Wha'?

Dear Yoplait (Made in Ireland by: Glanbia Consumer Foods, Citywest Business Campus, Dublin 24. LoCall: 1850 20 23 66),

I know things are tough all over and ain't getting any better. Things are more expensive to produce. Consumers are poor. Everywhere you look somebody is telling you to reduce/reuse/recycle or to be green. Cigarettes cost loads and I have to mop floors. I feel the pain. But none of the above complaints give you the right to make the lids on your yoghurts so thin that it is impossible to remove them without them fucking tearing at least twice. What the fuck?

Yours sincerely,
L.

Mary Kenny is such a flange-between-two-wooden-posts. WOOF WOOF.

"Sh00-wiz! Get yer shoo-wiz! Fresh of de back offa Clark's lorry! Tree fura you-row."

Sinatra plays as people try to get through town on a regular Wednesday.

"Good morning."
"I'm sorry, I don't understand. I'm too massively geared outa me head."
"Well, this is corner of Marlborough and Abbey."
"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realise you're from America. What state?"
"Eh, Vermont..."
"Ooooh, delightful! I love trees."

"On a scale of one to ten, how successful do you think the Northern Ireland peace process has been?"

"Well, I don't think it's that simple. You can't just put it on a number line. It's a complex issue with many facets."

"Eh yeah right. On a scale of one to ten, how sexually active are you?"

"You're not from 'round here, are you?"

"No, I'm Hungarian. On a scale of one to ten, how Hungarian do you think I look"

Less than one millionth of a reality. It's almost a good enough excuse to go get stoned. But Jeff wasn't sure. He needed proof. Good thing his friends had an educational exercise video where hot girls ran around in tight wet t-shirts and talked about the use of recreational drugs. I mean REALLY hot girls.

So, you wanna know about drugs, huh? (Sandy, stop pouring gently-heated caramel all over my breasts, hee hee!) They're bad news, boys. But, then again, so am I! Would you say no to me, hmmmm?

From that day on Jeff was stoned off his face all the time. He was at peace within and without himself and he often masterbated. He began to see what Matthew Bellamy was getting at in "City of Delusion". But in his personal persuit of justice (as he called it), he only got as far as his small collection of butterfly wings hanging on the back of his bedroom door. His parents got worried when he disappeared for several days and was found eating the remains of a red squirrel in St. Anne's Park, Raheny, Dublin Five.

A python snake named Monty. Fair play to Monty. He kicked the ass off those pesky Italians and/or German forces over there in... err, whatchacallit?... Kilmainham?

As the bombs fall, the Eagles play a gig in the Hollywood Bowl in Los Angeles, California. "Oh, Johhny" they sing. "There was an aul woman that lived in the woods, Oooooh oooohhooooohhooo, baby!" They never really got the idea of music. They made their money and you can't doubt that. If you listen really closely you will realise that it's all about sex. And, why wouldn't it be? Ask Holy Healy and she'll blush.

Martha was at the gig and then got trashed on Virginia Avenoo. She subsequently died but that's hardly relevent. The post mortem found a small microphone lodged between her upper left molars. There's a pun to be made there somewhere. But until the coroner releaese the details it's considered to be in bad taste. I'm sure the microphone itself was in bad taste but that is too. Good thing this is fictitious.

RUFUS in a large swimming pool wearing a general's uniform. D. Norris watching closely. (Now I can use the Rufus label and the D Norris label. I'm not as stupid as I look. This blog is perpetually innovative.)

Climb Everest, they say. It's good craic and there's a good chance you'll die before you reach the second camp. More than likely though, you'll get mugged by a so-called tourist guide from Mongolia. Then, you're fucked. Whereas the clever bastard that nicked your wallet is off to Dubai for three weeks for fun frollics and maybe more. Emphasis on the maybe more. Whores all a-hootin'. "Ooooh, Western money" they'll shout as they show your mugger things that he has only seen in FHM.

Mah woman's a lesbo and I'm feelin' down.
Mah woman's a lesbo and I'm feelin' down, ooooooh!
Mah woman's a lesbo and I'm feelin' down.
Whisky whisky whisky whisky, drown.

So, this is like a responsive anthem. Those who find solace in it, you're obviously highly delusional and/or in search of some form of leadership or dominance in your life. You've presumably tried Communism and have now turned to the web at large. Typing "help me my life is ruined" into a search engine brought you here. Poor fuck.

Mary Robinson's Heartbreak.

Poor Mary Robinson. It's difficult being an Irish ex-president as well as a stupid rubbernecked nodding duckhead. But that's life for her. Back in the 70s when she was a fresh-faced young lawyer she met a dashing young gent named D. Norris, a gentleman and scholar who had a passion for James Joyce and ABBA. Mary had never before met as kind and generous a gent as Norris, and she dreamed day and night about the day when he would propose to her and they could both be robinsoned in Castlebar. They lived together for a while in a lovely Martello Tower along Sandymount Strand. She did everything for him and went everywhere with him. They were utterly inseparable.

The day David revealed his passion for homosexual law reform, Mary was quite taken aback but was willing to support her beloved Daveycakes in anything he did and so agreed to be his legal advisor. And, in spite of the Legion's protests, gays were free to be as gay as their fancy dictated within twenty years. Well done.

But eventually the day came that Mary was knocked out of her little dream world in the cruelest manner imaginable. As she came down to breakfast that fateful morning carrying a large bundle of Davey's pink towels, she was met with the sight of him holding hands with a jew—a man jew!...a jewman! How utterly incredible for Mary that until that moment she'd never once suspected that D. was a ho-ho-homosexua-la-la, even in spite of his preoccupations with gay liberation and such malarky.

"OOOOOO ISAAC MAY I CALL YOU MISTER BLOOM? THE IDEA OF YOU MASTURBATING ON SANDYMOUNT STRAND IS JUST SO EROTIC I CAN'T TAKE IT! OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO I LAAAAV YOOOOLISEEES BEST BOOK EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEVAAAAAH!"

Mary was so shocked she dropped each one of D. Norris's pink towels on the ground. The thoughts of her wedding day suddenly vanished from her mind and in her great and sudden distress her neck contorted itself sideways, never to be the same again.

God love Mary. A hard life she had. Though beating Brian Lenihan for the presidency gave her renewed vigour and throughout the 1990s she was well-known around Ireland for her excellent impression of a duck with a broken neck.

Well done Mary. God save Ireland.

The Adventures of Mr(s). Henderson and Various Other Gays.

Jeremy-Sue M. O'C. J. C. M'Q. Henderson. What a mouthful of a name for such an unfortunate character. Join him/her as s/he travels through the anachronistic world of 20th-century Dublin and beyond looking for Love and the Meaning of Life, trying along the way to unravel his/her own murky past/present in a world gone gay.

"The oddest thing I've read all year."--Gay Byrne.

"Complete and utter shite. I love it!"--Gerry Ryan.

"A human story for the 21st century."--Mary Robinson.

"A load of me cock."--Some aul'one on Capel Street.

"Completely incomprehensible."--The Irish Examiner.

"Such a load of bollocks."--Hugh Leonard.

"NOT EEN MAY RHEPABLICK!"--Éamon de Valera.

"Faaabulous."--Rufus Wainwright.

"What?"--The Observer.

"Vulgar, offensive left-wing homosexual claptrap."--Alive!

"BEST BOOK EEEEEVAAAH!"--Senator David Norris.

No title necessary

One, two, gee o'clock, four o'clock, cock.

Neo-con environmental tourism

Mrs. Thatcher's leather holiday palace in Poshbastard Lancashire.co.uk. Please reuse your tourist guides of Edinbugger castle, the London Eye (which has already been burned down), Christchurch, Airhead, Superquinn in Finglas and the Eiffel Tower which was relocated to Paris from New York (thanks Chris).

The Great Barrier Reef has opened a new campsite today which you can use while utilising ill-fitting dot com-dom over one's bottle of white (Sauvignon Blanc) wine. make sure you use your piccolo flute in the swimming

Vote now, vote for the new Voluntary Euthanasia Bill. The Irish government is so full of shite now that they are swallowing (OooOohOh says the gay guy again) those European bastard values.

Mickey Terenure. There once was a boy named Sue. He enjoyed putting condiments all over his hands and other people's noses. He grew up to become (OooOooh!) Mr(s). Henderson. Gee. That's another midget question to be answered another day, another time.

Isn't it awfully nice to have a EPNS, especially when it's modelled by RO'G (and when it comes to pissing). Sure it's lovely to be wearing crispacketsoncock.com, but it does indeed be nice to have your hole. "I have me hole," says yer woman, but sure isn't better to have a cockmickey than a geehole? OOooooOooh yes says D. Norris!

A Reading from the Third Book of Gee Chronicles.

A man was once called Mrs. Henderson. He was on TV, but he was a manwoman, but yet not a womanman. S/he/it was in an adaptation of Roger Rabbit. The director fancied a risqué angle. So, during a nightmare sequence, Roger(ina) got his mickey cut off by a woman dressed as Margaret Thatcher. And henceforth, he became a woman. Now, Mrs. Henderson felt pity for the newly feminized Rogerina and offered him (err...her) a job in a brothel. It soon came out (or in Rogerina's case, it didn't and went in instead) that Mrs. Henderson was actually a big man, not just a small man we'll have you know. Actually he wasn't a mná at all. He was banned from the gentleman's jacks because he hadn't a mickey. S/he did however not have a vagina in any case which makes things rather complicated. But in the end, they did a swap of genitalia and all were happy, especially Rogerina, who found a mickey in a cup of coffee in O'Brien's on Liffey Street. It had a Polish air about it and was, in fact, very polished by the staff of Rasputin. Hail. Thus, the nightmare ended and Roger woke up to see Bob Hoskins wearing no trousers with a hockey stick and, thus, a new nightmare began.

This adaptation of Roger Rabbit flopped on Broadway though it was marginally more successful than "Éamon deValera: The Brooklyn Years".

Also...

An Advertisement on Behalf of Big Red Mickey™, the best thing to come out of Denmark since Peter Schmeichel.

A new innovation in the general new showbiz fashion of comfort and sensual appreciation of the shaft-shaped soft things. Available from all good mickey shops internationally. So, what can one do with their Big Red Mickey™?



Here's a few inventive uses that you may not have thought of.

You could put it in the fridge and then take it out again. In these fresh circumstances, you are officially taking the mickey out of the fridge. *Warning: do not try to direct traffic or conduct an orchestra with your Big Red Mickey™. These misuses may result in death by cars or cello.

Go swimming with your Big Red Mickey™.

Bring it to Royal Ascot and throw it at horses (e.g. Camilla).

Use it as an oversized hair-curler.

Whack it off... the wall... or the toilet seat. Obviously here, we mean the Big Red Mickey™.

For those who are vertically disadvantaged, bring your Big Red Mickey™ along to barber and use it to erect yourself in the chair.

Bonk it.

Bash people on the street!

Cut it into pieces and microwave it as a stress-reliever.

Throw it in front of F1 race cars.

Hold charity days of Big Red Mickey™ sponsored hugs and kisses. Charge more for kisses and even more more...well, more adventurous.... behaviour....

Bring it to Mass. Bash people who don't turn off their mobile phones. Then bring it into the Confession box.

Give it a hug, a nice big squeeze. O yes says D. Norris.

Post it in to Gerry Ryan and ask for a prize.

Use it to beat your woman until you get satisfied.

The Big Red Mickey™ is available in Jewish and gentile versions. Jewish forms lack zips so in practice you can't zip up your mickey. D. Agnew, we hope you're not a Jew.

If you have any problems with your Big Red Mickey™, contact our inventive support service. You can call us at Callsave 1890-hows-yer-mickey.co.uk. Our online support team of mickey-fiddlers are always free to answer any queries. Email us at mickeysupport@gmail.com (g as is gee). Visit our website at www.bigredmickey.org/home/mickeyandgeeco/geepart/products/.

So, talking about dirty things...

These dirty whooooooores in da Pavloovians. Shag off and go home. "We've already shagged and we don't have a home to go to. What do you think I bought these crotchless jocks for?" says he as she fiddles his mickey. These young ones polish the ornamental mickeys of the future with their pregnant ways and foreign cultures. The Jews, for example, don't even go to shopping centres, unless they're kosher. Uuum/Oom, as the case may be, comma, full stop. Tick tock. Doc, Dub, The Doc of the Dub, The Mighty DubDoc. More on the DubDoc later (with Jools Holland).

Bye.

Only joking.

I forgot to say "kisses".

Bye, kisses. Mickey.

Ave.

Hail Mary, full of green,
deV is with thee.
Blessed art thou amongst Nordies
and rubber is the neck of thy predecessor, Mary.

Nordy Mary, mother of Erin,
pray for us Free Steeters
now and at the hour of our death.

Éamonn.

A Reading from the First Book of Gee.

All fair dues to Holy Healy, but also there is dues undue and also overdue. So, where to begin? Let's start with the undue dues to be paid.

Holy Foley was the alternative. "You have to wear it. You're sacked." It's unknown to most the origins of this. The idea of a hat comes to the mind to those who do be thinking

Bye.
No.
Bi?
No, straight.
Fuck.
Wank.
Yes.
OooOOooh...
Rufus?
Jessica...
Yeah, I thought so, you straighter.

Holy Healy was surely good craic, but only 'coz we did be taking the piss constantly. Or, pardon the pun, the other ways to say it are as follows: take the mickey out of the fridge and use it to direct traffic (you can take that in so many ways), do the Michael O'Leary dance or for those for the faint of heart, forty-nine all over the desks.

Twink, stapling her husband's mickey to the Rusty Railway since 1983. Choo choo wobble wobble splatter choo choo.

How to survive marrying a Catholic. A book, by Holy Healy. Not really, but she does endorse it. Why on earth would you want to buy a Catholic? The answer is, by the way, exactly. Well, I suppose they're low maintainence, all they need is a good confession twice weekly over the phone, with Joe Duffy on ConfessionLine and a poster of the Pope of Ryanair dancing. Dancing. Waltzing Matilda, go waltzing with Jew. A pound of minced Jew there please Mr. Bloom.


Now, overdue dues. If you buy a bleedin' Jew and the repayments are overJew, then beJaysus, you're fucked, rightly, with sausage meat. O mickey.

Here's to shit presents and many more years of shower gel. Fair play to them, fat people. Needing a whole tub of gel to wash themselves.

Eóin O'Duffy dressed as Santa. Here's a wooden gun and a picture of flingin' (Mickey) O'Connell.

Are we drunk? I wish, at least it would give an excuse. Fuckboats.

In the news, Charlie, a long-suffering member of staff (like me, with no work) has left Casaulty. He's taking the walk of shame, with his little son who's a little bollix, like Charles Haughey, according to George, not me, like, I like, him, yeh Fianna Fáil fuck head. Alliteration. There's a camera therer with an unneeded semicolon. Stop hyphenating things! Ya geebag.

Gee, let's talk gee. Actually no, in other news, actaully no, I like Mary Robinson. She's not very gee, but a Nordy she isn't either. She's also not dead comma, fullstop, comma. Robinson used to fancy David Norris, but she realised that the reform of homosexual law wasn't just a side project. Arse, no sorry, I mean, Áras, Norris ended in the first and Mary ended up in the second. Wicked. That's a drink, no, WKD is and Norris probably drinks that becasuse he's a big gay. But all resepects to D. Norris, he does have a blogger blog and we resepect him, fair dues to him. Overdues Jew to Norris, he used to have a Jewish boyfriend. I wonder what that felt like.