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Leprechaun Editorial Minute





TERRY: We have loads of material this week. We haven't done a real show in quite a while.


KARL: You're right. We made a little mistake last week. We thought our show was being preempted for the Top 100 Countdown. We found out at the last minute that wasn't true. And we didn't have any material. So we thought "oh, as a Christmas gift to our listeners lets rerun the charades show."


TERRY: Yeah.


KARL: But we got a lot of positive feedback from it.


TERRY: Did we?




TERRY: I shouldn't have asked.


KARL: To make amends for that, for 1989, we're trying to replace the 33 on 45 with a new feature what's the new feature?


TERRY: I think it's Jackie O'Shaunessy MacSon's Leprechaun editorial minute.


KARL: So every week at the top of the show, instead of a 33 on 45, you're going to hear another editorial by that leprechaun, Jackie O'Shaunessy.


TERRY: That fun guy.


KARL: So let's play that right now.


TERRY: He was at Ed's New Years Eve Party too. The one you weren't invited to.


KARL: I bet he scored.


(Irish Jig Music. Terry does Jackie from here on down.)


This be Jackie O'Shaughnessy MacSon with another Leprechaun Editorial Minute. Today I be wanting to discuss with you the grave employment situation facing the Wee Folk.


Let me be askin' you. How many times have you walked into a business and seen a leprechaun gainfully employed? Never I bet! Statistics Canada indicates people just aren't hiring magical woodland beings like they used to. Like in the '60s. Boy oh Jiminy McCricket, that rubs me the wrong way.


Oh the '60s, those was the days, when corporate recruiters would come out to the Sylvan Woods and dance about a fairy ring naked, trying to lure us leprechauns out into the business world, offering high paying middle management jobs, and positions in the finance department for defense contractors making napalm for the Vietnam war.


Them glory days, I tell ya, are as done as a Prince Charles ribbon cutting ceremony in Northern Ireland. And what's brine rubbed into the wound is you never not hear a word of recognition for the great contributions we wee folk made to North American culture.


Take polyester for example. We been weaving the stuff for centuries and making shrouds out of it so we can bury our dead. Then you big folks come along, copy our manufacturing techniques, and then you go cloth the living of all things. Yee gads, such blasphemy. There be no accounting for taste, I suppose.


In the '80s and coming '90s, only the most dismal job prospects face us leprechauns. You'd think we were lepers, not leprechauns. We're slotted into low paying, traditional jobs, like lawn ornaments, Keebler elf fluffers, and body guards for Prime Minister Mulroney's children. Talk about the luck of the Irish.


Is it any surprise that most of us Wee Folk give up the working world altogether and go on the dole. Passing long, lonely days by crawling into people's gardens and dancing about their cat until nightfall, when we hit the pubs -- awful hard -- drink ourselves into stupors and then spill out into the streets to turn over and burn police cars.


Sounds ugly? You can put a stop to it. You can do your part. Hire a leprechaun, or else I just might tug on the whiskers of my wee beard and turn you into a cement porch.


This be no idle warning either, you capitalist bourgeoisie swine!


(Irish jig music fades up and down)



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