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February 11 - February 11, 2019
“I knew it.” Rory nodded down towards the ground. “Youse two are like stink and shite – never one without the other.”
Rory didn’t answer. Regan had been halfway over the wall when Bunny had grabbed a leg. Jacko still blamed that incident for his subsequent lack of offspring. To be fair, the wife had left him when he’d gone back to prison, which hadn’t helped.
“This is Major Tom to ground control, over.”
“I don’t give a shite about your manky sandwiches or your gay drinks, alright?”
“Tut tut tut, Rory. There is no cause for lazy homophobia like that. We’ve been on a course.” Bunny put the walkie-talkie to his mouth and spoke while chewing. “Sergeant Spain, I feel obliged to inform you that Mr Coyne has used homophobic language while conversing with me in the course of executing my duties.”
“That is very disappointing to hear, Detective McGarry. Please pass on my discomfiture at the close-minded attitude his choice of language conveys.” “Absolutely.” Bunny pulled the walkie-talkie away from his mouth. “Gringo says stop being a prick.” “Why don’t you go shag your bum-chum then and leave me alone?” Bunny had a mouthful of sandwich and didn’t immediately respond. Rory watched him chew exaggeratedly before swallowing. “I’ll have you know, Sergeant Spain is an unhappily married man, at least for a few more weeks, and I, well, I’ve not met the right girl yet. Your Aisling is a bit of a
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“I’m in emotional turmoil and this is how you handle it?” Bunny shrugged. “Well, I’ve not had the training. They cancelled it for the homophobia seminar.
Bunny leaned in and lowered his voice. “You never did tell me, what was the sex like?” “Shut up.” “I mean,” continued Bunny, “I’d imagine it’d be a bit like one of those insects where she rips your willy off when she’s done with you.”
“Is that right, ye little cloth-eared Dublin gobshite, ye?” “I got none of that.” “Oh, you’re a fecking laugh riot, aren’t you?” Gringo furrowed his brow in mock consternation. “Something about a goat?”
Bunny gawped at the sign that dangled over the doorway, then at Gringo, then back at the sign. “No fecking way.” “Don’t be so close-minded.” Bunny pointed an accusatory finger at the sign that indicated the establishment was Charlie’s Private Members’ Club – Dublin’s Premier Jazz Emporium. “Fecking skiddle-dee-diddly-wah-wah daddy-o jazz? Have you lost what little mind you have left? You know I wouldn’t be caught dead in some wanky jazz club.”
“My point is, I’m a fan of music, but jazz isn’t music. Jazz is some cockwomble in a beret, wanking himself off with a saxophone.” “Sax-a-phobic, are we?”
“Yes. If it is any consolation, you did win the fight.” “They jumped me!” pleaded Bunny into his pillow. “They did, and I think it is fair to say all three of them learned a valuable life lesson in that regard.”
“Don’t blame yourself. You’d your hands full as you were leaving. To be exact, one of your big mitts had one of your assailants by the throat and the other one had bucko number two by somewhere even more sensitive.”
“Try not to speak, ye muck savage. Your breath is like a wino’s jockstrap.”
it. Someone had tried to distract from what was clearly an enormous cock and balls drawn on the side of one of the structures with the strategic placement of a couple of posters advertising a jumble sale that had already happened.
Anyhow, not to blind you with science, but it turns out sitting on your arse for twelve hours a day is bad for you. He wants me to cut down on the booze and the brekkie and start jogging.”
