Archive for May, 2007
Let’s just get it over with
by Twenty Major on May 23rd, 2007
So Pat Rabbitte referred to Michael McDowell as a ‘menopausal Paris Hilton’ in the debate last week and now he’s had to ‘eat his words’ apparently.
What a load of shite. Would there be such furore if Mary Harney called Enda Kenny a ‘prostatey Ryan Tubridy’?
Let’s be fair though, Rabbitte should have just called McDowell a cunt and be done with it, because that’s what he is.
Nice to see Bertie squirm a bit yesterday when the numbers man got his numbers wrong about health and taxes (but I bet you he could tell you how much he had in his safe at any stage in the last 20 years, even if the money wasn’t his).
1,000 health service jobs are to go. I suppose that’s fair enough really. I mean, the hospitals are efficient, well run and not at all understaffed. What we do need to do though is get rid of front line hospital staff in Dublin, Cork and Galway as well as ambulance and hospice workers (and sure let’s close down St Luke’s in Dublin and stick all the cancer patients in with the junkies and scumbags that populate the miserable shithole that is St James’ hospital) and ensure that the bureaucrats and adminstrators can keep pushing their pencils around their desks while people don’t get treated, get misdiagnosed and generally get fucked around by the shambles that is the health service in this country.
That’s not even mentioning the rake of new consultants on €250,000 a year (via Dec) who will give you an appointment in May when you call them in January, then deign to spend little more than 2 minutes with you with all the ‘bedside’ manner of a greedy relative waiting for you to die so they can lay claim to your inheritence.
People are being shot in the head, stabbed in the neck, poisoned by the fucking water for fuck’s sake, fleeced for everything they buy and generally being pissed about by the bowsy that runs this country and his gang of pocket-lining, half-witted, cupidinous geebags that take their lead from him. It’s no wonder the place is a fucking mess.
Anyway, next week it’ll all be over and we can go back wondering whether or not Dirty Dave would rather be a bladdernut, a sequoia or a Douglas fir (he’d rather be a bladdernut, because the name is funny. Like if he went to live in London he’d make sure he lived in ‘Cockfosters’ so that when anyone asked him where he lived he could say ‘Cockfosters’ with the emphasis on the cock).
Further…
by Twenty Major on May 22nd, 2007
…to this post, what is the protocol if you run over an Big Issue seller and it’s half dead? I’m beginning to think that reversing back over it, repeatedly, to finish it off isn’t the done thing…
Away from all that stuff
by Twenty Major on May 22nd, 2007
Must get away from politics. I’ve never been a political person really but I’m finding myself getting angry about things I don’t really care that much about. That said, if a man can’t get angry at the idea of Oswald Cobblepot teaming up with Grizzly Adams to form a government then what can he get angry about?
Still, there’s plenty of time in the rest of the week to give out about it all. Today it’s time for something more light-hearted. I was reading in the paper about a young man who decided to climb up an electricity pylon after the FA Cup final on Saturday to make his friends laugh. Now, it was a very poor game of football and perhaps that’s what drove him to do something so dangerous but what is this insistence on doing something dangerous when drunk to impress other people. As you might imagine he got killed to death, fatally, by a bolt of electricity.
“Oh, look at me. I am climbing a pylon and getting close to the electricity lines through which a bazillion volts are currently speeding. Haha, hilarious…”
*ZAP*
“Argh.”
*SPLAT*
Honestly, you see it all the time. People who climb things, people play chicken with trains and are too slow to move out of the way, people who walk along ledges with a 50 foot drop below them, people who lean over balconies etc etc.
Can you imagine how many people would die if Ireland was a country with wild animals (apart from Mary Harney)?
“Haha, I’m so drunk. Just for the laugh I’m going to go over there and kick that sleeping lion in the gee.”
*boot*
*snarl - maul - chomp*
There’d be tigers with the taste for human blood, Zebra stompings, Magilla Gorilla picking fights with people outside of Club M and Condors and Vultures swooping down from the sky and making off with lightweight folk.
Stupid cunts. I wonder if we can get a few pints into Bertie and get him to climb the Spike then electrify it when he’s halfway up. That’d be funny.
Argh, back to politics.
Fuck off Senan Moloney
by Twenty Major on May 21st, 2007
I wonder how much Bertie and Fianna Fail paid for this kind of PR from the Indo.
Apparently Bertie is the most popular man in Ireland. It must be his good looks and charisma. The lack of any kind of top lip and his shop steward hectoring is hard to resist, I know.
Not only that he’s up there with the 1916 leaders, men who fought and died for what they believed in. How history has made us forget that Padraig Pearse signed blank cheques for Michael Collins and Eamon de Valera rented a house from Cathal Brugha which he then renovated with Dev’s own money I will never understand.
They say:
While voters may be dissatisfied with various aspects of their daily lives, it seems they will forgive Bertie anything - even the sins of his ministers and the inefficiencies of public services.
Fuck off you cunts. Seriously. Just fuck off. Ask people who have watched family members lie in hospital corridors for hours, even days, if they’ll ‘forgive’ him. Ask people who sit on the M50 for hours every day just to get to and from work if they ‘forgive’ Martin Cullen. Ask anyone who’s bought a house in the last 10 years if they ‘forgive’ him for the stamp duty they paid which he, in his wisdom and benevolence, has decided to scrap because it’s the right thing to do and not because Fine Gael and Labour promised to do it so he’d look like a proper cunt if he didn’t.
Blah, you know all the rest. You’ve lived it and you know what he and his expenses claiming ministers are all about.
Yesterday he was complaining that media have been too harsh and him and his party. Today the biggest newspaper in the country gives him a rim job and a reach around while tweaking his nipples.
Fucking pathetic.
Rock the Vote (Ireland) are fucking stupid
by Twenty Major on May 20th, 2007
On May 3rd I said:
Well done to Rock the Vote. They’ve made me want to not vote in protest. Stupid cunts. Without the question the worst thing I have ever seen.
Today I received an unsolicited email from press@rockthevote.ie, saying:
Hey guys,
The latest Rock the Vote video for your viewing…
Now, I would have thought that somebody who called you ’stupid cunts’ and said that your project was the worst thing they’d ever seen might not be the kind of person you want to spam to tell them there’s more of the worst thing they’ve ever seen.
This latest video features some half-witted, zany cunt called Frazier who needs his face introduced to wall. Repeatedly.
So, Rock the Vote, you pack of witless clits, stop fucking emailing me with your dreadful shite.
Honestly, Rock the Vote is worse that Ireland’s Eurovision entry this year. In fact, if this year’s entry had a baby with those two retarded gingers that were in it a couple of years ago it would be better than Rock the Vote.
Update: After sending an email to Rock the Vote telling them I didn’t care to receive any further emails about their terrible project I received this in reply:
Apologies. Your blog suggested you were interested. Call into the office at any point if you’re interested in inputting for the years to come. Call in after May 24th.
Fuck me, told you they were stupid.
Further update (Tuesday afternoon): They just emailed me again with a press release I don’t care about. That’s just too much now.
This fund…
by Twenty Major on May 20th, 2007
…to find Madeleine McCann. So far nearly £100,000 has been donated to the fund to find the girl of the parents who reportedly earn £200,000 a year between them.
What happens to this money if they find her? Do they go through it contribution by contribution and pay it back? What happens if they don’t find her? Do the parents use this money to stay in Portugal forever?
It’s sad that as time goes by more and more questions are raised by this extradordinarily public saga and there appears to be less chance of answering the one question that really matters - What happened to her?
Dreaming Pete
by Twenty Major on May 18th, 2007
“I had a very strange dream last night”, said Stinking Pete.
“Oh yeah?”, I said because he was sitting right next to me and nobody else was in Ron’s and I had to speak to him.
“Yeah”, he said. “I was walking along a country lane eating a banana sandwich when in the trees I could see lots of red eyes looking out at me. I wasn’t afraid though because I knew if I stayed on the path I’d be safe. Then all of a sudden I was transported to a lush hotel room and I was having sex with Courtney Love.”
“What was she like?”
“I don’t really remember because she was wearing a suit of armour which sort of made penetration difficult and, I’m not sure how I knew this, but she had two rows of razor sharp teeth protecting her furry front bottom.”
“So fairly true to life then.”
“Yeah. Then what happened was I was walking down a country lane and Maria McKee was giving everyone a drink of whiskey but she was putting too much in the glasses so when it came to my turn there was nothing left. I was gutted, let me tell you. To cheer myself up I went out and bought myself a Nintendo Wii but when I got it home it wouldn’t work and a month later it still wasn’t working so I rang up Nintendo to complain and they told there was nothing they could do but to just wait and it would come to life sooner or later. I then stole an old man’s hat, which was blue, and went for a swim in the dirtiest swimming pool I’ve ever seen. There were horrible, damp, mossy flagstones leading down to the pool and lots of prawns in the water. Dead prawns. And you know the browny green stuff that comes out of their brains when you rip their heads off? Well, that was floating all over the top of the pool. Minging. All of a sudden I found myself on top of a mountain where talking goats were walking on their hind legs and wearing ill-fitting Orr’s Jeans and carrying enormous takeaway coffee containers filled with lattes and frappamappazappacinos.”
“Do you ever worry that your dreams are really rather too odd?”
“No, not at all.”
“You should.”
Tonight’s debate
by Twenty Major on May 17th, 2007
It’s gonna be awesome, isn’t it?
Enda “Man of the people” Kenny versus Bertie “Snivelling little shitebag” Ahern. I can’t wait. I think Enda has come along in leaps and bounds since he dyed that ginger right out of his hair and Bertie is showing the strain, big time. The bags under his eyes, the nervous twitches, the shuddering jowls and the knowledge that his campaign is floundering will see him go on the attack.
Enda Kenny: “…and that’s why the rainbow coalition is not just for fans of Barbara Streisand and musicals. It’s for everyone. The people of Ireland who need a change and who *thumps hand on podium* deserve a change!”
Bertie Ahern: “Your mum.”
Enda Kenny: “What?”
Bertie Ahern: *raises middle finger in well known gesture*. “Smell yer ma”.
Enda Kenny: “It’s typical of this government that they reduce things to the lowest common denominator. Look at crime, it’s been reduced upwards. Hospital waiting lists, reduced upwards. House prices, reduced upwards.”
Bertie Ahern: “Yeah. That’s what you say.”
Enda Kenny: “That’s NOT what I say. Those are facts.”
Bertie Ahern: “Says who?”
Enda Kenny: “Says everyone.”
Bertie Ahern: “Yeah. Yeah. Where’s your proof?”
Enda Kenny: “The proof is all around you. The people waiting on trollies are your proof. The people killed by muderous criminals are your proof.”
Bertie Ahern: “Got any of that proof with you?”
Enda Kenny: “Well no, but-”
Bertie Ahern: “There you go then. You’re spoofing. Liar, liar pants on fire.”
Enda Kenny: “Now listen to me…”
Bertie Ahern: *puts fingers in ears, starts doing comedy walk around stage*. “La la la la laaaaaa. No proof. No proof. No proof. La la la la la laaaaa. Can’t hear you.”
Enda Kenny: “This is nonsense.”
Bertie Ahern: “I know you are.”
Enda Kenny: “No, this whole situation is a farce.”
Bertie Ahern: “I know you are but what am I?”
Enda Kenny: *gets the ginger rage and punches Bertie in the nose*
Personally I think it should be mandatory for both of them to drink a couple of stiff whiskeys beforehand and by a couple I mean a pint. A couple of pints.
I haven’t looked forward to a TV program as much since Tales of the Gold Monkey.
Vote Sinn Fein
by Twenty Major on May 16th, 2007
So you too can welcome home murdering scum. The party that likes to party. Yeah.
Update: And don’t you just love the way the comments on that shinners’ blog are all ‘anonymous’?