paradise lost

*GREAT MOMENTS IN IRISH THEATRE*
Maud Gonne MacBride, the famed Irish rebel beauty walked into a discreet pub in heaven like she was walking onto a yacht.
The ghost of WB Yeats, sitting at a corner table, looked up from the book he was reading.
His pale watery blue eyes became a bit more watery.
Maud was toting a hand held microphone.
Not a chordless microphone either.
From the rear of this microphone about fifty feet of electric cable protruded.
In forty previous productions of the play, Maud had never before pulled this particular stunt.
She paused to get her bearings, then dragged the cable ethereally across the stage and sat with WB Yeats.
WB Yeats looked at her.
In a soft voice, too low to be heard in the seats at the back of the theatre, but loud enough for the front row, he enunciated:
"I'm gonna f--king kill you."