Crime Our lives

Fairy supplants Mary

I know. I know, I know, I know.

We didn’t get to Donegal yet. I know. We will get to Donegal, but it will be by a circuitous route like an old-fashioned mystery tour. A magical mystery tour through all the lunatic villages of Ireland, like Knock, only nuttier, arriving eventually in Buncrana, where everybody is fuckin nuts. A mystery tour, by God. Like our grandparents used to do, and our parents in some instances, climbing onto a filthy CIE bus, or maybe a train, ending up in some other depressing grey fucking dump just like the one you left. Look, Bridie! We’re still in fucking Albania!

Anyhow, we will eventually make our way to Buncrana, where we’ll settle into the Fact-Bastard’s pub – a strictly no-smoking establishment, much to my astonishment, and listen to said Fact-Bastard impose his authority on anyone with the temerity to disagree with him. You’re fuckin barred! Away and get your own fuckin pub! Oh my God. Imagine what he’d be like if they put him in charge of a country. Still though, it didn’t stop myself and Ed spending the best part of 48 hours sucking Guinness across the Fact-Bastard’s counter. You see, I think the reason he didn’t bar us is simply a matter of fatigue. Mutually Assured Distraction.

Enough of this, now. We’re not supposed to be in Buncrana yet. For fuck’s sake, we haven’t even made it to Letterkenny, and it isn’t going to happen this night, which is why I was going to inflict the Limerick Post free rag on you. But before I do, did anyone read the Sunday Times today? My eye fell on a story about a guy who was given leave by an American court to sue the Vatican. The case involves – what else? – sexual abuse by a priest against children, but that wasn’t what I wanted to point out to you. After all, you’ll hardly be surprised at a story about a priest rogering schoolboys, will you? No, it was the paragraph towards the end that took my attention, and I might as well give it to you verbatim:

The ruling follows a four-year legal battle in which the Vatican insisted that the alleged victim spend at least $40,000 (£21,700) translating all legal documents into Latin, the official language of the Holy See.

Read that again. The Vatican insisted that this guy who claims he was raped by a priest should translate everything into fucking LATIN????? This is because the people who work in the Vatican speak only Latin and would be disadvantaged if they had to communicate in, for example, English, French or Italian. Hmmmm, yeah. I can see that. The article goes on to say that two professors had to translate into Latin modern terms such as “fax number (numerus isographicus) and e-mail (inscriptio electronica) as well as dense legal arguments relating to foreign immunity.

Incidentally, everybody agrees that the priest is a pervert who has abused many children, and the Church kicked him out in 1996. It’s all smelling a bit like the recent evidence to the Irish commission.

I know I’m straying off the subject, but did you follow that at all? Hughes, the fellow’s name is, and he represents the Oblate Fathers of the Holy hand-grenade of Antioch. They ran Daingean where little boys were routinely raped and beaten. I’m not quoting verbatim now, you understand, but if you want to hear the reconstruction, have a listen to the Vincent Browne show. After utterly appalling and graphic evidence was given of abuse, the counsel for the commission asked this Hughes guy what effect it had on him. He didn’t understand. He needed clarification: how do you mean? Well, how did it make you feel? Oh, it was very unpleasant. Unpleasant! But, but what emotions did it cause? Do you know what he said? He said, I’m not a very emotional person. Right. This is the guy the Oblongs put forward to represent them. And by the way, the same guy expressed the view that violent beatings and sexual abuse of children represented a management failure. Jesus, I’d love to fail at managing some of these fuckers.

Anyway, none of this ranting will give us the delights of the Limerick Post, so here we go. I might make this a regular slot.

On page 1, we have a cracking headline. Horror at Cemetery Makeover. What’s all this about? It seems there’s some fucker going around the cemetery decorating graves with “gaudy lovehearts, plastic roses, manky leprechauns, angels and Virgin Mary statues“. One woman met the phantom grave-decorator, and he revealed that he had no relatives buried there. When she went back to the grave, her pot plants had been replaced by plastic flowers and her Virgin Mary was replaced with a fairy. The article doesn’t reveal if the fairy in fact lights up.

On page 3, we have a story about a fucker who uses a zebra to pull his sulky. Johnny Cross admits that the zebra is not as tame as an ordinary foal: He’s as good as you could expect from a zebra. Good man Johnny.

Then there’s a story some bollix put around that the Polish people are eating our swans. Apparently, “bemused” Poles are denying it, but the ever-reliable “local woman who prefers not to be named” isn’t convinced. Localwoman thinks the Poles are guilty as fuck, and the word of an unnamed local woman is good enough for me. Ah Jesus, lads, not the fuckin swans, for fucksake!

Page 7 gives us an ad for the Solemn Novena, which I think deserves an item in its own right. If enough of Bock’s people clamour for it, I might even attend the event, where I have never been before. Solemn Novena. That would be to distinguish it from the Frivolous Novena, no doubt. They have a Novena in Polish, and confessions in Polish too. Tell us what you did with the fuckin swans. Did you have impure thoughts about the swans? And a children’s novena, as if I’d let any child of mine near those fuckin bastards.

What else? Just flipping through the pages now. . . .

Novena. . . .
More Novena . . .
More fucking Novena . . .
Taxi Drivers Still Aren’t Happy. No? Fuck ’em!

Let’s see. Blah dee blah dee blah. Here’s a good one. DIY Divorce Ltd. For a quick, affordable divorce, contact Cathy. And a website Hang on, I must have a look at that. Back in a minute.

ticktockticktockticktockticktock . . . .

Right. I had a look at the web site and it’s shite. Let’s move on.

Oh here’s a terrible one. Poor old Ted McCarthy. Now admittedly, Ted made upwards of 750k last year representing skobes in the District Court, but we won’t hold that against him. Skobes have rights too, for some reason. It seems that this guy, Christopher Carroll of Hyde Road, phoned Ted in the middle of the night and issued threats against him and against his elderly mother. Oh for fuck’s sake. This isn’t on. I don’t know the nature of his complaint but it has something to do with the bill Ted sent to him. I presume he objects to being the only one of Ted’s clients who actually has to pay.

That seems to be it for the Limerick Post this week. On the other pages there are photos of fuckin eeejits you wouldn’t be interested in, and some bullshit by property developers trying to sell you crappy new dog-boxes – sorry, townhouses.

That’s all for now.

2 replies on “Fairy supplants Mary”

Go on Bock. Attend the bleedin’ novena. Disrupt it if possible. Demand to know where the hid the body.

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