Worcester DA’s office has a bad case of deja vu

There comes a night when the best get tight, Rudyard Kipling once wrote, and that night came Monday for a thirsty payroll patriot by the name of John A. O’Leary of Bolton.

I don’t know if he’s one of the best, but O’Leary sure was tight, if you believe the State Police report about the 48-year-old $94,471.29-a-year ADA in the open and gross hackerama that is the Worcester County District Attorney’s office.

For those of you keeping score at home, that salary means O’Leary ranks as the 17,431st highest paid state employee in the Commonwealth. Or did rank, because I have feeling his coat holding career is over. But he leaves behind a quote that will long be remembered in the Worcester County halls of justice, where the only justice is in the halls.

“It’s in my left hand….”

O’Leary was driving his 13-year-old daughter to dance class in Boylston Monday evening, according to the State Police report, when his Audi was observed “aggressively swerving… almost striking the guardrail.”

Now, just as a haiku must have 17 syllables, all OUI reports must contain certain phrases, for instance, “extremely red, glassy, bloodshot eyes.”

But it appears that O’Leary was above and beyond. Like so many others in the Worcester hackapalooza, he apparently never got the memo: “Drinkin’ doubles don’t make a party.”

Let us pick up the trooper’s narrative, beginning as he “requested the operator to provide his license. O’LEARY (John) stared blankly at me and slowly began to stutter, ‘It’s in my left hand.’ O’LEARY displayed a heavily slurred voice and there was nothing in his hands.”

Don’t you hate it when that happens?

The crime-busting Democrat then exited the vehicle “extremely unsteadily” with an “extremely heavy odor of alcohol” and was asked again for his license.

“O’LEARY stated again in a deeply slurred voice, ‘It’s in my left…’”

Next came the roadside Olympics – field sobriety tests – and the man who will henceforward be known as “Lefty” gave the trooper a chance to use some more police-report boilerplate, namely, he “stared blankly” after which “he continued to stare blankly.”

As Lefty fumbled through his pockets, the trooper wrote, “I observed O’LEARY to have an extremely heavy odor of an alcoholic beverage emanating from his breath, even while standing outside.”

Lucky he wasn’t charged with impersonating a Kennedy, in other words.

But wait, it’s almost time for what always happens with these Worcester DA hacks.

“At this time, O’LEARY made spontaneous utterances that he was a prosecutor in the District Attorney’s office in Worcester.”

Translation: “Do you know who I am?”

And of course, this tawdry tale of a tosspot can only end in one way.

“At 9:40 PM, O’LEARY passed out sitting upright in the booking room chair and was audibly snoring.”

Somebody should really check the ice-making machine in Joe Early’s office, because his hacks surely seem to be ingesting a lot of bad ice cubes lately. First it was Ali Bibeau, the onetime toll taker and who followed her hack judge father, Tim Bibeau, to gainful unemployment in the Worcester County DA’s office.

When La Bibeau was lugged, she bragged to the trooper that she was a junkie who turned tricks to buy heroin. So the MSP brass ordered the troopers to remove all references to her common nightwalking and Daddy Judge. It was simple professional courtesy – the then-boss of the State Police (who “retired” after his role in the scandal was revealed) is likewise an alumnus of the Worcester DA’s office, ditto his boss the Executive Secretary of Public Safety.

They take care of each other, just like they did in the Imperial Raj of Rudyard Kipling’s poem – “Sentry shut your eye… we’ll help him for his mother/and he’ll help us by-and-by.”

To put it another way: what happens in Worcester stays in Worcester. Or used to, anyway.

But you want to know, how did Lefty O’Leary get his hack job? The usual way – after $600 in contributions to his boss Early, $500 to ex-AG Tom Reilly, $350 to ex-AG Marsha Coakley, and most importantly, $350 to disgraced ex-Lt. Gov. Tim “Crash” Murray, whose own automotive rendezvous with destiny came on I-290, when his state Crown Vic went airborne at 108 mph.

Take it away, Rudyard: “For the wine was old and the night was cold….”

Or as Lefty O’Leary might say, “It’s in my left…. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.”