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Aw! These Old Pals Still Make Time Every Week to Chat in the Middle of Fucking Traffic

GREENFIELD — Friends till the end, the saying goes, and decades-long buddies Mark Jablonski and Ralph Hale haven’t let busy lives, changing technology, or even a pandemic stop them from living this adage in full: no matter what’s going on in the world, these two still set aside time every week to chat face-to-face, typically right “in the middle of Beechwood goddamn Boulevard” when people who don’t have time to kill need to get to work.

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Leprechaun With Gigantism Sick of Being Mistaken for Good-Humored Drunk

SOUTH SIDE FLATS — 1,271-year-old leprechaun Donegal O’Shannassey, whose stature resembles that of a normal human due to gigantism, “has had enough” of heavily intoxicated St. Paddy’s revelers mistaking him for a fellow partier refusing to break character, according to sources insisting they would prefer to be left alone over an Irish Car Bomb.

“Aye, another year of suffering among this staggering collection of imbeciles,” said O’Shannassey, groaning as a 20-something patron in a “Fuck Me, I’m Irish” shirt posed with him for a selfie. “My kind is known for saying, ‘Don’t break your shin on a stool that’s not in your way,’ but I might break a glass in a human’s fucking face if they ask one more time about my ‘Lucky Charms.’ Suppose this is why Santa recommended I go out in a hoodie.”

The creature lamented that the holiday’s tendency for excess nullifies what makes his presence a worthwhile experience.

“In the old days, everybody had a charming tale about some wee craic they had with Donegal one March afternoon,” it said. “Now when I try to pull a harmless practical joke, some hare-brained, blithering meat sack nicknamed Dump Truck tries to pummel me into dust. Besides, how am I supposed to stir up mischief when I just watched a lad clog the bathroom sinks with paper towels and then vomit in each one of them? Mary and Joseph, I’m an eons-old prankster, not a monster.”

Several celebrants have complimented the ageless being’s demeanor and appearance, which they’ve mistaken for a carefully orchestrated act.

“That dude’s commitment is epic,” said bargoer Pete Haddad, oblivious that he was asking a millennium-old supernatural lifeform if it wanted a shot of Fireball. “He must’ve had to practice that voice for hours: I knocked him out a couple hours back with a rear naked choke and when he came to, he started cursing in, like, Yiddish or whatever without missing a beat. I’m still not convinced it isn’t my buddy Kevin, though.”

As of press time, sources report that O’Shannassey is hurriedly chugging a pint after a group of young men announced they plan to honor it with 39 consecutive jukebox plays of the “traditional Irish classic” ’Shipping Off to Boston’ by the Dropkick Murphys. ♣

Report: Masks Provide Pens Fans Virtually No Protection From Stupid Shit Guy Yelling Two Rows Back

PPG PAINTS ARENA — Data gathered from the Pens first home game with fans in attendance since last March indicate that face masks appear to offer spectators almost no protection from the “insufferable shitheads” who won’t stop yelling two rows up.

“Sure, the mask helps muffle it a bit from blowing out your eardrum,” said fan and impromptu researcher Mark Ford, “but otherwise the evidence suggests that neither hot air gathering in the fabric nor fatigue from time away seems capable of stopping this jagoff from wooing like Ric Flair or telling a player whose name he doesn’t know that he sucks.”

As of press time, the Pens were urged, “yet again,” to shoot the puck despite the game not having started.

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