Sentences are fucked up

by Twenty Major on April 7th, 2006

Yesterday a fucking scumbag from Corduff, shown spitting his way into court, was jailed for 7 years (with the last 3 suspended) for an assault on a man outside his own home. The man, foolishly, tried to stop a group of scumbags from stealing his car while his son’s first birthday party was going on inside. They beat him so badly he was in a coma for 6 weeks. He is lucky to be alive but at least he is alive.

Unlike Robert Houlihan who was murdered, sorry, manslaughtered by student Wayne O’Donoghue. O’Donoghue then dumped the body, went home and played Playstation then went out again and moved the body of Robert Houlihan somewhere else before pouring petrol on him and burning the corpse. He got a 4 year sentence.

There’s something very wrong there. Now, I’m not suggesting the scumbag who beat the guy into a coma should be given a lesser sentence but maybe, just maybe, the lad who killed a boy of 11, dumped the charred body in a ditch, played Playstation and went about his business while a frantic 10 day (I think) search went on merits slightly more than the 4 years he was given.

And those are just two examples of many. We have paedophiles being given 1 year sentences for years of buggery and sexual assault on minors, people who download child porn getting away with a fine like that’s supposed to be some kind of punishment and a man being given a 4 year sentence for rape and threatening to kill his victim with the judge saying “it was only rape”.

The main problem, as far as I can see, is that most judges are hapless cretins who are so far removed from reality that when asked to actually do the judging part of their jobs they’re fucking shit at it. They’re the ones who decide the sentences so how is they get it so wrong so often?

If you went out on the street tomorrow and conducted a poll asking what a suitable punishment might be for a member of the clergy who systematically abused young boys over a period of 40 years I think a lot of people might choose:

b) 10 years in jail - or
c) 20 years in jail and having his bollocks chopped off.

I suspect that only other members of the clergy would choose:

a) 1 year which in reality won’t even be one year.

Yes, there are people who have an input into the sentencing but in the end it is left to the discretion of the judge. Maybe we need to introduce fixed sentences for various crimes:

Rape - 10 years
Murder - life, where life means life
Armed robbery - 10 years
Child abuse - 20 years and castration

All the above used as examples of course. That way if a judge has a child molester in his court he can’t give him a pathetic sentence or he can’t let a rapist off with a 4 year suspended sentence because “it was only rape.” Let him get sodomised by a man with an enormous cock and see then whether he might be inclined to dish out a meatier sentence.

If that doesn’t work (the fixed sentences, not the judge raping) then maybe sentencing needs to be decided by people who actually have some connection with the real world. In fact, my God, why didn’t we think of this sooner?

A TV3 news style poll:

If you’d like this kiddie fiddling piece of shit sentenced to 10 years text 54310, 20 years txt 54312 and if you’d like us to cut his meat and two veg off as well txt 54311.

Anyway, fuck it. We’re all going to die of bird flu in the end.

Spotted

by Twenty Major on April 6th, 2006

In Ron’s last night.

“Here Twenty, where where you Tuesday afternoon? I was trying to get hold of you for ages”, said Stinking Pete.

“Er, I was at home. Sleeping. Heavy night on Monday, you know yourself.”

“Is that right?”

“It is.”

“It’s just that my cousin, Dumpy Donald, swears he saw you and Jimmy driving past his house in Donegal.”

“Donegal? Now what the fuck would I be doing in Donegal on Tuesday afternoon?”

“It’s a very good question, isn’t it? Anyway, Mick… informed… me that he… spied… you and Jimmy driving along and that you…shot….past him and pulled into a secret… service station just down the road from his house. And although he couldn’t see what went on their his youngest lad, Dermot, was filling up his car. Donald’s Son says he overheard the conversation with the lad working there and when he asked you if you wanted a… hand… with anything you said ‘Sure, we have more than we know what to do with.”

“That’s a gas story. Your cousin, he’s an alcoholic right?”

“No, he’s a lifelong pioneer. Wears the badge and everything.”

“Then he must have been working on his farm around some 10-10-20 and inhaled the fumes. He was obviously seeing things.”

“He’s a graphic designer who works at home.”

“Tippex thinner?”

“Come on now, Twenty. I might not be the sharpest tool in the box but you’re not fooling me.”

“Jaysus. Fair enough, Pete, but keep your mouth fucking shut. Do you hear me? If you breathe of a word of this to anyone there’ll be so much fucking shit we are all going to have to disappear for a long time. Seriously Pete, not a word to anyone. ANYONE. Right?”

“Come ooooooon, Twenty, what sort of a cunt do you take me for?”

“Grand. Pint, Pete?”

“I will, Twenty. Just going to take a piss.”

*unzip* - *tinkle*- *flip* - * bleep bleep bleep bleep bleep bleep bleep bleep bleep bleep bleep bleep *

*bring bring*

“Hello?”

“Dave, it’s me, Pete?”

“Ahh, howya Pete. What’s the story?”

“Listen, don’t let on you know but I think Twenty and Jimmy are planning a poker weekend away in Bundoran for us!!”

TV3 news is fucking shit.

by Twenty Major on April 5th, 2006

I know this is hardly breaking news but I watched their 5.30 bulletin yesterday and was compelled to write about it. Having a bit of background in journalism myself (I have a wealth of experience in many areas, dontcha know) it is almost like watching some kind of broadcasting diploma class get their own TV station for a week. That’s what their news would look like except it probably wouldn’t be as bad.

They reported on the bus crash in Offaly yesterday in which a 15 year old boy was killed and lots of others injured. A serious thing. A tragic thing for the family of the boy in question as he was an only child. The reporter, Jerome Hughes I think his name was, finished one section of his report as such:

The impact on the roof of the bus was terrible but not as terrible as the impact that losing a life will be on this community.

Now there’s a time and place for word play and even a time and place for corny segues into the next part of a report but this line was delivered deadpan with a shot of the crumpled bus lying on its roof with the back wheels 10 yards away. My toes curled. Fucking hell.

Then they cut away to one of the hospitals where the injured were taken and showed us one of the young lads on the bus break down in tears. Cretinous, tabloid journalism at its worst. We know they’re upset, you shitehawks. They’ve seen a schoolmate die and others get injured and they’ve been involved in a traumatic incident, you don’t need to show us the poor bloke crying. Have a bit of fucking common sense and decency.

Then, because they obviously hadn’t got enough stories about no-mark celebrities or kittens stuck in trees, they went back to Jerome Hughes live and he was interviewing an ambulance officer. This is the question he asked them - “So how important is it that you guys keep your cool in situations like this?”

Fuck me. How the guy resisted the urge to say “Well, it’s hard but we find running around screaming “OH JESUS LOOK AT HIS LEG! IT’S FUCKED. AND OH, THAT BLOKE’S GUTS ARE COMING OUT OF HIS ARSE. HE’S GOT NO CHANCE OF SURVIVAL. I THINK I’M GOING TO VOMIT RIGHT AFTER I SHIT MYSELF. WHAT THE FUCK DO WE DO??!!!” tends to unsettle the accident victims”, I will never know.

It’s like asking a pilot “So how important is it that you don’t fly your plane into the side of a mountain?”

Moronic and shameless and just horribly amateurish. I know they operate out of portacabins on an industrial estate but still, surely they can think of a better question to ask than that.

Leaving that particular report aside there’s the vapid Lorraine Keane and her entertainment fluff which is about as insightful as Stevie Wonder with his head up Ray Charles’s arse, the weird and scary Ursula Hannigan with her bizarre intonation, the ever increasing waistline of ‘weatherman’ Martin King who does the weather then reads out requests like a 1980s pirate radio DJ and they’re as bad as Sky News for their interactive poles polls which if I ever find the time I will shove up their fucking holes, the cunts.

TV3 news can fuck off until they stop being shit. So that’s forever then….

More money than sense

by Twenty Major on April 4th, 2006

I read this about the UK leg of Madonna’s upcoming world tour:

“Members of Madonna’s fan club Icon can buy tickets from Tuesday at 1000 BST. Ticket prices range from £80 to £160.”

Are people insane or something? Are there really people who would spend £160 watching that leathery old cunt do her scary dancing and whistling between the gap in her teeth?

Every day we see news about people starving in Zimbabwe, suicide bombers in Iraq and countless other horrific things all over the world but this truly makes me despair of mankind.

What have we become?

We’ve got a great big convoy

by Twenty Major on April 4th, 2006

Come on you truckers! It seems the Irish Road Haulage Association has organised a protest which will disrupt traffic at the East Link toll bridge on Wednesday morning. They say they shouldn’t have to pay a toll to get access to the new port tunnel (which should be open in about 5 years time when it stops leaking).

Personally I couldn’t care less but I like their thinking and I believe that if it’s successful it must immediately be applied to the West Link toll bridge, which I have mentioned before as the biggest rip off in the country.

Yesterday 31 new driving offences were introduced which result in penalty points on your licence and fines for parking offences were increased but day after day after week after month after year the West Link toll bridge is allowed to cause more traffic problems than anybody staying longer than the 2 hours allocated or parking in a handicapped space.

I’d wager a lot of the deaths on our roads are the direct result of people having to queue for ages to get through a toll bridge which was designed to help traffic not hinder it.

Mickey J from Ratoath has to go to Sandyford to work every day. He crosses the toll bridge twice a day. He sits in a crawl to go over and a crawl to come back. Then he reaches a relatively quiet stretch of road and he is frustrated. He wants to feel like he’s actually driving so he puts his foot down a bit, misses a sharp turn and smashes head on into a Nissan Micra killing everyone. Yes, Mickey J is culpable but had he been able to get across the M50 motorway in a decent time instead of wasting hours of his life each week this accident could have been avoided.

Larry travels from Ballinteer to Santry each day. Having experienced the jams on the M50 because of the toll bridge he leaves really early every morning. At 6.30am he’s out the door so he can get to work early, do his stuff then leave early before the traffic gets too mental. He’s ahead of the game. Sadly he’s also ahead of two Blanchardstown gang members in their silver Lexus who are off their brains having been up all night snorting the coke they sell around town. In their paranoid state they convince themselves that Larry’s car is following them even though they’re behind him so they pull up alongside him and fire a dozen shots through the windows, killing Larry and causing his car to veer across the lanes, hitting another car and 5 people end up dead. If Larry had been able to leave home at a normal hour instead of having to go so early to avoid the traffic jams he and 5 other people would be alive. Who is to blame? The toll bridge, that’s who.

‘But what about the accidents down the country?’, you might ask. Based on research I carried out 97% of those accidents can be traced back to the toll bridge on the M50. A man dies in Donegal when his car hits a tree. A little further investigation shows he had spent the evening in the local pub with a cousin of one of his friends who goaded him into drinking that ‘one more pint’ and because the guy was moaning and complaining about the toll bridge he accepted because it would make him more bearable.

Three Lithuanians steal a car in Mallow and within 10 minutes they’re dead because they’ve gone racing and flown over a hump-backed bridge at 90mph (that’s some other much higher number in kph but I fucking hate kilometers), the car has taken off and landed in somebody’s front room. How is that connected to the M50? There’s an easy explanation. It just is.

So while the Gardai fuck about with 31 more driving offences (unbelievably one of them is breaking a red light like that wasn’t dangerous before somehow) the real cause of the carnage on Ireland’s roads goes unchecked.

Banana republic, indeed. So come on my trucker friends, my good buddies, get the hammer down, forget the bears at your back and listen to my 10-44. Let’s put an end to that cash register once and for all.

10-4, Twenty. 10-4

Is it just me…

by Twenty Major on April 3rd, 2006

…that’s getting dozens of spams a day from ‘Chase Online Banking’?

It doesn’t matter how many times the cunts ask for my bank details they will not wear me down.

Drunken disdoggerly

by Twenty Major on April 3rd, 2006

Saturday night was card night round at mine. One week we’ll have it in Dave’s, the next Jimmy’s, then Ron’s but never in Stinking Pete’s because his house smells of death. I keep telling him to do something about the corpses but he just won’t listen.

Anyway, Dave was a bit late arriving and he was the one who was supposed to bring the beers. I nipped out to the off-licence and got a couple of trays of beer because we were all very thirsty and a grown man should never have to wait for beer.

We couldn’t ring Dave either because he refuses to get a mobile phone. “Mobile phones are for cunts. If someone really wants to talk to me then can send me a telegram or a messenger boy.”

We got tucked in and waited for our dirty friend to arrive. About an hour later there was a ring on the door.

“Allllll reeeeeeeet, laaaaaaads!”, said Dirty Dave.

“Where the fuck have you been? And you’d better have brought beer.”

“No beer but I’m after winning 6 bottles of Baileys in a raffle.”

“Baileys? What kind of a ponce do you take me for? Lucky for you I got some beer. Come on in and we’ll get the card game started.”

So in he came and we got down to drinking, smoking and gambling, life’s most civilised pursuits. As he arrived late Dave was on beer fetching duty so he went back and forward to the kitchen, where my trusty hound Bastardface was snoozing in front of the gas fire, to keep us refreshed.

After about an hour I heard a strange noise from the kitchen. If you can imagine the noise a walrus might make if it was being raped by a gnu that’s more or less what it sounded like.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Er…dunno”, said Dirty Dave. “Probably the wind or something.”

So we carried on. Then I heard Bastardface whining. He often does this when he’s asleep in front of the fire. I always imagine that he’s chasing a cat or a Romanian or something. Anyway, we carried on playing and Dave carried on fetching the beer. It was while he was fetching the beer that I heard that sound again so I went into the kitchen to check it out.

What I saw was Dirty Dave pouring Baileys into a bowl and Bastardface greedily lapping it up.

“Dave, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Er…just giving me old pal Bastardy a drink, Twenty.”

“Dogs drink water, Dave. Or milk. Or possibly a cup of tea, but not Baileys. How much have you given him?”

“Not much.”

“Show me the bottle, Dave.”

He handed me a bottle.

“Not one of the full ones, the one you’ve been giving him stuff from.”

He handed me another bottle. There was at least half of it gone. Bastardface had finished the bowl and was now, nose to floor, pushing himself round and round with his hind legs making the whale/gnu sound and farting the most vile, stinking farts you have ever smelled.

“Dave, you are a fucking gobshite and no mistake. My dog is as pissed a common Oliver Reed.”

“Well, I thought he might just like a wee nip.”

“I’ll give you a wee nip only it’ll be some little cunt to ninja the shite out of you.”

I put Bastardface out the back where he proceeded to leap around and chase non-existent owls. At the time he was a happy drunk and would certainly have been like ‘Yer me besht matesh and I love yish all’ but as well all know that can easily that change to ‘Whaddafuckyalookinat?’ which is normally followed by a headbutt or badly swung punch.

However, in this case it would have meant him chomping somebody’s bollocks or eating their face off. He is enormous and he has jaws that can bite through titanium. Bastardface can be cranky at the best of times. Him being in a fouler because of a skinful of a whiskey cream liquor was something I could actually live without and there just wasn’t enough time to let him loose on a halting site.

Naturally I put Dave out the back with him…

Finally…

by Twenty Major on April 2nd, 2006

…an Irish political blog worth reading.

Gulp…

by Twenty Major on April 1st, 2006

…I’ve just given up smoking.

Edit: As the eagle eyed amongst you have noticed that was a very early April Fool’s gag. The truth is I’ve never been a smoker at all.

Further edit: In fact I’m a lawyer involved in class action suits against the tobacco companies.

Even further edit: Fuck that, it’s past 12 noon. Mmmmmm, Majory goodness.

I’m smoking 6 at the same time.

Final edit: April Fools jokes, without massive resources and possibly some tactical weapons, are pretty useless.