Looking up from polishing her mother’s silverware, Mabel confessed.
I don’t want to crash the Friendly Sons’ dinner.
Aw, c’mon, Zerelda said.
Let’s boycott instead, Mabel said.
Casey already left to spike the COVID Miracle Cure with LSD for our number one Friendly Son, Zerelda said.
Mabel pulled a fresh bottle of Paddy Irish whiskey from under the couch cushion.
Instead of hacking into the online virtual banquet and video bombing those snakes St. Pat drove here from Ireland, why don’t we just stay home and drink?
You told me I could paint a protest sign across my chest.
Yes, dear, I did, Mabel said.
I already painted them.
Let me see.
Zerelda lifted her shirt to show the words “THE FRIENDLY SONS ARE BOOBS” written in orange, white and green body paint across her bosom.
I beat you to it, Mabel said.
Mabel lifted her shirt to show her protest message that read FREEDOM OR BUST.
Those pale penis people will faint, Zerelda said.
Especially the bishop, Mabel said.
At least he’s allowed to bring his boyfriend, Zerelda said.
Mabel opened the bottle, took a healthy slug and passed the whiskey to Zerelda who took two slugs.
You’re right, young woman, Mabel said.
Showtime, Zerelda said.
When the event went live, the camera showed Lackawanna County President Judge Stanley “Stash” Dombroski sitting at the center of a long table. Wearing a dashing black tuxedo with a brilliant green bow tie, his eyes seemed glazed as he stared at the leafy shamrock centerpiece that graced the dais.
The master of ceremonies’ voice echoed in the background.
Good evening gentlemen, he said. Welcome to the 115th annual Friendly Sons banquet, a grand gala affair that brings proud Irishmen from hard coal country into the same room for our time-honored traditional no-girls-allowed-to-be-members hooley.
Canned applause played softly in the background.
This year because of the Chinese we’re relegated to a computer celebration but we’ll be back, by God, next year, hopefully with that one-and-only scrappy kid from Scranton Joe Biden as our featured speaker.
More applause erupted as the video picture froze. Mabel now appeared in the picture although nobody knew it was Mabel because she wore a black fatigue jacket and matching balaclava mask with the eyes, nose and mouth cut out.
Listen up you pack of dicks, she said.
Zerelda, also wearing a combat field jacket and mask, now glided into the picture.
Yeah, listen up. Women gave birth to you male chauvinist Paddy’s pigs and women’s liberation will one day be the death of your primitive ideas, you pack of weenies, she said.
Judge Dombroski, immersed in a psychedelic cloud of jiggling hallucinations from Casey’s LSD, seemed taken by the two political statements. Man of clout that he was, the judge knew power politics as well as anybody. Not able to control himself he rose and proceeded to offer a rousing standing ovation.
Unfrozen now, the camera turned on him.
Despite the lovely fashion statement he made in his bow tie and tails, Dombroski wore no pants and had painted his dangling private part a deep emerald green. At that, Mabel and Zerelda pulled open their jackets with the ease of Green Berets pulling the pins on hand grenades.
Kiss me I’m Irish, the judge screamed.
Look, Mabel, Mr. Potato Head’s waving his shillelagh at us, Zerelda said.
Ah, it’s a great day for the Irish, Mabel said.
