Thursday night

It was Thursday night. The week was almost over. As we often do, Kevin and I go down to our place to rejoice because we have survived another week of the gruelling test of existence. We celebrated by alternating shots and pints in the tradition of our fathers and forefathers who came across from the Ol' Sod.

As the evening progressed we fell into loudly debating the authenticity of the noticeably well endowed bartender, a woman who is new to the place, and hence unfamiliar with our form of debate. But this woman was not the sort who was inclined to settle our argument with a simple demonstration, or any sort of "hands-on" research. Instead she went back and complained to her boss. Something about "unruly," or "immature."

So, her boss comes out, to tell us to shut-up. This is a big threat because the boss is Sully, who inherited the place from his grandfather. The same Sully who used to steal cases of Bud to celebrate out hockey victories. He is a fine gentleman, who runs an excellent establishment, and is a bigger drunk than we are.

So, the new bartender keeps her distance while we got into a discussion of how we wer all in Catholic school together in the fifth grade. We discussed the bets we used to place even then on what the nuns would look like naked. Which ones of them had a nice set, a who it was who would be playing with them.

At the time, we thought it was so funny. The very idea of the nuns doing anything sexual was so abusrd.

Of course, we now know, especially from out other friend, Michael, whose sister was a nun for twelve years, why so many of the teachers who were here one year were gone the next, while the priest got to stay on.

What do you really expect? Boys will be boy; men will be men,

Except for the perverts.