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Previously on Enter Dr. Viking, Paddy and B-Man, Limerick’s greatest superheroes, noticed an unusual number of hipsters around the place. Some enhanced interrogation of one of the hipsters has led them to Micky’s pub.
The next night our heroic duo met on O’Connell Street all incognito. B-Man wore a floral print green and blue shirt, skinny red jeans with a large fake beard and beanie hat perched on his head. Paddy wore jeans, a pair of Doc Martins and an old flannel shirt from his younger days. The shirt buttons were in some distress. They strode up Thomas Street feeling confident in their cool couture. Ahead, same as the night before, there was a group of fifty or more hairy lads out on the street. They turned right into the alley in which Micky’s was located, moving slowly through the crowd and into the bar. Turkish jazz mashed up with 80s pop songs were playing over the speakers. It was terrible. They glanced at each other and shoved in the ear plugs they had brought. B-Man nodded towards the bar and they moved slowly through the packed pub.
Leaning his arms on the wet counter, Paddy caught the barman’s eye and placed his order.
“A pint of Fla…” he stopped as B-Man pinched him hard.
“Don’t order a Flan, order one of those pretend microbrewery beers. You’ll blow our cover.” He hissed into the heavyset fifty-year old man’s ear.
“Err…” Paddy glanced around the bar, at the taps and the big chalk boards behind the bar “A pint of Dead Horse IPA please.”
“I’ll have a Scorched Earth please.” added B-Man.
The barman nodded and went away to fetch the appropriate glasses.
“Nothing too weird so far. Besides all the hairy young lads I mean” said B-Man.
“Yeah. I dunno though, there’s something off about the whole thing. I mean, I know that big beards are in fashion but lads haven’t been wearing their hair long for years. And all of ‘em too! They all look like Vikings or something.”
“I thought Vikings were tough though?”
“Yeah, me too. But sure let’s have our drink and see if we can sniff out what’s going on.”
The barman arrived back, Paddy paid him and took a sip.
“Not half bad actually. How’s yours?”
“Ah this Scorched Earth stuff is lovely. From a little brewery in Ballywanker.”
There was a shift in the crowd, they turned to look. A new DJ was setting up to take over the decks. He had a huge long blonde beard and even longer hair. He was dressed in a red flannel shirt, tight, black leather pants and was carrying a brown leather satchel.
“Hello my friends!” shouted the DJ in an odd accent. He took a record out of his bag “Here’s the song you’re all craving! Obey the Vikings!” He picked the record which had been on the turntable and flung it into the crowd where it smashed all the glasses off one of the tables before placing his record on.
A soon as the needle dropped, the crowd became hysterical, jumping, dancing and shouting as the song began. A weird thumping bass beat with crappy keyboard sounds pumped out of the speakers. As the song was building towards its crescendo the crowd stopped moving, stood in place, put their arms over their heads and began chanting “Jeg adlyder Doctor Viking. Solskjær er bedre enn Keane. Jeg elsker fisk” as their beards grew rapidly.
Paddy nudged B-Man, who looked at him in shock as a small moustache was beginning to grow on his upper lip.
“We need to turn this off!” he roared above the music.
Our heroic saviours shoved their way through the crowd towards the turntables at the top of a short flight of stairs. The DJ spotted them and there was a gleam of recognition in his eyes. He flicked the needle off the record and pointed at our heroes.
“De liker Taylor Swift! Ta dem!” he shouted.
The crowd was momentarily stunned by the abrupt way the music stopped but quickly surrounded Paddy and B-Man.
“Ah great, a pub fight, been ages since I’ve been in one of these!” said B-Man as he turned to Paddy.
Next time on Enter Dr. Viking: How will our heroes get out of this one? Probably with a combination of bees and portals but who knows for sure? Not me, dear reader. Not me. Until next time, Portadventura!