planet of the black jackets
Three days in Dublin.
On day one I was walking down Grafton Street.
I paused deep in thought.
A Muslim man carrying a sign reading Timberland, took a little jump towards me.
I recognised him as a member of the "Black Jackets" Muslim crime gang, an ethnically mixed group of thugs united by Islam, who have been steadily asserting themselves on the streets of Dublin over the past five years.
The gang colours are black leather jackets, styleless items of clothing which look like something Elvis might have vomited up after a late night party in 1957.
Not in fashion.
Not now.
Not ever.
Probably not even in 1957.
Dublin's favourite Muslim crime gang hiding in plain sight, invariably wore these items of clothing up until very recently. In the past two weeks for some unknown reason, they seem to have discarded them in favour of a range of multi hued anoraks, overcoats and pullovers which look like they might have been in fashion maybe for a few days in the middle of 1961.
Progress of a sort, I suppose.
So here we are.
The Muslim man with the Timberland sign stood toe to toe with me and stared.
I looked back at him indifferently.
He became a bit sheepish.
He had expected me to flinch.
Now there was nowhere to hide.
Still I looked at him.
He leaned forward and said: "Bluh, bluh, bluh, bluh, bluh."
It wasn't Arabic.
He really did say: "Bluh, bluh, bluh, bluh, bluh."
Still I looked at him.
Then ever so slowly I broke the contact and lifted my eyes to the sign he was carrying.
I stared at the sign.
The Muslim man with the Timberland sign took a step backward.
He became intensely interested on something that was going on over his shoulder.
I walked on.
On Day two, I walked down Grafton Street.
The Muslim man with the Timberland sign was at his usual position half way down the street.
I paused a few paces from him.
He was staring fixedly at a point in the middle distance.
On Day three I walked down Grafton Street.
The Muslim man with the Timberland sign was there.
I stood.
He didn't seem himself.
For a start, he was differently attired.
He was wearing an outsize duffle coat with the hood up, fringed in wool, completely obscuring his face on this bright sunny day.
Well, well, well.
The little dim light thug knows at last.
So he's the first.
He's the first member of the Black Jackets to figure it out...
They are no longer the hunters.
On day one I was walking down Grafton Street.
I paused deep in thought.
A Muslim man carrying a sign reading Timberland, took a little jump towards me.
I recognised him as a member of the "Black Jackets" Muslim crime gang, an ethnically mixed group of thugs united by Islam, who have been steadily asserting themselves on the streets of Dublin over the past five years.
The gang colours are black leather jackets, styleless items of clothing which look like something Elvis might have vomited up after a late night party in 1957.
Not in fashion.
Not now.
Not ever.
Probably not even in 1957.
Dublin's favourite Muslim crime gang hiding in plain sight, invariably wore these items of clothing up until very recently. In the past two weeks for some unknown reason, they seem to have discarded them in favour of a range of multi hued anoraks, overcoats and pullovers which look like they might have been in fashion maybe for a few days in the middle of 1961.
Progress of a sort, I suppose.
So here we are.
The Muslim man with the Timberland sign stood toe to toe with me and stared.
I looked back at him indifferently.
He became a bit sheepish.
He had expected me to flinch.
Now there was nowhere to hide.
Still I looked at him.
He leaned forward and said: "Bluh, bluh, bluh, bluh, bluh."
It wasn't Arabic.
He really did say: "Bluh, bluh, bluh, bluh, bluh."
Still I looked at him.
Then ever so slowly I broke the contact and lifted my eyes to the sign he was carrying.
I stared at the sign.
The Muslim man with the Timberland sign took a step backward.
He became intensely interested on something that was going on over his shoulder.
I walked on.
On Day two, I walked down Grafton Street.
The Muslim man with the Timberland sign was at his usual position half way down the street.
I paused a few paces from him.
He was staring fixedly at a point in the middle distance.
On Day three I walked down Grafton Street.
The Muslim man with the Timberland sign was there.
I stood.
He didn't seem himself.
For a start, he was differently attired.
He was wearing an outsize duffle coat with the hood up, fringed in wool, completely obscuring his face on this bright sunny day.
Well, well, well.
The little dim light thug knows at last.
So he's the first.
He's the first member of the Black Jackets to figure it out...
They are no longer the hunters.
posted by heelers | 1:46 AM
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