Boardwalk Empire

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Look Out, Nucky! They're Irish!

And now we're off to the Atlantic City Little Person's Benevolent Association. Or ... more likely the locker room at the midget boxing arena. In any case, the gathered little folk are bitching about the shabby condition of the leprechaun costumes they're going to have to wear at the Celtic Dinner. Not to mention the drunken attendants with their manhandling and generally dehumanizing behavior. Two of the boxers come back inside, and the one, Carl, appears to be the midget rep who talks to Nucky, because the other ones are all over him. They don't want any more of the leprechaun gigs, or dressing up like Cupid or goddamned elves. Carl notes that they're fine with the boxing, but understandably, they find a bit of a difference between athletic competition and being tossed from one drunken oaf stinking of Hennessey to another. Carl, looking to keep order as well as likely hold on to his ever-so-slightly elevated position, says what if he can get Nucky to bump the pay rate up to $10. Well in that case, as one puts it, "Where's my fookin' shillelagh?"

In Chicago, Jimmy is taking care of Pearl, squeezing her some orange juice and talking about happier times, when they go to California. She's got her face bandaged up severely, with one thick, gauzy strip extending from her head, diagonal across her face, down to her neck. She woozily tells Jimmy she loves him, then jumps at the sound of a door slamming. She's in rough shape. He hands her the O.J., but she wants some laudanum in it. He sees an empty bottle on top of the sheets, which Pearl has already plowed right through. Jimmy reluctantly produces another bottle and pours Pearl a nip. She wants more, but he says "it's opium, not a milkshake." You guys! Perfect idea for a specialty restaurant! Call me! Anyway, she sips her new, improved orange juice and almost immediately begins to check out. "It's like the sun's just come out," she breathes. Jimmy is happy to oblige by blowing a cool Pacific breeze on her face.

Back at the Ritz, Nucky's counting his money with some of the other ward chiefs and toasting to the political machine. Jimmy Neri, the guy supervising the barrel-unloading behind Margaret's house, toasts to the Irish, who "drink when they're happy [and] drink when they're sad." Nucky asks him how the green beer is coming, and Neri says food coloring came in today, now they mix it. Nucky says it's a good thing, because he's gonna have to "keep those poor Celts lubricated if they're gonna be subjected to Eli's reelection speech." Nucky has a good laugh at his brother's expense and once again calls him Daniel Webster. (Eli calls him on the joke recycling -- hey, maybe Nucky's just working on a tight set, huh?) Eli gives the room a grumpy "fuck you" as they laugh at him. Nucky jokes, "The Irish, they're a surly lot." Yeah, I guess Nucky can't afford to be too proud of his Irish heritage when his inner circle here keeps talking about his people paying for their booze "through their pug Irish noses" and singing a mocking chorus of "Danny Boy."

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Boardwalk Empire

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