The Heelers Diaries

the fantasy world of ireland's greatest living poet

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

Saturday, January 07, 2017

death cab for skangy

The subtle ironies of the emergence of a narco mafia state in the Republic of Ireland continue to provide wry amusement at the end of the world cafe.
This week we had a character called Brendan Ogle revealed as the moving force behind an activist group which has seized a building in Dublin purportedly in order to provide shelter for homeless people.
Members of the supposed activist group style themselves Home Sweet Home.
Their leader Brendan Ogle is what passes for a trade unionist in Ireland.
It has been suggested by my sources that he is an associate of a particularly vicious faction of the drug dealing people trafficking child abusing IRA mafia.
Home Sweet Home is of course a much nicer name than Irish Republican Skanger Drug Dealing Child Abusing Skanger People Trafficking Skanger Terror Skang Gang.
Mr Ogle was formerly in charge of a train drivers union no less.
More recently the IRA are suspected of using him to further project and consolidate their influence into the Irish electricity company as secretary of various unions there.
Ogle has never worked in an electricity company in his life so his pretext for representing the Irish electricity company workforce, ie dominating them on behalf of rackateers, is slim at best.
So Ogle, an IRA proxy, is now seizing property in Dublin on behalf of the homeless.
Ironic indeed.
Here is the news.
The IRA is the major cause of homelessness in Ireland.
Most homeless people are homeless because the IRA has hooked them on its drug poisons.
The IRA controls drug dealing in Ireland along with associated mafias to whom it franchises out territories. These include Al Qaeda, Cosa Nostra, Chinese Triads, the Russian mafia, Nigerian devil worship rings et al. (Particularly Al. I hate him.)
I repeat.
The number one cause of homelessness in Ireland is the IRA.
And now we have the IRA setting up front organisations purporting to be homelessness charities.
Irish television coverage of Ogle's gambit to gain control of the homelessness racket has been slavish at best.
The Bolshevick RTE national broadcaster is State financed through compulsory taxation. In a systemic con job that would make Joe Stalin blush, every citizen in Ireland who owns a television is forced to pay 200 quid a year to RTE regardless of whether they watch RTE or not. Since its inception in the 1960's RTE has of course also been heavily infiltrated by the IRA, its staffers specialising in a peculiarly shameless brand of marxian anti Catholic bigotry. They are as bereft of courage as they are of insight as they are of honour.
I mean I don't want to go casting no aspoyshuns.
But wouldn't it be fun if just once an RTE interviewer rediscovered a conscience and instead of doffing his cap to the likes of Brendan Ogle said: "**** off you IRA skang."
That I'd willingly pay a licence fee for.

book review

A Single Headstrong Heart, by Kevin Myers, published 2013 Lilliput Press.

**** off Myers you ****.

Friday, January 06, 2017

ring out wild bells

(Special guest blogger Alfred Lord Tennyson)

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light:
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out the pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

heeler the peelers fashion tips for the modern girl

Stop drawing on eyebrows.
How would you like it if I drew on fake muscles?

Thursday, January 05, 2017

from the heelers job search


To: Arwen Foley, AA Roadwatch, roadwatchjob@gmail.com
From James Healy
Son of Jorell. You will give me that job.

the best cafe in dublin

Sitting in a comfortable corner at the Caffe Nero near Stephens Green.
I bite into my toasted panini.
Hmmm, thinks I, this is not the toasted panini I ordered.
I take another bite.
No.
Definitely not tuna.
Maybe I should bring it back.
The girl who served me was a Northie.
Lovely accent.
Like music.
Lovely incomprehensible music.
But they're all in the Rah, Northies.
How could I bring a sandwich back to her?
I'd have Sean Bean following me home, mouthing: "There'll be no more killing. After this one."
(You mean Mickey Rourke. - Gerry Adams note)
I've eaten about a quarter of the sandwich.
Is it too late to bring it back?
I munch rhythmically, while pondering the issues.
Years ago the Mammy sailed up to the counter in a cafe in Naas and told the manager I hadn't liked the sandwich there.
The manager had replied: "Well he shouldn't have eaten it then,"
Presently the present day Caffe Nero present tense sandwich is presently eaten.
The coffee is drunken,
I wander up to the counter.
On my way I pass a table featuring a heavily made up girl and her more naturally styled friend.
Girl number one is wearing a pro abortion jumper with "repeal" emblazoned on it.
I stop at their table.
In a rush I proclaim somewhat apologetically: "I want to make a wisecrack but I don't want to get thrown out of the cafe. George Soros spent a billion dollars promoting abortion in Ireland and all I got was this lousy jumper. There you go. That's my wisecrack. How do you like it?"
The make up girl gives a weak smile. The natural one laughs a bit.
Not the worst reaction I've ever had to my light hearted comic accostings of strangers in cafes.
On to the counter.
A youthful long haired woman is in situ.
No sign of the Northie.
"You gave me the wrong sandwich," I announced. "I want a refund."
"Okay," says Long Hair.
"What?" sez I. "Really?"
"Sure. No problem. Where's the sandwich."
"I ate it."
"Okay. Do you want another sandwich?"
"Er no. Actually just give me a free latte and we'll call it quits."
"Okay."
She serves up a caffe latte which I take back to the corner.
Presently the gorgeous Arab, Spanish or Something, I mean she's a honey, I mean dark eyes of the gazelle and all that, I mean I don't want to go casting no obsessions, I mean the hairstyle is a bit groovy but she can really carry it, holy hand grenades Batman, but aroogah, manageress comes over.
"We want you to have the refund," she says, giving me the cash.
She walks back to the counter.
The ghost of Thomas Hardy appears beside me.
"The women are beautiful Heelers," he says, "but the old are more beautiful than the young."
"I don't care Thomas," I tell him, "that girl is a ride."

heeler the peeler's fashion tips for modern girls

Stop drawing on eyebrows.
How would you feel if I drew muscles on my arms?