You heard it here first.
Not only is the country covered in ghost estates built with phantom loans from zombie banks, but now, the fearless Senator Ivor Callely is buying phones from The Undead.
Condemned like the accursed Vanderdecken, the doomed Flying Dutchman, forever to ply the roads between his spiritual home in West Cork and this earthly Hell we call Dublin North Central, Ivor summoned up the spirit of phone companies past to supply him with invoices for not one, not two, not three but four mobile phones and associated car kits, at the rate of about one a year.
No ordinary phones either, such as mortals like you might possess. No indeed. The phones possessed by Ivor the Impaler each cost about €450, and naturally you couldn’t get a phone without taking out an insurance premium for an extra €250. You’d have to be crazy to buy a brand new phone without paying another €250 for insurance, maintenance and miscellaneous, wouldn’t you?
Ivor produced four receipts to account for this expenditure, all from the same company which unfortunately had ceased trading before the first purchase. A former director of the company, Mr Jacob Marlay, confirmed that they hadn’t sold Ivor any mobile phones and didn’t know how such a thing could have found its way onto their official letterheads, but that’s ghosts for you. All that shaking of chains tends to addle their ectoplasm. Not the most reliable incorporeal entities, ghosts.
Unfortunately for Ivor, the media don’t understand his unique connections with the netherworld and are demanding to know how he came to be in possession of four receipts from a long-dead company that didn’t sell him the phones — four receipts, moreover, that all seem to have the same flaw, being priced in pounds rather than euros, as if somehow, inexplicably, they had been printed on the same ghostly machine lacking a Euro symbol, by the same person (someone who can’t spell receipt), though they bore different signatures. Ghastly scrawls, drawn in blood.
Yet another manifestation of the other world whose ways we cannot fathom.
It was a stake through the heart of Ivor”s credibility. A string of garlic above the door of his renomination.
As if that wasn’t enough, it turns out that these invoices, like Padre Pio and Ivor himself, have the power of bilocation. At the same time that he was submitting these claims, when he was a mini-minister, Ivor’s own department paid over €1,000 for one phone and €900 for another, besides paying €33,000 in phone bills unconnected with his mini-ministerial duties.
That’s a lot of buckaroonies for a phone. For a thousand euros I’d expect one with good coverage, including a hotline to the afterlife, and maybe hourly updates on who’s going to win the 2:30 tomorrow. A thousand euros, eh? Who knew a mini-minister needed such serious phone technology?
Possession is an awful thing. When mini-ministers were just called parliamentary secretaries, they didn’t seem to need any of this expensive technological firepower, and yet everyone seemed to muddle through just fine. But when they became possessed, suddenly they needed vast amounts of travelling and hotels and committees.
Perhaps it’s time for an exorcism, as long as we remember to look after the exorcist.
What happens when you don’t pay your exorcist?
You get repossessed. Ha-hay!
I wonder what the Dark Lord of Drumcondra makes of all this, having elevated the Impaler to his perch on the Dull Side – that dreary home of The Unelected.
Of course, there’s one surefire way to lift the curse, and that’s to produce the phones in question and shame the demons, so here’s my advice to Ivor. Face down your accusers, Ivor, by digging out these thousand-euro mobile phones and showing them before the unbelievers. Hold them up in the rays of the dawning sun and show these evil ones the error of their ways.
They couldn’t have all been stolen or lost, Ivor, and even if thieves took your phones, you’ll surely have the police records when you reported the crime. Ivor, anyone can lose a phone. We’ve all done it and kicked ourselves for being so stupid. But how did you lose so many? How did you need to keep replacing them every 18 months, and Ivor, how does anyone lose three car kits??
Ivor, we know that old phone models are hard to get, but you won’t need to trawl the second-hand shops. Since you got the taxpayer to cough up for these ones, you’ll surely have them in a drawer somewhere, won’t you? Give us the phones, that you might be saved!!
Ah, the children of the night, what sweet ring-tones they make!
Original documents at TheStory