Dear Mr. & Mrs. Walsh,
Part-time party-entertainer, Seamus Ryan aka ‘Jake the Jester’, is having a bad day. He woke up with a crippling hangover and a furry recollection of last night. 27 missed calls on his shattered phone jogged his memory enough to recall that he’d popped into the local and lost all but a tenner of his wages to the lads…for the fifth week in a row and while he guessed at the time that crawling out through the loo window probably wasn’t his brightest idea, it was that or get a fist in his face to remind him that he’d exceeded his credit limit, by a lot.
When the banging on his door started at 6am, it was either the landlord or his creditors. He didn't wait around to find out and legged it down the fire-escape wearing only his cap & bells. The final straw was when he was booed off the stage at a tween’s birthday
Dear Mr. & Mrs. Walsh,
Thank you for putting in a tip with Zoe’s note of apology. I don’t think the lass meant any harm although let me tell you, the welts have swelled and I’m struggling to sit down.
Also to be frank, it wasn’t much of an apology. Zoe described my performance as boring, dumb and stupid. Said she hadn’t had a more miserable time since she sat her common entrance assessment. She said I couldn’t even make Mikey O’Connor crack a smile. If he was the chunky one shovelling jam mallows into his cakehole then I’ll have you know I had him in stitches. The wee fella honked up whole coconut flecks through his nose, he was laughing so hard. The point is, Zoe didn’t have to express her displeasure by shooting at me at close range with her new bb gun. Are you sure it is an appropriate gift for a child of her disposition? #serialkillerintraining
Zoe also felt put out by my twerking version of The Rattlin' Bog. You might want to tell young Miss Zoe that I draw the line right here. It’s a fan favourite, a brilliant craic. It never fails to bring down the house and I won’t have a wee #woke girlie tell me any different!
Ho, ro, the rattlin' bog The bog down in the valley o Real bog, the rattlin' bog The bog down in the valley o
Well in that hole there was a tree A rare tree and a rattlin' tree The tree in the hole And the hole in the bog And the bog down in the valley o
Looking back on it now, I may have overreacted a tad. You see, when I heard the bb gun pop and felt the pellet lodge in my arse, I bricked it. Later, it dawned on me that the deafening screaming came from me. Busting out the terrace door was mad I suppose. In my defence, I have been under a lot of pressure lately.
It is decent of you not to charge me for the broken pane. Considering the kids were still shooting at me as I ran across the garden, it's only right but still, really decent of you.
I CAN'T SAY NO TO A FLUTTER
"LOOK AROUND THE TABLE. IF YOU DON'T SEE A SUCKER, GET UP, BECAUSE YOU ARE THE SUCKER."
My Mam used to tell me that all the time. Foretold that if I couldn’t give up the game I wouldn’t make anything of myself. It’s a blessing that she’s gone to Heaven, God rest her soul, than have to see me like this.
Speaking of the dead, have you got any funerals comings up? Weddings, christenings, hen-dos, or even 21sts? My repertoire is very versatile.
Failing that, any chance you could you loan me the €600 I'm short? I'm good for it, cross my heart. As soon as I get my costume and makeup bag back I can straight get back to work. About that, if it isn't too much trouble, would you ask your neighbours to get my satchel down from their tree? When I toppled off the terrace, I threw it out to break my fall, but overshot and it landed in their tree. Judging by the sound of the branches splintering on my way down, I don’t think they’d welcome the sight of me but it was an accident, honest.
P.S. Enclosed are a few dozen flyers. It would be grand if you wouldn’t mind spreading them around town...today.