Poor Lady Schwarz guessed when she saw the flash of a once sequined Ne’er You Mind and heard the tinkle of Mr. Diapers’ padfooted gait that she had finally reached perdition and there was no escaping. Her suspicions were confirmed as she glimpsed the fresh pile of steaming feces on her doorstep adorned with a bow and released an enraged caterwaul that could be heard across the five boroughs. As she stood cursing the day Nigel T. Diapers was born, she couldn’t help but feel a surge of respect of Diapers–he had the audacity of a young Henry Winkler, and for that, she could not hate him.
I can have nothing but respect for the leprechaun; he lives in a tormented perdition, trapped eating nothing but skittles and gelt, but he still finds the time and energy to dress smartly.
The people of Mobile, Alabama, have come to respect and love the leprechaun of whom they were once fearful, for it was he who emerged from the shadows and saved them from their living perdition by answering their prayerful cries, I wanna know where the gold at. I want the gold.
‘Twas a wise man once said, “the road to perdition is paved with the fruits of the fall of man, and once he hath no longer the respect to don a Ne’er-You-Mind in the Lord’s garden, he shall perish by a leprechaun’s hand.”