The Gorko Gazette

The Incredible Throbbing Shamrock

Father Halitosis O’Larky spit-shined the sins of others while inciting world disorder.

Panhandler Jimmy O’Larky, aka Father Halitosis O’Larky, performed fraudulent rituals within whisper tunnels of rotating church confessionals or whiskey bars under the guise of religion for achievement stickers he reengineered into personal libation quests programmed into a stockpile of imaginary dream boards.

Positioning Jimmy to do anything within a microdot of any clergy was a mortal sin in itself. Jimmy O’Larky thrived in this customized pubic hair pocket of life. Father Halitosis O’Larky presented as Jimmy’s alter ego for no other reason than utter boredom and a continual urge for cocktail cash.

Jimmy O’Larky swindled sad drunks, at The Incredible Throbbing Shamrock, out of anything he could utilize to further himself into more addictions.

The tomfoolery lifestyle was like free meth for wicked Jimmy who was pushing fifty-nine years above ground while merely existing. No solid career path to focus upon forced hemlock-laden fate on Jimmy with acceptance of an anise-scented failure ticket Jimmy redeemed for the coveted status award of underachiever.

Jimmy had tremendous luck prowling within the barbed wire carnival zones of religion due to a blistering surplus of priests juggling tyrannical addictions in every diocese across the universe including Papa New Guinea.

The child predator affliction some of Father Halitosis O’Larky’s defrocked victims possessed convinced fake father jimmy that he was filtering the chunky mucked monsters out of society one drunk at a time. Father H.O.L. would never categorize himself as a drunkard when he was doing the work of the people.

In the eyes of most spirited deities, Father Halitosis O’Larky felt he would be allowed to take advantage of a random broken collar or potential laicized face due to the squeamish characteristics in these murky pools of spirituality.

Father O’Larky mind melted himself into the twisted belief he was a complex superhero, not on the grandiose scale like Bagboy or SuperDuperStuffedSmokeShowThunderHips aka STAXX, but more of an evolved mutant tossed into an unscientific laboratory collapsing near the minimalistic hemispheres of super dank.

Jimmy O’Larky studied the trashy gazettes or sex ads which littered subways, brothels, and penny arcades. Jimmy reveled in his pseudo Columbo-esque talents which granted him pinpoint accuracy in tracking down where many of the future laicized Catholic priests were lurking.

An obscene number of the collared who were banished or about to be laicized from their holy rectory-based duties preferred the comforts of any random gentlemen’s drink cave or altar boy’s locker room.

The Incredible Throbbing Shamrock was a haven from the cruelties of life. T.I.T.S. celebrated itself as a sexual oasis of sorts. The wink-wink, nudge-nudge milking station for drinkers, sex fiends, and double life dingbats.

Father Halitosis O’Larky staged clandestine operations in the corner of the main tiki bar at T.I.T.S. close to the spitting flamingo fountains. There was a certain anonymity hyperlinked to kinky shenanigans and perverse behaviors which were the lifeblood of T.I.T.S.

Father Halitosis O’Larky was not an actual member of any clergy but he adorned himself in bartered parish garments because he believed it brought out the pureness in human vessels when they bought into his deception.

Off-grid fornication clubs have existed for centuries suffering under the guise of unimaginative code names which were similar if not exactly like: ‘the office’, ‘the library’, or ‘golfing’. This detail remained the key reason Secrets survived for a powerful thirty-eight months. Secrets relied on communities being naive.

Secrets had their mystique blown when expended, sauce-lipped customers returned to their hamster wheel lives at home. Audio video recordings of husband’s moaning and chanting a Rolodex stream of buxom beauty waitress names in their sleep while at home, ignited a litigious line of seething wives with revenge in their game.

A substantial percentage of marriages harmonize with the mere existence of these tantalizing revitalization chambers and call it a swing lifestyle while many marital connections implode with the revelation of the same scandalous topic.

One of the yawn fest duties shackled to an ordained minister of hope, while wearing the official mothballed cloaking garments, was taking confessions from sin filled mortals associated with congregations or this is what Jimmy O’Larky presumed one sunny day in a burnt-out nicotine town near Canterbury. U.K. or U.S.? Flip a coin, you’ll figure it out.

Jimmy O’Larky hopscotched into an alternate world following a toxic diatribe he absorbed from a laicized priest who’s entire being emitted the putrid taint of impure goat’s feet boiled with atrocity. Father Halitosis O’Larky would add barf breath to his unholy repertoire on this precise day many years ago.

Performing illegal confessions in the Nag Champa dusted bathrooms of T.I.T.S. afforded Father Halitosis O’Larky a satellite office to work from when the churches were overcrowded during the high holy season of sinning near Valentine’s Day.

At most tease-please banger bars there existed sweet, succulent pours from dustless bottles of Jameson’s gently manipulated by titillating wonder spank bank smiles who wrapped their tan deliciousness into tiny bits of designer negligee or animal skin.

The bikini negligee cocktail smashups emerged as an orgasmic escape mechanism for lost souls. The Incredible Throbbing Shamrock is much more than a risky whisky destination. The mission of T.I.T.S. will always be transparent.

In days of old, bikini bars were deemed holistic and completely necessary to unbind the cyclical rigors of any self-professed workaholic. Evolution has torked the line, stuffing all bikini botanical smiles into the same category once filled with hot sauce taco pirates donning negligees for the promotion of creamy, lascivious rodeos.

There were six tangerine-infused lipstick honey spunk gypsies who morphed into gobblers of cash at T.I.T.S. Unbridled lust was rocket fuel for The Incredible Throbbing Shamrock, formerly knowns as Secrets.

Secrets were ordered to shutter their juicy bamboo doors due to an onslaught of litigation hyper meals served hourly from a battalion of disgruntled housewives who enlisted Kawk, Slyce & Reaper, LLP to represent their class.

A hurricane of lawsuit grenades ensured the demise of Secrets, a velvety cuddle farm which shrouded beaten spirits with tumblers of radiant sunshine and thunder kisses.

After a switcharoo business name change and snappy remodel, the six svelte vixens who tended to a litany of needs, wants, and desires at the shuttered Secrets would beeline over The Incredible Throbbing Shamrock.

Costs were reduced with simplified signage displaying T.I.T.S. in mesmerizing shamrock neon after marketing deemed The Incredible Throbbing Shamrock much too long.

The Incredible Throbbing Shamrock professed to be a slutty fantasy saloon catering to male horndog vessels in the thirty-eight-to-eighty-three-year age bracket who were broken by everything including hope.

Addicts, beer-battered shoe/car/dental salesmen rampaged with Schleprocks, and a tickle fest of lumberjacks hyper-fixated with the teeny, tiniest wisp of sex which was brewed nightly at T.I.T.S.

The Incredible Throbbing Shamrock now stimulates their patrons with a smorgasbord of scrumptious backroom offerings which are all candy coded for confidentiality purposes. NDAs are required from all guests enjoying the circus cookie pleasure zones gyrating at T.I.T.S.

There is a horny devil may care vibe sauteed into The Incredible Throbbing Shamrock which was always lacking at Secrets.

At Secrets, the slippery temptresses wore negligees with the occasional bikini bottom which became unsightly and cumbersome. In addition to dry cleaning costs, the lingerie feel was restraining, creating ambiguity with patrons.

The Incredible Throbbing Shamrock streamlined everything by eliminating clothing on all performers. Nudity is freedom. Jameson doubles cost $1.69. Sex is always negotiable. There are also complimentary deviled eggs or fried pickles provided which make for olfactory nightmares during barn burner sports cycles.

Greetings, my name is Hewie Rebiff, I am the proprietor of The Incredible Throbbing Shamrock. This secret word gumbo serenade you just stumbled through may be exchanged for TWO whiskey drip Jameson tumblers, gifted by a non-negligéed muse who must be on duty at The Incredible Throbbing Shamrock and not strolling the produce aisles at your local food emporium in search of girthy cucumbers.

Gratuities are not included with this FREE TRANSCENDENTAL COCKTAIL ESCAPADE INTO DELICIOUSNESS.

Void where prohibited. Camouflaged sex acts menu not included with this offer, but enriched pickles and our spectacular deviled eggs are always plentiful. Keep throbbing.

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Image: Havana’s Casino by Ralph Morse, 1957.jpg