Tag Archives: Fianna Fáil

An Aardvark’s Guide to Election 2011

Allie the Aardvark is in conversation with Carl Byrne’s teen(age son).

 

CB: So Allie, you’re very welcome to the show. Tell me and my listeners…

AA: All four of them…

CB: …yes, well…okay. Tell all five of us what it’s like to be an aardvark in Ireland, during this time of economic and political tumult.

AA: That’s a nice word, CB. I must use it in my next sentence.

CB: Please do.

AA: This tumult, as you so describe it, came about because the people of this good country have been sent down the Swanee. They were lied to by the very people they elected to safeguard their interests. But such is the nature of politics; you always get what you pay for.

CB: Ooh! The aardvark bites back. I like it.

AA: What’s happening now should have happened three years ago, when the full extent of the shite Ireland was in was made public. It’s a “land” thing, I believe. For many centuries, the Irish had been denied proper ownership of the land they grew up on because the British refused to give it to them.

CB: Why not?

AA: They liked potatoes too much. But I’m not here to bash the Brits. Some of my best friends hail from across the sea. Like Colin Firth and Wayne Rooney. They’re nice guys. Did I mention that I like dropping names?

CB: I believe it’s in my notes somewhere. Letterman warned me.

AA: So anyway, when the banks started throwing foreign money at the Irish, they bought houses and land at hugely inflated prices and this caused the so-called property boom. Homeowners became millionaires overnight. They lived on credit, and paid rates of interest that even the Sultan of Brunei would look twice at – and that guy’s loaded.

CB: But what goes up must come down, isn’t that correct?

AA: Yes. Ireland, like Finland and Greece, became a subprime country.

CB: And the Government allowed it.

AA: The banks were in its pocket; and vice versa. Heads should have rolled – but they didn’t.

CB: The Irish, as you well know, Allie, being an all-knowing and all-seeing Aardvark, are a fighting nation. Why haven’t they fought now? The Greeks rioted, the French love a looting or three, even the Icelanders kicked out their government. Where is the Irish passion gone?

AA: It’s being taxed at 40%. People can’t afford passion anymore. What needs to happen now is proper and accountable governing. But I despair.

CB: Why?

AA: Would you look at the shower of muppets who want to lead this country? We have Micheal “Me-Hole” Martin, trying to plug up the sinking ship that is Fianna Fail; Enda “Charmless” Kenny, leader of Fianna Gael, the party that most likely will win the majority of the 166 seats in the Dail; Eamon “Guileless” Gilmore, the leader of the so-called Labour Party, not so much left-wing, as left of nowhere; then there’s John “Gormless” Gormley, the Green Party leader, a man who is as much a danger to the environment as farting cows. Not much of a choice.

CB: Who will you vote for, then?

AA: I can’t, I’m afraid. I’m not an Irish citizen.

CB: What about Jimbo?

AA: He’s applying for Libyan nationality.

 

A Portrait of The Artist as a Post-Dystopian 24th Century Vampyre

Don't need no toothbrush!

How’s it going’, horse? I’m not too bad, thanks for bleedin’ askin’. This vampyre shit is the business, init? Not that I thought so at the start, mind you.

There I was, knocking back pints of Bud at Molly’s in Ballybough, minding my own beeswax, when all of a fuckin’ sudden, I’m a vampyre! It turns out that the blood transfusion I got at the Mater (you should have seen the other fella – I hit his face so hard he was eating from a tube for months) wasn’t the “good stuff,” if you know what I mean. No, it was contaminated with some stem-cell virus shite. Now I suck blood and live like a parasite.

Not much change there, so. I did that when I was human, living off my dole and my ma. But now I don’t age; I get to keep my ladykiller looks, as well as my Burberry.

Fuck sake, boys, Dublin hasn’t changed much in 300 years. Fianna Fail are still in power. Just our luck that Brian Cowen got infected at the same time as me. Now no one can turf him off his throne. Still, at least the Boys In Blue finally won the 2312 All-Ireland GAA Football Championship, their first since 19-fucking-95.

Wankers!

I joined Facebook For Vampyres yesterday. I’ve 450,ooo,ooo,ooo friends now; but if I start getting invites for bleedin’ Farmville there’ll be hell to pay.

"Dying Light," by D. Scott Meek. Order it now or face my fist!

The vampyre chicks are a bit of a let-down, though. I’m all for showing off some flesh, but bloody hell, lads, wearing nothing but the smile on your pug-ugly rotten faces is enough to turn me off my shrimp curry. I’ve seen better looking birds at a shooting range.

I still can’t get the hang of Twitter yet. I’ve only two followers: my ma and my best friend, Georgie Sparrow. Georgie is the oldest vampyre in Ireland. We celebrated his 301st birthday last week by getting right and royally hammered in Fairview Park. A right laugh we had.

I better be off; the sun’s coming up and it doesn’t play well with my complexion.

See ya next time, suckers!

(C) James McShane 2010

Scott Meek’s Blog: reading. writing. revolution.

The Book: Dying Light.

The Wednesday Whackjob: Taoiseach Brian Cowen

He likes a few pints, does our Taoiseach!

It says a lot about our country that a man can’t go about his business in peace. Such a man is Taoiseach Brian Cowen.

How dare we suggest that our Fearless and Feckless Leader can’t bugger off to Galway with a few of his mates and wile away the early hours of the morning with a bevy of pints and a good old-fashioned sing-song? Sure we’ve all done it ourselves, haven’t we? Let he who is without sin cast the first vote!

So what if he wants to stay up until 3am, drinking and partying with his government cronies, know full well he’s addressing the nation on Morning Ireland? We’ve all done it ourselves, haven’t we?

And so what if he sounded drunk or hungover in that broadcast? We’ve all been “under the weather” on a Monday morning; why should our Taoiseach be any different. If he and his goons want to have themselves a little “think-in” over a weekend and discuss ways to get themselves (and our country) out of the mess they’re (and we’re) now in, indulging in four course dinners and later bars while they’re at it, why the hell not? We’d all do it, if given the chance.

And so what if the common thinking is to round them all up, put them in a field and bomb the bastards? What do we know? We’re only the electorate. Let the Taoiseach and his government dig their holes so deep that not even a million beer kegs will get them out.

Mr. Cowen, you and your government are a disgrace to the national and international community. I’d say good riddance to you if I could; but I don’t trust whatever else is on offer.