Tuesday 5 June 2007

The Final Solution

I know that Dario has blogged his arse off about skobies, the new track-suited, Buckfast-fuelled underclass of Ireland. We have a similar problem in West Belfast, with the 'Smickers' as we call them, infesting the place like rats every night of the week with boxes and bags of drink and the subsequent madness that ensues.

So I was interested in this story in the local Andersonstown News on Monday. A reporter and a photographer toured the West last Friday night, and their findings make pretty interesting reading.

Now I am not against drinking. I like a drink myself, and a toke from time to time as you know. But I do everything in moderation, because my job's headmelting enough without having to roll in with an Oliver Reed-size hangover at 9am. Most importantly, I don't impose on other people's rights or freedoms when I do sup a Magners. But the explosion in people in their mid-teens to early thirties drinking on the streets, in all seasons, in this city is fucking crazy. Not everybody does it... but the ones that do are easily identifiable.

* Short hair with a gelled-down fringe (baseball cap optional)
* Thin strip of hair above the lip commonly known as a 'cider-tache'
* Tracksuit, usually Adidas or Kappa
* Gold chunky chain that Del Boy Trotter would be mighty proud of
* Trainers, white, must be of no lesser a brand than Nike or the aforementioned Adidas - otherwise you'll get 'battled'.

Does that sound familar? The men don't look any prettier either.

They stand on main roads, outside taxi depots and chippies until all hours of the morning swigging their cider and tart fuel (WKD - Woman's Kind of Drink), smashing their bottles, leaving their illiterate scrawl everywhere, damaging people's property... so it begs the question - where the fuck do they get the money from? It wouldn't be from the taxes of the very people they are tormenting, would it?

Many people have tried to come up with solutions, and have failed. I think I have the answer... if any of them are prosecuted for any misdemeanour whatsoever, stop their benefits. Cut the flow of the dough, and it will make them think twice about making the lives of the people whom they live amongst a misery. I know it's probably against the Human Rights Act, European Law, blah, blah, but it's much more humane than my first choice of solution, which is to round them up and, while still alive, take out their hearts and kidneys for transplant victims.

Monday 4 June 2007

The sick men (and women) of Northern Ireland

Have to get a laugh at this - Finance Minister Peter Robinson has let the world know that Civil Servants in Northern Ireland take an average of a fortnight off on the sick per year and in a written answer to the Assembly, he said that 'managing sickness absence was a key priority for government'.

Is this prick for real?

Let's remind ourselves that Mr. Robinson, along with 107 other right honourable members, spent four years - yes, four fucking years - sitting on their collective backside doing dick-all and getting paid for it; now they have the audacity to turn round and lecture their poorly treated, poorly paid staff about managing sickness and giving taxpayers value for money.

It appears that now the hands on the greasy levers of power are local, those who have the misfortune to be Civil Servants are going to get it in the neck. Just remember one thing Mr. Robinson - this time, we voted you in and we can throw you out on your hole again.

Spinning out of control

Maybe I'm a bit late with this one, but is anyone as pissed off as I am hearing about that kid McCann that has been missing for a month? I would like to see her returned to her parents as much as anyone else would, but I don't want it shoved in my face everytime I turn the TV on or open a newspaper.

The blame, I suppose, lies with gutter right-wing British tabloid press who have taken this story and made it into a money-spinner to sell their rags, á la Princess Diana. The esteemed parents, Kate and Gerry, now have a campaign manager and are undertaking ' a European tour' to secure their daughter's safe return. Who do they think they are, the fucking Rolling Stones?! And... I think having a meeting with the German Shepherd was particularly pointless and tasteless, given the Catholic Church's particularly poor track record on all matters children. What's he gonna do, ask his foot soldiers if any of them have her?

The next time person to send me an e-mail saying 'click here for Madeleine' is going to get a swift kick in the hole...


Ok, ok, so I know this is my first post in 2 months, but I got tied up in a few things that needed my time, care and attention. Nothing much has changed - I still work for the pricks that are the Civil Service, I still like getting stoned and shitfaced on Magners, and I still hate George Jones on U105 with a passion. Oh, and I'm still an angry bastard.

Thursday 29 March 2007

The deal unravels

So Jim Allister has left the DUP over Ian and Gerry's love-in. How noble. It would have been more noble if he actually resigned his Euro MEP seat too, because let's face it, he's only there because he was the DUP candidate, and he knows he'll be bollixed in any future contest. And now David Simpson, the man who ousted David Trimble as the MP for Upper Bann, says he has reservations about the deal and effectively wants a quarantine period before the Shinners can hold office.

What fucking planet are these people on? Here we have the two great enemies sitting down to break bread, and up pipes Jim and Davey to say 'no taigs in government'. I'm not happy about Paisley becoming first minister, given Third Force and Ulster Resistance, but I'm prepared to tolerate it, especially if it means that cunt Hain fucks off back to Blighty. What the betting that some ragtag bunch of tattooed loyalists take Simpson's words to further action?

Allister, Simpson and the likes of Geraldine Taylor and that other wanker Gerry McGeough have fuck all to offer this country. Taylor and McGeough were told to stick their brand of politics up their hoop at the Assembly election. I pray it won't be too long before Allister and Simpson are given the same message.

Monday 26 March 2007


Sorry that posts have been a little bit scattered this last while back, I've been busy. I'm hoping that normal service will resume shortly.

By the way, I've had to change the settings so that only registered Blogger users can comment. Unfortunately there's an arsehole who doesn't have the balls to give his name making comments that I have to delete. Honestly, you would think that someone who interferes with the genitalia of pre-pubescent boys wouldn't have the time to troll on blogs, but it just shows how wrong you can be.

Here's hoping that you catch a fatal illness and suffer a horrible demise, you time-wasting, shirt-lifting, pillow-munching, turd-punching, child molesting waste of jism.

Thursday 22 March 2007

Stamina Required

I hear that the Ministry of Defence are issuing Viagra to their soldiers in South Armagh because they just can't keep their choppers up...

Wednesday 21 March 2007

The important issues

Corporation Tax ya-de-dah.

Income Tax down by 2p - yawn

Gas guzzlers double tax hike - dum-de-dum.

How much are the fegs and the drink up by Gordon, ya cunt?

Monday 19 March 2007

Know Nothings

Why does every St. Patrick's Day bring the absolute dregs of society out into the open?

I went out for a walk on St. Patrick's morning at around 11am. In a wooded area near where I live there were 15 young scumbags congregated, armed with bags of drink. At 11am. Each one had a Celtic top on and one or two had draped the national flag around their shoulders. They were noisy, shouting at the top of their voices to the wanker standing next to them, and smashing their empty bottles on the pavement.

Some display of Irishness. If I had asked them who the Taoiseach is, or what is the county town of Clare, their eyes would have have bulged, and then their heads would have exploded. They know nothing of their country's history or culture, or even of St. Patrick himself - no, they show celebrate Ireland's national holiday by dressing in the shirt of a British football team and wearing the national flag, of which they know nothing of it's meaning.

Let's round them up and chainsaw them to death. It's the only way.