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A very intoxicated Irishman wobbles into a police station…
His face is smeared with dried blood, and a makeshift bandage hangs loosely from his forehead.
The officer, trying to remain professional, can’t help but raise an eyebrow at the man’s current state…
“What happened to you?” asks the officer.
The Irishman looks down at himself, then back at the officer…
“I was attacked!”
“Alright, sir,” says the officer, clicking his pen and flipping open his notepad, “Let’s get to the bottom of this… “
“Can you describe the person who did this to you?”
The Irishman leans forward, as if preparing to deliver a profound piece of wisdom…
He sways a little, squinting at the officer with exaggerated focus.
“Aye, I can describe him perfectly!” he declares, his voice a mix of pride and slurred defiance.
The officer perks up, “Good. Let’s hear it.”
The Irishman wobbles to one side but regains his balance, lifting a finger as if to deliver a lecture…
“Well, you see, he’s about yay tall,” he gestures ambiguously, his hand swaying in the air…
“With a nose like a camel and a face that has the permanent expression of someone who just smelled burnt toast.”
The officer blinks, trying to process. “And you’re sure of that?” he asks.
“Well,” says the Irishman…
“That’s what I told him anyway.”
