A beer in each hand, my arms pumping up and down like a toy robot, I chugged my way through the thronging swarm. My awesomeness and charisma increased by leaps and bounds with each mouthful of frothy ale. My inner Renaissance Man roared awake with a mighty belch.
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| This isn't me, but add an extra mug in each hand and some more Henry VIII-esque paunch, and you'd be close. |
"GOOOD YON SIRRAH!", I belted in my finest Renaissance voice, "I DO WISHETH TO THROW YON CUTLERY! HERE ARE MY DUCATS!" With great straining against the tightness of my plump hand in my pocket, I pulled out my wad of pocket change (which I sometimes call "Mt. Chingy") and scattered it across the vendor's booth.
"HOWE MANYE THROWS WILL THESE DOUBLOONS GET ME, COXCOMB?", I barked, spreading out my change as much as possible, so that the vendor might see the true breadth of my wealth and status.
"Sorry sir, cash only", the fearful vendor replied, shivering in fear of my manliness. "And you'll need to pick up that change," it squeaked timidly. "Now, please."
"ZOUNDS AND MALDICTIONS UPON YE PAPER MONEY! TIS' 1568, AND SCRAP MAKES NO REPLACEMENT FOR PENCE!", I masculinely shrieked. "BESIDES, SIRRAH, I HAVE SAVED THAT MONEY FOR MEAD AND WENCHES!"
"Well then, you can't throw these kni-"
"WHAT? THESE KNIVES?" I said as I held before him the three throwing knives that he had laid at the counter when I had walked up. The ribald fool had clearly been fooled by my throw-coins-down-as-a-distraction trick, and I took the opportunity to snatch up my prize. Cash or no cash, I would die before I failed to demonstrate my martial prowess.
Before the stunned vendor had a chance to make a feeble attempt at recovering his knives, I reared back my throwing arm, all three dagger blades in hand, and with a mighty "HWAAAAAAARGGHH!", I threw them toward the nearest target.
I blinked. When my eyes opened, I gazed again upon the target.
Nothing. Not a single knife hit. No knives even close to the target.
Astounded, I turned around to see a horrified crowd running from the stand as a knife flew down to the ground and landed blade-down right before my feet.
I looked about, horrified.
What had I done?
WHAT HAD I DONE?
How did I fail to see that what I had thought was a common vendor was in truth an evil wizard? How could I have not expected any skilled wizard to put a teleportation rune on their weapons, in case they are wielded by one too skilled in their use?
"Security!", chirped the vendor/mage, "This guy's drunk!", he said, pointing at me.
"HOW DID YOU KNOW I WAS DRUNK?", I roared. "THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A DETECT DRUNK SPELL! YOU'RE NOT A WIZARD! YOU'RE NOT A WIZARRRRRD AT ALLLLLLL!!!"
I spoke the truth. This vendor wasn't a wizard after all. There's only one kind of creature that can detect drunkenness, but it would be the wrong time of year...
My dizzied mind raced faster, unhindered by the repeated cries of "Doctor! Medic!" from somewhere in the crowd. Possibility after possibility played out within the supercomputer that is my mind. That's when it hit me like a diamond shamrock through the skull:
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| I wonder if shutterstock will mind if I use their watermarked photo. Actually, no I don't. |
The vendor was a Leprechaun, and Leprechauns are the only creatures that can detect drunkenness in humans - That's what brings them out on St. Patrick's Day - to beat up drunk people and steal their shoes. This is known, Khalesi.
But now, times are changing, and with the advent of the Ocktoberfests and the Renaissance Fairs, the Leprechauns were finding new hunting grounds in the drunken masses of the fall, which means the entire month of October was now a target.
It was all so clear now. Leprechauns rarely intruded upon October, and even then, only on Halloween. But this? This was a full-scale invasion.
I gasped.
A nightmarish hellscape opened in my mind:
SHAMROCKTOBER
I saw before me my neighborhood, but transformed. All manner of horror had been inflicted upon the spookiest of seasons, not the worst of which included:
- Green Jack O'Lanterns, which are now called Finnegan O'Sheas.
- All costumes are Leprechaun costumes, but there are no sexy Leprechaun costumes for the ladies, just the ones that go from upper neck to ankle.
- Instead of doling out candy, adults pour Guiness and Jameson into children's buckets. This becomes known as the new Shamrock shake. (Also, the old Shamrock shake dies because of this.)
- Instead of Haunted Forests, thrill-seekers of all ages go to regular forests to be assaulted from the shadows by heavily drunken teenagers. (For some reason the thought of this made me semi-chubs.)
- The Monster Mash is replaced by "Sunday Bloody Sunday" on all radio stations. Likewise, Thriller is replaced by the rap from the end of "Leprechaun in the Hood."
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| Teh horarr. Teh horarr. |
The terror was mind-shattering, that world of October verdancy. I screamed, and could take no more.
As reality came rushing back to me, I realized that I was now in the arms of a pair of not-so-festively-garbed security guards, or as I call them, Leprechaun collaborators. Though they were dragging me out of the park, that didn't mean that I couldn't warn the common folk.
"SHAMROCKTOBER IS COMING!!! SHAMMMMROCKKTOBER IS COMING!!!! WHEN MARCH SEVENTEENTH MEETS OCTOBER THIRTYFIRST, ALL SHALL CRUMBLE!!!"
I don't know who heard me. I don't even know if they believed me. And if they believed me, I have no idea of whether they cared or not. But I do know that this Halloween was an orange one, like it should be, which makes me think that maybe, just maybe, I made enough of a difference to stop those Leprechauns. Well, for this year anyway.
I'll be here, though, at the ready, making sure that America never knows a Shamrocktober Sky.
Oh, also, I spent the rest of the month in jail on manslaughter charges.
Keep it Stankin'
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