macshite

Scene: Castle Rackrent. Irish Prime Minister Enda Kenny is seated at a banquet with selected lowlife from his Fine Gael and Labour Party government.

Enda Kenny: Drink up gentlemen. Tis meet we celebrate. We have seen off the evil Catholics and can now kill babies and call it icecream.

(Enter the ghost of Heelers, wailing and rattling chains.)

Lady Macbeth: My Lord. Why do you start so?

Enda Kenny: It's him. Here. Now. Yoikes.

Lady Macbeth: My Lord. Please. People will think you are a tit.

Enda Kenny: I am. But canst you not see it?

Lady Macbeth: There's nothing there you gonk.

Enda Kenny: See how he leers and jibes. Tis a satirical ghost.

Reichsmarschall Alan Shatter: My Lord, was ist?

Enda Kenny: Es ist f--ken scary.

Lady Macbeth: Hush.

Enda Kenny: (to ghost) Thou canst not say I did it, nor shake thy hairy man boobs at me.

Lady Macbeth: (hissing) My Lord, what exactly is this supposed ghost doing?

Enda Kenny: Trust me honey. You don't want to know. Oh for God's sake, not in the Minestrone.

(Enter a servant with a taper)

Servant: Majesty, there is someone to see you. I brought this in case you want to record what he says.

(Enda Kenny rises and makes his excuses.)

Enda Kenny: Excuse me gentlemen. I need to take a whizz,

(He walks to the side of the stage where the First Cut Throat, Ibrahim Buwisir, Al Qaeda's Operations Chief in Ireland, is waiting.)

Ibrahim Buwisir: It is done Your Highness.

Enda Kenny: Heelers is dead?

Ibrahim Buwisir: Yes.

Enda Kenny: I thought there was something strange about him.

Ibrahim Buwisir: He was always strange.

Enda Kenny: You're sure he's dead.

Ibrahim Buwisir: Well he's either dead or quaffing coffees in the Costa Café on Dawson Street.

Enda Kenny: You are the best of the cut throats to whom we sold Irish passports.

Ibrahim Buwisir: Thanks.

Lady Macbeth: My Lord you must return to the table. Your guests are beginning to wonder. You imperil everything with your strange manner, bad posture and generally goonish aspect. The Catholic Church has been defeated. Keep your hair on and stop talking b-ll-cks.

Enda Kenny: What are b-ll-cks?

Lady Macbeth: Bollocks.

Enda Kenny: Oh those. You're right. Why should I fear a clowning buffoon like Heelers. The truth cannot harm me. What is the truth? It has no currency here. Buwisir, show yourself out. Smithers release the hounds.

(Enda Kenny rejoins his guests)

Enda Kenny: Hey who ate all the pork chops? Oh right. Heelers ghost is here.

Herrless Ruairi Quinn: My Lord?

Enda Kenny: Nothing, nothing. Did he leave any of the apple tart. No, I don't want any Minestrone. No. really. I'm just not that into it. Never really liked it. Don't know why Chef put it on the menu.

Chef: Suck on my chocolate salty bawls.

Enda Kenny: Er. No thanks.

Lady Macbeth: (hissing again) My Lord you must eat or your guests will sense we're murderers.

Enda Kenny: But Heelers ghost pissed in it.

Archbishop Diarmuid Martin: Ha, ha, that sounds about right.

Lady Macbeth: My Lords and Ladies, your king is unwell. But he will be himself again presently. That is to say, not unwell exactly, merely mildly grotesquely amorally incompetent, the same weak, vapid hairstyle of a man you have all come to know and love. Particularly those of you in the journalistic profession since he cancelled Independent Newspapers half billion dollar debts to collapsed Irish banks and refused to take action against Independent Newspapers proprietor Denis O'Brien who was deemed by a Judicial Enquiry to have amassed a billion dollar fortune by bribing then Fine Gael Communications Minister Michael Lowry to give him mobile phone contract licences for the Republic of Ireland dirt cheap. I mean I don't want to go casting no aspoyshuns My Lords. But if we go down, you all go down.

Enda Kenny: (feverishly to himself) The weird sisters promised.

Lady Macbeth: This is no time to start harping on about hagerdotal Daily Mail contributors.

Enda Kenny: The weird sisters promised... The weird sisters promised.... How did they put it? Enda Kenny never destroyed shall be, until thug mafias take over every city, town and village in Ireland on behalf of a dark alliance between drug dealers, people traffickers, old style IRA terrorists, Italian gangsters, Chinese Triads, Russian and Nigerian hoodlums, and a little known combo called Al Qaeda, using teenage militias to pass under the radar of law enforcement, and inflicting mayhem and murder, harassment and intimidation on the citizenry with the connivance of a coterie of corrupt police officers.

Lady Macbeth: That's already happened.

Enda Kenny: Focque me pink. We're for the high jump. Let me know when MacDuff arrives. I'll be over by the punch bowl.

Heelers Ghost: (soliloquy) I love pork chops.

Bugs Bunny: That's all folks.