Pat rushed into the Scranton Irish bar screaming, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, did you hear the news?”

Mike swallowed the last of his Guinness, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and ordered another pint.

“I heard enough Lackawanna County political news on my walk here to make my head blow up like a car bomb,” Mike said. “My neighbors are already accusing each other of being informers.”

Pat tried to catch his breath as the Notre Dame wall clock struck noon when the leprechaun’s fighting Irish fists moved to the 12.

“Democratic Party bosses are like wild dogs at each other’s throats about who’s gonna get anointed as the new Lackawanna County commissioner,” said Pat. “You see the lead candidate on the news?”

“Who could miss Max Conway, County Commissioner Chairman Billy Gaughan’s hand-picked puppet?” said Mike. “Conway held up his little baby at the press conference like he was showing off a piglet at the farm show. Using that poor child for personal political advantage.”

Mike put on the somber face he wore for special occasions like this, although few occasions like this came to mind.

“This is one for the books,” Mike said.

“A cook book,” Pat said. “Remember when former Scranton Mayor Bill Courtright cooked the books and did six years in the federal penitentiary?”

“Courtright got out a few months ago,” said Mike. “I spotted him going into that halfway house just the other day.”

“Halfway to what?”

“Half past a monkey’s ass,” said Mike. “City and county Democrats are up a tree on this one.”

Pat imitated a chimp scratching under his arms and hopping around the corner of the bar like he was Cheetah in a 1930s Tarzan movie.

“I hear our ex-boxer State Senator Marty Flynn is losing his mind over the party infighting going public,” Mike said.

“What’s left of his mind,” Pat said. “Good thing somebody stole his .357 when he left the loaded gun in his unlocked car.”

“None of this woulda happened if Matt McGloin had stayed put as commissioner and the other Irish guys didn’t have to scrape the bottom of the beer barrel to find a replacement,” Mike said. “Now, McGloin’s just another quitter running off to Boston to play football.”

“He’s not playing football,” Pat said. “Boston College hired him as an offensive analyst.”

“McGloin’s analysis was offensive as it gets when he raised our taxes,” Mike said.

“How about that cutesy Democratic County Chairman Chris Patrick?” Pat said, raising his forefinger and thumb to signal the bartender for a shot. When the bartender pointed to the bottle of Paddy whiskey Pat nodded his approval.

“Another hooligan carpetbagger who wants control,” Mike said. “He’s not even from Scranton.”

“Living up in the valley like he’s better than us,” Pat said.

“And don’t forget the county judges,” said Mike. “That rat pack gets to make the actual final appointment.”

“I trust them finaglers as much as they trust each other,” Pat said.

“I read in the paper the county judges don’t even have a plan,” Pat said. “They better not let that couple of black-robed Republicans in their midst vote on a Democrat or they’ll try to sink the ship.”

“Yeah,” said Mike. “Maybe even vote for a woman or an Indian.”

Pat slapped the bar sending a beer puddle burst against Mike’s Friendly Sons of St. Patrick T-shirt as he screamed, “Mother of God there’s no Indian women running, are there?”

“Politics around here used to be better,” Mike said. “Then they elected that snooty hippie girl from Oregon or California or wherever she’s from as the mayor of Scranton”

“That gal’s got the gall to run for re-election, too,” said Pat.

Mike cocked an eyebrow.

“Think she’ll win?”

“Joe Biden won’t save her now,” said Pat. “Doesn’t matter anyhow.”

Simple mystery befuddled Mike.

“Why’s that, Pat?”

Pat bought the next round, shots included, and proposed a toast to their local Irish guy world’s latest political predicament.

“Every Lackawanna County politician is a loser nowadays,” Pat said raising his shot glass. “No matter who’s in charge.”