O’Hooligan Retires
In an unseasonably hot February of 1849, Patrick Riley O’Hoolihan disappeared to parts unknown. He left only a few cryptic words with close friends and family, indicating that he was heading to something he called “The Dark Continent” to seek out his fortune in precious metals. Some speculate that years of stuffing dynamite had given O’Hoolihan “Nitrous Poisoning”, a non-fatal desease causing wild halucinations.
Whatever the reason, O’Hoolihan did not choose a successor and The League of the Arse Kickers was left to flounder in his abscence. There arose a rift in the League, which was now nearly eighty members strong. One side wanting to elect a new president by popular vote, and the other wanting to rename the League the Funny-Cracks Guild and pursue the much less noble goal of trafficking opium into the United States.
Those faithful to O’Hoolihan’s cause, strong as they were, were taunted and made fun of on a regular basis. Gradually, they dropped from the League until nothing but nere-do-well’s remained.
As membership fell to an all time low and the future looked lost for the newfound League of Ass Kickers, a streak of housefires struck Killarney and several outlying cities. They sprung up two and three at a time during the week, sometimes twice in the same day; putting dozens of lives in danger and wiping out large portions of city blocks. Around the same time, a young man named Seamus McBride arrived in Killarney from a location unknown.
McBride’s excellence in kicking ass on the level of even the great Patrick O’Hoolihan was displayed with gusto as he kicked the asses of the fires that raged around town—charging into the blaze to save those left behind and usually having kicked all the ass already by the time the fire brigade arrived.
McBride was an instant hero and an inspiration to wayward members of the League of Ass Kickers who returned in droves to kick ass every which way.
The wave of house fires died down almost immediately—some say because of such strong League presence, but no one can say for sure. More importantly, was that The League of the Arse Kickers had new focus and a new leader.
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In an unseasonably hot February of 1849, Patrick Riley O’Hoolihan disappeared to parts unknown. He left only a few cryptic words with close friends and family, indicating that he was heading to something he called “The Dark Continent” to seek out his fortune in precious metals. Some speculate that years of stuffing dynamite had given O’Hoolihan “Nitrous Poisoning”, a non-fatal desease causing wild halucinations.
Whatever the reason, O’Hoolihan did not choose a successor and The League of the Arse Kickers was left to flounder in his abscence. There arose a rift in the League, which was now nearly eighty members strong. One side wanting to elect a new president by popular vote, and the other wanting to rename the League the Funny-Cracks Guild and pursue the much less noble goal of trafficking opium into the United States.
Those faithful to O’Hoolihan’s cause, strong as they were, were taunted and made fun of on a regular basis. Gradually, they dropped from the League until nothing but nere-do-well’s remained.
McBride’s excellence in kicking ass on the level of even the great Patrick O’Hoolihan was displayed with gusto as he kicked the asses of the fires that raged around town—charging into the blaze to save those left behind and usually having kicked all the ass already by the time the fire brigade arrived.
McBride was an instant hero and an inspiration to wayward members of the League of Ass Kickers who returned in droves to kick ass every which way.
The wave of house fires died down almost immediately—some say because of such strong League presence, but no one can say for sure. More importantly, was that The League of the Arse Kickers had new focus and a new leader.
Continue >>