Dave and Busters, Lucky Charms, Leprechauns

On February 8th, 1974 Barbara Green gave birth to what she thought was a healthy baby boy. He only weighed three and a half pounds at birth, a tiny crying little thing who despite his low birth weight, was not born premature. By the age of ten he was three feet tall, weighing only fifty pounds. By sixteen he was three feet tall, five inches, and weighed seventy-five pounds. From then on, he never gained an inch, his arms stayed small and stubby, his legs like tooth picks in shoes that were far too big; he was a small person living in a big world. The boy of course, now a man, is named Seth Green, and he's not really a man at all, but rather a leprechaun.

And I'll tell you how I know, I got the beady little bastard to fess up to me, those tiny little doll lips quivering as he did so. . .

He's a frequent "celebrity" at Dave and Busters, an arcade that markets towards adults and serves alcoholic beverages, but if you go there you won't find any adults, only old men who are still kids inside, as timid and frightened as ever. Seth goes there to pick up nerdy chicks, and be around other nerdy people who don't mind having hour long conversations about Decepticons. He also goes there because he was the inspiration for one of their commercials, and because of it, he gets treated like a king. The owner had seen Seth there one night, laughing and drinking at the bar, and Seth looked just like a kid, as he struggled to get up on all the chairs that were too high for him, all small mountains that took a rock climbers effort to scale. He would kick his feet under him once he finally reached their peaks, his feet dangling between their wooden legs if only to further illustrate how much leg room he had. Thus, the Dave and Busters commercial was born:

Seth Green, actual size.

It is at Dave and Busters that I ran into him, on that tragically retarded night. He and a group of his friends were all enjoying a Star Wars game. They hovered around machines that buzzed with the sounds of lasers and men dying. The few who were actually playing were driving land speeders through the dense forests of Endor. Seth needed a high chair to be able to sit in the seat and still see the screen, and could hardly reach the pedals, but was enjoying himself nonetheless. His joy could be seen all over his face, and all over the front of his pants, as Mr. Green still today pisses himself whenver he's really excited. (The set on the Italian Job was a real waterworks, I tell yah.) They were all hammered off of Zima, debating about the Death Star - I knew they were nerds, but this was just ridiculous. All the empty bottles on and around the machines were proof of how long they must have been here, probably for hours clinging to these dreary machines knee deep in their own self-masterbation. I had to leave the scene, it was too much at once, for they had started making fun of how lame Jar Jar Binks was, impersonating him and thoroughly making themselves lame in the process. I found refuge in the bathroom, or what little I could find anyway, as the sounds of retards outside seeped in through a crack in the door and bounced around the tiled walls in an unbearable symphony of mouth breathing, Xena war cries, and robot noises, all over the soft hum of arcade games - it was enough to make anyone with brain cells retarded, and unfortunately I still had some left. As I took a piss the door opened behind me, I listened to the sound of footsteps, but they didn't sound heavy or determined, they shuffled around and sounded like they belonged to a woman or maybe a young child. I heard another door open, under lock and key, slam shut soon after and then the dainty footsteps again, which stopped right next to me.

Finally I glanced and there standing quite shit faced, on a stool so that hemay be able to reach the urinal and keep from pissing on his shoes, the little tiny bastard himself, Seth Green.

"Sure you aint empty? Your pants are as wet as Louisiana. . . But then again I always did hear that Zima made bitches piss something fierce." I said, with emphasis on bitches.

"Land speeders, Ewok villages, light saber battles. . . Tell me that aint awesome, and I'll call you mah friend, a liar." He smiled, little leprechaun eyes glazed over by Zima. He seemed somewhere else, off ina drunken illusion of the life he so desperately wanted. He was somewhere on Tatoine with Luke Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kanobi, learning all about the Jedi's and the force. In an instant he pictured they were in that bar now, but now he was one of the band players, hotting away on a high-tech flute, knowing full well the fate that was about to meet Greedo at the hands of Han Solo.

"Well that wouldn't ever happen, because we, aren't friends." I said, the words breaking him from his trance. He frowned.

"And why not?"

"Because I don't often befriend leprechauns."

"Leprechauns." He laughed Zima, bubbly bitch drink. "That's a good one, I'm Jewish, I couldn't possibly be a leprechaun."

"That's a lie and you know it. . . You don't even look Jewish. . . Look at your career: all that success and so little talent. You'd have to be one lucky fuck to get all you have gotten, to get as far as you have, and there's no one luckier than a fucking leprechaun."

"Or Jewish." It was then he staggered off of his stool and passed out on the floor, as peaceful as a baby.

I decided to kidnap him, and so like so many other mothers and fathers who suddenly decide to abduct their children, I put him in a duffel bag, where young children and apparent leprechauns fit as snug as a brand new shoe. There were certain advantages to abducting a leprechauns, their size meant they easily fit anywhere and don't weigh very much, making them perfect for out-of-shape abductors, such as myself. I slung him over my should and walked right out of that forsaken hell-hole Dave and Busters, and nobody said a goddamn thing.

When Seth awoke he found himself tied to a chair.

"Oh hello sleepy head." I said.

"Where the hell am I?"

"Oh Mt. Wood, where we pick the bones of men clean." He thought to scream. "Shhh, shhh, but we won't be eating you, we don't eat leprechauns."

"What is this. . . dock rope? Its so thick and restraining." He struggled to break free, as if to show me.

"No, it is but mere shoe lace. . . You mustn't struggle, wouldn't want you to get all tuckered out. . . little guy." He thought for awhile, wondered where he had heard it all before, his head still bubbling with little glas clouds of Zima. It fogged up his perceptions, he couldn't seem to remember, but then he did.

"Its you!" He shouted. He started screaming for help, it was a little nasally scream that was reminisicant of an eight year old admist a great imaginary battle, or similarly the same little boy when he hurts himself.

"Its no use." I laughed. "No one can hear you up here. We're as isolated as can be. . . We like our privacy. Mr. Green."

"You. . . you gonna rape me?"

"You should be so lucky." I said. "We don't rape leprechauns."

"Well then what do you want?"

"I've just got a few questions for you. . ."

"I told you I'm not a leprechaun." He seemed to be getting angry, I laughed. Such a small little thing filled with so much anger.

"Oh yeah. . . Then who is this?" I lifted a box of Lucky Charms and pointed at the leprechaun on the front, a ginger haired little man with a goofy grin.

"Uh. . . " He didn't quite know what to say. "Lucky, the Leprechaun?"

"Its your Grandfather Seth. . ." I said.

"Thats ridiculous." He laughed.

"Is it?" I asked, he laughed again, but this time it seemed nervous.

"There's no way he's me grandpappy, he's a cartoon for. . ." He stopped himself, cupping his tiny mouth with a tiny hand. I smiled, as the tears came to his face, tiny tributarites steaming from his tiny eyes. "Aye I be talking like on already. . . I suppose the jig is up lad-dee. The General Mills people caught me grandpappy in '63, put him into sugar slavery."

"Nice story nice story." I wasn't intrested. "You know what this means right, I've caught you."

"Your three wishes, yes, go ahead." He hung his head. I didn't even have to think about it.

"For my first wish, I would like a life-time supply of beer."

"As you wish."

"For my second wish, I would like Shane Victorino to suddenly drop dead."

"How humane of you, as you wish."

"For my third wish, I would like to never ever see you again Seth. . . I wish to banish you to a land where a tragic retard like you can get all the respect you truly deserve. . . I wish to banish you to the Star Wars Universe."

"Really?!!" His ears perked up.

"Yes, but as Jar Jar Binks." I smiled.

After that day, Shane Victorino was suddenly hit by a car and killed instantly. The doctors said he felt no pain. Soon after the Phillies lost the World Series to the Yankees, but it didn't really mater to me, for I had a fridge that never emptied of beer: whenever I drank one and came back, there would be another one. . . It was a limitless supply of the world's greatest drink. Soon after Seth granted my wishes he vanished before my eyes, and is no doubt somehwere in the Star Wars universe, stumbling his way around and being generally hated by everyone he comes across.

As it should be.

It is for these reasons that iR names Jar Jar Binks the Gungan formerly known as Seth Green, tragically retared.

iR.