The curtain raises to reveal a wild and magnificent beast, a strange and thin Irish man, bent over a desk on the eastern end of a second floor office building at Dublin Airport. In the corner, a large couldron is bubbling away.
"Eeenie, meanie, mynie moe, catch a BLAPA by the toe, if he squeals I'll let him go, eenie, meanie, mynie moe."
Mandrake of Mulingar is leaning over a map of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and the six stolen counties of God's holy island. His forefinger hovers over red squares strategically placed near several British cities.
"Which one, which one", Mandrake mutters to himself as he reaches for the phone.
"Get me Mugabellew", Mandrake says into the phone and slams it down.
A knock on the door. Enter, stage left, Mugabellew, a fearsome great bear of a man wearing a size XXL T-shirt emblazened with the words 'it's a mighty day in the kingdom' in big green letters.
"Ah, Mugabellew", says Mandrake, "Come here, we need to close one of deze UK bases and I just don't know which one.
"Hooya, boss. What's that dangling from yer earlobes", said Mugabellew.
"Bollocks", said Mandrake.
"No need to be snippy, Boss, I were joost asking, loik", said Mugabellew quizzically.
"Bollock, ya coont, dair bollocks. Pilot's bollocks, to be precise. Oive joost had 'em made, so I have".
"Ah yes. Very fetching. Whose were they?", asked Mugabellew with a chuckle.
"Well, I stole one from da dwarf when he wasn’t lookin’ after dat tellie show we did koz God knows he won't miss it, and de other is from West Drayton Willie. He sent it to me in da post just yesterday, asking for a bit a help wit dem coonts at BA.", said Mandrake
"Ah Grand, so. And how is Willy deese days, Boss", asked Mugabellew.
"F
. Totally foo
d. Dat coo
t Edington sold da family silver years ago and so our Willy hasn't got a ting left to sell, like da pikey coo
t he is. He can trim da staff costs a bit, but he wrapped his bollock in a recent spreadsheet and it doesn't look good, Mugabellew. Dey'll roon outa cash in about eighteen moonts tops, loik, and den its off to da Chancellor wit our Willy and he’ll be looky if he cooms back wit his.
"Why don't we boy 'em, loik", said Mugabellew hopefully.
I taught o'dat, but da coonts have got tree billion in un-f
g-foonded pension-f
g-deficit and oy ain't toochin' dat shyte wit a barge pole, loik".
"Good tinkin, dere boss. What can oi do fer ya, den?", asked Mugabellew.
"I'm after wanting to close one o'dem Brit bases. Which one would you recommend?", asked Mandrake, his earrings dangling in the early dawn light.
"Well, woy not squeeze da one wit da most active BLAPA gobshytes, loik?", asked Mugabellew.
The Mandrake of Mullingar leaned his head back and laughed out loud, the bollock earrings bouncing with the joy of their master.
"It's against me better joojment, loik, dere's a lot of Oirish 'dair, but I suppose yer roit. Prepare da order, so, and oil soyn it after da big Boeing announcement in a few days", said Mulingar Mandrake, "dey brought it on dem selves, ya know, da coo
s", said Mandrake.
Mugabellew smiled and left the office after watching the Mandrake wipe the British map off his desk with an annoyed flourish. As he turned to close the door, Mugabellew saw the Mandrake reaching for a huge and important looking folder, all in green, with a large Shamrock on the front cover. Mugabellew gave a knowing smile to Mandrake from beyond the door, and Mandrake looked over the top of his glasses, raised his hand to the height of his head bid Mugabellew farewell. As he walked away, the Mandrake’s phone rang.
“Good morning, Taoiseach. How can I be of service?”, were the muffled word of Mandrake as Mugabellew walked away.