JOE KENNEY

Joe Kenney remains optimistic in spite of the reality facing him. The Cobbleheads proprietor is destined for a fatal heart attack within the next five years. He works too much. He drinks too much. He smokes too much. He eats too much.

But the Irish are a peculiar people. They live hard until they can no longer get hard. Then they don't want to live.

"I'd put a gun in my mouth, but then I could no longer put my cock in some chick's mouth," said one of Kenney's pig Irish friends. "The Irish are animals. You need to think twice before you fuck with us. We're sentimental bastards, but don't fall for our tears. We like crying best when we're burying you."

Kenney is expecting a busy year. His entertainment Thursday through Saturday is second to none. There is no better time than watching football and listening to the blues on Sunday. The drawback to that pachanga is a nasty little day called Monday.

"I have no regrets," said Joe. "I've got a good wife and good kids. I live in a good town surrounded by good people. I make a good living although I'm working harder and making less than at anytime in my life. But I do miss the good ol' days when I could cross the bridge and spend a few hours in Matamoros. When I think of Matamoros, I feel like I've lost a good friend."