What Angry Leprechauns Do

In response to my recent, St. Patrick: The Breakfast-Swiping, Flute-Playing, Snake-Hypnotizing Druid Leprechaun, I woke up this morning to find on my bed stand, written in tiny letters scribbled on a green piece of paper, this:

Dear Mr. Shore:

Ho, ho, ho

Hee hee hee

With a kick of my heel

I could shatter your knee.

I’m not likely to do it;

Our type’s not that mean

Though it would bring us pleasure

To hear how you’d scream.

That last post you wrote

Making fun of St. Patty

Made us want to ask you

“Now who’s your daddy?”

You thought it was fun

To make light of our hero

How do you sleep,

You absolute zero?

But we are nice folk,

forgiving and kind,

So we’ll let this one go;

We’ll leave it behind.

But please heed my words:

If you do that once more

You’ll find that your shoes

Have been nailed to the floor.

Your bleach will tip over,

Your socks disappear

And the gas in your car

Will turn into green beer.

We’ll pull up your flowers

Dishevel your yard

You’ll find your wood flooring

all terribly marred.

Your food will taste funny,

Your faucets will leak

We’ll kill all your houseplants

Your carpets will reek.

Your computer will fail you,

Your DVD’s scratched!

Your CD’s are ruined!

Your wallet’s been snatched.

You’ll find dirt in your oatmeal;

You’ll trip when you jog;

We’ll leave you no doubt

As to who shaved your dog.

If you’d like to avoid this

And sidestep the strife

Just write something decent

For once in your life.
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