Chapter 111

Irish Birth Control

Mrs. Donovan was walking down O'Connell Street in Dublin when she met up with Father Flaherty.

The Father said, 'Top O the mornin' to ye! Aren't ye Mrs. Donovan and didn't I marry ye and yer hoosband two years ago?'

She replied, 'Aye, that ye did, Father.'

The Father asked, 'And be there any wee little ones yet?'

She replied, 'No, not yet, Father.'

The Father said, 'Well now, I'm going to Rome next week and I'll light a candle for ye and yer hoosband.'

She replied, 'Oh, thank ye, Father.'

They then parted ways.

Some years later they met again.

The Father asked, 'Well now, Mrs. Donovan, how are ye these days?'

She replied, 'Oh, very well, Father!'

The Father asked, 'And tell me, have ye any wee ones yet?'

She replied, 'Oh yes, Father! Two sets of twins and six singles, ten in all!'

The Father said, 'That's wonderful! How is yer loving hoosband doing?'

She replied, 'E's gone to Rome to blow out yer fookin' candle... '

God and his conversation with St. Francis. FUNNY and true!

GOD:

Frank, you know all about gardens and nature. What in the world is going on down there on the planet? What happened to the dandelions, violets, milkweeds and stuff I started eons ago? I had a perfect no-maintenance garden plan. Those plants grow in any type of soil, withstand drought and multiply with abandon. The nectar from the long-lasting blossoms attracts butterflies, honey bees and flocks of songbirds. I expected to see a vast garden of colors by now. But, all I see are these green rectangles.

St. FRANCIS:

It's the tribes that settled there, Lord. The Suburbanites. They started calling your flowers 'weeds' and went to great lengths to kill them and replace them with grass.

GOD:

Grass? But, it's so boring. It's not colorful. It doesn't attract butterflies, birds and bees; only grubs and sod worms. It's sensitive to temperatures. Do these Suburbanites really want all that grass growing there?

ST. FRANCIS:

Apparently so, Lord. They go to great pains to grow it and keep it green. They begin each spring by fertilizing grass and poisoning any other plant that crops up in the lawn.

GOD:

The spring rains and warm weather probably make grass grow really fast. That must make the Suburbanites happy.

ST. FRANCIS:

Apparently not, Lord. As soon as it grows a little, they cut it-sometimes twice a week.

GOD:

They cut it? Do they then bale it like hay?

ST. FRANCIS:

Not exactly, Lord. Most of them rake it up and put it in bags.

GOD:

They bag it? Why? Is it a cash crop? Do they sell it?

ST. FRANCIS:

No, Sir, just the opposite. They pay to throw it away.

GOD:

Now, let me get this straight. They fertilize grass so it will grow. And, when it does grow, they cut it off and pay to throw it away?