up with! I was shocked, I was. 

I downed me coffee and went for another cup when I looked inside and saw this at the bottom:

Yup, I should have expected anything less?

No wonder he was so happy I liked the cup. That is, until I saw the writing at the bottom. What a guy, huh?

So, back to the beginnings of the fiasco. I was told that somewhere in me neck of the woods, there was a donkey race, and, being a "professional donkey racer" (couldn't be further from the truth), I was signed up to represent some charity for abandoned mice. Yup, MICE. Like, there is such a thing.

I hemmed and hawed, I did. I did not like any of this and said so in many unchosen words, which set the wife to thinking, it would be a great way to get EVERYONE out of the house so she could have at least one day of quiet bliss. Is she selfish or what? At my expense, even!

I knew if I didn't do it, she'd be mad, and that would be one more person I'd have to tiptoe around, so I reluctantly, and I MEAN reluctantly, agreed to this stupid donkey race for a mouse charity. 

"Gabbie, my daughter will be so proud of you since she has an extensive collection of mouses herself."

"Mice." I corrected. And yeah, she does, she's a mad scientist, and well, if anyone needed to be outlawed in owning mice, it was HER!

What do I get meself into, I ask ya! Anyway, once me nerves settle from the "experience", I will write it down for your viewing pleasure. All too recent and still trying to get past it.

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved

OK, So THIS Sort Of Thing Has Gone On Long Enough

04 June 2026

1163

R. Linda:

Well … it has been a while, it has. I had just gone from emotional alert to emotional complacency WHEN I was given the tragic (for me at least) news that me old mother-in-law would come traispsing up from the Pine Barrens of New Jersey for a visit to the abode.

Me first words were, "For how long?" Not "oh goody" or "can't wait to see her"-no, no, none of that stuff. 

The complacency went right out the old window, it did, and me nerves started to do the shaky thing, of jumping around me heart with a cold chill coming in to muck the feeling up more. 

How the feck did this happen and when? I was not consulted (and for good reason; I would have had a fit of epic proportions with resounding NOs all over the place). However, I'd be shouted down by the other occupants of the abode (all except me own Mam who would have been out the door at the first mention of the word "Dragon"), it would have been nice to have some notice (so I could arrange a trip out of town, so to speak), but no, it was an hour before her arrival I was notified of the impending doom.

To say I was beside meself is saying exactly what I was. Realising I couldn't book a trip in time, I turned to the next idea: where to hide. Defeated, because no matter where I took meself SHE would find me, I plopped meself into a chair and looked like a man ready to be electrocuted. 

Just as me wife was about to berate yours truly over such behaviour, the door slammed open like the north wind had blown in, and there standing in dark silhouette in the doorway was the bulky figure of THAT woman, the wicked witch of the south, Dragon-lady.

Everyone went to greet her, everyone but me and me sainted mother, who must have been hiding under the kitchen table (I think because she was nowhere to be seen), and I was instructed to go bring "Mother's bags inside."

"Where'd you leave the broom?" I asked her, as I looked down the porch stairs at the massive amount of luggage that furthered me angst, if the old Dragon was going to move in. 

Well, it didn't take her more than three seconds to take over me living room chair, put the lovely green comforter you knitted for me over her gigantic knees, and demand to know where my mother was. She was ready for a cuppa tea after her long travels. 

Mam came out from under the kitchen table, shouting she was not the Irish housemaid, and fecking Dragon could get her own tea, but she didn't get to say all that because I instantly got hold of her, turned her towards the kettle and whispered (with much urgency), "Just do it. We'll figure this out later."

And so, mumbling under her breath, she went to make the strongest Booley's tea I had ever had a sip of. Yes, a sip, because it was THAT strong. No one drank it but the Dragon, who has no clue about teas and sipped it like it was Nirvana time. How she managed it, I do not know, but we all looked at each other, then at me, smug mother, and, as covertly as possible, shook our heads at her, as if to say, "THIS is not going to win us points."

I won't bore you with the rest of that day, but let me say, the old Dragon lady settled in a little too fast for my liking, and to further make things sketchy between her and me sainted little grey-haired, apple-cheeked Mam took over the kitchen, which belongs exclusively to Mam. 

We were subjected to recipes, the old thing found on Facebook, which were half-recipes. You know the kind where there is a delicious-looking meal pictured with a few ingredients to the side and the wording, "I made this, and everyone wants the recipe!" and you have to click on a website to get the full instructions for making whatever deliciousness is pictured? Well, it was worse when half the ingredients were used and the surprise of the Dragon tasting whatever gorgeous meal she saw, saying, "Well, the photograph looked more appetising than THIS."

Me Mam caught onto the problem almost instantly. To save us from gut problems later, she'd ask Dragon what she was cooking up or, more Irishly, "kooking-up" for dinner. As soon as she knew, she'd run to FB, find the recipe and then get the rest of it to save us from indigestion and gastric bypasses later. That is, she was successful in this venture UNTIL she had the opportunity to go to a community dinner and left us to the small or, more like, non-existent mercies of the Dragon lady. 

I came in from work to see a strange line-up of "ingredients" on the kitchen counter and a flummoxed Dragon scratching her head in perplexed agitation. 

"Wot be the matter?" I asked, not really wanting to know, but when it was the food we were all about to consume, and knowing she only used half the ingredients, I felt inclined to ask.

"Well, I got all this that is asked for, and I can't figure out how they go together," said she.

"Here, let me take a look," I said, taking the recipe from her. 

OMG!!! Let me put it here so you can see it.

What be wrong with THIS?

She had a batch of me Mam's chocolate chip cookies on the counter. She had the leftover S'mores Tonya had made the night before, and she had Thumbprint cookies, which she must have made herself (God only knows what they taste like), and she was perplexed over what a Lavender Honey Lemon Loaf was, as well as the Key Lime Loaf. She had plenty of eggs out, but for the two ingredients in the 2 Good 2 Be Baked recipe, she had no clue what they were. 

I started to tell her that what she had wasn't a recipe but an advert for baked goods, but she wouldn't listen, because she's NEVER wrong. Without me Mam, to back me up, or anyone for that matter, I left her to it because what could I do? 

I went out to mow the lawn just to have noise that would kill any thoughts of all this out of what's left of me brain. I have no idea what dessert will be, but I do know I won't be eating it, whatever it is. I did think I should go in and print off warning labels that say: Attention: What you are about to consume may look delicious, but it isn't healthy. The ingredients are from an unknown source, so be aware that you may do permanent harm to your body.

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved

What Is Happening At Me Abode?

27 May 2026

1162

R. Linda:

I get a phone call from Tonya, that O'Hare is upset and off the wall, so to speak, over his car. Seems he took it to an auto place for an alignment, and the mechanic informed him he needed $600 worth of work and no alignment until he got new tyres. He had got new tyres, and that's why he was there for the alignment, so what the heck?

She and he got into an arggy over this. I don't know what was said or how, but suffice it to say they were yelling at each other, and she wanted me to know he was headed me way and to be ready. 

Now, let me preface this by saying that the two of them are two peas in a pod. You can be having a calm conversation with one or the other, and suddenly, they are upset with YOU. Over, nothing you know you did, but you are accused of either raising your voice or belittling them. Usually, in the first case, I raise me voice to be heard because one or the other of them has started yelling. In the second case, if I make a joke, it is taken as sarcasm and belittlement. Therefore, I be damned if I do, and damned if I don't. Because if I don't raise me voice, I am accused of not caring and wanting to end the conversation. If I don't quip about something they said, then I am disinterested. I tell ya, I can't win.

So there I was, just off the phone when the driveway alert went off, and I knew O'Hare had arrived. I had been thinking I had time to brace meself, that he had 30 more minutes of driving time before he reached me. In that time, I was about to pour meself a stiff whiskey or two, or three and mellow meself out before the storm descended upon moi.

But in came Guido, fresh from work, and informed me that his friend was coming over and that they would be going for fishing licenses and then fishing.

"Don't fall in the river," I quipped, "water be 40 degrees, though the air is warm."

It was a minute later that O'Hare came waltzing in. I tensed thinking here we go, but notta. He was fine; he told me he had quite the experience at the car place and started to tell me about it calmly, I might add. I commiserated with him and shared an experience I had that was nearly the same, and said all these businesses were hurting, so yes, they will find things wrong to make some money, and all was right with the O'Hare. 

UNTIL

His brother had come downstairs to wait for his friend. He was haunting the front hallway, and we were in the back, but he could see us and we him, worse, he could hear what we were talking about. Now, let me say this: Guido prides himself on his mechanical prowess and started telling his brother how mechanically stupid he was, etc. As you can guess, this started an argybargy to end all argybargys.

Things would have been okay if Guido had minded his own business and not offered an opinion on how dumb O'Hare was about car maintenance. I broke the argy up by sending Guido upstairs and had managed to calm O'Hare's fiery temper. The friend arrived just then, and I sent him up to calm the other one down. O'Hare decided to go to his room to get something he had made on his 3D printer, which he wanted to show me.

I had thoughts I would be a full-fledged alcoholic by day's end if this kept up. 

Guido and his friend came down to tell me they were leaving. A good thing. They leave, and O'Hare comes down with a double light sabre. He made the handles on his 3D printer, cut a long pool noodle in two, and voilà, long arse light sabre. The dog thought long chew toy and came in trying to grab the pool noodle, and O'Hare ended up gently batting the dog, which just made the dog want it more, and the barking was ear-piercing. I told him to stop, and he informed me, after using it to swat at me, that he was going upstairs to beat up his little brother with it.

"Fine, have at it," I said, wondering if we had any 100-proof alcohol around. I texted Tonya, told her the sorry story, and all she could say was, "Well, I guess he has to beat up someone."

"That or start drinking," I said.

He reappeared, and I asked him if he'd like a shot of whiskey to soothe his day. He said he was tempted. We both weren't serious, or at least I wasn't. Then he started showing me pictures of Guido at his junior prom, holding a Coors Light, and another of him lying in the middle of empty cans of Tito's vodka, laughing. 

"Has your mother seen these?" I asked, curious.

"I dunno, but she knows." He said (I found out later she did not).

I told him to tell the wee one to get ready; we'd go out for something to eat. It was then that I got a text from Tonya asking me how everything was going.

"We are going out for some Tito's after O'Hare feeds the dog, and we are taking the wee one with us. We'll pass the wee one off as a leprechaun when we get to the bar."

And what did she text me? She texted: "Sounds good."

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved

Fun Times

25 May 2026

1161

R. Linda:

I sometimes wonder what the heck be going on with me Mam. On Friday. I had the pest service guy out to spray for insects and vermin around the house. I have had this service since I moved here. With the number of horse barns in the area and the grain in the barns, the small mouse critters get around. As an added bonus, I have insect spray applied around the edges of the house for one reason and one reason only. Tonya is scared of spiders. ANYWAY, that all aside, me own apple-cheeked, grey-haired little Mam must be getting on because after the chemical man did his thing, two hours later she went out to the front deck to cut some lilacs. 

"Oh my, it smells so good out here. I wonder what kind of insecticide they used."

I had come out with the scissors she couldn't find and took a whiff. What she was smelling was the lilacs. She went on about the insecticide smelling so good, but thinking it wasn't healthy to breathe it in. I shook me head and went back inside, laughing that she must be losing it.

To make matters worse, she had an appointment with her financial advisor. I offered to drive her there since she isn't a highway driver (which is rather interesting to me since Irish drivers are natural-born speeders) and she had no problem in Ireland, but here, "Can't drive with these people, Gabriel, they are dangerous and nuts they be." I wanted to say "Who's the nut?" but I refrained. All I could do was shake me head, because I just don't know about her. ANYWAY, we get there, get in the door, and the receptionist asks who we have an appointment with.

"I doon't no." Says she, looking rather perturbed, she was even asked.

"Wot do you mean ye doon't no?" Me Irish accent came out to my surprise. "Do ye even haf an appointment?" I asked.

"Well, for sure I do." Said she. "I just doon't remember wit whom. He's da new one." She said this to the receptionist.

Name taken, time of appointment taken, receptionist looks that up and says, just as it strikes Mam, "Mr Pica," said in unison. 

"Ok then," I said as we were gestured to have a seat.

As we are sitting there, this young professional-looking man sits down, and he is glued, and I mean glued to his phone. Outside, there was a fender bender, and did he look up once? No, he did not. Everyone else ran to the large windows to watch the two drivers looking over the slight damage. One calling the police (I suppose), the other his insurance agent. People inside went back to their respective areas, but the buzz was about the accident, and still, the young gent was phone-bound.

Me Mam was sitting across from him, and she nudged me and, in a theatrical whisper, said, "THAT is a solid case of TOD." And she shakes her head in affirmation.

"TOD?" I whispered.

"Terminal Online Disease." Says she knowingly. 

I tell ya, the woman is a piece of work, she is.

Lastly, as events in me life seem to happen in threes, we had a community dinner where, at the end of it, instead of having awards for the town leaders, there were joke prizes(?) for want of a word. All the "prizes" had numbers, and when the town leaders came in, they were shown a hat containing folded papers, each numbered. They'd get to pick a number at the end of the evening. That number would correspond to one of the "prizes."

We all wondered what the prizes were and who would get what. That was until me sainted little apple-cheeked, grey-haired Mam says in a low voice, "Isn't dat da hat dey used fer da Yankee Swap at Christmas?"

Tonya looked, as did I and yes, why yes, it was. 

"Why?" Tonya asked her concerned mother-in-law.

"Well, if ye remember, at the Yankee Swap, soom noombers were revealed, soom persons put dem back in da hat, an soom did not." She looked knowingly at us, like we would get the problem. 

She sighed. We are obviously two stupid people.

"Old John put blanks in da hat to fill out later, but knowing him, he probably fergot. AND no one counted the noombers in dat hat, but I did; dey went from 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, an skipped to 11; there were no 6, 7, 8, 9, or 10. So dat means 5 people won't haf noombers, just blank pieces of paper! OR," she said, "soom papers be blank, soom haf da same noomber a few times, an half the noombers dunt exist because Old John isn't all dere in da head, he isn't!" She said, quite exasperated with the two of us. "I tole 'em not to leave Old John in charge of dat hat!" She said emphatically. 

"Well, might make a fun last part of the evening," I quipped and got a dirty look.

And indeed it did.

At the end of supper, the committee members went up to the chairs set out for them on stage, and as each passed by Old John, they took a piece of paper from the hat he held. Some smiled, and a few looked perplexed, probably thinking their blank pieces of paper were part of a joke.

A smiling Father Murphy stood at the prize table and announced in his solemn church voice, "And now, our appreciation awards for the town committee." Laughter followed that remark as Father chuckled along with the joke he made. Father picked up the first wrapped prize and handed it to the Mayor, who proudly announced, "Number 6!"

Silence.

"Number 6," he announced again.

The hall went quiet. Father Murphy squinted at the number on the wrapped prize, then looked up at the stage, as if someone with a 6 might appear if he believed hard enough.

Mam leaned over to me, folded her arms, and said, loud enough for half the hall to hear, "Well now, dere's a surprise. Old John lost anutter one."

"There is no 6 Father," Said one of the committee women after rummaging through the committee members holding their numbers in growing panic. That is, only the ones lucky enough to have actual numbered papers remained calm. The others had no clue. No one on stage understood the joke, and they were plainly flummoxed.

Father Murphy looked at the wrapped number 6 joke gift, then at the ceiling as though appealing directly for divine intervention.

The Mayor shrugged and picked up another wrapped prize. 

"Number 10!" He said loudly in anticipation.

Mam never blinked.

"Dat's wot 'appens when ye leave Old John in charge of anyting wid noombers," she muttered into her tea, but loud enough to be heard.

By the third missing number, half the room was crying with laughter. Father Murphy was threatening to bless the prize table into obedience, and Old John kept insisting everyone was being dramatic because "sure, there's plenty o' numbers left," as he gestured at the committee members.

The Mayor looked embarrassed and confused all at the same time.

"Mine is blank," one of the committee members shouted.

Old John, meanwhile, kept insisting the numbers had to be there because he remembered writing "most of them."

"Did ya use invisible ink, John?" Someone shouted, and everyone laughed.

Ever the optimist, the Mayor picked up another prize and read the number.

"Number 5!"

Mild applause. Someone had a number 5 paper! Finally!

"…11."

A pause.

Three committee members raised their papers at once.

Then another pause. Seems all three had 11. 

"11?" The Mayor croaked, unsure what was going on with the three committee members arguing among themselves.

By the fourth "11," people were shifting in their seats, and Old John had gone mysteriously deaf.

Finally Mrs. Donnelly stood up and snapped, "How can there be three elevens and no sixes?"

Dead silence.

From our table, Mam crossed her arms, leaned back like a prophet proven right, and said loud enough for the whole hall to hear:

"Because ye let Old John near dat hat agin."

And that is how the Town Council Awards ended with five leaders sharing three joke prizes, one man winning a decorative cabbage twice, some received sympathy, and Mam was proven right in front of God and everybody, which, if you ask her, was the real prize of the evening and a personal victory.

This fiasco, the town is calling, The Incident of the Missing Numbers, and Old John is no longer trusted with raffles, bingo, or anything requiring arithmetic above the number four.

Yup.

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved