Did you know that?
Adam Keane, a 20-year-old rapist from Daragh in Clare, claims his life has been ruined by the publicity surrounding his recent conviction for rape. He doesn’t like to see his name mentioned in public, even though he is a rapist and a piece of shit. The rapist, Adam Keane, 20, from Daragh, Co Clare, is upset because his victim, Mary Shannon, went public to protest against the leniency of the sentence that Adam Keane, the filthy rapist, got for committing rape.
Adam Keane, the rapist, was in court during the week, in front of Mr Justice Carney. Adam Keane, the rapist, broke into a woman’s house and raped her. When charged, Adam Keane pleaded not guilty and bizarrely, despite the fact that there was DNA evidence to prove that he was the rapist, two of the jury decided he was innocent. Adam Keane, the scumbag, was nevertheless convicted by a majority of 10 to 2. And Adam Keane is therefore officially a convicted rapist.
Mr Justice Carney said that he was uncomfortable giving Adam Keane the rapist a custodial sentence, because what Adam Keane did was “out of character”. Adam Keane, the rapist, came from a good home, and furthermore, the rapist bastard, Adam Keane, couldn’t remember committing the crime because Adam Keane, the filthy rapist fucker, was under the influence of drink and drugs.
So what did Mr Carney do? He gave Adam Keane, the rapist, a three-year suspended sentence.
Mary Shannon was horrified, and decided to waive anonymity. As a result, poor Adam Keane, the filthy rapist, thinks his life is ruined.
Now. Does Adam Keane, the scum rapist, think he had anything to do with ruining his own life, or that of Mary Shannon?
Apparently not. It’s the victim’s fault for not staying quiet about being raped by Adam Keane, the filthy vermin rapist scum.
And it’s the fault of the media for reporting Adam Keane’s identity. Did they lie? They did not. They simply reported that Adam Keane, 20, who lives in Daragh, County Clare, is an evil raping bastard. Which he is. Which is, in fact, simply the truth.
I’m fascinated by this defence, however, and I’m going to use it the next time I plough into a family of travelling Carpathian acrobats.
Mr Bock. You are charged with driving your gigantic Bockmobile straight into a troupe of travelling Carpathian acrobats, killing nine and maiming twenty-four of them. How do you plead?
Eh. Well, Judge. I’m not sure.
Come, come, Mr Bock. What can you mean?
Well, Judge, you see, I was out of my skull on tequila slammers and mescaline. I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face and I don’t remember a fuckin thing about it.
Oh. I see. Well, Mr Bock, as you clearly come from a good family, and as you’ve never mown down a family of acrobats before, I’m sentencing you to four nights in the pub. Now be off with you.
Thank you, Judge.
You’re welcome, Mr Bock. Next!