the rah man cometh

Coffee with the old communist.
I mentioned that the British television station Channel Four had just broadcast a documentary programme under the title: Who Won In Northern Ireland.
"Nobody won," proclaimed the old communist.
"That's what Tony Blair said," I told him. "And John Major. And Gerry Adams. They all seemed like such nice people too. But all utterly wrong."
"So who do you think won in Northern Ireland?" wondered the old communist like a man looking for a walk on part in the Heelers Diaries.
"The IRA won," I answered.
"You're just saying that because you think Sinn Fein is their political wing and will win the next election," put in he.
"No," I said. "I'm saying it because the IRA were always as much a crime gang as a marxian terror army. I know you won't mind me using those words because you're not a member of the IRA. Anyway. Today I'm not hung up on the fact that the IRA and Sinn Fein are the same thing. That's not my main point. My main point is that the peace process allowed the IRA to bring all its operatives out of jail and to focus nationwide and internationally full time on their racketeering activities without the former distraction of what they euphemistically called freedom fighting. Their power has increased exponentially as a result. They are now present in every town and village in Ireland. They and their allied mafias rule us. On the streets and from the shadows. They don't need to have their proxies win an election. They rule us already. Already. The IRA won in Northern Ireland and they've won here too."

Poem And Parody

The Lake Isle of Inishfree

By WB Yeats

I will arise and go now

And go to Inishfree

And a small cabin build there

Of clay and wattles made

Nine bean rows will I have there

A hive for the honey bee

And live alone in the bee loud glade

And I shall have some peace there

For peace comes dropping slow

Dropping from the veils of the morning

To where the cricket sings

There midnight's all a glimmer

And noon a purple glow

And evening full of the linnet's wings

I will arise and go now

For always night and day

I hear lake water lapping

With low sounds by the shore

Whether standing in the roadway

Or on the pavement grey

I hear it in the deep heart's core.

***************

the lake isle of inish freebie

by James Healy

i will arise and go now

and go to Inis Everything Costs A Stack Of Cash

and a small drug gang build there

of skanks and skummers made

nine audi a4's will i have there

a safe house for growing hash

and live alone in the murder loud glade

and i will have some Triads there

and the IRA and the Russian Mafia, and Al Qaeda, and Nigerian gangstahs too

for mobsters come dropping low

dropping from the veils of morning

to where judge liberal gives them all get out of jail free cards

there midnight's all a glimmer

and noon a purple glow

and evening full of the audi a4 gang revving up their engines

i will arise and go now

for always night and day

i see drug scum using teenage militias

to sell their poisons to children in our schools

whether standing in the roadway

or on the pavement grey

they really have taken us for fools

the local yokel

Oooh arhhhh. What a lovely day. What a lovely for running into a police station and shouting: "Arrest the cops. They're all corrupt."

There's many a true word spoken in jest. Oooh arrhh.
I was thinking this late the other night when Garda Evil Knievel reined in his motorcycle at the top of the hill outside my house.
Garda Evil looked around him with an insouciant air as he steadied the restless motorcycle.
"Easy girl, easy," he muttered, staring down at the sleeping metropolis of Kilcullen. The motorcycle whinnied softly in the darkness.

"There are six thousand souls in the naked city," snarled Garda Evil to himself. "And everyone of them has done 40 in a 30 mile an hour zone at some stage in their miserable criminal lives. They think they're so smart. But I'll get them. So help me I will."
I could hear this edifying meditation on law and order through the open window.
While he spoke the motorcyle quietly champed the grass from the forest's ferny floor.
Garda Evil gazed about him balefully as if looking to pick a fight with a tree stump.
It is strangely reassuring to know that the full rigour of what passes for law enforcement in the Republic of Ireland, is being implemented by half witted thugs in uniform such as Garda Evil, and his friends Garda Psycho and Garda Droogs, at the behest of Judge Liberal, to ensure that the criminal classes, ie anyone who has failed to pay a parking fine or a dog licence, will do hard time in some hell hole prison while drug scum rackateers and people traffickers remain at large with the collusion of the police to lay waste what is left of our culture, our society and our lives.
Ooh arrh indeed.
Garda Evil revved up his motorcycle like nothing so much as a lagar lout showing off to his trollope.

(The lagar louts of Kilcullen love trollopes. Particularly The Pallisers. - Heelers note.)

Through the throbbing Four Stroke engine, the town of Kilcullen slumbered on.
Fitfully it must be said, but still definitely slumbering within the strict meaning of the Act.
"Sleep on ye b-st-rds," shrieked Garda Evil. "You won't escape me. I own you. There's no justice. There's just me. I am the law."
The engine of his motorcycle roared to a crescendo.
"Iceholes!" screamed Garda Evil, performing a wheelie and accelerating away down Main Street.
His voice as he said "Iceholes," sounded like a mixture of the action movie actor Arnold Schwarzeneggar and the objectionable television cartoon character Cartman.
It had a certain resonance, shall we say.
A sort of je ne sais quoi.
Behind the fast receding figure, a blissful silence rolled softly back into Main Street.
"Thank God for the police," I intoned drily, before adding even more drily: "Pray that he's out there somewhere."
I sounded very like Cornelius Chase in the film Fletch in the scene where Fletch was about to be murdered by a villain, and suddenly a corrupt police officer arrives whom Fletch knows full well is corrupt, and Fletch realises things have gone from bad to worse, and Fletch says in a voice very dry and very like mine: "Oh thank God, it's the police."
Ooh arrh again bold readers.

See you next Wednesday.

horrorscopes

(with Mystic Muggins) 

Capricorn (Dec 22 to Jan 20): There will be rain so stay out of it. Earthquakes will erase the eastern seaboard of wherever you live. So move west. Now would be a good time to release a pop record. (If you're holding one captive. Not all Capricorns are.)

Aquarius (Jan 21 to Feb 18): The moon is in Uranus. This may make walking difficult. See a proctologist and don't hold back. A new work opportunity in nuclear physics may shortly present itself. Go cautiously. Particularly if you've no degree in nuclear physics. A dark haired man called John seems to offer the prospect of romance. Shun him.

Pisces (Feb 19 to March 20): Mars is in your oesophigus. Is that how you spell oesophigus? I must consult the runes. No wonder you're uncomfortable with a planet in your anus. Take a holiday in Japan. Don't speak to any strange geishas but do drink as much tea as you like. Sell your farm.

Aries (March 21 to April 20): Jupiter is in your tonsils. Sell your house. You have noticed a certain instability in your home life recently. This is because your house is built over an old Indian burial ground. Move. A person called Vladimir Putin may come into your life shortly. (Particularly if you're Ukrainian.)

Taurus (April 21 to May 21): Saturn is in your epliglottis. That's gotta hurt. You may feel phased by certain episodes of Star Trek. Try watching Friends instead. And sell your car. A good period for romance. Someone called Snodgrass will enter your life shortly. He's a keeper. (With West Bromwich Albion third team.)

Gemini (May 22 to June 21): Mercury is rising in your thermometer. Remember you are not responsible for the weather or for the fate of humanity. (Not unless you're really, really influential.) Stop worrying so much. Sell your shares on the stock exchange. Buy a cat instead. A person called Chopin offers the prospect of romance. He has a very small pianist. Play it by ear.

Cancer (June 22 to July 22): Pluto is in your anus. Sorry. I mean Uranus. It's only a small planet so don't worry over much. In fact some astrologers maintain Pluto isn't a planet at all. Just a wee adenoid. Still adenoids in your anus are no picnic. Proctologist time again.

Leo (Aug 24 to Sept 23): Ursa Major is in your garden. Mow the lawn. Or better yet, pay me to mow the lawn. Fifteen Euro an hour. Can't do better than that Guv. (It may take a hundred hours to complete the job as I'm a perfectionist.)

Virgo (Aug 24 to Sept 22): Polaris is rising in your nostrils. Learn Spanish. Sell all your major assets. New Zealand will shortly be swept away in a flood. You sense a need for adventure at the moment. Move to New Zealand. Take swimming lessons first.

Libra (Sept 23 to Oct 23): Betelgeuse is occluded by Venus with Neptune rising in Alpha Centauri. All of them are in Uranus. But stop worrying about these things. Broaden your horizons. Take your head out of Uranus. Perhaps a little move to China is on the cards.

Scorpio (Oct 24 to Nov 22): This week will be difficult for all Scorpios as the moon rising in your anus means you'll all get Bubonic Plague. Try to look on the bright side and if we meet, don't touch me and keep walking. Paradoxically this is a good time for romance for Scorpios. Someone with a "d" at the beginning of the name of their profession will enter your life. Either a doctor, a diplodochus, or a dipsomaniac. The stars aren't clear. If it's a diplodochus you have my permission to date him.

Sagitarius (Nov 23 to Dec 23): Stop reading horoscopes. Take responsibility for your life. Give up drugs. Read the Bible. Go to Mass. Bring your dog for a walk. God made the universe for you and it would be incomplete without you. There is hope for all of us! Rejoice, rejoice.

the local yokel

Oooh arrhhhh. These be fine Summery evenings for the middle of Autumn right enough. I'm not complaining mind. But where will it all end? Dere's dem dat says the climate is changing. But most of dose are tree huggers who stayed hugging the same tree for too long. And anyway, a change is as good as a rest, as the President of the World Bank said to the Chairman of Amnesty International when the Chairman of Amnesty International decided to campaign in favour of the murder of unborn children. Oooh arrh, ooh arrh, oooooh arrrh.

Thankfully the police have just released figures saying that the crime rate has fallen sharply in the last month. Of course in the full twenty years before the last month, the crime rate had been soaring continually, year on year, month on month, week on week, day on ephin day.
Obviously the hoodlums, druggies, rapists and murderers of Kilcullen had been overworked inflicting mayhem on the entire country. Under Ireland's strict labour laws, these gangland psychos are entitled to holidays too. Hence the sudden drop in crime. Also some of the cops whose job it is to write down the crimes (not solve them mind) were on holiday for the past month as well.
This led to a double dip in the crime figures.
So crime is falling and everybody wins, as the actress said to the bishop.
Oooh Arrhh, what a great relief for those of us being robbed, murdered, assaulted and raped constantly in the streets of Kilcullen and every other town in Ireland, to know that the crime figures are falling. And how reassuring it is to see local coppers quaffing coffees in local cafes while local hoodlums continue to operate unopposed almost everywhere else. If the gangs ever decide to strike in a cafe they're certainly all going to get caught. Or at least treated to a round of free coffees. Oooh arrrhh indeed.