May I See Your Passport, Please?

“Richard Harris was the WORST actor ever!” a young man shouted while standing in the middle of Limerick, Ireland’s most frequented pub.  The regulars were not happy to  hear someone slam the city’s favourite son, and the glaring looks they gave to the stranger let him know as much, but that didn’t stop him from continuing.

“And calling ‘soccer’ ‘football’ is a pretty stupid thing to do, too!”

That garnered a “Quit acting the maggot!” from one of the other patrons, but the man responsible for upsetting everyone was from America, so he had no idea what that meant.

“It’s a shame the Potato Famine didn’t get rid of the whole lot of you!”

That did it.  No one walks into an Irish bar and makes fun of one of the worst periods in the nation’s history and comes out unscathed.  A few minutes into his pummeling, members of the local police force arrived and hauled the drunken tourist down to the station.

“What were you thinking, coming in here and causing trouble like that?” one of the arresting officers asked.

“Was it too much?” the offending tourist asked in return.

“Son, you said horrible, horrible things about Ireland and the fine city of Limerick.”

“Awesome!” he then said.

“Awesome?  How could getting arrested be ‘awesome’?” the police officer then wanted to know.

“Well, it won’t really be awesome until you deport me.  Then I will consider my work here done.”

The police officer was now more baffled than ever before.  Did this guy just say that his real goal was to get deported?  Who would ever want such a thing?  A bored man from Iowa, that’s who.

“I work for my Dad’s flooring company and it’s the most boring job in the world,” the man began to explain.  “I never wanted to work there, it was just expected of me.  When he dies, he also expects me to carry on with the family business, and if I ever sell it, he will come back and haunt me.  Let me tell you, I don’t care about flooring one bit.  Hardwoods are nice, of course, but not nice enough to devote forty years of my life to them.  Plus, it’s not like I could ever capture anyone’s imagination with a tale of the superiority of oak over cedar.  But, a story about getting deported?  They’d be all ears!”

“But why Limerick?” the investigating officer asked.

“It’s a funny name for a city, don’t you think?  It makes me giggle every time I hear someone say it.  You’ll be shouting a  naughty limerick at me when you run me out of town, right?  Please tell me you’ll do that.”

They didn’t run him out of town with a naughty limerick, but they did kick him out of the country, so as far as the young man was concerned it had been a successful trip in the end.


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