Officer O'Toole claimed the body was a dwarf and accused Martha of the foul deed. “Look, missy, already he’s turning green,” said Officer O’Toole.
“Now, O’Toole, you’ve got to understand he was green before I shot the little fellow.”
“Tell me, Martha, why you killed the lad.”
“He’s not a lad, he’s a leprechaun.”
“In all my born years I’ve never seen a leprechaun, Martha, so don’t be telling me fables. The lad’s a goner, and oh my, what’s this? He’s sitting up.”
“O’Toole, you better duck for he's pissed. Duck now,” Martha insisted.
O’Toole ducked in time to avoid being smashed by the rainbow the leprechaun fired from his forefinger. Martha attempted to beat the wee green fellow to the other end of the rainbow, but alas, the pot of gold and the leprechaun were long gone when she arrived. 'Twas as fine a rainbow as ever Martha laid eyes upon.
“Machine-gun sentences. Fast. Intense. Mickey Spillane-style. No way around it. Paul is a top-notch writer. Top-notch.” Thomas Phillips, author of The Molech Prophecy.
Showing posts with label leprechaun. Show all posts
Showing posts with label leprechaun. Show all posts
Monday, March 18, 2019
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