Humour Politics

For a few rupees more

What’s with all this effigy-burning in the Indian sub-continent?

The last controversy I mentioned here was the Shilpa Shetty outcry in India which, you might remember, involved the famous Bollywood actress being verbally attacked by Jade Goody, a lard-monster. Well, on that occasion, there were villagers in the remotest mountain redoubts setting fire to effigies of everybody involved. Amazing.

And then, at the weekend, we saw the incredible spectacle of riots in the streets because Ireland beat Pakistan at cricket. Riots! Death-threats! More effigies!

Even more incredible is the fact that, wherever an effigy is burned, there you will find a Sky News tv crew. Isn’t it amazing how Sky is able to find out that a crowd of viillagers are about to burn an effigy, half way up the side of the Himalayas? What’s more, they’re able to find out weeks in advance because it’s no easy thing, I imagine, to get a tv crew up the side of a mountain.

Oh yes. Effigies and India. You can’t have one without the other.

I just had an idea, and it’s going to make us all rich.

I’m going to open a chain of effigy shops right across India and Pakistan. Forget the silly scarecrows you see on television. These effigies are going to of a high-class sort, yaar. Indeed. I’m going to offer the discerning effigy-burner such a range of choice that he won’t know where to turn.

What to protest next? he’ll be asking himself. All these possibilities.

I’ll start with your basic mannikin, suited to the villagers’ limited resources, but make no mistake: the quality will be the same right across the range. Your basic effigy will be anatomically correct, in case the villagers want to castrate it, or fuck it, depending on the direction their anger takes them. For a few rupees more, you can have a life-like latex mask and of course that opens up other possibilities. You might remember my idea for sex aids which continues to bring in vast quantities of money. Well, if you’re particularly enraged, you might opt for the embedded tongue-vibrator so that you can humiliate your new effigy before you set fire to it.

I mean, imagine forcing your George W Bush effigy to suck your dick before you set fire to him. If you really wanted a buzz, you could set fire to the effigy and then try to fuck it, but we’d have to print a disclaimer on the back of its neck. Fucking this dummy while on fire could lead to severe injuries. That kind of thing, you know, but these are mere details. What enraged villager would not want to have such a fine effigy?

Another step up involves implanting a voice-box so that your effigy can plead for mercy. Oh Jesus, no, not that, please, oh Jesus please not that nooooooooo! That kind of thing. It’ll cost a bit extra but it will be worth it. You can have any voice you want. Arnold Schwarzenegger. Mother Teresa. Bambi. Frodo Baggins. The Rolling Stones. Gandhi.

This is going to make us all so wealthy.

I’m preparing a special Spielberg effigy for the rich movie fuckers in Bombay. It’ll be fireproof so they can burn it over and over again every time he wins an Oscar.

kick it on

Humour Technology

Power Stations to Burn Meat

Some headlines just grab you, don’t they?

What?? Yep, there it is on the front page: Plan for power stations to burn meat.

It seems this is part of the government’s plan to reduce greenhouse emissions. Apparently meat and bone-meal are considered to have zero emissions because they’re renewable, and therefore they can be burnt without increasing the amount of greenhouse gas in the atmosphere. (I suppose that would be if you leave aside the grillions of tons of methane produced by great farting herds of Brazilian cattle. Some day, I’m going to creep up on one of these gigantic herds of cattle with a box of gigantic matches. Woo-hooo!!)

Anyway, that’s the plan. Instead of spending a pile of money to export waste meat for disposal, we’re going to burn it instead and produce electricity from it. I think this is a great idea but, as usual here in Ireland, we’re not developing it to its true potential. I mean, if we were thinking clearly, we could breed a new strain of Kamikaze cattle and raise them in the fields around our power stations. Every morning, we’d open a gate and three hundred of them would charge straight into the furnace screaming Banzai!! or God is great!! or maybe just Mooohahaha!! What a great idea. You plant the seed. The seed becomes grass. The grass becomes cows. The cows jump into the fire. And that’s how we boil the kettle.

If meat is such a good power source, we could use this idea in all sorts of ways. For instance, every ship could have a huge scoop below the water line, and it could just suck up as many fish as it needs to burn when crossing the Atlantic. What a great idea! Of course, you couldn’t use it for jet-planes, but I can foresee a return to the age of the hot air balloon. I can see myself on the bridge of my mighty airship, barking orders at the captain. More Brent geese in the boilers if you please, Mr Baines!

Fantastic. We could breed vast herds of very large creatures with no intelligence whatever, and only three instincts: to breed, eat grass and jump into boilers. In its way, this would be true solar power, and furthermore would save on transport costs and emissions, because the field of grass runs to the power station and jumps in, with no human intervention.

You could imagine little spin-off benefits too. Funerals, for example, would be revolutionised. Say you have a detested relative who finally croaks and you have to get rid of the old bastard, but you don’t want to pay a gravedigger. A huge problem for many people these days, or at least, it was a problem up to now. When the power stations are up and running, you can bring the vile old pervert up there in a handcart, throw him on a weighing scale and they’ll estimate his calorific value. Then, they’ll give you hard cash for every Joule of energy he’s going to feed back into the electricity grid. Which means that you and your relatives can go off to the pub and get drunk on the proceeds without having to dip into your own pocket.

Jesus, this is a great plan, and it’s going to make us all rich.

kick it on

Favourites Humour Politics

My gift to loyalism

Watch carefully now. This is what the loyalist politician of the future – or even the decent loyalist in the street – will be using for all his daily requirements. I’ve designed a handy electronic gadget that acts as an auto-prompter for heckling political opponents, and contains seven hundred different ways to say NO! At the push of a button, it will play the complete works of Wild Willie McCrae, say for example at a tea-party, or in a Shankill drinking club. It can also hold the entire body of speeches by the Rev Ian Paisley since the day he was born, which I think could be very useful for terrifying their opponents during a game of darts. It contains a complete Ulster-Scots dictionary and a simulated Lambeg Drum sound which can be very useful when parading through somebody’s housing estate when you don’t want anybody to know. The patterns for several thousand tattoos are stored inside it and a tiny laser can engrave any pattern on any part of your body in seconds. Additional patterns can be downloaded from the website.

For ease of use, it will be shaped like a bowler hat with the headphones discreetly hidden in the brim.

This I’m certain is the future of loyalism: welcome the iProd!

Health Our lives

How I quit smoking and lost weight

I stopped smoking four years ago.

I used to have three cigarettes in bed before I got up. I used to wake up in the middle of the night and go downstairs to have a smoke. Sometimes, I’d be out having a drink and I’d be puffing away at my cigarette, and I’d be thinking, Jesus, I’d love a smoke. I was a very bad smoker.

Actually, no. I was a great smoker. I was a soldier of smoking.

One day, I realised the secret to stopping and it worked. I didn’t go to any seminars or to a hypnotist. I had no acupuncture. No therapy.

Here’s the secret if you want to be a non-smoker. It’s very simple. Are you ready? Ok. The secret to being a non-smoker is this: don’t smoke! Isn’t it brilliant? Don’t walk into that shop, don’t buy them, don’t light them and don’t put them in your mouth. Stop doing these things and you’ll be a non-smoker. Isn’t that great?

Now, to my dismay, I discovered there was a down-side to being a non-smoker, which was that I became a fat bastard. I made little grunting sounds when I tied my laces and I had to buy new trousers – something I didn’t like one little bit. What’s more, I’m still fatter than I was when I smoked, but not as much. I’m reducing again. Why? Well, because I discovered another little well-guarded secret.

Which is? Simple, and just like becoming a non-smoker, only easier. Here’s the secret if you want to be a non-fat-person. It’s very simple. Are you ready? Ok. The secret to being a non-fat-person is this: eat less. Isn’t it brilliant? Don’t walk into that Chinese take-away. Don’t buy that crispy chilli beef, don’t shove it down your throat. Stop doing these things and you’ll be a non-fat-person. Isn’t it great?

kick it on

Humour Society

Your Own Personal Tinker

Isn’t it terrible the way the Environment Fascists have taken over the country? These days, you can’t burn a pile of tyres in your garden any more. When you’re finished with your old three-piece suite, you can’t just take it down to the canal and toss it in, like we always used to in the old days. You can’t fling your old fridge over the Park railings for the Corporation to take it away. All the traditions of our old way of life are being stamped out by petty officialdom.

Well, I’m sick of it. I’m tired of little self-appointed Hitlers telling me not to fling my old car batteries in the river. Who the fuck do they think they are? I got a summons the other day, and what do you think it was for? You’re not going to believe this: it was simply for leaving three plastic sacks of rubbish on the pavement. They were neatly tied up, and I was careful to leave them beside a public bin. Christ, that really pissed me off, but in a way it was a blessing because I began to think, and I came up with yet another brilliant money-making scheme that’s going to make us all rich.

You see, it occurred to me that there’s one group in this country who didn’t bend the knee to all this stupid bureaucracy. One group who look upon these idiotic littering laws and say Pah! Zut!

I’m going to offer a service. If you have a pile of tyres to burn, or a cooker to throw away, or just a few bags of rubbish you want to leave on the pavement, you can log onto my new website and hire your own Personal Tinker. It’ll be like a personal shopper or a personal trainer, except he won’t go to Brown Thomas for you or help you to firm those abs. What he will do, however, is pile all your old rubbish in a big heap outside your house, on the footpath, and set fire to it, sending a huge black cloud of smoke over the whole town. He’ll also park outside your house for a few days and when he moves on he’ll leave those bags of rubbish by the side of the road for somebody else to clear up.

Obviously, nobody will prosecute him, and what’s even better, it’s a way of protecting his traditional way of life. On top of that, you get rid of all your old crap, so everyone’s a winner.

Brilliant or what?


Bar Staff

Jimbo gave me a shout. Will we go into town for a pint?

Town? Are you mad? It’ll be full of aggressive drunk fuckers.

Ah no. We won’t bother with all that. We’ll just have a couple in our pub of choice.

All right, so.

I made preparations. In an obscure cupboard, I found a large brown paper bag. In another hole I found a rope.

The bus was easy. We got on and paid the money. Nobody noticed a man carrying a large brown-paper bag. Nobody said anything, and if the CCTV picked it up, well I haven’t heard.

Over the past year, I have had experience of many different types of bar-person. Those in my first two pubs of choice have been almost without exception good and nice and attentive and fast with the service and generally all-round not bad at all at all. Those in other places have been cunts.

We went to one of our pubs-of-choice. The always-nice bar-person came to talk to us, served us our pints and stayed for a chat. Lovely. So did another bar-person and yet another. Because it’s Christmas, we bought all of them a drink, and what’s truly wonderful is the fact that they were, every one of them, surprised and grateful.

OK, Jimbo, I said. We need to visit the other fuckers.

And so it came to pass that we visited a pub where the bar-person treated us like shite during the year.

Two pints there, Boss.

The surly, untutored gobshite barely acknowledged us as he pulled the pints. Is it only me, or does everybody find that barmen who wear ties are ignorant fuckers?

Here! he eventually muttered.

Thanks, I said. I got you this for being such a great bar-person.

So saying, I placed a brown paper parcel on the counter. He stared at me in suspicion.

What the fuck is this?

Open it, I replied. It’s from us.

Thanks very much, he began to fiddle with the bag, and as he did so, the bag began to tremble on the counter where it lay, and noises began to come out of it. Terrible noises.

What’s this, lads?

He leaned in close and pulled open the mouth of the bag, and as he did so, Satan’s Hound leapt out and ripped away a piece of his forehead.

I see you’re busy, chuckled Jimbo as the Hound savaged him on the floor. Well, bad news. No tip for you this Christmas.

This looks like a good way to deal with bad bar-men.

Favourites Humour

Holding a grudge

I had a great idea for turning grudges into money. It’s a business idea, and I expect to get a huge amount of cash from the Government in the form of grant-aid and tax breaks.

I’ll explain.

Irish people, as you know, are renowned world-wide for their ability to harbour resentment and rage. In fact, we hold grudges over generations. Now, I’m not suggesting that we’re alone in this. Far from it. Indeed, I think I can see a military application for my idea, and I intend to send a representative to the Pentagon in the New Year for high-level talks. It was the Yanks, after all, who brought international grudge-holding to a fine art. Look at Vietnam, Cuba and Iraq if you don’t believe me.

But like all sensible businessmen, I’ll start off small.

What’s the business idea? you ask.

Well, medical opinion agrees that holding anger inside can be harmful. We all know how something can eat away at a person, damaging their health, costing marriages, careers and even life itself. But on the other hand, what do you do if someone insults you, or gets that job you thought was yours, or takes your parking space? Forget it? I think not! At the same time, though, if you hold onto the resentment, it will eat away at your very soul.

What to do?

Fear not. Here’s a way to hold that grudge while at the same time letting go of it.

We at offer a simple, yet vital, service to the put-upon, the slighted, the insulted, the cuckolded and the overlooked. Here’s how it works. Sign up to for a (modest) fee. Then, the next time you’re slighted, insulted or offended, simply send us a quick email with the details of the incident. We’ll store it for you, ready for reactivation if the same person ever does anything to you again, or when you’re ready to take your revenge.

Contact us when you want to inflict appalling retribution on your enemy, and we will send you

1. full details of the insult, stoking the fires of your rage as if it had happened yesterday
2. a range of helpful suggestions on ways you could take revenge
3. a list of experienced field-operatives who could help you to inflict your revenge for a (modest) fee
4. a new identity, if required

What could be simpler? You know it makes sense, so sign up today!


Favourites Humour Society

Christmas Toys

Well, it’s been a long hard road, but they’re finally here. My new range of action figures will be in the shops for Christmas, and I’m hoping every little girl and boy will want one, or even a whole family of them.

I refer, of course, to Power Pavees® , realistic movable action figures to thrill every kid, young and not-so-young.

The grown-up Power Pavees® will have special powers like no other action toy available anywhere. Take Francie, for instance. Francie has the power to get 40 caravans onto an unopened motorway without anyone noticing. And Pa has the power to make all the insulation disappear off a coil of copper cable by setting fire to it. Winnie has ten times the power of a normal human to trip over a crack in the pavement.

Then, for the younger ones, we’ll have the Pavee Power-Tots ®: little Beyoncé, Courtney, Wayne and Rio. They have the power to ride quad-bikes. When they become teenagers, they’ll have the power to not bother their arses going to school.

They all have the power to fit new plastic gutters for old people, lay tarmac on old people’s driveways and sell three-piece suites to poor people.

You’ll be able to buy a range of accessories for your Power Pavees®. Just like with the old Scalextric game, you’ll be able to get little sections of unopened motorway, and nice little caravans to put on it (but we call them trailers). Fit them together to make an unofficial halting site, or an exciting sulky-track. We also have sections of green space, and new roundabouts to occupy. You can get your own Power Pavee Sulkies®, Hi-Aces and Navara 4x4s for our latest model, the English Cousins®, Power Pavees® .

Other accessories include little movable greyhounds to hang around the trailers, little car-batteries and black bin-liners to throw into the green space beside your motorway, and tiny coils of cable you can set fire to.

And for that favourite little girl in your life, why not rush out now and buy her our adorable My Little Piebald® ?


Dead Accountants’ Society

Did you know that the late Kim Il Sung is still President of North Korea? Isn’t that great?

I told Gonad the Ballbearian about this last week, and he jumped up like he’d been farted at by a Donegal detective. I’ll be back to you he said, and he was as good as his word. He called today with details of a terrific new tax-avoidance plan. He’s going to open an accountancy company and all its partners will be dead crooked accountants. Russell Murphy and Des Traynor will be the managing partners.

This is great. I’m going to take all the bribes I got from Shell Oil for introducing them to a crooked Minister for Energy, and I’m going to invest it in Gonad’s scheme. Every penny of it. You see, Gonad has had a stroke of genius here. This won’t be the Cayman Islands, or the Isle of Man or any of that shit. No. Gonad’s partners are going to keep your money in the Afterlife. The ultimate offshore account.

Humour Policing

Community Policing

I got another call from Wrinkly Joe, just this evening. An excited call. Excited, elated and proud.

You see, Joe has always been a firm believer in the concept of community policing, and when McDowell suggested a Garda Reserve, Joe was four-square behind the idea. Now, as I told you, he recently made a breakthrough at his laboratories on developing an artificial scumbag, but I have to tell you that an active, febrile mind like Wrinkly Joe’s is not satisfied with one breakthrough. And so, he set out to Moyross during the week, and took three scumbags at random who were causing trouble. He used the legs of one, the chest of another and the head of a third. Then, with his revolutionary new programming language, he implanted a set of policing instructions in the monster. It knows all the scumbags in Moyross, it’s impervious to bullets, and he expects great things of it.


Joe calls his new creation Skobo-Cop.