Home of the Oyster

Driving to Galway this morning, I noticed a sign: Welcome to Clarinbridge. Home of the Oyster.

Wait a minute. The Oyster? Wasn’t that one of those Dublin criminals, like the Monk, the Penguin, the General? I’m nearly sure of it, but which one was he? Was the Oyster the one who had a shoot-out with the Gobshite on the roof of a dog-food factory? Or the one who murdered the Wanker in a drive-by stabbing? Maybe he was the one who nailed the Doughnut’s scrotum to a washing machine? No. That was the Gnu and the Ape. I remember now: the Oyster set fire to the Fool, for eating the Arsehole’s entire family. That’s right, I remember.

Anyway, it looks like he now lives in Clarinbridge.

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