Benny Was Awake Again. Happened Every Morning.

The Next Minute Or So Was Spent Howling On The Ceiling . Imp No.1 Joined In, But He Wasn't Really Feeling It. It Shouldn't Be "who Do We Hate?", He Thought, It Really Should Be "whom", But This Probably Wasn't A Good Time To Bring That Up.

Sig Sauer. Nine Millimetres. Thirteen In The Magazine. Big Bullets. One Of These Hits You And It Could Blow Your Head Off; Something Even The Magic Can't Fix. Other Than That You Should Be All Right, Presuming You Remembered To Wear The Regulation Above-ground Micro-fibre Jumpsuit Recently Patented By Me. Then Again, Being A Recon Jock, You Probably Didn't.

Thankfully The Rest Of The World Assumed That The Irish Were Crazy, A Theory That The Irish Themselves Did Nothing To Debunk. They Had Somehow Got It Into Their Heads That Each Fairy Lugged Around A Pot Of Gold With Him Wherever He Went. While It Was True That Lep Had A Ransom Fund, Because Of Its Officers' High-risk Occupation, No Human Had Ever Taken A Chunk Of It Yet. This Didn't Stop The Irish Population In General From Skulking Around Rainbows, Hoping To Win The Supernatural Lottery.

Benny Was Awake Again. Happened Every Morning.

And I Will Not Be Beaten By That Jackass." "jackass?" Said Foaly, Wounded. "my Favorite Uncle Is A Jackass.