The Powerhouse

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“Hey Mollie, remember last week when I told you about Skibootch’s confession and all the vacation time he was going to have. Well, wait till you hear what he is planning to do with it. I just happened to be taking a little snooze in the corner at McGuinty’s. The one at the far end of the bar. It is usually pretty quiet down there, except when Skibootch shows up. Then there’s always some caper he is up to that defies sanity. He can’t hold himself in, and has to let the whole world know about it.

Well, sure enough, he comes in and begins to fill McGuinty’s ear with more of his usual blather. Only this time he really goes over the cliff. Not only does he burden McGuinty with his usual long winded tale of absurdity, but in plain truth, he looks the part.

The way he was dressed he makes a Circus Clown look like a Brooks Brothers Model. Size four porkpie round hat perched in a size eight block head. Dagwood clip-on bow tie, complete with a one big button shirt, tucked into ham-hock pant legs tapering down to a point where they meet a pair of size 16 gunboats. Black Watch Plaid were the pants, to boot. You had to see it to believe it.

So, anyway he’s filling McGuinty’s ear with this long story about how he is going to be the most powerful bloke in Snowsville. He especially, wants to inform McGuinty of his sudden access to power. He is still unable to get over McGuinty’s Butler, directing him to the servant’s entrance. Remember that, when he delivered his load of bovine manure.

There is nothing more irksome to an Irishman than another Irishman who puts on airs. You might even consider all this talk as Skibootch’s revenge. He thought he would lay it on McGuinty and make him squirm in envy as he hatched his great plan to become powerful. So powerful, he could thumb his nose at McGuinty from his dreamed of powerhouse. Even higher up the hill than McGuinty’s fancy estate.

So, let me tell you what I was hearing, and you make your own judgement about Skibootch’s contact with reality.”

Skibootch says: “I just come back from delivering a load to the landscaping officer at the Army barracks at Fort Drum. He was complimenting me on the quality and consistency of me load. Of course, I, in all modesty, didn’t overly brag about how good it all was, but I did let him know that I was a connoisseur of all that was good. And this load was a particularly excellent result of nothing but the best clover. Particularly selected to, when processed, become quite sweet aromatically, and only mildly irritating to one’s olfactory and eyesight organs.“

The officer in charge said he was deeply impressed with me load, and suggested I consider entering the field of electrical construction and use me clover-based product to create electricity and become powerful, and, wealthy enough to thumb me nose at you!!!”

So McGuinty says; “And, just what did the officer say to you?”

He says to me, get this!!! “If bullshit was electricity, you’d be a powerhouse…”