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.

While I was away..

No, I wasn't kidnapped by rock n'roll lovin' aliens, I've been very busy watching all the election results and laughing really hard at Rainbow George getting more votes than Bob McCartney. If there's anyone that fully deserves to have a rusty pole shoved up his bangle until his eyes bulge, it's McCartney. Equally delighted to see that Anna Lo cleaned up in South Belfast, especially at the expense of the DUP.

So what's happens now? Will we get our government? I think we will. Big Ian's looking towards his own legacy, same as Blair, and he will want to be Big Chief Dirty Bum of this place before he croaks it, which will hopefully be sooner rather than later. He's got the green light from his electorate to do it (to do a deal with the Chucks, not croak it).

I was kinda hoping, just for a laugh, that the Shinners would have came out with the most seats. That would have really set the cat among the pigeons to see Art Garfunkel as First Minister. The look on Nigel Dodds face would be priceless!

Other than that, I've been trying to kill Phil Collins in GTA Vice City Stories. An honourable pastime I'm sure you'll agree.

Bob McCartney talks balls

I was watching 'The Politics Show' on BBC1 earlier; it was an hour-long special on Norn Iron, seeing as we are off to vote early and vote often on Wednesday.

The first part of the programme had representatives from the Ulster Unionists and the DUP, and the one-man show that is Bob fucking McCartney QC, the biggest pain in the hole to walk this earth since David Beckham.

Bob was giving both the UUP and the DUP a strict telling off about having/intending to share power with Sinn Féin, and then he came off with the statement that 'both parties want to go into government with those who murdered Protestants and destroyed their property'.

To listen to McCartney, and other unionists, you would think that the whole war here was just an exercise in republican brutality, and that unionists sat back and suffered in silence. From 1987 onwards, loyalist paramilitaries slaughted more people than republicans, and continued to wipe out all round them after the ceasefires were called. The silence from the unionist parties was deafening; some of them such as that tone-deaf preacher Willie McCrea chose to share public platforms with the likes of King Rat. More tellingly, the unionist parties also said absolutely fuck all about the state murder of scores of people when the report into collusion was published a few weeks back. And these people expect the electorate to believe that they are democrats? What chance of them sharing power with nationalists when they shout each other down in a television studio?

The very fact that Bob has to stand in six constitutencies simultaneously for his fUKUP party speaks volumes of his political irrelevance. He also conveniently forgot to enlighten us as to what his alternative to devolved government is. Another 4 years of being under the thumb of Hain and his other blow-in fuckwits from Blighty? Stick that one up your bangle, Bob.

Gis a job!

The rush for applications has started...

It's A Fair Cop

So the Chucks have gone and done it, and now those of us in the 'green zone' will no longer be required to mutter 'black bastards' under our breaths after we've been asked for our particulars by the boys in bottle green.

Today's events in Dublin make me kinda nostalgic for the old RUC, in a perverse, twisted sort of way. On one occasion, when I was about 17 or so, I was stopped by one of their finest (who was very anxious to up his tout-count) whilst on my way to school.

'Where are you off to, sir?' asked the peeler, who stood about 6ft 2" and was better tooled up than Robocop.

I took a quick glance at my blazer and tie, and gave him a look that said, 'Are you for real?'

'School', I finally, sheepishly, replied.

'Ah right', said he, and after taking my name and address, made some meaningless chit-chat about A Levels and university. He then came to the crunch.

'Do you ever notice anything up around here?' he enquired.

'Like what?' I asked.

'Like things that shouldn't be going on, you know what I mean. Do you ever notice people acting suspiciously?'

'Can say that I do,' came my reply, at this stage trying my hardest to contain my total indifference.

'Well, if you do...', our intrepid law enforcer stated, 'give me a wee call at the station. Constable Norman Brown, extension 2442.'

And off I went. I pondered Constable Brown's request for a few days, and then I DID spot something suspicious. Well, my law-abiding instincts kicked into action and I phoned the RUC switchboard.

'Constable Brown? Hi it's .... here, you were talking to me the other day, remember? Well I have something for you, it's about my next door neighbour'.

I thought he was going to spunk his trunks in excitement, thinking that before too long the peace of our little cul-de-sac would be shattered by the aggressive revving of grey Land-Rovers.

'Well, I think she's having it off with the fella round the corner. Big Seamy I think his name is. He comes to her back door every afternoon at 3.30, and all I can hear is the thumping of the headboard about 10 minutes later. It's that loud, he must have a cock on him that can knock six-inch nails into the wall. Lucky bastard he is too. I've been hoping that she would show me a few tricks, older woman and all that. You did tell me to contact you if I seen anything suspicious....'

'CLICK! BRRRRRRRRRRRR!' went the line.

And thus ended my brief career as a spook. It's not all it's cracked up to be, you know.