rosyredlipstick

here's the joke: (part 1) A leprechaun, a troll, and a hag all went into a bar.
          
          “Benny!” said the bartender to the leprechaun, “I warned you three not to come back here after the last time. Took me weeks to clean up after all the mischief you caused.”
          
          “Oh but it’s Floss’s birthday,” said Benny pointing to the hag. (She smiled and showed off her one good tooth.) “Give us a quick pint and let Troll and me sing to her. Then we’ll be on our way. Cross me heart an’ hope ta die.”
          
          The bartender was a soft-hearted (and rather soft-headed) man, and so he did as Benny asked.
          
          No sooner had they finished their drinks when a fight broke out over who should be allowed to give Floss a birthday kiss.
          
          The troll and the leprechaun wrestled like they were caught in Devil’s Snare and broke a remarkable amount of glassware. The bartender tried every spell he knew to stop them, but nothing worked. (Truth to tell, he was not a very good wizard.)
          
          Meanwhile Floss the Hag stood by, grinning and looking quite pleased with the celebration in her honor.
          
          After a lengthy brawl, the troll had the advantage. He towered over the quaking leprechaun, ready to smash an enormous beer barrel over the poor fellow’s head.
          
          

rosyredlipstick

@actualmistake (part 2) “Oh for pity’s sake,” said Floss who was also an accomplished witch. “Alohomora!”
            
            With a wave her wand, Floss opened the sealed barrel, dumping a lovely, golden brew over the troll, and quite possibly saving the leprechaun’s life.
            
            “Floss!” cried the leprechaun. “Let me thank ye with a wee kiss.” But the hag shook her tangled tresses of hair and refused him.
            
            “Yeh see! I’m the one she likes!” shouted Troll. He somersaulted to his lady love and tried to gather her in his great arms. But in a blink of a Cyclops’ eye, the hag disapparated and her companions fled.
            
            Once again, the bartender was left with a dreadful mess to clean up. His wife, who had witnessed the whole affair, heaved a sighed and began to mop up the ale.
            
            “Well, my dear,” she said. “At least we’ve learned two important lessons.”
            
            “What’s that?” said her grumpy husband. (He was in no mood for philosophical musing.)
            
            “Obviously,” the wise and alarmingly cheerful woman continued, “A Benny saved is a Benny spurned. And a rolling troll gathers no Floss.”
            
            
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