BK Akitas Wrote:Ah, if only me sainted grandmother, god assoil her, could hear you now!
I just made up an FPW care package for a friend of mine on the east coast who- can you even beleive it?- has never read anything by our esteemed leader????? already put in a copy of The Select but God love ya Lisa for offering!
I've always said she's the flower of the flock and her smile's worth bottling. But as long as we're talkin' Oirish here, bk, this might give you a laugh. My friend John Keel knew Brendan Behan. "What was he like, John? Nice guy?" "Oh, God, Lindner. He was insufferable. I'd be at the bar, nursing a draft, trying to think of one-liners for Merv Griffin the next day, and Behan would come up, 'How are yez, Johnny! Aren't you the grand man! Still writin' for Merv, are yez?' And he'd be surrounded by these leeches whose only interest was his money. It was a pathetic scene. And just when you think he'd passed out, his big head on his chest and snoring, just when you got some peace, he'd wake up and start screaming, 'Who the fuck are you? Where's me fucking money?' And the leeches would get him a whiskey or ten. And then he'd start singing Irish folk songs in a horrible cracked tenor." "Why didn't the bartender throw him out, John?" "Eventually they did. When he ran out of money and there were no leeches around to leave a $20--a lot of money back then, Lindner--they did throw him out. Christ. At the end, he'd pull his unit out and piss on the bar. Ugly scene. Come to think of it, Lindner, you might have gotten along with him."