Sometimes Mass Murder Is News and Sometimes It Isn’t

Did you see this guy’s video on the news?

He was as mad as a bag of spanners. A fruit. A complete nutcase.

I’ve been listening to the coverage since waking up this morning. Every station has it, on radio and tv. The world is shocked and horrified by the mass killings at the university, and quite rightly so.

This guy went out and deliberately killed 31 innocent people as well as taking his own life. Imagine: 31 people whose lives were full of possibilities until a suicidal maniac snuffed them out.

No wonder the world is convulsed with horror. No wonder the radio and television stations are full of it.


Meanwhile, in other news, 200 Iraqi civilians were killed by suicide bombers yesterday.

Not much about it on television.

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Bill O’Reilly

I’ve just watched Pat Kenny interviewing Bill O’Reilly, and I have to admit it isn’t really clear to me what just happened. Was that the finest piece of satire ever to appear on Irish television, or the worst example of scum-sucking obsequious arse-licking you’ve seen in your life?

Who’s Bill O’Reilly? Well, Bill is a big-time American broadcaster who thinks that killing 655,000 Iraqis is the best way to bring them freedom. Pat, on the other hand, is a small-time Irish broadcaster who maybe has his eye on greater things.

So back to the question. Interviewing Bill O’Reilly.

On the one hand you have a guy who thinks a chimp should be president of the USA, and on the other you have, well, Pat Kenny.

Great work Pat.

You fucking fool.


Three tragic deaths

The media behaved disgracefully towards poor Tania Corcoran, who died giving birth to twins as did one of the babies. There was absolutely no reason to report that Tania was a member of the Gardai. It was irrelevant. There was no justification for printing headlines like Cop dies giving birth. Jesus, have we lost all sense of decency?

Today, the Garda Commissioner, Noel Conroy, spoke out, condemning the way the press treated the story, and he was right to do so. Nothing was achieved by publishing this information except to increase and compound the family’s grief.

Last week, you might remember, Derek O’Toole was killed when struck by a car containing four off-duty Gardai. Somebody within the police immediately leaked to the papers that the young man was “known to the Gardai” and had a number of previous convictions. These allegations were entirely untrue, and their publication caused immense suffering to Derek’s family.

I didn’t notice Noel Conroy condemning the Gardai who leaked these lies to the papers.

Did you?
police and thieves

The Heart of Darkness

Worst police force in Europe

The Cannibal Murders

Anti-social behaviour orders

Do You Know Your Daddyââ€â„¢s a Murderer?

Non-lethal weapons

Oh those funny old Guards

The Professionals

Losing hearts and minds

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Trócaire ad banned

What about the good old Broadcasting Commission of Ireland, huh? Now there’s a fearless watchdog working to keep Ireland a better place, wouldn’t you think?

I was especially taken by the BCI’s latest spectacular, where they banned an ad from the charity, Trócaire.

You might have seen it. It’s about the appalling treatment of women in the “developing” world, as people sometimes call it. The ad shows dozens of babies and a voiceover explains that they were born with something more prevalent than AIDS, or cancer or HIV: they’re female. It explains how, in some parts of the world, they’ll be subjected to circumcision, murder and sexual slavery. It urges our government to take action on these issues and asks people to be aware of what’s going on.

What’s wrong with that, you might be asking? What’s wrong with making our government sign a treaty condemning such awful practices? Well, according to the Broadcasting Commission of Ireland, you can’t do that. You can’t have an ad like this because it’s – go on, guess. Yep, it’s political! You see, we have a law here in this country that forbids the broadcast of ads on political matters or religion. It’s a good law, and it’s designed to keep demagogues and God-maniacs out of our faces. But unfortunately, we also have civil servants who are in thrall to the new spurious God of Political Correctness, and that’s why you can’t have an ad protesting about rape, murder, female circumcision and oppression. That’s politics, according to the BCI.

How about that now?

Imagine if we were back in the Forties, but with television. Here comes an ad showing bulldozers pushing mountains of corpses into a pit at Auschwitz, Treblinka or Sachsenhausen. Outraged, you put out an ad : down with this sort of thing.

Nah! Sorry, says the BCI. Too political. You can’t do it, sorry, it’s politics.

There you are with your camera in Cambodia. The Khmer Rouge are herding the entire population of Phnom Penh out into the fields to be slaughtered.

This is fucking awful, says you. I must tell the world.

Next thing you know, here’s a civil servant from the BCI. Aodhogán Ó Fruallacháin, let’s say, or some other Irish-Civil-Servanty type name. I’m afraid not. Under section 11(5)(b)(iii) of the Act, this is clearly a political advertisement, and we cannot permit its broadcast. A Chara.

I see. What a tremendous sense of overview these BCI people have. How committed to their brief, come what may.

Giant civil-servant-eating aliens’ mothership hovers above the Department for Banning TV Ads. Maybe I could put out an ad warning people not to help the aliens because they want to devour the whole planet when they’ve finished the civil servants?

Eh, no. Sorry. Eh, ’tis politics, ya see. Can’t allow it. Eh, no. A chara.

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Bloggers in the Irish Times

Oh, they’re all there. Fústar and Grandad, Skinner, Sweary, Twenty and Mulley.

The whole lot of them, all there together in the Irish Times. And how comfortable they look, lounging around on page 17, in their dinner jackets and cocktail dresses, all positively exuding fin-de-siècle languor and ennui. It’s great. For once, the mainstream media acknowledge the Lords of the Blog O’Sphere.

Where the hell is Bock, I ask myself, as a horrible suspicion begins to form in my frontal suspicion lobes: can this be happening again? Is the terrible Moriarty to my Holmes at it again? The Mycroft to my Sherlock. The Harpo to my Grou- ah you know what I mean.

I scan frantically down the page, and there he is. Again, damn him. Again. Why does he hate me so much? Can’t I even have this tiny pathetic moment of glory?

No. Here’s my evil doppelganger, quoted by the Irish Times, and using the very same words as I did.

Who am I talking about? Why, who else but Block the Robber?

The bastard.


Money laundering

Did I hear that right on the news?

Did they really say that the guy convicted of money laundering had the cash in a box of washing powder?

Please tell me they said that.


The Croke Park Trilogy – Part Five

I nearly forgot to mention this little episode, consumed as I was with the Croke Park thing at the weekend. On Sunday morning before we headed off to Mulligan’s, Wrinkly Paddy produced a full greasy fried breakfast for me.

There ya go, Bock. Line the stomach. Set you up for the day. He seemed a bit uneasy. A bit diffident.

What’s up, Pat?


Yes there is. What’s that behind your back?

Oh, it’s just the newspaper.

Give me a look.

No. There’s no news today. Nothing happened. Anywhere. Nothing at all.

Give me a look!


Give me a fukken look for fuksake!

He feinted to the left. I lunged to the right. Fit Paddy came up with a snarl and swung a vicious roundhouse kick in my direction, but I was too hung-over to respond and the kick overshot its mark. So much for being less drunk: there’s always a downside. He crashed through the glass door to the garden, lacerating himself badly, and a limp object fluttered to the floor at my feet.

I couldn’t believe my eyes.

What’s this?

The newspaper, he groaned as he freed his arse from the giant Venus Fly-trap.

But that isn’t a newspaper, I responded. That’s —-

The Sunday Independent, Paddy completed my sentence for me. I know. But it’s all they had in the shop. I’m sorry. I’m so ashamed of myself.

Don’t be, I chuckled. Look at this headline: Top players to quit if Staunton forced out.

Suddenly, my hangover didn’t feel as bad. I was ready for Mulligans.


Part Six

Part Four

Part Three
Part Two

Part One

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I know this is tasteless, but . . .

Tonight I was listening to Newstalk when a report came on about the latest executions in Iraq.

The report said that the Iraqis had hanged two men, and had accidentally decapitated one of them in the process. Then it went on:

Journalists watched a video showing the execution of Saddam’s half-brother and the former head of Iraqi security.

Oh dear.

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Radio Dublin

Wrinkly Paddy points out that a small fire in a large apartment block merited headline news on our national broadcaster, RTE.


Ah, go on, then. Yeah!

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Sky News

That Ipswich thing has to be disturbing, don’t you think? Murders of five girls by a sad, disturbed fucker. Or even two sad, disturbed fuckers.

Is there a stipulation in the contracts of reporters that they can’t have any education?

I love the reporting by Sky News. Giving you the facts as they emerge. Giving you the facts as we create them. What is it about TV reporters? Are they the most retarded people ever born? Do these people actually know nothing at all? I’d love to see a Sky News ad for reporter jobs.

Wanted. Complete retard. Must know fuck-all about anything whatever. Must look serious but be utterly stupid.

Come to think of it, RTE might consider hiring the rejects.

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