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Poetic Recounting of a Tale of Fighting

“My god! What happened to you?” the bartender asked Kelly as he hobbled in on a crutch, one arm in a cast.

“I got in a tiff with Riley.”

“Riley? He’s just a wee fellow,” the barkeeper said surprised.”He must have had something in his hand.”

“That he did,” Kelly said. “A shovel it was.”

“Dear Lord. Didn’t you have anything in your hand?”

“Aye, that I did — Mrs. Riley’s left tit.” Kelly said. “And a beautiful thing it was, but not much use in a fight!”

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