Iím sorry, what was that you said? I couldnít quite hear you. Iíve got a leprechaun in my ear. A leprechaun. Yeah, I donít know. Heís in there though, and he loves to talk. Something about stealing his pot of gold most of the time. Sometimes, he talks about shaving his little beard but I think thatís just an idle threat. What kind of leprechaun would he be if he didnít have a little orange beard?
Weíve tried everything but heís a feisty little dickens. The lasers only seem to make him angry, and he's learned how to surf, so ear washes are out. Once we tried to shrink down an army soldier to go in there and flush him out, but the soldier couldnít find him and when he turned his back, the leprechaun killed and ate him. Iím sorry. I didnít mean to upset you. This is the way I live.
At night, heís usually pretty quiet. Thatís why itís strange that heís talking now. He sounds just like youíd think he sounds. Heís got an Irish brogue and says "me" instead of "my." Yeah, it was kinds of cute for the first like two weeks. Now, I canít stop singing "Toora Loora Lee."
Although, last week, I was sleeping and I guess the little guy had a bad dream because at about three in the morning, he woke up screaming for his Irish mama. If it didnít damn near puncture my eardrums, I probably would have laughed my ass off. Heís screaming for his mother and Iím screaming because Iím in searing pain. Finally, we both screamed ourselves out and fell back to sleep. I think we both had a nice chuckle over that the next morning.
I gave him a little bottle of whiskey for Christmas and that seemed to make him pretty happy. No, not directly to him; my fingers are really too big to give anything directly to him. I left it on the little shelf right near the entrance to the inner ear there. You know, like how you would leave a gift for your postman in the mailbox. Same idea.
So, anyway. What was that you were saying?