The Heelers Diaries

the fantasy world of ireland's greatest living poet

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

Thursday, September 06, 2012

sexual tensions

From The Heelers Emails...


James.
That remark on your blog about you going through puberty was sad if it is true.
I know you're doing your best but it's just sad.
By the way I nearly got sick when you wrote that you had been flirting with a black girl.
It's time for you to find a nice white girl and raise some white children for the white race.
If you can.
Why not marry one of those Russians you're always talking about?
I don't mean to be hard on you but that's the way it is.
Sheila.


Ah Sheila.
I'm having an Obi Wan Kenobi moment.
You were my most promising student.
And my greatest failure.
The powers of the universe sought you out and wished to make a home in you.
But you were seduced by the cretinous side of the Force.
C'est la yoikes.
Anyhoo Darth, I mean Sheila.
I'm not prejudiced against white girls.
It's just them honkies are so bor-r-r-r-ring.
As for marrying Russians.
The problem with Russians is that when you're making love to them, they can't keep their mind on the job in hand. No matter how tender is the night, you just know they're really thinking about invading the Caucusus, or installing a puppet regime in Ukraine while using trumped up charges to imprison the legitimate elected ruler Julia Timoshenko, or assassinating the President of Poland and his entourage in a staged plane crash, or whatever.
The giveaway is that Russian girls are always calling out at moments of passion: "Take Poland. Take Poland now. Aieeee."
They can't help it.
If it's happened to me once it's happened a hundred times.
Seriously though.
I find the practice very frustrating and not a little off putting.
I should also add that my own foibles militate against any long term relationship with such people. I am incapable of making love to any Russian without shouting at the salient moment: "The Russians are coming, the Russians are coming."
Then there's the girls from my home town (Kilcullen).
Let me tell you Sheila, the girls of Kilcullen look like something that esacaped from a Breughal painting.
No, no, no.
They look like something Breughal left out of the painting because he thought no one would believe him.
No, no, no.
They look like something that made Breughal throw up and put him off painting for life.
Let's face it.
My best chance is if some beautiful black girl takes pity on me and decides she fancies a bit of Irish poet rough.
With a black girl, even if I fail to perform sexually, she probably wouldn't even notice.
I mean she'd be able to carry the show on her own.
Now excuse me Sheila while I whip this out.
James

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