WORTHLESS

Looking back over my life one day, I realised I’d made a muck of it. An unmerciful shit of it no less. All the retrospection left me with a profound feeling of worthlessness. ‘Worthless!’ I roared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I decided that there was nothing else to do but go outside and throw myself in the bin.

Being a worthless git, I went and jumped in the bin that had all the stinking food scraps in it. ‘Good enough for me’, I said to myself, ‘sure, if I’m any type of rubbish, I’m this type of rubbish’. The food scraps came in handy actually as I found myself feeding on old banana skins and sucking the marrow from cold chop bones in the days I had to wait until my collection.

Eventually the bin men came. I heard their lorry and then I felt myself being lifted up. ‘This one’s heavy, there must be some sack of crap in it’, I heard a bin man say. ‘You’re not wrong’, I replied and then suddenly I felt myself being dropped to the ground. I tumbled out of the bin and looked up. I saw two astonished bin men and then crawled back in the bin and called out to them to carry on but they wouldn’t. They refused to throw me in the back of the lorry with the rest of the rubbish. I even offered them money but they refused and drove off without me. So, there I was, not even good enough to be rubbish. Below rubbish. Sub-rubbish. What do you do with that? What’s more worthless than rubbish? Then it struck me. The only thing more worthless than rubbish is shite and you flush shite down the toilet. So, delighted with my realisation, I went indoors, stuck my head in the bowl and flushed. It didn’t work. I tried again. It didn’t work again. I tried loads more times but it was no use, the toilet wanted no part of me. I was too big. I wasn’t even good enough for the jax. Jesus, there was no end to the rejection. Seriously, what was I supposed to do with myself if I wasn’t even good enough for flushing down the jax? I mean, the jax takes shite. I was even more worthless than shite. What, on God’s earth, is more worthless than shite?

And then it struck me. There is something more worthless than shite and it is with this sub-shite that I realised I must dwell.

It wasn’t easy getting myself elected to the Dail but elected I eventually was and now I sit here in constituency surgeries telling people I can’t help them and that my hands are tied and asking them how their Aunty Mary is doing and if they saw the match and taking the odd back-hander and so on and so on until eventually I’ll draw a big fat pension. A big fat juicy pension. Oh yeah. Turns out being completely worthless isn’t that bad after all.

BERTIE'S FAREWELL

(pictured above: 'feck yiz')

That’s me done now. Packin away the stapler and the folders in the Man U bag and takin me leave. It’s like I was sayin BEFORE, I did me best by yiz. But sure me best wasn’t good enough. Oh no, yiz had to go and turn on the Bertie. Yiz had to go and start pickin on the poor Bertie and there was I, a simple Drumcondra fella, enjoyin me rasher sandwiches with Rocco and Jay on the lap and along yiz come with your cribbin and moanin and tribunalin. Well I’m off. Off out of it I am. I’ve plenty to be getting along with anyway. I’m a busy man what with the talks I’ll be doing around the place and the soccer to be writing about and then there’s the forests to sell to the Chinese. They’re mad for the forests the Chinese. The forests are like Bass to them. I love the forests meself. I was always a great man for the forests. Not the Nottingham Forest though, ah no. I’m a Man U man. A Man U man like yourselfs. Just like yous I am but sure that’s not good enough for yiz is it? Oh no. I win a few quid on the gee-gees and yiz all go mad. Go mad because yiz are crowd of failures. Look at yiz! Failed people! FAILURES! FECKIN FAILURES! THE LOT OF YIZ!

Ah, look. Look what yiz have done now. Yiz have gone and made me lose the cool and all I wanted to do was say a dignified goodbye. Well that’s me done. Packin up the bag. Packin away the accoutrements. I’m proud of meself anyway whatever yous lot think. I’m proud to have done me bit for the nation and thanks all the same. Thanks for votin me in fifteen billion trillion gazillion times in a row. That was great. That was gas and I did me best. I did me best by yiz and yiz can take that to the bleedin bank . . .and put it in my bleedin account . . .if I have a bleedin account (LOLZ-winky smiley face). Now, get out of me feckin’ way. I’ve somewhere to be. Unlike yous lot, I’m actually goin’ places.

BERTIE AHERN

'Ah, lay off now. I did me best by yiz. I'm just a man. A normal Drumcondra fella. Love the rasher sandwiches and the Bass. Did you go see the Dubs? Man U played a blinder there, absolute blinder. The daughter likes writing the stories. Loves the bukes. Makes a few bob from that. Did an old buke meself there. A normal enough few pages. Nothing special. A modest buke of recollections and things. Do you like a buke yourself? Mine is seventeen euro. Rasher sandwiches.

Good times. Good times were had by all. There were a few blips on the landscape but we always had the few euro for the Bass. Don't mind the loopers and the whingers, the failures, failed people. Don't mind them feckin' eejits. Feckin' failures. I'd rivet them! Do you hear me? DO YA? I'd rivet that shower! I'LL RIVET THE LOT OF YE!!!!

Ah no, I'm only coddin'. Love an old cod. I love a cod but I'd prefer a Bass. That's a fish joke. Did you get that? It has a double meaning, you can read it two ways. Man U. Rasher sandwiches. Ash Wednesday. Ash Wednesday's great. Big lump of ash on the noggin there. Smudge. Big smudge of it there and then off we go for rasher sandwiches. Great days. We did right by yiz anyway. Brian's fumbled the ball a bit, not too much. Terrible when that lad painted him doin a shite in the nip. That can't have been easy. Lehmans didn't help either and now there's the uncanny darkness overtaking the place. I'd rivet that darkness. I'd rivet it but I'd rivet Higgins first! I'd rivet that bollix! Rivet him! RIVET!

The future? What of the future you ask? Well, we'll wait and see what comes. I'll still be here, still being Bertie, still watching the matches, drinking the Bass, but I might be doin' it in the Aras. Yiz still love me don't yiz? Yiz still love the Bertie. You'd love to have me up the Aras wouldn't yiz? Oh yeah, yous would n' all. Rasher sandwiches.'