SO, WHAT HAPPENS NEXT IS...

(Funtime is over - back to work)

A retired High Court judge will hold an investigation. The conclusions of that investigation will be presented to the Minister for Justice. The Minister for Justice will then place these conclusions into his mouth and chew them into a fine paste. Then the Minister will proceed to sculpt what remains of the conclusions into papier mache lumps and stick them under the desk in his office going forward.

GARDA INQUIRIES

(pictured: Garda pal Boyler)

I'm a great fan of the Gardaí and would be more than happy to help them with any inquiries but I'm not sure it’s right for them to be hacking my emails. I expressed my concern to the justice minister and he told me to inform the relevant authorities. I asked him who the relevant authorities were and he said that the relevant authorities were the Gardaí. I asked him if he really thought that was a prudent action to take and he said he did. I said ‘what about if I tell the Ombudsman instead?’ and the minster just laughed.

I didn't fancy going to the Gardaí to tell the Gardaí that I suspected the Gardaí of reading my emails so instead I went to see Boyler. Do you remember Boyler? You do, Kieran Boylan. Yeah, mad bastard he was. He’s doing grand. He’s a big name on the international haulage scene apparently. Anyway, Boyler is pretty tight with the Gardaí so I asked him if he’d have a word with them. He said he was heading to the station to get his passport renewed the next day so he’d see what could be done. He also suggested I might make a gift of a few bottles of whiskey. ‘They love to have a bit of JD around’, said Boyler, ‘they keep it out back where they store the old Heavy Gang tool kits, lost penalty points and Kerry babies conceived by heteropaternal superfecundation.’

So, I went to the offie to pick up a few bottles and then I headed up to the station to make my offering. ‘Did the McBreartys serve you these after hours?’ I was asked.

‘No, I …no …I just wanted to….’.

‘Wanted to what?’

‘Wanted to let you know that I appreciate the job you are doing and I…’

‘…and that you killed Sophie Toscan du Plantier?’

‘No, Jesus, no, take it easy, Christ.’

‘You killed Christ?’

‘Pardon? What?’

‘You heard him lads.’

Well, I’m now doing a stretch for deicide but the good news is that the Gardaí annual arrest quota is through the roof. Apparently one God killer is worth several hundred drug busts. I’m really not sure what I’m doing here but, in a funny way, I’m glad to have helped the Gardaí with their inquiries. As Boyler said when he dropped in to visit me last week, ‘it shouldn't be long before that crowd from the Ombudsman Commission take a similar attitude’.

IF I WAS THE LAW

If I was the law I'd make it against the law to not obey the law and then I wouldn't make any other laws except for that law and I'd enjoy the confused and worried looks on all your faces. 'But Judge Fugger', you would plead, 'what is the law we are not supposed to break?' And I would sternly and loudly reply 'The Law!' and say no more. I'd throw the odd person in prison for no reason and watch as everyone tried to figure out what these people could have possibly done to break the law. You'd all be repeatedly going over the recent activities of these entirely random people in the hopes of figuring out what the law is but it would come to nothing.

Then, eventually, I would reveal what the law you are not supposed to break is. I would announce it on a national telly broadcast. I would inform you all that the law that it is against the law to break is the law that it is against the law not to know what the law is. Then you'd all realise that you are all lawbreakers because you didn't know what the law is and so broke the law. Confused? Yeah, well fuck ya! You're going to prison!

I would have everyone arrested (men, women, pensioners, kids, and babies) and thrown in prison for aaaaaaaaages. And then the cops that arrested everyone would have to arrest each other until there is only one left and then he'd arrest himself and go into a cell and then he'd be followed into the cells by the prison guards, the last people to be incarcerated. Then the last prison guard would lock himself away and hand the keys out through the prison bars to me. I would be in possession of the keys to all your cells and I would take them and throw them into a furnace and have them melted down and then I'd fashion their molten form into a crown and put it on my head.

What do you think of that eh? Oh, and one more thing, I'd have the closing minute and twenty seconds of the 1812 Overture playing full blast on a 24-7 repeat cycle over the prison tannoy system and I'd run around the corridors outside your cells crashing cymbals together. You'd never sleep again. Never. You'd be deranged by the time I decided to let you go free. Completely driven mad. That'd fuckin learn yiz. That'd fuckin learn yiz not be breaking the fuckin law, ...whatever the fuckin law is.

More laffs soon lawbreakers!