The Heelers Diaries

the fantasy world of ireland's greatest living poet

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Location: Kilcullen (Phone 087 7790766), County Kildare, Ireland

Friday, March 28, 2008

it's a wonderful life

Foghorn Leghorn took me to the corner of a downtown street in one of the trendier sections of New York.
We were standing outside the dizzyingly portentous skyscraper headquarters of the Bank of America.
"What are we doing here?" I murmured.
Foghorn Leghorn slapped the back of my head with his wing.
"Just be patient for a moment there boy," he chided. "I say Heelers, you just, you just be patient there now for a goshdarned moment. And try not to look so miserable boy. Heaven would, I say heaven would have sent, Heaven would have sent Jimmy Stewart boy, only it was, it was his day off."
We stood motionless amid the flurry of heartlessly beautiful people traversing the sidewalk.
Presently a devil red Ferrari Testarossa roared up the street and screeched to a halt outside the bank.
A masked bandit, carrying a machine gun, scrambled from the driver's seat and ran into the bank.
"What the hell is this?" I exclaimed in spite of myself.
Foghorn Leghorn hit me again on the back of the head with his wing.
"I say Heelers," he fumed, "I say Heelers. I keep telling you boy, I keep on a telling you, I keep a telling you, to pay attention when I'm showing you something boy. Don't, I say don't ask so many questions."
The bandit exited the bank carrying a single overstuffed sack. Loose dollar bills spilled from it at our feet.
The bandit ran past us.
The bandit's shapely form and piled high hair proclaimed her to be a girl bandit.
Her cutesy cry of "oh sugar" as a couple of cop cars appeared further up the street, proclaimed her to be a particular girl bandit of my acquaintance.
"Hoddlebun," I cried.
"The one, and I say one, and I say thank the Lord the only one," crowed Foghorn Leghorn.
Hodders' devil red Ferrari Testarossa roared away with the cops in hot pursuit.
The cosmopolitan carefreedom of New York eddied back into the space they left behind.
(Rodneyed back surely? - Ed note.)
Foghorn Leghorn stood with me on the pavement for long moments staring up the street.
I was the first to speak.
"So that's what she does for money if I never exist," I mused.

1 Comments:

Blogger Genevieve Netz said...

Somehow I doubt. Surely not Foghorn Leghorn. Surely not Hoddlebun.

6:32 AM  

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