A breath-taking scene dominates our view, as miles upon miles of green rolling hills meander lazily toward an azure sky. On the left hand lies the rolling foam of rumbling surf, and on the right climb the hillocks and crags that are the very footstools of the mystical Emerald Isle.

Is it a song in the heart, or a song on the wind that plays?  Ne'ertheless, the tune begins, the tap of the snare and the lilt of the pipe.  Who is this spirit then who wanders the grassy shores alone?  This ethereal woman of sea, and sky, and soil?  Rebecca Knox of County Dublin, she is.  Her filmy skirts ripple in the sweet breath of Ireland's breeze as she adjusts her homespun scarf about her slender shoulders and savors the air of her homeland.

As the keening song reaches a steady volume, Rebecca opens her mouth and begins to sing in the style of the great sopranos of Celtic renown.  Her song is wistfully sad, yet a smile plays at the corners of her mouth, as though her very soul were lifted by the words and tremulous melody as they escape her ruby lips.

The percussion of the snare is enjoined by a dull rumble as over the hill with a staid and steady gait come a-prancing a legion of folk step-dancers.  The men and women are clad in tight breeches and flowing-sleeved tunics of traditional make and they move as one in their dance.  Rebecca sings all the more, and twirls with arms outstretched to some long-lost love though she casts a wary eye to the ever-growing legion of dancers.

Rebecca lets slip a real tear as the first chorus of her ballad ends and a new, more sonorous verse begins.  As the music rises, the now-epic battalion of dancers stamp their feet and kick with such force and vigor that they begin to wear holes in the turf, but still they dance on, mere servants to Rebecca's heart-song.  Rebecca gasps and fails to move her mouth for a few notes, though her voice continues to sing!

As the singer rejoins the song, a trio of merry elves pirouette into view from behind a great standing stone.  The lithe sylvan creatures have come, drawn by the enchantment of lovely Rebecca's song of love and loss, and leap and frolic clad in naught but gossamer sashes like morning dew on a spider's web.  Rebecca, her voice now soaring toward crescendo, looks away from the elves in shock, and then goes wide-eyed with a flash of terror as a sea monster with a long, serpentine neck bursts forth from the water and joins her song in a shrill tenor voice!...

Rebecca Knox:  "Cut!  Cut!!!  Tha's the end of it!  Oi swear ta God an' me mum's mum's sleepin' soul, tha's the end of it!"

There is great confusion of the Emerald Isle as three of the step dancers have keeled over from exhaustion while all semblance of rhythm has abandoned those who remain to awkward stomping and kicking dirt clods at one another from the individual pits they've dug.  Two of the mystical elves mutter angry words and walk back to their enchanted rock while the third simply shakes her head and lights a cigarette.  Knox's sweet soprano continues to soar above all the other sounds of the island though Rebecca has long since abandoned the lip sync.  Overshadowing the entire gruesome scene, a twenty-foot long animatronic sea serpent neck stands forgotten, staring blankly toward the far horizon.  As the cameras pan out, we see the edges of the elaborate set and the crew of cameramen, sound techs, and others ambling around in disappointment.

Director:  "What the hell, baby!?  You were doin' great out there!  It was like one o' them Celtic chick videos!"

Knox:  "Wha' in tha hell was alla' that!?  Oi lived in Eire all me young life and not a time, not one time, did I ever lay eyes on a skeevy trollop leapin' about withou' so much as a shirt between tits an' breeze!  You!"

Knox points at the still-uncovered, cigarette smoking "elf" who drops her smoke in surprise.

Knox:  "Find a stitch an' wear it home.  I'll have no more ta do with leapin' elves an' their ilk, mister commercial director!  D'ye understand that?  Creatures of myth, no matter how much I may wish it were so, are not roamin' abou' the hills of County Kilkenny!  An' *OOOH!* the Loch Ness Monster is suppose' ta' be in Scotland, ye daft imbecile!"

Director:  "It's all Europe to the American fans, doll-face!  We could'a put ya in lederhosen and let you sing the Russian national anthem and it would'a been just as good... hmm... maybe better!"

Knox:  "You're fired, you an' the lot of you all with 'im!  I should'a known from the start, tha very start, tha' you didn' 'ave it in ye to show me Irish roots to my new fans here in the New World.  Now, Oi'm gon' ta find me own clothes an' come out o' this Quiet Man get-up before wearin' three skirts makes me hide a knife between me bosoms.  I suggest tha' ye make good use of tha dancer's tha' lived and pack up this mess ta leave."

Director:  "Your call, lady.  You can kiss my ass."

The director is obviously furious and is quite surprised when K-Nox saunters up to him and leans in quite close to his face.  He appears to be moving slowly to kiss her!  Before American lips can find their Irish counterparts, though, Knox drives a knee into the unprotected groin of the filmmaker.

Knox:  "Go bhfeithe an díabhal na bpéist a n-íosfaidh tú!"

K-Nox then gives a quick taste of her crazy marionette dance and spits on the writhing director.

Knox:  "Tryin' ta shoot an Irish movie scene in Clevelan' was a mistake, I suppose.  You there!!!"

The lead dancer, who has finally caught his breath, looks surprised at being addressed and trots to K-Nox's side.

Lord of the Dance:  "Aye?"

Knox:  "Are ye truly the laird o' the dance?"

Lord of the Dance:  "Aye, lass.  All of County Cuyahoga bows a knee ta' me when the drums an' fifes ere a-playin'."

Knox:  "Would you leave off tha' fake accen', man?  You're no more of Eire than I'm of Mars!"

Lord of the Dance:  "No, ma'am.  I don't reckon I am.  I wish I was, though.  Most all my ancestors come from over there back in the day.  They was all of 'em tater farmers back afore the big famine.  That's when ev'ry last one of us come over here to the States and got set up in Kentucky."

Rebecca eyes the lad warily, having uncovered his deception.  She harumphs and is about to walk away, but the Kentuckian quick-stepper tugs at her sleeve.  She whirls to face him, and the young man instinctively covers his groin to avoid assault.

Lord of the Dance:  "Wait!  Look, I reckon I should'a told y'all I wasn't Irish, but I really wanted to be in this video with ya.  I squeezed into my sister's britches, turned mama's good tablecloth into this big ol' Broadway shirt, an' watched Stomp the Yard ten times straight through to learn the moves, just so I could meet you!  I'm you're A-number-1 biggest fan in America!"

Knox offers the young man a rare sober smile, and reaches out to shake his hand.  The Lord of the Dance beams upon formally meeting Rebecca's firm grip.

Knox:  "Oi'm glad ta know there's so much heart ta be found in tha Kentucky Irish!  Have ye a car?"

Lord of the Dance, still smiling and nodding emphatically:  "Yes, ma'am!"

Knox:  "Right!  Then I designate you, sir, ta be me designated driver this evenin'.  The time's three in tha afternoon, so we've an hour of drinkin' ta make up yet.  Pull 'round, and get me someplace with a stool an' a barrel o' Guinness!"

...Hours Later...

Raucous laughter drowns out the big screen televisions of a local sports bar and grill as the place has been transformed into a County Dublin pub for the evening by one woman and all her new friends.

Patron 1:  "Tell, again, Becky!  What did you say to that director?"

Knox:  "I told 'im tha' I wish for tha' devil ta rape tha worms tha' eat his rottin' body when 'is time comes 'round!  An' I stand by ev-e-ry word of it!"

A tell-tale slur lets us know that K-Nox is already deep in her cups and having a fine time in Cleveland, Ohio.

Patron 2:  "How's about you tell us how you're gonna be a big wrasslin' star!?"

Knox:  "Ho, ho!  Gonna be, y'say!?  Oi've already made me name across tha pond, as you Yanks are so fond o' sayin'!  Oi'm the feckin' Queen o' Chaos, I am, an' gettin' crazier as the years pass!  I say I'll walk down tha aisle fer SHIMMER Fantasy What-Not an' show all th' wee Bambi's how the bes' tech-a-nic-al wrestler in tha wo'ld gets it done, I will!"

There is another round of raucous laughter and the Lord of the Dance hands Knox a fresh pint that disappears as quickly as it arrives.

Lord of the Dance:  "What about them Blondes, Becky?  There's a lot of folks what think they'll be wearin' some mighty cute outfits out there for your match, an' those gals are dangerous when their tops match!  Do ya think ol' Cat Power's gonna show up an have yer back?"

Patron 3:  "I say the Blondes are gonna beat K-Nox's ass!  Thanks for havin' your last drink with us, babe!  Har, har!"

More than a few inebriated patrons rise and turn to face the heckler, but Knox waves them back to their seats.

Knox:  "D'ye think so?  D'ye think me arse at risk of a drubbin'?  I say why not?  I bet they kick me but good, at that!  An' I bet they slap me cheeks, an' poke me eyes, an' pull me hair.  The wee scramblin' minxes may even call me a name an' push me down on me seat!"

Lord of the Dance:  "But, Rebecca..."

Knox:  "OR... they might not.  It may be that oi've enough in me ta whip two society knackers in a trice.  I'll thank ye fer never doubtin' me again, ye fool-mouthed, babblin' gobshite.  Let me tell you how it's gon' ta happen, an' mayhap ye'll sleep better fer the knowin'."

Knox stands and begins to explain the complicated and painful ways she will attack Team Blondage, with a bit of anatomical exaggeration stemming from her Guinness buzz.  The gathered crowd smile at first, but begin to wince and cringe as the "plan" becomes more and more brutal and less and less realistic.

Knox:  "...then I'll fold the cow's elbows backward until she backhands herself in the back of the noggin' an' twist her neck 'til all she can see is the room she jus' left!..."

The brutal battle plans continue until it is obvious to everyone in attendance that Knox is having fun at their expense.  As Knox claims that she will punch Krissy Vaine so hard in the chin that her ankles will explode, the place erupts in cheers as glasses are raised all around the bar for Knox's colorful storytelling.  K-Nox sketches a low bow like a Shakespearean actor and then gathers up her jacket.

Knox:  "That's it, then.  Don' you lot worry abou' the how.  Jus' tune in an' be watchin' an' I'll show ye how a skinny Irish lass lays a pair of pretty Barbies down fer a coun' of One, Two, TREE!  Yes!  It'll be th' first in a long line of wins fer K-Nox, to be sure!"

The crowd shouts approval again as the Lord of the Dance walks K-Nox to the door and leads her to his car for the ride back to her hotel for an early breakfast and a parting of ways.  As Knox swaggers away to her room to sleep off the kindness of the Cleveland barflies, the Lord of the Dance, now just plain old Billy Edwards of Paducah, Kentucky, again, reflects on his crazy night with the next great American champion, Rebecca Knox, and drives off into a golden sunrise.  The scene closes on the car topping a hill and rolling out of sight, leaving behind only a grassy park vista bathed in the golden light of dawn and presided over by a silent and majestic animatronic sea serpent head.

The End.