Goddammit, where are you?

I paced the floor anxiously as Ireland’s hopefuls faced up to the worst that Argentina could throw at them.

Where the hell are you, damn you!

I knew that, somewhere in South America, Bock’s elite Military Wing had inserted itself covertly into a rugby stadium and would, even now, be desperately trying to establish a satellite uplink.

What the hell was going on? Had some evil Policia Federal ambush wiped out our heroic operatives?  Had the Argentinians gone back to their old tricks in football stadiums?

Dammit all to hell, where are you??

And then, just as I was giving up hope, there it was. The merest tremble on my receiver, but sign enough that they had got through. The mission was under way.

On the Avenida Salaverry, the message read, they talk of little else. Roadside shrines in homage to the great magician PJ Mara are appearing outside the casinos of San Miguel and Magdalena. In the leafy suburbs of Miraflores, they are numb at the demise of the heroic caballero Geronimo McDowell.

Well done, lads. Come home safe.

Crime gardai

Cell Phones

Do you know what a cell phone is? No. It’s not an American mobile phone.

It’s what the drug-dealing murdering scumbags in our jails use to run their operations while they’re locked up. And what they occasionally use to call in to radio phone-ins as happened yesterday when one particularly vicious retard phoned Liveline. He called to threaten another swaggering retard, who had also phoned Liveline, incredibly.

There’s mayhem over the whole incident. Our Minister for Justice is apoplectic with rage. He wants an inquiry to find out how the scumbag in jail got the phone. I have news for him. Somebody brought it in in pieces shoved up their arse, the same way all the heroin gets into our jails.

Instead of worrying about how the scumbag got his phone, why doesn’t the Minister jam all phone signals in our prisons, and make the question irrelevant? And while he’s at it, why doesn’t he start building a reliable, professional police force that can take on those scumbags who happen to be out of jail? By professional, I mean, of course, a police force that isn’t obsessed with building and renting houses, eating free doughnuts, harassing law-abiding citizens, raiding pubs for after-hours drinking, framing innocent suspects and hiding from confrontation with genuine criminals.

kick it on



What the fuck is wrong with McDowell?

Goebbels? Fucking Goebbels?

Do you know something, I’m really starting to despair of Irish politicians. You hear all this shit about Irish wit and repartee and yet this is the best these fools can come up with. Goebbels????

He couldn’t even get his insult right. I heard what he said, and it wasn’t what the incompetent hacks in RTE are now reporting. He didn’t say “the Goebbels of Fine Gael” -that at least would have had some kind of internal logic. He called Richard Bruton “the Dr Goebbels of propaganda”. What does that mean? Depending on your point of view, it either means nothing at all, or it means Bruton is a very effective propagandist. It’s actually an extremely silly comment, and beneath McDowell in many ways. Who is the Dr Goebbels of propaganda? Goebbels, that’s who. What the fuck are you talking about, Michael? Richard Bruton, if anything, is the John Creedon of propaganda. The Nicest Man in Politics. (I think I’ll email that to Morning Ireland for the crack: see if they use the soundbite. Listen out for it – you heard it here first!)

McDowell is losing it. He really is.