Groundhog Year
By Bock Dec 15th, 2009 | | Category: Bock rant
The phone rang. It was my old pal, Wrinkly Paddy. What’s going on, Bock? What the fuck is going on?
No idea, I told him. That’s your department. Why?
I think I’m back in the eighties, he said. Hairshirt budgets. Strikes. Mass unemployment. Brendan Ogle. Emigration.
I know. It’s not good.
Not good? he shouted. Not fucking good?? Jesus Christ, now they’re arguing about the place of frozen embryos in the constitution and there’s that smug fucker William Binchy back on the news at 6. What next?
Home brew? I suggested.
Aaaaaaarrrggghhhh!!!, he muttered softly. Spandau Ballet. Falcon Crest.
Live Aid, I added. And moving statues.
You’re right, he screamed. Moving statues in the shape of tree stumps. And thousands of stupid bastards going blind staring at the fucking sun. Before you know it, we’ll be up to our necks in demented SPUC-fuckers and not-so-youthful defence maniacs.
It gets worse, I observed. Think of the movies. Porky’s 47.
Well, he said, at least we won’t have to put up with that Pope fucker visiting. Oh, wait …
Ban the hunt brigade are back too!
And the pro-hunt brigade.
You are of course aware that Wrinkly Joe has indeed recently aquired a homebrew kit…
Ah! Yes the good ould days I remember them well. The young people today do not know what they are in for. But wait! They will probably be in Canada, Australia or wherever will take them. Bah humbug making the economies of their host country work. . Having been trained at enormous expense to Ireland (in the case of a nurse allegedly €90,000 each.) It is truly a wonderful world!
Think maybe you could have titled this post GROUNDHOG DECADE because it will be a long long time before we turn this around.
I tried not listening to the radio, reading newspapers, watching tv, nothing worked because it’s seeping into my consciousness like damp.
Yesterday, trying to avoid traffic, I diverted down some little side streets in Limerick, To see a totally desterted side street, a handful of car’s parked, And a lone traffic warden placing a ticket on a car with a broken taped up back window, I thought, well fuck that, poor fucker who owns that car probably had it broken into, probably can’t afford to fix it, Yes, it’s different this time round, so much debt and huge numbers of trolls circling to find any gap that will boost revenue for our failing Government and insuring it’s taken from the most vulnerable and the most frightened.
Division between public and private sectors are’nt even at tip of iceberg, bitterness, fear and anxiety aplenty this Christmas.
I shall only give some consideration to a visit when I have vouched confirmation of the Minister of Finance seeing a vision of the second coming in the mole which the big man upstairs has deposited on a banker’s scrotum.
I am not at liberty to divulge which scrotum – the minister will have to go round them all again.
Your Holiness! Perhaps you meant their rectums? Which of course require licking in order to reveal the vision.
Blessed are the innocent, Gary.
However, Mr. Lenihan’s services to the banking centre have gone well beyond the mere lingual, ever since the bank guarantee. Observe, as evidence, the double chin-chin, the shadowed eyes, and the need to lubricate the throat liberally when speaking in the Dáil.
However, he clearly enjoys his work, and will not object to reprising his rounds.
Tag under ad homonem attacks.
Homebrew? Where do you people live? Have ye never heard of Enniskillen, the Mecca of the Irish patriots that drove down the prices of Ripoff Ireland?