IRA Statement

by Twenty Major on July 29th, 2005

“Dear cuntos,

yes, I know we’ve been blowing people up willy-nilly for years now and justifying it with some tired old shite about a united Ireland. You, me and the wall know that’s never going to happen so we, the IRA leadership, have decided to throw down our arms.

We realise that the international support we’ve received, especially from America, is going to be hard to maintain when the world and his mother are affected and appalled by the terrorism being perpetrated by those Muslim lads. As terrorists ourselves it makes it very difficult for us to throw grand gala fundraisers in New York and Boston and makes it difficult for our Irish-American benefactors to chuck us the cash we need for our guns, bullets, explosives and other devices of murder we’ve used througout the campaign.

We decry the actions of these Muslims for ridding terrorism of its cuddly image, its shileleagh and its bejaysusness. Long gone are the days when Mickey Rourke would be seen dead in the same snug as us. Christ, look at the state of Mickey now though, ’tis better for our image he forgot about us and went mad for the plastic surgery.

Anyway, after lots of amicable discussions we’ve decided that in order to prolong the political careers of Gerry and Martin, who by the way have nothing to do with us at all, all volunteers will be dumping their arms, ditching their balaclavas and will never more bother the people of the UK by exploding them, their buildings or places of work.

Oglaigh na hEireann will strive for political solutions to …pfffff … sorry, something got caught in my throat there… political and peaceful …bwa ha ha …er…*cough*…political and peaceful something or other. It’s not really important right now.

The important thing is that we make this statement, that you fall for it believe it like you believed us when we said we didn’t rob that bank at Christmas time and we can continue our work as smugglers, dealers, loan sharks and keep running the protection rackets that keep us filthy fucking rich.

Tiocfaidh ár lá agus póg mo thon.

your old chums,

The ‘Ra.”

Morning after pill for girls of 11

by Twenty Major on July 28th, 2005

Well, it’s been all over the news about how the Minister for Health, Jabba the Harney, reckons girls as young as 11 should be given the morning after pill to prevent pregnancy if they are sexually active.

Seriously, 11 years of age. You were lucky to get a kiss with a tongue when we were 11 (unless you were kept behind after class by Father Murphy). Anyway, it’s all a bit shocking, but here’s what I would suggest if sexually active 11 year olds were discovered.

1 - Sew up their gees until they’re 18. A small cathater can be inserted to allow them to urinate.

2 - Find their parents and beat the shit out of them.

3 - Find out who the 11 year old has been sexually active with, kick them in the balls 43 times then chuck them in the ‘Joy but somehow forget to put them in the nonce’s wing and let all the other cons know what they’re in for.

4 - Televise these proceedings as a warning to other youngsters who want to be like their role models Paris Hilton, Britney Spears and Princess Diana.

The need for morning after pills for 11 year olds would plummet but then of course people might complain about stupid things like ‘human rights’ and shite like that.

Human rights are for cunts.

Pitch a fit, you cunt

by Twenty Major on July 27th, 2005

Dirty Dave has photo sensitive epilepsy, he told us last night.

This is something they invented a couple of years ago to make films sound more interesting. They never announce anything like it in the cinema but on TV before any fucking film they always say “This film contains flashing lights and scenes which may cause problems for people with photo sensitive epilepsy.”

What a bunch of my fucking hoop. Do bouncers at nightclubs say “This discotheque contains flashing lights and scenes which may cause problems for people with photo sensitive epilepsy” or does God announce “This natural phenomenon contains flashing lights and scenes which may cause problems for people with photo sensitive epilepsy” when people venture to witness the aurora borealis? Does he shite.

Anyway, Dave was sitting down in front of Sky Movies the other night (he said he was watching Dawn of the Dead but we found out later it was Love Actually) when all of a sudden he woke up on the ground with every muscle in his body taut and his face covered in foam. He went to the hospital where they told him he was an Eppo.

Now I’ve just ordered a set of laser pointers from eBay and I’m going to shine them in his eyes at every possible moment.

Attention Blogosphere

by Twenty Major on July 27th, 2005

I’ve tried to keep quiet over this but it’s just gone too far now.

I’m sick and tired of Irish bloggers using letters and combinations of same to make words. Furthermore they seem bent on arranging these words in a logical order. These people are using syntax and nobody gives a damn.

We’re seeing the unfettered use of sentences and more often than not the blogger will continue making sentences, paragraphs, phrases and quotations to talk about things in what they call ‘posts’.

They’ll discuss subjects, talk about things, hash out theories, deliberate about sources, venture opinions, express concerns and invent words, like ‘Blogosphere’ and use acronyms at random.

These bloggers are then using their personal computers, some webspace and some variation of online publishing system to let other people read these missals, these journals, these throbbing organs of self-righteousness, perspective and blatant untruths presented as fact, witty stories or cutting edge reportage.

As bad as all that is we know have some people who don’t like what other people write. Call that personal choice if you like but the reality is far different. At some point it is going to descend into war. Not just a so-called ‘flame war’ where people argue online and call each other names until someone compares another one to Hitler thus proving some ‘Usenet©’ theory invented ages ago by some cunt or other, then someone will utter the phrase ‘ad hominem’ to counter some argument then *KABOOM* that’s where it will all start. Civil war.

What they don’t realise now is that blogs are so powerful, so ingrained in the day to day lives of Irish people, so embedded in our psyche that this will pitch Wordpress against Blogger, MT against Livejournal, even .ie against .com. There won’t be a single family in the country unaffected, there will be bloodshed, treachery, espionage, murder, pogroms and massacres. The Irish blogosphere as we know it will cease to exist with only one or two stragglers who nobody ever read overlooked in the mayhem and massacres.

So this is a call to Irish bloggers. Stop writing different stuff that some people don’t like. Only report facts like David Grey is a head-shaking cuntbag or that the 21-7 failed bombers were actually the remaining members of 80s band 5-Star desperate to get their names back in the paper. Be the same. Be sheep. Share your photos on Flickr.

Do not, under any circumstances, use the remote control that is your mouse and simply switch off the TV program you don’t like.

It’s safer that way. I promise you.

Double entendres

by Twenty Major on July 26th, 2005

Aren’t double entendres great? You say something totally innocent but everyone knows you mean something completely different. Of course I don’t mean anything different with these. Nope. Nothing different.

For example: Paris Hilton has a talent for hitting things with an open palm. She’s an incredible slapper.

or

Kevin Spacey has nothing but good words for oversized African poultry. He loves big black cocks.

or

Michael Barrymore is going to dress up as the robot from Futurama for Hallowe’en. He’s a total Bender.

or

Johnny5’s mate: “It’s my sexy girlfriend’s birthday today. I’m going to give her a present.”

Johnny5: “I wouldn’t mind giving her one either. Up the arse. Dressed in rubber. While she pisses on me.”

Some are less subtle than others, it seems.

Ethnic cleansing and other stuff

by Twenty Major on July 25th, 2005

Stinking Pete was spouting in the pub the other day about all the bombs in London and he put forward a solution. Says he “I think the Muslims should be ethnically cleansed. Then they can go about their business without exploding themselves all over the shop. That’s right. Give them a good ethnic cleansing and it’d all be sorted.”

I explained to him that ethnic cleansing didn’t mean putting them in a big bath and giving them a good wash. I’m not sure he understood. He puzzled for a while and said “Well, in that case didn’t the English try and ethnically cleanse the Irish with that old famine business a few years back?”

“I’ll ethnically cleanse you in the bollocks if you don’t shut your mouth”, said Jimmy.

“You can’t stop me talking. I can say what I want” said a foolishly indignant Pete. “I’ve got as much right to talk as anyo- …urgh.”

I think he understands the concept of ethnic cleansing now. Jimmy can move fast when he wants.

While there’s all this talk about radical Muslims and the literal meaning of the Koran advocating violence wouldn’t it be pithy to take a moment to look at some phrases from the bible which have been totally ignored?

Abraham made a great feast on the day that Isaac was weaned. But Sarah saw the son of Hagar the Egyptian, whom she had borne to Abraham, laughing. So she said to Abraham, “At which time there is oil in the Middle East then the forces of the west may rape and plunder these lands in the name of our Lord.”

or

And the Lord said unto Moses, I have seen this people, and, behold, it is a stiffnecked people with rucksacks and beards:
Now therefore let me alone, that my wrath may wax hot against them, and that I may consume them: and I will make of thee a great nation and public transport may be safe once again.

Fairly damning stuff, and they teach kids this in school. I suppose the big difference is that Muslims pay attention in religion class while all we ever did was doodle and wish the cunt in the dress at the top of the room would shut his mouth. If we had listened for even a second Ireland could have born a generation of radical Catholics known as Cathicals or Radolics. Imagine.

Why do we only have radical Muslims, anyway? Why doesn’t a group of radical Christians rise and go to battle with the Muslims? They can spout the old ‘eye for an eye’ line from the bible and be totally justified when they lash around the place crucifying people and kicking the babies out of pregnant teenagers.

Or we could have some radical Jews who would fire bagels at these monsters from cannons shaped like circumcised mickeys. Better yet what about some radical Hari Krishnas who would present you with a flower garland, give you a token to get 20% off your vegetarian lunch at the Hari restaurant then knee you in the bollocks and stamp on your head.

The only religion that wouldn’t make very good radicals are protestants. Everybody knows protestants are the most peaceful people on the planet and will never retaliate no matter how fierce the provocation. They make the Amish look like serial killers. They wear bonnets at Easter, they love their children and families and they dedicate themselves to making the world a better place.

Maybe that’s the answer, make everyone protestant. Why didn’t we think of it sooner?

*bring bring*

by Twenty Major on July 22nd, 2005

“Hello Eircom net technical support, Jason speaking. How can I help you?”

“You’re a cunt.”

“Pardon?”

“I seem to be having some trouble getting connected.”

“Ok, what’s your username please?”

“Eat shit, cocksucker.”

“Erm….”

“twentymajor. I’m using a normal old modem to connect.”

“And what happens when you try to connect.”

“Your cunstrousness cuts me off.”

“I’m sorry, if you keep talking to me like that I’m going to hang up.”

“No, I’m sorry. I have tourette’s syndrome. I can’t help it.”

“Oh, really?”

“No, you dopey cunt.”

*click*

*bring* *bring*

“Hello, Eircom net technical support, Daragh speaking.”

“Hi, I was just talking to Jason and I got cut off. Can you put me through to him again.

“Ok, hang on a second.”

“Hang onto my balls you wanker.”

“What?”

“Nothing. I’ll hold.”

*hold music*

(tentative)”Hello, Jason speaking.”

“Hello Jason, this is ‘twentymajor”. We seem to have been cut off.”

“I hung up because you were using bad language.”

“Don’t you ever swear, Jason?”

“Yes, I do, but not at people doing their jobs.”

“I understand. I’m sorry, it was my friends here daring me to do it and I thought I should ring back and apologise because nobody needs that kind of crap when they’re at work.”

“Ok then. Now, do you have a problem connecting?”

“Yes, I can’t seem to connect and it’s giving me a weird error message.”

“What’s the error message?”

“Go fuck yourself, pissface.”

*click*

*bring* *bring*

“Hello, Apache pizza, Fairview. How can I help?”

“Hi, this I’d like to order a large Hawaian with extra cheese, please and a garlic bread and a can of coke.”

“Ok, address please.”

“Eircom technical support, East Point Business Park. Ask for Jason.”

Lucky Luciano

by Twenty Major on July 21st, 2005

So our new chum was telling us about some of the people he’s knocked off in his career. He swore me and Jimmy to secrecy so you cunts better keep your mouths shut an’ all.

Princess Diana: Lucky says he was contacted by someone with a plummy accent who told him Diana had to be got rid of because she was going to marry the Dodi fella and there was no way they could sanction the possibility of her getting knocked up and the future King of England having a little brown half-brother. So he befriended Henry Paul, the Chauffer, got him tanked up on cheap hooch, then posed as a paparrazi, got someone to drive a motorbike while he rode pillion and he shot out the back tyre making it crash into a pole.

Job very nicely done.

Kurt Cobain: He wouldn’t tell us who hired him but he said they sounded like Phyllis Diller and that they sounded like they wore smudged lipstick. He mulled over this one for a while because he said he was quite a fan of Nirvana’s music. He said it had a good beat. After some careful consideration though he realised Kurt was a hopeless junkie who was going to stay alive long enough to besmirch his fine reputation as a musician and singer so by making it look like he shot himself 5 times in the head Lucky ensured him the status of rock legend.

Michael Hutchence: Lucky’s most hated thing in all the world is tempting fate. He will not say anything that might come back and bite him on the arse. He learned this when he was a child when one kid in his little town got tragic news that his father had been killed when he fell into a fish scaling machine. Lucky didn’t like this child and taunted him by saying “hahaha, your Dad’s dead and mine’s not, your dad’s dead and mine’s not” in that sing-song way you all know so well. Not 15 minutes later Lucky’s dad was killed when a large chunk of frozen poo, flushed from a passing airplane, landed right on his head. Since then Lucky never tempted fate and he felt like INXS’s song ‘Never tear us apart’ was Hutchence tempting fate in a big way so he knocked him off making it look like Hutchence killed himself knocking one off, the flithy perv.

Shergar: There were some in the racing business, notably commentator Peter O’Sullivan and that other bloke with the big sideburns, who felt racing was being destroyed by Shergar. He was a wonder-horse, even better than Champion himself, so this shady group of characters got together and paid Lucky to take him and stop his domination of horse racing. Disguising himself as a downbeat mule Lucky lured Shergar into the woods with a trail of sugar lumps and then punched him to death. It took him nearly three hours to punch that horse to death but he’s a professional. He sold the remains to Patrick Guilbaud’s French restaurant and the nag was served as Cheval du jour.

Mick Hucknall: The ginger singer from Simply Red… oh … shit, forget you’ve seen this. Sorry, Lucky.

That’s our Lucky for you!

Calling all dealers…

by Twenty Major on July 20th, 2005

This weekend sees the European Convention and Conference of Narcotics Anonymous come to Citywest in Dublin. More than 1,000 former drug addicts will attend.

Wouldn’t it be a larf to work out there in the bar or as a waiter, slipping acid into their coca-cola, sprinkling the tiramasu with cocaine and smack, hiding E’s inside the Fererro Rocher chocolates and swapping the non-alcholic beer for real alcoholic beer. Then let a tiger and a bear loose in the room. I bet they’d dig their own eyes out of their heads in flashback terror.

It’s probably just a bit mean though.

On another subject entirely I read, without any surprise whatsoever, about the traveller families who lived in a common near the Sugarloaf mountain. It’s called Sugarloaf because an ancient old lady makes delicious sweet breads in a cabin at the top and it is a very picturesque spot. Well, it was until the tinkers turned up. What they do is go house to house to see if people have any old crap they want to be taken to the dump so people get them to take away the old washing machine, drier, fridge, bike wheels and all the other crap that lies around their gardens because the bin men won’t take it.

So the travellers pocket the few quid, don’t go anywhere near an official dump and take it to nice spot in the mountains and fuck it there instead. In 5 weeks this filthy lot of scumbags dumped more than 100 tonnes of waste. 100 FUCKING TONNES, in five weeks. The dirty cunts. They should be brought back and made eat the stuff.

Even better we should make an island made of the scrap they’ve dumped off the west coast somewhere, transport all the knackers in Ireland to it and let them live there. They wouldn’t last long as they are parasitic, they need decent people to live off but it’d fun to watch them starve to death.

Then just to be sure we’ll comandeer some kind of public transport device, crash it into something like a building or a school and make it look like the travellers did it so America will invade and polish off the stragglers who are cannibalising the rotting corpses of their close relatives.

Then, once again, our country can be at peace.

New regular

by Twenty Major on July 19th, 2005

There’s a new regular in Ron’s place. Well, he’s been coming in for about a year now but he has been deemed entertaining enough to sit at the bar and talk to us.

There have been plenty of people who wanted to get the Major/Bollix seal of approval. There was the lad from Macroom whose ruddy cheeks were his downfall. You can’t go anywhere with someone who looks like they’re blushing all the time - especially when you have mischief and skullduggery planned.

There was Bomber Steve, so called because he always wore a bomber jacket. Turns out we were way off, he was arrested with a shed full of chemicals, timing devices and blue and red wires. Apparently he would drive down the country, strap a device to a heifer and blow the poor fucker to bits. He’s still in Mountjoy and his Al-Coweda organisation is pretty much defunct now.

Then there was former radio star Tony Fenton who used to come in wearing his big leather jacket with tassly bits having parked his Harley Davidson outside. Jimmy hated him. “Can I get you groovy chaps anything?” he asked one night. “You can get yourself some decent health insurance”, said Jimmy. Fenton laughed. Fenton woke up naked in a car park on Mount Venus Road up the Dublin mountains. He never did come back.

Anyway, the new bloke is funny. He’d been coming in most evenings for the last year, as I said, but pretty much kept himself to himself. Sometimes he came in with a friend but more often than not he was on his own. One evening last week he was on his way to the toilet when he bumped into Jimmy’s chair. He stopped, looked Jimmy straight in the face and said in his funny accent “I’m-a-sorry ………. but if you a do that again I focking glass you in a the face.”

I nearly fell off my stool and did another stool with the laughter. Jimmy thought it was most amusing too so we invited him to sit with us. He’s from somewhere called Livorno and his name is Luciano. In the great tradition he’s been named Lucky Luciano and amazingly for an Italian he’s not here working in a chipper owned by his uncle. He told us he’s an assassin, but he’s a compassionate assassin and will only kill people he really thinks should be killed.

He could be an interesting one to have around….