the dishes.
The dishes are piling up, and things are getting quite bad.
I had these Irish elves that came in at night and washed the dishes for me, but they started demanding higher wages. They got paid in Guinness, the little freaks drank a case a week. In addition, they were threatening to strike over the health plan. So I talked to this offshore dude, who said that he could bring in some illegal imps that would work for honey and bread if I left it under the table. When I asked why they would work so cheap, he said that they used to be bottled imps, and they are so happy to be in america that they don't even know the difference. Apparantly Philly is a great place if you used to live in a bottle. Who knew? So I figure, if they are happy, and I am happy, then everybody's happy, so who's hurt?
That was before the Imp corpses started appearing. Apparantly, the Leprechauns had some way of handling the cat that the Imps don't know about. To make a long story short, the Imps won't come back. Something about the stink of their dead. Superstitious little bastards. So I up the amount of honey and bread, and spray the place down with Lysol, and that way the new batch of Imps stay blissfully ignorant. At least until they start disappearing, but that's their concern, not mine.
So a couple of days ago I wake up with this little white suited blighter sitting in my kitchen. Turns out he's Seamus O'Flarhatty, head of Magical Elves Local 401. He sits there drinking my coffee, neat as you please, and he tells me that "Bad things" could start happening unless I ditched the offshore labor. He has connections, you see, with some very evil types, and accidents of all sorts have been known to occur when you cross the "little people." I told him to do his worst, and he said that I didn't know who I was fucking with. Boy was he right.
So now, the Leprechauns are starting to spike the Imps' honey with whiskey. This makes them slow to evade the cat, who is becoming very adept at dispatching the little buggers. In addition, the number of cats in my home seems to be multiplying, I was pretty sure I only had one, but now it seems I've three. I'd get rid of the other two, but they all look just alike, and I want to keep my own cat. To top it all off, they are all getting really chunky(Who knew that Imps were so high in fat? Must be all the Honey. Plus, they must not be very filling, because the cats are all eating a lot more of the normal type of cat food.) So every morning I get big piles of either drunk or dead imps, bloated and gassy cats sleeping off a frenzied night of gnome chomping, badly spelled Gaelic-English Grafitti spraypainted on my car and (what I hope is) mud splattered all over my kitchen. To top it all off, the Leprechauns are starting to bring in the dirty dishes from other people's kitchens.
Some weeks you shouldn't even bother.
I had these Irish elves that came in at night and washed the dishes for me, but they started demanding higher wages. They got paid in Guinness, the little freaks drank a case a week. In addition, they were threatening to strike over the health plan. So I talked to this offshore dude, who said that he could bring in some illegal imps that would work for honey and bread if I left it under the table. When I asked why they would work so cheap, he said that they used to be bottled imps, and they are so happy to be in america that they don't even know the difference. Apparantly Philly is a great place if you used to live in a bottle. Who knew? So I figure, if they are happy, and I am happy, then everybody's happy, so who's hurt?
That was before the Imp corpses started appearing. Apparantly, the Leprechauns had some way of handling the cat that the Imps don't know about. To make a long story short, the Imps won't come back. Something about the stink of their dead. Superstitious little bastards. So I up the amount of honey and bread, and spray the place down with Lysol, and that way the new batch of Imps stay blissfully ignorant. At least until they start disappearing, but that's their concern, not mine.
So a couple of days ago I wake up with this little white suited blighter sitting in my kitchen. Turns out he's Seamus O'Flarhatty, head of Magical Elves Local 401. He sits there drinking my coffee, neat as you please, and he tells me that "Bad things" could start happening unless I ditched the offshore labor. He has connections, you see, with some very evil types, and accidents of all sorts have been known to occur when you cross the "little people." I told him to do his worst, and he said that I didn't know who I was fucking with. Boy was he right.
So now, the Leprechauns are starting to spike the Imps' honey with whiskey. This makes them slow to evade the cat, who is becoming very adept at dispatching the little buggers. In addition, the number of cats in my home seems to be multiplying, I was pretty sure I only had one, but now it seems I've three. I'd get rid of the other two, but they all look just alike, and I want to keep my own cat. To top it all off, they are all getting really chunky(Who knew that Imps were so high in fat? Must be all the Honey. Plus, they must not be very filling, because the cats are all eating a lot more of the normal type of cat food.) So every morning I get big piles of either drunk or dead imps, bloated and gassy cats sleeping off a frenzied night of gnome chomping, badly spelled Gaelic-English Grafitti spraypainted on my car and (what I hope is) mud splattered all over my kitchen. To top it all off, the Leprechauns are starting to bring in the dirty dishes from other people's kitchens.
Some weeks you shouldn't even bother.