The Heelers Diaries

the fantasy world of ireland's greatest living poet

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

Sunday, March 15, 2020

snurds on film

"Don't start panic buying," advised Farmer Jones.
I laughed and laughed and laughed.
"There are two reasons why that won't happen," I said. "Firstly I'm not going to panic about a flu outbreak. Secondly I haven't got any money. Even if I was inclined to panic, I couldn't panic buy a thing without some ready cash."
I flicked on the television for the evening news.
And lo!
Ireland's bankrupt bolshevick State run broadcaster RTE had filled their main evening news programme with stories about the Corona Virus.
Or Covid 19 as they like to call it.
One thing they don't call it, is the flu.
Which is what it is.
That's why they're bankrupt folks.
There was nothing else.
No mention of any other news story happening in the world over the past few days.
No mention of Saudi Arabia engaging in an oil price war with Putin's Russia. Small beans I suppose. The Saudis have halved the price of oil but who cares? Who'd be even vaguely interested in a story like that? No mention of the Saudis arresting three members of their own Royal Family suspected of preparing a coup. No speculation about who was beyond what I would tentatively call the Putative coup. Sure Saudi Arabia only has a little less than half the world's energy resources. Why on earth would we focus on fripperies like THAT. No mention of Russia's resovietising President Vladimir Putative rounding up opposition politicians and their supporters in the streets of Moscow. The fate of democracy in Russia is not a story. We've a flu virus to worry about. No mention of the Jihadis killing Christians in Nigeria at the rate of a hundred a month. No mention of a Turkish Interior Government Minister Suleyman Soylu threatening to bring down the governments of Europe by flooding Europe with Muslim migrants, saying specifically on CNN, and I quote: "Europe cannot endure this, cannot handle this. The governments in Europe will change. Their economies will deteriorate. Their stock market will collapse." How on earth could anyone make news of that?
Best to stick with hysterical incitement to panic jibberish about the good old fashioned newly renamed flu virus Covid 19.
We'll all be rooned says Hanrahan, before the night is over.
That's the real news.
Yes.
According to RTE nothing else happened on the planet earth today except the ****ing flu virus.
One of their most poignant virus stories featured a government Minister Simon Harris snivelling plaintively: "People aren't taking us seriously."
This was followed by RTE's hilarious in house expert George Lee saying: "Young people in particular just laughed at the social distancing requirement."
Yes, young people will insist on standing beside each other and talking.
The evil swine.
So the heroic 35 seats in a parliament of 160 seats Fine Gaeler government has now ordered the closure of all pubs and restaurants.
This follows the closure a day earlier of  churches, schools and colleges.
This government was always going to find the notion of social distancing appealing.
I had predicted that something in social distancing, police officers telling people to stand apart in the street, would speak to the fascist roots of Fine Gael. I thought they would never resist such a thing once formerly fascist Italy introduced it.
Ho hum.
Cheap shots thy name is James.
By which I mean me.
But if the Corona Virus were sentient it would be laughing up its hole at them.
They're suggestible nuts.
There's no limits to their suggestible nuttiness.
Their suggestible nuttiness is vectoring throught the herd like a... like a suggestibly nutty virus.
The government, media, health boards et al, (particularly Al, he's the worst) are all megalomaniacal nutty nut nut nuts.
They've got the thuttibinns real bad.
If our country has been hijacked by nutty nut nut nuts where will it all end?
Back in the somewhat sane backwater world of Farmer Jones television room, a wave of panic gripped me.
"Give me a loan of a hundred quid," I begged Farmer Jones. "I must buy something."

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