Irish politicians need to get with the picture

by Twenty Major on January 9th, 2006

For so long Ireland was considered backwards compared to our neighbours in the United Kingdom and Europe. They had electricity, phones and satellite TV, none of which was available in Ireland until 1997.

But one place where we had gained parity was in politicians. Ours were just as crooked, corrupt, amoral and venal as any other country and often more so. They brought some measure of respectability to our fine nation.

However, in recent times they are being left behind by high-profile politicians from all over the world. Just look at Ariel Sharon. Not one stroke for him, that would be insignificant. He’s had two and doctors are keeping him in a coma. Tony Banks, British minister for Sport, has had a stroke on his holidays from which he’s never expected to wake up from and that’s only a few short months after Robin Cook who raised the profile of England and ginger people by dropping dead. Not at home. Not in the office. Not while having sex with a rent boy with his hands bound behind his back and an orange stuffed into his mouth. No. He did it on the side of a fucking mountain; cocking a snoot at the awesome power of nature who could have revived him at any moment with a bolt of lightning.

Fairly impressive you have to admit and it really does put our lot to shame. Credit where it’s due - Mary Harney is doing her best to overeat herself to death but the rest of them are really fucking healthy and not collapsing, crumpling, stroking or attacking in anyway.

The Taoiseach appears here there and everywhere without dropping stone dead Tommy Cooper style, Gerry Adams pops up all over the world without so much as a deep vein thrombosis while Seamus Brennan appears in public all the fucking time without suffering Axeinthefaceis, the fishy handshaked cunt.

It’s about time the people we elect to represent us stop embarrassing us throughout the world with their hardiness and resistance to disease and latter life degeneration of their organs. Unless one of our senior government ministers has a spectacular and very public illness which results in their death then I fear Ireland may no longer be taken seriously on the world stage.

You can’t say that

by Twenty Major on January 6th, 2006

So two Americans came into Ron’s last night. I have no idea how they found it because it’s well off the beaten track but nevertheless in they came and they sat down at the bar. They were also both the spitting image of that bloke from Cameo who wore the codpiece.

They ordered a pair of Guinness and sat talking amongst themselves oblivious to the fact they were as out of place in Ron’s as Brian Kennedy in a room full of people who aren’t complete and utter cunts.

I was sitting with Jimmy and Dirty Dave who seemed fascinated by them.

“I once had a dream that I was having sex with 80s pop star Sinitta”, he told me and Jimmy. “When I licked her she was all salty. Since then I’ve always wondered if all black people were salty or is it just sweaty 80s pop stars in the throes of dreamariffic sex.”

“Why don’t you ask them?” I said and fair enough, the mad fucker did.

He said “Lads, hope you don’t mind me interrupting you but if I was to give one of you lads a lick on the belly would you be all salty or would you just be kinda normal tasting?”

They looked at each other completely bewildered that somebody would ask them that and I can’t say I blame them. Anyway, we fell into conversation and they told us their names were Tony and Marcus and they were in Dublin as part of a European tour. They were from New York.

“We love Eye-er-land, don’t we Tony?”

“Nigger, please. Eye-er-land rocks. The people here are so friendly and nice, if a little strange with their questions.”

“You’re not wrong there, my nigger”, said Marcus and they continued to call each other ‘nigger’ for most of the evening.

Dave was feeling a little bit sheepish about his question though as it was fairly obvious these guys would not be salty like Sinitta but, having witnessed the way they drank, probably taste like beer and Southern Comfort. He decided he’d better make up for it by getting them a drink.

During the next pause in conversation he piped up “So, can I get you two niggers a pint?”

Well, you could have heard a pin drop and Ron’s is carpeted.

“Dude”, said Tony, “You can’t say that.”

“Why not?” asked Dirty Dave.

“Because it’s only OK for black people to call each other ‘nigger’. It’s not OK for a white person or a yellow person or anyone else to call a black person a ‘nigger’. It’s racist.”

“I wasn’t being racist at all. I just heard you call each other ‘nigger’ all night long so I figured it would be all right to say it.”

“Well, you can’t.”

“Fair enough, would you two rappers like a pint then?”

“We’re not rappers, you silly little man!”

“Oh, it’s just that whenever I lash on that MTV all the rappers are calling each other ‘nigger’ so I figured you must be straight out of Compton like.”

“As it happens I am an interior designer whilst Tony works in a ladies shoe store.”

“Right you are then. Would you two queers like a pint then?”

“Two Guinness and blackcurrant please!”

Interactive news is for cunts

by Twenty Major on January 5th, 2006

Why is it that whenever you sit down to watch the news one of the newscunts says “Tell us what you think about this. Press the red button to go interactive or text 51356 to give us your views”?

Now, for the most part, newsreaders are journalists and they are trained to read the news in the same way I suppose that you can train a monkey to wear a hat and ride a bicycle and star in Clint Eastwood films. Some stations have newsreaders with more gravitas. BBC and RTE run quite serious news whereas TV3 and Sky News have all this interactive shite and presenters who are to journalism what Robert Smith from the Cure is to understated and well applied make-up.

Now, while it’s all jolly fancy I don’t really give a fish’s tit whether some feckless unemployed cretin from the arse-end of Cavan thinks Sinn Fein should do something about some other thing or whether some lay-about, daytime TV loving, floppy haired student cunt believes the government should do more to stop the carnage on our roads.

I watch the news because I want to know what has happened, where it’s happened, who it’s happened to and what’s going to be done about it. I don’t watch the news to be subjected to phone in polls like on late night talk radio or to find out what some cunt thinks about what’s happened.

At the end of the day the only people who take part in this kind of cunty bollocks are utter wankers whose opinion counts for nothing anyway. Brainless, desperate, dimwits who think pressing the red button or spending 95c on a text validates their pathetic existence in some way. It’s pointless and stupid, polls in general are for cunts (and possibly Poles but I haven’t quite made my mind up about that).

If they’re really concerned about what people think then they should make a program called ‘What dumb cunts think about the news’ rather than make it part of the news itself. There are all kinds of opinion show on the radio when illiterate, incoherent skangers can spout all the shite the want - for fuck’s sake they’ve even invented podcasting to do the same thing - so keep it off the news you cunts or I’m going wank in my hand and rub the spunk on your wives faces.

Phone calls

by Twenty Major on January 4th, 2006

13.05:

*bring bring*

“Hello?”

“Twenty, it’s me, Jimmy the Bollix. I need a favour. Do you think you could bring me over a full set of skateboarding knee and elbow pads?”

“Erm, ok, Jimmy. I’ll dig up my old set from when I taught that Tony Hawk guy everything he knows.”

“Cheers, Twenty!”

13.07:

*bring bring*

“Hello?”

“Twenty, me again. I forgot, can you also bring me a crash helmet?”

“Erm, sure.”

“Thanks, appreciate it.”

13.11:

*bring bring*

“Hello?”

“Sorry pal, me again. Mind like a sieve today. I need you to bring an airbag and a smoke alarm as well.”

“Not a problem.”

“You’re a star.”

13.13:

*bring bring*

“Hello?”

“Only me! One more thing, can you bring me a harness and a length of rope?”

“I think I have one of those lying around. Ok then.”

“Top man. See you soon!”

13.16:

*bring bring*

“Hello?”

“Guess who?! Listen, sorry for all the phone calls but on your way over could you pick up 40 PG Tips, some sugar and some milk?”

“Erm, can’t see that that would be a problem.”

“You’re a true friend, Twenty.”

13.19:

*bring bring*

“Hello?”

“This is absolutely the last call, I promise.”

“Go on then…”

“This time I need you to bring a CD player with a CD by an 80s Canadian synth band.”

“You’re a hard taskmaster but for you it’s not a problem. If you don’t mind me asking though, what are you planning on doing?”

“The safe tea dance.”

“You’re a fucking cunt, Jimmy.”

Oh dear

by Twenty Major on January 3rd, 2006

A group of young lads came into Ron’s last night. All around 30 years of age. All of them, to a man, dressed like cunts.

There’s this thing at the moment in Dublin for people to wear suit jackets or blazers with a colourful scarf wrapped tightly around the neck. Quite frankly these people should have nooses wrapped around their necks.

One of them went up to the bar.

“Tree pint bottles o’ Bulmers and a strawberry daquiri”, he says.

“Get out before I kill you”, says Ron. They left.

The scarf and blazer things bothers me though. I’m assuming the scarf is to stop them being cold, and scarves certainly have their place, but there is no need to wear a scarf inside. A scarf protects your neck from the cold when you are outside but since the invention of central heating the need for an indoor scarf has been greatly reduced.

A lot of the scarves seem to be quite gaudy as well. Maybe some of them are from those gay rugby playing schools, with their purples and light blues and various shades of pink. What is wrong with a black scarf? It’s sensible and it goes with any outfit whereas the the rainbow scarves must be colour coordinated with the jacket which leads me to believe that young people today have a collection of suit jackets which can only mean one thing. Miami Vice fashions are making a comeback.

Soon the cheap boutiques will be awash with Crockett and Tubbs style jackets that you can roll the sleeves up on. It’s frightening.

Perhaps you know somebody who wears clothes like these. Perhaps it’s a family member or a friend. Maybe it’s just a passing acquaintance or a neighbour you nod at when you see them, it doesn’t matter. You have a duty to punch them in the face and tell them to dress properly. If you want to wear a suit jacket then wear the whole suit and not the jacket with a pair of jeans and when you go inside take off the scarf and show your Adam’s apple like a real man and not some pansy who is afraid of getting his neck a bit chilly and catching consumption.

New year wishes

by Twenty Major on January 1st, 2006

To my dear readers I would like to wish you all a very happy 2006. May all your dreams come true.

To Damien Rice, Bono, Bob Geldof, dolphins, travellers, gypsies, the people from The Panel on RTE 2, Ryan Tubridy, Dana, Phil Collins, the entire population of Equatorial New Guineau, Bertie Ahern and his government, Chelsea football club, cloves and smoking ban enforcers I hope 2006 is filled with disease, tragedy and unspeakable pain.

love etc

Twenty Major