Tuesday, May 17, 2011


Y’WHAT??? The Queen is staying for another two days? We can’t leave our homes in case we’re flung in the back of garda van for another two days? Jayney Macaroni! I want to go outside. I have to. I’m hungry for fuck’s sake.

Y’WHAT??? Her son the Prime Minister is coming over today as well? He’s a smarmy little bollix and no mistake. Had his wife murdered because she was sleeping with an Arab, Al Jazeera or something his name was. Why are they all coming over here anyway? We’ve enough trouble with the Romas and now this lot. What do they want? Is it the free food? Didn’t they steal enough of our grub during the Famine? Yeah, you heard me, THE FAMINE!

Her husband’s mental too. He so old he’s gone mental. I hear they’re staying out in the Stillorgan Park Hotel and he got up at 3 a.m. and had a shite in a fire bucket. The night porter tried to stop him so they had him shot. I mean, for fuck’s sake. And we’re supposed to put up with that?

Y’WHAT?? Some UDA sorts are swinging by to hook up with them too? The U.D. fuckin A? I ask you! So now we have both the royal family and some bunch of fuckin students to contend with! Jesus lord and shit. It’s an outrage!

I reckon we should all join the bloody CIRA. Seriously. We should all join up and learn how to make bombs and when we’ve learned how to make the bombs we should make loads of them and Gaffa tape them to our heads and set them off so the fuckin UDA students and the Queen and her mad shitein’ husband and their smarmy murderer of a son can drive around all day waving at cordons with headless corpses behind them and the corpses will be us. Would that make them happy? Would it? Would that be good enough for them? Just a load of silent streets littered with dead bodies. I wonder what Kay Burley would have to say about that on Sky News? I wonder how many licence payers RTE would have left to broadcast three days of Dobson gushing over royal shite at.

Y’WHAT??? Barack Osama is coming over then too? Are you serious? Are you taking the piss? How many days is that we’re meant to stay behind fences and locked doors without a bite to eat? Jesus shite and Lord MacFuck! I’m never going to get to the Spar at this rate.


barrymore said...

Well I should go as far as the landing and have a look! No sense in staying cooped-up all week! In Bermondsey in the fifties, on the estate where I grew up, there was always some kind of to-do keeping people indoors. You’d hear a row down below and go as far as the landing and have a look. Usually George Dyer from next door would be out, bawling ‘Who’s the sergeant-major!!’ Mostly it blew over in a few minutes but if I was on my way out to work I couldn’t afford to be hanging about. As it goes, that’s how I met my first girlfriend Mary Tamms. She was running past a skirmish and I overtook her. When we got to the bus stop we got talking. The next week we went to the pictures. It was a Cary Grant film and I said to her ‘What you think of him then?’ She just giggled and said ‘You’re more my type’. I thought if you only knew. It was always the pictures with Mary. Cost me a fortune. I used to call round her house late so’s all the back seats would be taken. She liked a bit of a cuddle see. After a while she lost interest.

Point is you can’t stay confined to quarters indefinitely. Go on have another look, coast should be clear now...

Fugger said...

I hear Mary found a real man when she hooked up with John Bindon, who she was introduced to by George Dyer who, I hear, found happiness with some bird called Frances Bacon.