Breaking The Law

Murphy’s Law? Are you kidding me? I am sure that most, if not all of you, have come face to face with Murphy’s Law at some unfortunate jucture in your life. This immutable law of nature is as incredibly simple as it is painful.
It reads as follows:
Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.
So, exactly who is this Murphy character and when did it start being okay for him to start making up rules that dominate the space, time continuum? Apparently he is a leprechaun that had someone steal his pot of gold once and he got pissed. So, he ran for public office and got himself elected to the Senate.
(This explains the ridiculous tax laws concerning lottery prizes…)
Isn’t there some board of directors for Evil Leprechauns or something? Somewhere where we can air out our list of greivances?
Flat tires?
Burnt roasts?
Broken condoms?
Where is his customer service department?
Son of a –
I want to kick his tukas.
Tukas. It’s Yiddish for kulo.
Kulo? That’s Spanish for Badonkadonk.
(It's ass okay!?! Ass! Man, get out more... Sheesh!)
Never mind.
So this half-pint, watered down, jacked up, sorry excuse for a Lucky Charm has made it his personal mission to make as many people as miserable as he is. Kind of like a gremlin, except less fur and teeth. Mucking about, tossing a few wrenches into some well planned scheme or design or complicated piece of machinery.
(Just like in dubya-dubya eye-eye - thanks for reminding me Mr. Futterman.)
Doing nothing to contribute to society with the possible exception of a suger-ladened breakfast cereal stuffed with marshmallows and playing with small children.
It's unseemely at the very least, a grown Leprechaun playing with children. Frolicking even!
Scandalous!
But his most egregious sin is, of course, that he ruined my exquisitely planned weekend. I had it all planned out. Friday, Battlestar Galactica and Stargate shows on Sci-Fi, up early Saturday to attend to my poor invalid Toyota. I was planning on completing the rebuild of my engine Saturday and installing it by Sunday. The hopeful part of the plan was to try and get it started by late Sunday evening.
Nothing doing.
My second vehicle (the venerable and normally reliable Mini Van) suffered a ruptured strut mount (I know, it sounds like a spleenish injury but it’s not… think more along the lines of an ACL or knee thing or a broken hip or something…)
Anyway, any hopes of getting my car quickly vanished as the immediate focus shifted to repairing the primary vehicle. You know, so we could to trivial stuff like go to school and work and buy groceries.
Nothing important.
Well, I will spare you the profanity laced narrative and just cut to the chase.
None of the repairs worked.
When ever I tried to do something it failed. Often spectacularly! It was really impressive. I’m lucky I didn’t lose a finger or something equally important appendage and this time the Van didn’t fall on me.
Still, I can’t really remember the last time I spend 48 hours where absolutely nothing I tried to do went right.
If you happen to run across the aforementioned Murphy, give him a swift kick in the nads for me. Unless I get my hands on him first.
You never know. I might get lucky.
I might be walking in the mall one day and suddenly, standing right outside the Victoria’s Secret shop looking up the dresses of women coming in and out of the shop, there he is.
Finnegan Seamus Murphy.
“Murphy… Murphy… is that Irish? “
“Aye. So what if it is?”
“Hmm. You’re not the same Murphy that wrote that Murphy’s law are you?”
He chuckles derisively in that irritating little high pitches squeaky voice.
“Aye, so what if I am?”
Can you believe my luck? Oh goody, goody, goody!!!
“I have a limerick for you.”
I set my pack down on the floor and place my hands on my knees so we are eye to eye. My face is just bursting with excitement. I am really just too happy for words.
“So you have. Well… I haven’t got all day boyo. Let’s be hearin’ it now.”
“I once was walking the mall,
And I met the man ‘made Murphy’s law.
I set down my pack
And went on the attack
And kicked him quite hard in the-“
So yeah. If I ever get my grimy, grease stained, busted knuckled hands around his scrawny neck, I’ll snap it.
Die Murphy, you nasty, evil, vile little leprechaun and take your stupid law with you.
(No, I’m not angry. What would make you think that?)