An Open Letter To The Editor Of The Irish Times

Dear Sir or Madam or whatever.
I came across a copy of your esteemed publication today in a cafe. (By esteemed, of course I mean despised.)
As you are aware, I never buy it. The only way I ever encounter it is when I come across free copies in cafes.
So today I allowed myself a glance. As expected, it was the usual mish mash of anodyne joyless fervourless verbiage.
Except for one thing.
Lo!
On page 15.
In an article by something called Frank McNally.
Right there in the middle of the text.
A photo of people with umbrellas walking in the rain through a Dublin street.
A misty photo. Blurred as if by the rain itself.
A strangely evocative image.
Vaguely poignant somehow.
Beautiful.
And once again we see that there is no idea James Healy can originate which you and your champagne socialist lackies cannot plagiarise.
For lo!
On my own web page.
Just a few days ago.
A photo of people with umbrellas walking in the rain through a London street.
A strangely evocative image.
Vaguely poignant somehow.
Beautiful.
Was this a coincidence???
Arrah Maisie, for crying out loud, would you not just tell the plush bottomed anti Catholic scruff in your employ to come up with their own ideas?
No seriously.
I will admit to you that six months ago when my humour column was cancelled by the Leinster Lootheramawn, I was a little worried as to where your minions would now find their creative ideas.
But they've coped, bless their atheistic abortionist anti American little hearts.
After a few months of mourning they've tracked down my internet writings.
And here we are.
On the verge of a new golden age for the Irish Times.
We can surely predict an upsurge in astute commentaries, life affirming humourous asides, and even the occasional poetry laden photographic image.
The skies the limit, eh Maisie?
It's an emotional moment for me too you understand, finding the paper of the comrades ripping me off once again.
Why, it hardly seems like seven years ago that you called aside your journos, and told them: "Healy is the only original writer in Ireland. Unfortunately he thinks we're pond scum. He won't work for us. That leaves us one choice. When you're writing your humour articles just be sure you've read his first..."
Ah memories Maisie.
Like the moon on the water and all that.
But now we are on the horns of a dilemma.
I do not wish to speak harshly to you Maisie.
For we have shared some high times, have we not?
Do you remember when I described your Board of Directors in my column as a bunch of clapped out Bolshevicks who spent the Cold War rooting for the Russians.
Oh what larfs!
But enough of that.
We must stifle our laughter Maisie.
I cannot allow our personal friendship to interfere with my professional duties.
Here is the news.
From this day forth you must instruct your lickspittles to desist from purloining my intellectual property.
There must be no more humour columns based on writings of mine.
There must be no more cartoons based on cartoons of mine.
There must be no more photographs based on... Oh you get the idea.
It is time for the heroes of the revolution to begin to work for a living.
They will find honest toil rewarding, Maisie. I am sure of it.
Should you choose to defy me in this delicate matter, I shall have no other recourse but to satirise you unmercifully on this website.
Tremble Maisie.
Tremble in fear before the wrath of Heelers.
Fond regards always,
James Healy