Moose Celebrates St. Patrick’s Day

Like I do every year, I met my good friend Teddy Kennedy for breakfast. We had sausage and eggs, then Teddy produced a bottle of Irish whiskey and we did some shots. Teddy entertained the other customers by singing off-key and pinching the waitresses’ bottoms. What a guy!

The bottle finished, we jumped in Teddy’s car, which he promptly crashed. He tried to get me to say I was driving, but I couldn’t do it, being the leading presidential candidate and all.

Teddy came up with a plan – we took a cab to the airport and booked seats on the first flight out of the country – turns out we were headed to London.

The flight was long and boring, so we had some more drinks and Teddy proceeded to entertain the passengers by singing off-key and pinching the stewardesses’ bottoms. What a guy!

We landed in London. No sooner were we on the ground than Teddy started working his cell phone. He must have made a dozen calls. Then these big fugly Irish dudes showed up. One gave him a car, another whispered something in his ear. A third gave him a bottle of Bushmills, which Teddy shared with me. Great people, the Irish.

Well, Teddy got in the car and I got in beside him. Teddy drove like a madman – I had to keep screaming “On the left!” because we were in London and they’re fucked up direction-wise. Still, he shared his whiskey with me, so it was cool.

Finally, Teddy parked the car. He flicked his Bic and lit something under the dash. I heard a fuse sizzling.

Teddy bailed out and screamed, “Run, Moose, Run!” then hauled ass down the street, giggling like a schoolyard sissy. You should have seen that fat boy run.

I ran too, and then there was this huge explosion. I didn’t look back, just caught a cab to the airport and took the next flight home.

The next day I read in the paper that about a hundred Limeys were killed by a car bomb. I sure hope this doesn’t hurt my campaign, because it was all Teddy’s doing. Maybe I should be more careful about who I hang out with.