A To Z

End of this world.
‘I’ll give this world ten more years’
The three couples playing their Thursday night game of twenty-five at the corner table in Grannerty’s Public House look up. When they realise that the prophecy is one of McCartan McSweeney’s random statements they return to finish the hand. The three men at the bar had been talking about the price of bullocks when Tommy Joe mentioned something he read about banning cattle altogether.
‘They’re farting too much methane’ said he, continuing his enlightenment. Eddie felt a need to remind Tommy Joe of his responsibility in this regard.
‘A gallon of porter on a quiet night produces a fair deal of methane. There’s more methane leaving Grannerty’s pub than a prime dairy herd would carry on fresh grass.’
That was when McCartan decided to give the world ten more years.
‘What are ya on about?’ inquires Eddie, which was reasonable given the lack of connection.
‘He means, if you don’t sell up every beast you are currently wasting your time on the methane will gas us all.’
‘There’s more to it than methane.’ McCartan says, appearing to broaden the dangers.
‘Have you been googling things up again, McCartan?’ Tommy Joe inquires.
‘Facebook,’ McCartan quickly clarifies, ‘somebody shared a link to my site.’
‘Your site?’ Eddie says laughing, ‘would you be selling one of them sites?’
‘Enlighten us, McCartan,’ Laurence the barman asks politely, his curiosity aroused.
But McCartan has given up trying to change the talk from the price of cattle.
‘Methane me arse. They’re burning California to the ground,’ McCartan says as he leaves.
‘No mention of the gaping hole in his own ozone layer.’ Tommy Joe says after the retreating customer, while jabbing his finger against his temple to leave no doubt as to the site of McCartan’s ozone depletion.

When McCartan arrived home from the pub he decided to write Tommy Joe a letter.

Dear Tommy Joe,
You were laughing the other night when I said I’d give this world ten more years. You thought I was referring to the end of time, but you’re not as smart as you think you are. This world is going nowhere, but I might decide to get off. Now you’re thinking I’ll top myself if this world doesn’t mend it’s ways.
But it’s only this world as I know it will end; the world of sitting in Grannerty’s pub listening to you gobshites. I’ll no longer travel from A to A. Neither will I go from A to B. No; I will be going the full A to Z.
Ha! Now that I’ve wandered past the price of Shirley bullocks I’ve lost you. I’m going to travel the world, project myself around the entire 360 degrees. Now, bollox, you can have a good laugh when the lads come in after the mart on Wednesday. Laurence won’t be laughing behind the bar, because he’s coming with me.
‘Can I come with you,’ he asked when I told him my plan.
‘I was thinking of doing this by myself,’ I said.
‘You’d be better with a bit of help,’ said Laurence.
‘Why’s that,’ said I ‘Am I not a full grown man?’
‘You are’ said he, ‘But don’t you spend a lot of time working on your mental health below in the centre?’
‘That’s only because I have schizophrenia. But I’ll bring you anyways, because you’re an awful nice fella,’ I said and we left it at that. Except he promised he’d give me the nod when the time was right.
In the meantime I’ll be asking you not to be telling anyone.
Yours sincerely,
McCartan.
PS: I’m sorry for calling you a bollox.