A St. Pat's Mugging
The policeman opened his notebook. “The guy who mugged you,” he asked. “What’d he look like?”
“Red hair,” said Ted, holding the ice pack to his head. “Brown eyes. Green shirt. Two feet tall.”
The policeman looked over the notebook. “Two feet tall,” he said.
“Yeah,” Ted said.
“You got rolled by a midget,” the policeman said.
“Yes,” Ted said. “I got rolled by a midget. Please, mock me some more, officer. That way I’ll be entirely drained of my masculinity.”
“It’s just that…” the policeman glanced up at Ted’s ice pack. “That midget’s got a hell of a vertical leap.”
“No,” Ted said. “First he kicked me in the shins. When I bent down he clocked me in the head.”
“Sneaky,” the policeman said. “Anything else I should know?”
“There’s one thing,” Ted said. “When he dropped me and took my stuff, I asked him why he was mugging me. You know what he said?”
“No,” said the policeman.
“He said, ‘well, laddie. Howdya think I fill up me pot of gold?’” Ted smiled, winced, and repositioned his ice bag.