The Heelers Diaries

the fantasy world of ireland's greatest living poet

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Location: Kilcullen (Phone 087 7790766), County Kildare, Ireland

Saturday, February 16, 2008

hindi for beginners

A pulse in the universe.
Sara: "James you're the one true friend I have!"

Translation: "You're going to be listening to stories about my bad boy biker boyfriends for the rest of your life."

Friday, February 15, 2008

an open letter to geraldine kennedy editor of the irish times

Now is not the time to worry about who called whose newspaper a fembo commie pinko abortionist rag that spent the Cold War rooting for the Russians while at the same time blatently promoting such arrant hedonism in social polity that Ireland has been left with a culture the Visigoths would be ashamed of, and you weren't really all that radical, were you, since it doesn't really require any courage, does it, for a roomful of sneering Bolsheviks to sneer in unison at the Catholic church without ever any one of you managing to say anything even vaguely original except for the odd gem clearly lifted from writings of mine.
Well, I'm just sayin' is all.
Etc, etc.
James Healy
PS: When do I start?

toewatch three revenge of the killer toes from mars

Driving along the open road through the heartland of South Kildare.
I am singing lustily.
The song goes:
"Little old toe nail.
If you get drunk no bail.
Kids like to walk on it.
Dogs put their paws on it.
It's called Heelers Toe.
Oh Heelers Toe.
Heelers Toe city limits.
Heelers Toe city.
It's big and it's bulbous.
The infected bit is full of pus.
His mother's faster on her feet.
His brother mocks him in the street.
They laugh at Heelers Toe.
Woohohoho Heelers Toe.
Heelers Toe city limits.
Heelers Tow city.
Little old toe.
With nowhere to go.
Baby likes to stomp on it.
Paddy Pup likes to romp on it.
Nobody planned for it.
Robins like to land on it.
It's Heelers Toe.
Yeah Heelers Toe.
Heelers Toe city limits."

It's really quite catchy if you just imagine the right music.
(And somewhere the ghost of Tina Turner is smiling.)

Thursday, February 14, 2008

an open letter to tony o'reilly proprietor independent newspapers

Dear Tony.
I've been fired from some newspaper I can't remember the name of.
In the past you and I haven't always seen eye to eye.
But now is not the time to worry about who offended who first.
Now is not the time to worry about who suggested whose newspaper group was merely an anodyne pseudo radical conformist vehicle for irreligion, hedonism, drugs culture, porno, and the violent society.
Now is not the time to worry about who warned the Irish people about who was devolving limitless power to himself and his family through the creation of an effective monopoly in the media industry.
Now is not the time to worry about who campaigned heroically against whose attempts to take over the phone company.
Now is not the time to worry about who accused who of trying to recreate a feudal society in Ireland by devolving limitless power to the O'Reilly family.
Now is not the time to worry about who said who's Independent Newspapers readership had collapsed and that the group only survives because the government keeps handing over millions in public money for Health Board advertisting effectively meaning that those of us who were boycotting these horrendous low rent rags are still subsidising them.
Now is not the time to worry about who laughed in who's face some years ago when who offered who an editorship and who replied: "Tony O'Reilly doesn't have enough money to hire me for five minutes."
Now is not the time dear Tony, to worry about who shoulder jostled who coming down from communion in Kilcullen church a few years ago when who was showing off his trophy wife to the poor beknighted peasants and those same peasants to their lasting shame were parting in the aisle to allow who to receive communion before everyone else and the Catholic church spent long enough trying to shake off you upper class bastards and I was damned if we were going to make the same mistake again.
Now is not the time...
But you get the picture.
Time passes.
Things change.
We were younger men then.
Hot blooded.
It was nobody's fault.
Tony, old buddy, old pal, Tony.
Gizza job.
James Healy

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

in time of the attempted breaking of nations


copy to Osama Bin Toe Rag
(Bin Tuareg surely? - Ed note.)

Dear Rowan.
I commend you to the salient bit of Rule Britannia.
To wit:
"Britons never, never, never shall be slaves."
James Healy

Sunday, February 10, 2008

raiders of the lost dillwads

The dream again.
The one where I'm in the classic opening scene of Raiders Of The Lost Ark in the role of Indiana Jones.
I've purloined a gold idol from a crumbling jungle temple.
Tony O'Reilly Ireland's third richest man and owner of Independent Scuzzpapers, has got the drop on me.
He is playing the role of Indy's nemesis an evil French archaeologist called Belloc.
Tony is saying:
"Ah Mister Healy. Once again we have shown that there is nothing you can't take that I can't take from you. Once again we have shown that there is no analytical perception you can't originate that my slavish conformist feature writing minions can't rip off for my low rent sleaze bucket abortionist condom culturist anti catholic newspapers. Once again we have shown there is no witticism that you can't devise that we can't simply copy by logging onto your blog and lifting the ideas from there. Nyah, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ho, ho, ho, ho, heee, heee, heee..."

And then I woke up.
And it was all true.