the what if column

Corrupt Irish Prime Minister Enda Kenny has recently appointed a range of new government advisers to advise him on the handling of the Irish economy.
Enda Kenny is a vacant, vacuous, vapid, hairstyle of a man.
Although as leader of the Fine Gael political party he was clearly elected Prime Minister by the Irish people solely to repudiate the arrant criminal kleptocracy of the previous Fianna Fail government, his first action in office was to borrow ten thousand million dollars in order to purchase a worthless gangster bank styling itself AIB.
Interestingly enough government Minister Ruairi Quinn, a bald lifelong atheistic communist and Lenin impersonator, has a brother called Lochlainn who sits on the Board of AIB.
The wheel is rigged and it's the only game in town.
Enda Kenny is gambling that the Irish people, having repudiated Fianna Fail kleptocracy, will  never organise themselves in sufficient numbers to repudiate the worse kleptocracy perpetrated by Enda Kenny and his friends.
His newly appointed economic advisers, none of whom were elected, are all being paid funny money salaries well in excess of a hundred thousand dollars each.
Now.
What if...
What if just one of those advisers was an honest man?
What would his advice to Enda Kenny be?
He would advise:
"Stop paying advisers you don't need, hundred thousand dollars salaries they haven't earned. You don't have any money. The reason you don't have any money is that you are throwing it away paying people like me to tell you the bleedin obvious. You are borrowing the country into Third World penury just to bankroll the champagne lifestyles of a few plush bottomed executives and employees at a bank that no longer exists. You have hung around here too long for any good you have been doing. Get out. In the name of God, go."

koreans behind closed doors

MISS KOREA TELLS IT LIKE IT IS
***

Coffee with Miss Korea.
"Are Koreans always so polite when dealing with the Irish?" I ask her.
"Not when we're alone together," she says.
"What do you say about the Irish when you're alone together?" I enquire for my files.
"We say that the reason you're all bald is because the wind in Ireland blows off all your hair," she tells me.
"Oh," I counter soberly.

triumph of a man called piers

A few years ago, Mr Piers Morgan of 12 Snurdlingham Villas, engaged in a series of fascinatingly corrupt practices while editor of the British newspaper styling itself The Daily Mirror.
He used the business pages of his newspaper to advise the public to buy shares in companies quoted on the Brit stock exchange which he himself had already bought shares in.
He then sold his own shares in those same companies as the public lemmings pushed up the price for him on the strength of the stock tips he himself had placed in his own paper.
This was the most minor of Piers Morgan's serial corruptions.
Perhaps his most egregious and invidious action occurred at the height of the War On Terror, when he published photos he knew to be fake, depicting fakers posing as British soldiers urinating on other fakers posing as Iraqi prisoners.
These photos helped Al Qaeda no end in motivating the slavish Jihadi masses towards ever greater barbarity.
It doesn't end there.
Slowly but surely the full truth about Piers Morgan's arrant criminality is leaking out.
Now a British parliamentarian is claiming that Piers Morgan encouraged journalists at the Daily Mirror to hack into the phones of private citizens on a routine basis.
Piers Morgan's reward for all of this?
His reward for Economic Fraud, High Treason, and Spying on the Citizenry?
CNN has made him a prime time presenter on one of their anodyne viewerless flagshit programmes.
They shoot horses don't they.
These people really look after each other.
You gorra larf.

the take the biscuit column

Titles in the Independent Newspapers Group, along with the Irish Times, have spent the holiday period each printing an average of one picture per day of Irish Prime Minister Enda Kenny.
Today's Irish Independent actually has two.
In case you forgot what he looked like between page four and page nine.
This is in keeping with Independent Newspapers' strategy of labelling Enda Kenny a statesman following his closure of Ireland's embassy to the Vatican.
It's funny.
No matter how often liberal atheistic hedonist abortionists seek to present him as a statesman he still looks just like what he is.
A weak vascillatory, vacant, vapid, hairstyle of a man.
However the Order of the Biscuit is not awarded this week either to Independent Newspapers or to the Irish Times.
It goes instead to the hindtit newspaper styling itself The Daily Mail.
The Irish edition of the Daily Mail has accumulated losses in excess of a hundred million dollars.
It brings in revenues around the million a year mark.
So in a hundred years it might break even.
Until then we're all forced to prop it up through idiot loans from State owned idiot banks.
Hilarious no.
By the way the English edition of the Daily Mail has debts in excess of a thousand million dollars.
But I digress.
The Order of the Biscuit goes to the Daily Mail for its photograph today of Enda Kenny and Enda Kenny's wife Scroticia, standing beside the Archbishop of Dublin Diarmuid Martin, posing outside a church.
It is a study in mendaciousness.
And fools no one.
In it we see a vacant vapid hairstyle of a man posing as a Prime Minister.
We see a shleeveen trophy wife posing as a married woman.
And we see a leftist Soviet era infiltrator posing as a Catholic Archbishop.
They all seem curiously at ease with one another.
I give this photograph the Order of the Biscuit for the sheer mundane faussness of the subject matter.
My suggested title for the pic would be: Three People Pretending To Be Catholic.
But to achieve the proper resonance we should also put in a shared speech baloon coming from the mouths of Enda, Scroticia and Archie.
The photo would then aptly depict the three proclaiming in unison:
"Oleaginous, moi?"

this just in

Good to see Rupert Murdock's Sky Channel dropping its earnestly insincere "We Believe In Better" advertising slogan.
From now on Sky's continuous self promotional voiceovers will announce:
"We've updated all our services because... we believe in you giving us permanent access to your personal bank accounts through direct debits so that 86 year old Rupert Murdock can continue to keep his Chinese hoor in the style to which she has become accustomed. And also so that the young Murdocks can keep all their hoors in the style to which they've become accstomed. And also so that the next generation of Murdocks the grandchildren and great grandchildren will one day be able to keep their own hoors in the styles made famous by their parents and grand parents. Sky! We believe in hoors."
Well, it's honest anyway.

fantome

rose scent night takes the house
i sit in the front room
the world was made for the shroud
i am alone
but being alone know not peace
nor loneliness if such you call
for tonight is a night of ghosts
familial phantoms fill the hall
peter hayes with an outsize pig
best of breed at the county fair
middle of summer 1896
great great grandfather
john healy pale and gaunt
staring down a charging horse
bringing the wayward animal to a halt
fifty years before my birth
granny berney of the floury hands
mixing up chicken slops
here's tuppence for being good
now run down to the shops
all night i've sat with the ghosts
while time and tide flowed soft
knowing not where i'll go
whence i came is good enough

worst argument of the holiday season

The budgies rushed me while I was changing their water. For the next half hour they flew from room to room all over the house, shrieking triumphant profanities in fluent Australian at the panting poet in hot pursuit. It was a full two days before I could bring myself to forgive them.