also spracht enda kenny

Morning at Ireland's Reichstag rubber stamp parliament building.
Prime Minister Enda Kenny is grabbing some alone time in his office.
The door opens and a lickspitttle enters.
"Was ist Noonan?" enquires the relaxing Fuhrer.
"It's the new constitution for you to sign, Sire," proffers the underling.
Enda Kenny examines the single page document.
It has a single sentence on it.
The sentence and indeed the new Constitution of the Republic of Ireland reads in full:
"Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law."
The Fuhrer smiles.
His pen poised to sign, a sudden urge seizes him.
He stands as if to address an imaginary crowd or perhaps simply to explain himself to history.
Or maybe he just wants to impress his lacky.
"Vee haff legalised abortion," he orates. "Vee haff turned a generation of children into murderers by supplying zem with abortion pills through ze pharmacies, Vee haff debauched the citizenry vith condom culture und drugs und porno. Vee haff redefined compassion as being telling someone you don't care if they engage in a self destructive lifestyle or not. Vee haff terrorised and silenced ze Christians by labelling zem all child abusers. Und now, vith ziss Constitution vee vill inaugurate a new thousand year reich. Ein reich! Ein volk! Ein IRA. Vell I suppose really zere's about fifty IRA's running Ireland from ze shadows at ze moment but you know what I mean. Zose cookie rackateers moving smoothly into ze vacuum of power und morality we have created by suiciding Ireland's Christian culture. Zose laugh a minute mobsters dividing the nation up into personal fiefdoms, yes about fifty if you include ze Cosa Nostra, ze Triads, ze Al Qaeda's, ze Nigerian gangstahs, ze Tinker gangs, ze new Russian mob, et al. (Particularly Al. Heelers hates him.) Vere vas I? Oh right. Ein reich! Ein volk!  Ein all of ze above! Vere do I sign?"
"Right at the bottom mein Fuhrer," murmurs the lacky helpfully indicating the spot.
Enda Kenny signs with a flourish.
He had gotten the idea for his single sentence Constitution cum legal system from an old British devil worshipper whose motto this particular single sentence was.
As the lacky left the room a roll of thunder sounded ominously outside.
At a stroke Ireland's laws, her traditions, her ancient faith, her mystic goodness, her mission in the world, all of it, had been made nothing.
Gone.
On a voodoo wind.
Enda Kenny sat back into his armchair.
"I... am... God," he roared to the empty room.
He sounded just like the character Cartman from the opprobrious television cartoon Southpark.

ireland's new national anthem

(To be sung at the opening of parliament by Prime Minister Enda Kenny with full ensemble of government henchmen, mobsters and corrupt cops.)


Feelings
Nothing more than feelings
Trying to forget you
But feelings are my life
Abortion pills
Nothing more than abortion pills
Available to children
In Ireland's pharmacies
To take their babies life
Surgical abortions
Nothing more than surgical abortions
Available to everyone
Except the unborn
Who tend to be on the receiving end
Know what I mean guv
Yes nothing more than surgical abortions
Legalised by Fine Gael
After an explicit pre election promise not to legalise abortion at all
Denis O'Brien
Nothing more than Denis O'Brien
Trying to silence parliament through the courts
And ruling from the shadows
The cancellation of Independent Newspapers billion dollar bank debt
Nothing more than the cancellation of Independent Newspapers billion dollar bank debt
Now the people must pay that debt
Since Independent Newspapers is also owned by Denis O'Brien
And he doesn't feel like repaying the money that he owes
As he needs the money to bribe the Clintons
For mobile phone services provision contracts
In Haiti
Just like he bribed Fine Gael government Minister Michael Lowry
For mobile phone services provision contracts
in Ireland
I kid you not
And the banks that went bust lending money to Denis O'Brien
Are being bailed out with public money
Feelings
Woo ho ho feelings
Feelings hurt a lot
IRA men
Nothing more than IRA men
Taking over every town and village in Ireland
Dealing drugs into every school
And dividing the country into personal fiefdoms
With Chinese Triads, Al Qaeda, Nigerian Gangstahs, Cosa Nostra and the Russian mob
While a corrupt wimminy police chief witters: "I'm not sure if the IRA still exists"
Hoo baby
Teardrops
Little crocodile teardrops
Which we cry for the 600 dead drug addicts in Ireland every year
The 600 who die after a lifetime sleeping on the streets
The 600 who die
Because the Rah men hooked  them on poison in their childhood
The 600 who die
To keep the Rah men, mobsters, corrupt cops and people traffickers
In the style to which they have become accustomed
In big houses and plush cars
Yes teardrops
Nothing more than teardrops
Teardrops for the thousand suicide victims every year
Driven to death by tinker gangs rampaging in our towns
While our cops hound and imprison the general public
For non payment of parking fines and dog licences
It's easier than fighting crime
Nothing more than easier than fighting crime
Trying to forget the calamitous mess we've made of Ireland
Let's distract everyone by holding a referendum on Same Sex Marriage
At the behest of billionaire IRA supporter Chuck Feeney
Oh feelings
Nothing more than feelings
I'm so in touch with my feelings
I feel like distracting the nation
From the destruction we have wrought on it
Feelings oh feelings
The truth is
I Enda Kenny have no feelings
At all
Unless Independent Newspapers, the Irish Times and the broadcaster RTE
Tell me what to feel
Feelings
Feelings blah blah blah blah blah
Feelings Rah Rah Rah Rah Rah

(repeat and fade out to sound of gunfire and a strange but insistent slow growing background chant of "Allah U Akbar.")

ireland under the nazi's

Ireland's Prime Minister Enda Kenny is reclining in his office. The armchair is plush. The boots are on the table. All seems right with the world.
Enda Kenny is singing to himself the country's new national anthem.
"Feelings," sings the Fuhrer, "nothing more than feelings, trying to forget you, but feelings are my life. Teardrops, nothing more than teardrops. But if you feel like performing sex acts with someone of the same gender and calling it a marriage, what the hey, knock yourself out..."
A tear stings the Fuhrer's eye.
He is at heart a sentimental man.
"Zat Johnny Mathis ist ein great crooner," he muses.
There comes a loud hammering on the plush oak door.
"Mein Fuhrer, mein Fuhrer!" exclaims Gauleiter Eamon Gilmore bursting in.
(He's bursting into the room, not into the song - Ed note)
The Fuhrer looks appropriately bemused at the Ed note, and beckons his lackey to continue.
"Mein Fuhrer," says Von Gilmore breathlessly, "A spiv parvenu called Willie Walshe wants to take over the national airline. What shall we do?"
Enda Kenny smiles.
"We shall let him," he proclaims grandly. "If Willie Walshe wants to own an airline company, what right have we to deny him? If Willie Walshe looks into his heart and sincerely believes he should be allowed to own a company that generations of Irish people built up together, why then he must be permitted to fulfil himself in that way. What right have any of us to tell anyone else what to do? And what right have any of us to deny white collar criminal (and Fine Gael financier) Denis O'Brien the right to receive one percent interest rates instead of eight percent on the 500 hundred million dollars he owes a gangster bank courtesy of former Fine Gael leader Alan Dukes? What right have we to deny Sean Quinn and his IRA gangster family the right to regain control over his IRA proxy companies with the help of Fine Gael Councillor John McCartin, the same companies, by ze way, and the same Quinns who systematically burglarised that same gangster bank through illegal billion dollar loans from their IRA accomplices in the bank's management and then looted the treasury with the connivance of now conveniently deceased Fianna Fail Finance Minister Brian Lenihan to cover up their thievery, and in so doing placed Ireland in the Third World overnight? We must respect the rights of Denis O'Brien and your own old friends in ze Rah to do whatever zey like to ziss country. Ein reich. Ein volk. Ein Mafia!"
Eamon Gilmore nods soberly.
The Fuhrer is always at his most convincing when he is declaiming piously the need to become utterly depraved.
A thought strikes the Gauleiter.
"But what if Willie Walshe decides he wants to marry an aeroplane?" he wonders.
There is a pregnant pause.
"We will have to hold a referendum for that," answers Enda Kenny with a wry smile.