Darby the Space-Man
Darby McLannahan is one of Ireland’s most cherished heroes. He was born after a drunken 3-way between Peter O’Toole and a couple of whores. No one knows who the mother was – Darby was born in an alley, and the birth was witnessed by only a few people, all of whom are now dead due to mysterious chainsaw-related incidents.
Darby grew up to be Ireland’s first Ambassador to Mars. He spent a number of years there getting to know the local townspeople, and they immediately got along swimmingly. He traveled back and forth between Ireland and Mars a number of times, spending about a month in each locale and then moving back. At one point however, his space-machine malfunctioned and he was stranded on Mars. Fortunately for him, the local Martians had gotten so friendly with him that they adopted him into their society as one of their own.
He married a local Martian in a space-ceremony in a space-church back in 1983 and has been living there in his space-house with his space-family ever since. In 1995 Ireland sent a ship to retrieve him and take him back to Ireland, but he decided he wanted to stay. This offended the government of Ireland, who immediately insisted that he returned. Their next attempt involved sending a rocket full of booze to Mars as a token of good will. While Darby was quick to consume the booze, he would not waver in his position. It was then that Ireland declared war on Mars… and we all know what happened next.
- Kent Wicklander
Kick ass! Keep it up. - tmforever
OH, I WILL. I NEVER STOP.
IF YOU WOULD STOP MY CLIENTS WOULD HAVE BETTER LIVES! ALL YOU DEAL IN IS SLANDAR! I WILL BEAT YOUR ASS IN A 1 ON 1 CAGE MATCH IN THE SUPRIME COURT TO END THESE LIES!
MY CLIENTS HAVE EXPRECEED EXTREME CONCERN ABOUT YOUR ACTIONS AS A REPORTER! THIS IS SLANDER SIR! YOU ARE LIABLE! WE WILL SEE YOU IN COURT!
JIM ADDLER TAKES NO FUCKING PRISONERS! YOU WILL FEEL THE WRATH OF 7 GODS ON YOUR BUTTHOLE!
WHAT THE HELL IS SLANDAR YOU RAT BASTARD?
Also, I only go to court when the judge is a lion, the jury is a lion, and I get to stab my opponent in the face with a sharpened straw at least 16 times. Under these conditions, I’ll have you know that I am the best damned lawyer this side of the Rio Grande.
Also, I am a respectable reporter, far moreso than you. I am well aware that you wrote that piece in the Wall Street Journal about inappropriately touching butterfiles. You sicken me.
I’LL GET THE COWARDLY LION, THE LION KING, AND SOME OTHER FUCKING LION. I DONT CARE. I CAN GET ANYONE. THE EVIDENCE IS CLEAR.
YOU ARENT A REPORTER. YOU ARE A LIAR SIR. THE COWARDLY LION WILL SEE THE TRUTH. I WILL LAY DOW NTHE LAW ON YOUR ASS. YOUR DAYS OF “REPORTING (AKA SLANDAR) ARE FUCKING OVER BUDDY BOY.
AT THE END OF THE WEEK I WILL OWN YOUR HOUSE, CAR, WIFE, CHILDREN, PETS, AND SHURBBERY. YOU SLANDERING SON OF A BITCH.