Old Seamus is on his deathbed. Kneeling by the bedside is Mary, his wife of 40 years. Around the bed stand his four sons - three of the biggest, brawest men you've ever seen, and one wee, pale, puny little nothing of a man.
'Mary...Mary, me darlin girl,' wheezes the old man, 'tell me true. That skinny, weedy runt at the foot of the bed - his he truly me own son?'
Through her tears, Mary says, 'My love, I swear by all the saints and martyrs, he is. He is your son.'
Seamus gives his final gasp and expires. Mary rolls her eyes heavenward and says, 'Thank God he didn't ask about the other three.'
Boru
'Mary...Mary, me darlin girl,' wheezes the old man, 'tell me true. That skinny, weedy runt at the foot of the bed - his he truly me own son?'
Through her tears, Mary says, 'My love, I swear by all the saints and martyrs, he is. He is your son.'
Seamus gives his final gasp and expires. Mary rolls her eyes heavenward and says, 'Thank God he didn't ask about the other three.'
Boru
‘I can’t be having with this.’ - Esmeralda Weatherwax
