A Tail of Old Erin's Isle

A rough and weathered Kerry farmer pulled the rope leash that harnessed a black faced sheep.

With razor rain pelting his weather- leathered sixty-five year old vissage, the rough rustic Moses pulled the baying and bleating Ovis Bovidae to and manfully through the green painted door of his one room cottage on the lee-ward side of the hill that crowned his farm. The last embers of turf glowed a gold-smoky hue to the spartan room with walls adorned with framed photos of JFK, RFK, MLK and Bono.

From the thick woolen blankets and home-spun covers of the queen-sized bed, came the voice of his bride of thirty-two years, " Pissed are ye?"

Pulling himself to the full 65" majesty of his agarian frame, our peat-digging yeoman retorted," This is the cow . . .that I am having sex with!"

There was somewhat of a pause. Had years of drink and labor destroyed the once careless and song-slinging swain who had charmed and conquered her heart with this revelation of madness?

"You've a skinfull of Poitín and porter - that's a sheep you amadaun!"

The woolly creature cowered and the sheep was taken aback, as well. After a pause of some seconds the Culchee villein spat back, " I was talking to the mutton, so!"

Ah, as Catullus lyred -Qvearis, quot mihi basiationes tuae, Lesbia, sint satis superque. . . .

From the file of Mr. Gerry O'Carroll

The True Story of the Three Jacksons - Part 1.

Like all south side story tellers and fabulists, I begin not in medias res, but way the hell long after the subjects are dead and gone and have no recourse or access to lawyers - I begin.

This is no bullshit. Long before the peroxide black kid from Gary had a massive grabber after making millions of dollars and paying out millions in hush money, there was the Jackson Three*. They were accordion kings. Andrew, Joseph, and Solomon Jackson came from under the Dan Ryan expressway. Actually they were from 47th & Wentworth. They lived in back of the Yards - Canaryville.

They were raised by their Mom, Delia Murphy Jackson after their father Morris Solomon Jacobson(Jackson) a tanner for J. Ogden Armour was killed by a strikebreaker in 1898. Mo Jackson was a devout Jew, but got sick of explaining to his Mick, Hunky and Dago relatives how he had fought in the Irish Brigade in 1864 and changed his name to Jackson. Mo Jackson went to services on Saturday and the wife and kids went on Sunday to St. Gabe'.

Andy was born in 1895; Joe in 1896; and Sol in 1897 - they were Irish Triplets and Miracle Babies - Mo thought it a miracle to be three for three in three. Andy was the joy of his mother and as useless around the house as a blind cat with no claws. Joe was a mope who always groused about everything and Sol was gabby little bastard from out of the chute. The three boys played in a pile at their parent's feet when Mo and Delia had finished their dinners and Mo could stretch his long legs to absolute limits of tarsals. The rugs were clean and beaten regularly by Delia and boys rolled and undulated like cuts of prime on the Armour conveyors only a few blocks west of the frame house of the Jackson's on Wentworth.

A few days after Sol's first birthday, Mo went to a strike meeting at John Joyce's Knight's of Labor Hall at 47th and Ashland. It was pretty good stretch of the legs from Wentworth to Ashland and there were sinkholes in the street that could swallow a horse.

( next time Mo gets trimmed by a strikebreaker and dies a few months later)

*The Three Jacksons were Dutch accordion kings so my story is essentially, fundamentally, thoroughly and originally pure and unadulterated bullshit - fiction.

http://translate.google.com/translate?hl=en&sl=nl&u=http://www.rotterdam010.nl/3jacksons.html&ei=KJPIS5nYJIGMNouyzckI&sa=X&oi=translate&ct=result&resnum=3&ved=0CCMQ7gEwAg&prev=/search%3Fq%3Dthree%2Bjacksons%26hl%3Den%26rlz%3D1T4GGIH_enUS268US331%26prmd%3Div

A Touching Tale of Texas Transgression

From the files of the great Tom McMahon of Wisconsin & Frank Nofsinger:Beerologist, libationist, beer devotee, wert guru, beer maven and Patriot!

A hooded robber burst into a Texas Bank and forced the tellers to load a sack full of cash.

On his way out the door a brave Texas customer grabbed the hood and pulled it off revealing the robber's face. The robber shot the customer without a moment's hesitation. He then looked around the bank and noticed one of the tellers looking straight at him. The robber instantly shot him also.

Everyone else, by now very scared, looked intently down at the floor in silence. The robber yelled, "Well, did anyone else see my face?" There are a few moments of utter silence, in which everyone was plainly afraid to speak.

Then one old man raised his hand and said," I think my wife may have caught a glimpse of you."

SLA Vet, Convicted Murderer, Illini Applicant Jim Kilgore - Wasn't He on Seinfeld?

The Guy above is a murderer. The guy below was on Seinfeld
University of Illinois attracts some real beauts - our latest Nutbag ( e.g. Billy Ayers) is Jim Kilgore who murdered a woman in California during his hitch with the Symbionese Liberation Army.

He's getting out -Never Forget Hire the Vet - and wants to spend his final probationary days here in Illinois.

Hat Tip to the Lovely Anne Leary of Backyard Conservative for picking this Hot grounder - that went through the mitts and legs of SEIU's Mickey Mouse Club - The Around the Horn Dweebs at Progress Illinois. The Sun was in their eyes. while bending over, I guess.

http://backyardconservative.blogspot.com/

John McCain: Barack Obama - Post Turtle

This tale from Texas lore comes from Chicago Law Dog Michael Brennan, Esq.!

While suturing a cut on the hand of a 75 year old Texas rancher, who‘s
hand was caught in a gate while working cattle, the doctor struck up a
conversation with the old man. Eventually the topic got around to
Obama and his bid to be our President.

The old rancher said, 'Well, ya know, Obama is a 'post turtle'.'

Not being familiar with the term, the doctor asked him what a 'post
turtle' was.

The old rancher said, 'When you're driving down a country road and you
come across a fence post with a turtle balanced on top, that's a 'post
turtle'.'

The old rancher saw a puzzled look on the doctor's face, so he
continued to explain. 'You know he didn't get up there by himself, he
doesn't belong up there, he doesn't know what to do while he is up
there, and you just wonder what kind of a dumb ass put him up there.'


Mel, over at Larry Johnson's No Quarter explains - click my post title!

Off to see Senator John McCain at Martin Luther High School in Greendale, WI - get some Straight Talking to there.