Showing posts with label I. Paisley. Show all posts
Showing posts with label I. Paisley. Show all posts
Saturday, January 10, 2015
Saturday, September 13, 2014
Een Peeslee, ARR EYE PAY!
Lord Bannside has sailed into rest,
Savage indignation there can no longer lacerate his breast.
Imitate him if you dare, world-besotted traveller--
(I've no idea why you would bother, to be honest).
Ian Paisley, former Furst Mannaster of Norn Iron, as well as founder of his own private religion, the Made-Up Church of Ulster, has died at the age of 88. It came as a surprise to all of us, given that his last few attempts at dying failed and it appeared he may have been Immortal (or that St Peter turned him back, harr harr harr). Reports from The Next World say that he has arrived safely, but is very disgruntled to see that Catholics go to heaven also.
His catchphrase 'no pope here' became one of the celebrated phrases of Northern Irish life in the latter half of the 20th century, being daubed on walls, pavements and kerbs the length and breadth of Ballymena. So vehement was his opposition to the idea of pope, in 1979 Paisley spent a week in intensive care for a case of near spontaneous combustion when Pope John Paul II visited Dundalk (which was too close to Norn Iron for comfort).
Despite the fact that most people in the world thought he was a massive dick, he was much loved by his constituents of all faiths who said that he was actually lovely behind all the vitriol. His warm and friendly personal manner was seen in his organising of a much-loved series of 'free days out for free Presbyterians', and his gift of a massive gun to Bertie Ahern.
He organized the pioneering health campaign 'Save Ulster from Sodium' in the 1970s to raise awareness of the dangers of a diet high in Ulster Fry. This work for the good health of the people of Ulster earned him many accolades, and in recent years he was invited to advise the Ugandan government on a similar programme of public awareness.
His ability to shout anyone else down was widely renowned. This coupled with his Biblical-literalist teachings earned him many admirers who shared his love of fire and brimstone, including Fred Phelps of the Westboro Baptist Church, and many other nutters. In a visit to RTÉ in 1987, Paisley denounced Gerry Ryan as the Antichrist. The same evening, his daughter Rhonda was presented with an award for her excellent impersonation of a blueberry sitting on a sofa.
Dr Paisley held the world record (according to the Devil's Buttermilk Book of World Records) for saying 'No' more times than anyone else who every existed.
Harr harr no more.
RIP
Savage indignation there can no longer lacerate his breast.
Imitate him if you dare, world-besotted traveller--
(I've no idea why you would bother, to be honest).
Ian Paisley, former Furst Mannaster of Norn Iron, as well as founder of his own private religion, the Made-Up Church of Ulster, has died at the age of 88. It came as a surprise to all of us, given that his last few attempts at dying failed and it appeared he may have been Immortal (or that St Peter turned him back, harr harr harr). Reports from The Next World say that he has arrived safely, but is very disgruntled to see that Catholics go to heaven also.
His catchphrase 'no pope here' became one of the celebrated phrases of Northern Irish life in the latter half of the 20th century, being daubed on walls, pavements and kerbs the length and breadth of Ballymena. So vehement was his opposition to the idea of pope, in 1979 Paisley spent a week in intensive care for a case of near spontaneous combustion when Pope John Paul II visited Dundalk (which was too close to Norn Iron for comfort).
Despite the fact that most people in the world thought he was a massive dick, he was much loved by his constituents of all faiths who said that he was actually lovely behind all the vitriol. His warm and friendly personal manner was seen in his organising of a much-loved series of 'free days out for free Presbyterians', and his gift of a massive gun to Bertie Ahern.
He organized the pioneering health campaign 'Save Ulster from Sodium' in the 1970s to raise awareness of the dangers of a diet high in Ulster Fry. This work for the good health of the people of Ulster earned him many accolades, and in recent years he was invited to advise the Ugandan government on a similar programme of public awareness.
His ability to shout anyone else down was widely renowned. This coupled with his Biblical-literalist teachings earned him many admirers who shared his love of fire and brimstone, including Fred Phelps of the Westboro Baptist Church, and many other nutters. In a visit to RTÉ in 1987, Paisley denounced Gerry Ryan as the Antichrist. The same evening, his daughter Rhonda was presented with an award for her excellent impersonation of a blueberry sitting on a sofa.
Dr Paisley held the world record (according to the Devil's Buttermilk Book of World Records) for saying 'No' more times than anyone else who every existed.
Harr harr no more.
RIP
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Trace the thought of the poet in the poem "Keerawn's Ode to Lola's Gee" by Robert Frost.
In this poem the poet Keerawn-Robert Frosty-Crustygee is describing the gee of his love and how he longs to be freed from her flaps.
"I have been acquainted with the flaps of Lola Sleevend
And the dark abysses of her gee.
I have sat and drunk from the Kopparberg bottle of eternity
Drowning in washes of gee-cider."
The poet says that he has been acquainted with his love Lola's gee and the darkest recesses of it. He says that he has almost drowned in Kopparberg cider which she has poured into her gee.
EXCUSE ME IS THAT WHAT THE POET IS SAYING?
"I have been acquainted with the flaps of Lola Sleevend
And the dark abysses of her gee.
I have sat and drunk from the Kopparberg bottle of eternity
Drowning in washes of gee-cider."
The poet says that he has been acquainted with his love Lola's gee and the darkest recesses of it. He says that he has almost drowned in Kopparberg cider which she has poured into her gee.
EXCUSE ME IS THAT WHAT THE POET IS SAYING?
Monday, June 30, 2008
Nordy bastards invade Swords.
The Nordies come down the N1 on their Proddy tanks, painting the roadsigns green as they go. Craigavon, this way, 109 miles.
When they arrive in Swords, they immediately occupy the Castle. That wasn't too difficult for them, as they only had to roll over Declan the warden and they were in. As soon as they have a chance, they level the Catholic church, killing Fr Mackey in the process as they mow him down on his mower.
Next stop was the drinking establishments of the town. The Pound was so shit they just hit it with an orange pipe and it blew up. After that they moved on to the Star, which was particularly revolting because of the Polish disco. That didn't take much knocking down; in fact, they just pissed on the side wall and it began to melt, their piss being so acidic. Lamb was quite tricky as it was defended by an army of holegetters, but a quick spray of Lynx down the Jacko led them all away, leaving the Nordies to mow down the two Poles, which they did with pleasure.
The Lord Mayors is a bit shit, though it's grand really, but the Nordies knocked it down with a few poofs of acidic shite which scorched the hole off all the punters. Now, the only place that they had trouble in destroying was Cock, as the regulars of Cock with the help of gallant Martin and hot youngfella put up the bravest defence ever seen in the history of Swords.
"Harr harr, wee'll bloo up yar Cock!"
"O no you won't!" bellowed the gallant drinkers of Cock. Being those that drink in Cock, of course.
"WE'LL BLOO UP YAR FLUTHER IN THE NEEM OF MARTIN LUTHER!"
The Nordies tried everything, even flinging rosary beads at that. They had exhausted all their resources and were left with no choice but to use the secret weapon: Ian Paisley.
"HARR HARR, PEEPIST BAWSTURDS! COME OYT COME OYT OR I'LL BLOO YOOR COCK UP!"
But it didn't work. Martin boxed Ian...in the face! And he died, God love him. Sure isn't everyone dying? And so the Nordies realized that the people of Cock were too good for them, and so they all committed hari-kari at once, and everyone in Swords laughed. Some ladies puked delicately into hankies when they saw the bowels, but everyone else laughed heartily.
Swords 1, Nordies nil. Well done.
When they arrive in Swords, they immediately occupy the Castle. That wasn't too difficult for them, as they only had to roll over Declan the warden and they were in. As soon as they have a chance, they level the Catholic church, killing Fr Mackey in the process as they mow him down on his mower.
Next stop was the drinking establishments of the town. The Pound was so shit they just hit it with an orange pipe and it blew up. After that they moved on to the Star, which was particularly revolting because of the Polish disco. That didn't take much knocking down; in fact, they just pissed on the side wall and it began to melt, their piss being so acidic. Lamb was quite tricky as it was defended by an army of holegetters, but a quick spray of Lynx down the Jacko led them all away, leaving the Nordies to mow down the two Poles, which they did with pleasure.
The Lord Mayors is a bit shit, though it's grand really, but the Nordies knocked it down with a few poofs of acidic shite which scorched the hole off all the punters. Now, the only place that they had trouble in destroying was Cock, as the regulars of Cock with the help of gallant Martin and hot youngfella put up the bravest defence ever seen in the history of Swords.
"Harr harr, wee'll bloo up yar Cock!"
"O no you won't!" bellowed the gallant drinkers of Cock. Being those that drink in Cock, of course.
"WE'LL BLOO UP YAR FLUTHER IN THE NEEM OF MARTIN LUTHER!"
The Nordies tried everything, even flinging rosary beads at that. They had exhausted all their resources and were left with no choice but to use the secret weapon: Ian Paisley.
"HARR HARR, PEEPIST BAWSTURDS! COME OYT COME OYT OR I'LL BLOO YOOR COCK UP!"
But it didn't work. Martin boxed Ian...in the face! And he died, God love him. Sure isn't everyone dying? And so the Nordies realized that the people of Cock were too good for them, and so they all committed hari-kari at once, and everyone in Swords laughed. Some ladies puked delicately into hankies when they saw the bowels, but everyone else laughed heartily.
Swords 1, Nordies nil. Well done.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Roiding in cors with RO'G.
Those old Southside lads of a weekend do be going into the aul' bars near the river, but only those firmly on the south side of the river. Like Q-Bor, Messrs', and loike awl those posh places in Temple Bor, roysh.
These unscrupulous laddish types with their rugby shirts and their bling-bling (splatter choo choo) find that with the help of a really bad put-on New Yoke accent picking up thick girls is pretty easy for a bit of a score, loike.
Example:
"O, hoy, my name's Maddy and I'm from New Yoke."
"Ah Jaysus, yer accent's bleedin' sexy."
"Oh my Gawd, loike, are you from the Nortsoide?"
"Ah Jayz, are you a fuckin' Soutsoider bollix?"
"Don't ever loike come over to the Southside again or Oi'll roide you and throw you back in the Liffey."
NEWSFLASH:
A READING FROM THE MADE-UP CHURCH OF ULSTER
"Rev" "Dr" Ian Peeslee has issued a new Papal Bull which decrees that "THARR WALL BE NOO GEES IN AWLSTER WHAYLE AY AM FURST MANNASTER OF NORN ARN".
New ad campaigns include and "Save Ulster from Fairy Liquid", "Ulster says no to Rufus Wainwright", and "Death tooy Alton Jawn and awl big farry geeboos". (The latter is "unofficial".)
"Dr" Peeslee says, "Ay yooysed tooy yooyse Farry Lackwad wan that lattle beebee waz on that boddle, but noy that Farry Lackwad raprazants the gees, ay will have noo moor ov ad in may Chorch. Noy wee yooyse Quansworth's bast yallow leebel woshin-up lackwad fur cleenin mee Yooynyun Jack dalf."
Ian "Little Bollix" Jr said when interviewed, "May doddy is rayt, the gees wall destroy Awlster and the Meed-Ap Chorch wath tharr big pank flooyts. Kall tham awl!"
Marn MaGannas said when interviewed, "Shan Fayn wall meek noo comment on Een's remorks. Ay lov Een, but nod in a hoomoosackshooal wee."
MICKEY
These unscrupulous laddish types with their rugby shirts and their bling-bling (splatter choo choo) find that with the help of a really bad put-on New Yoke accent picking up thick girls is pretty easy for a bit of a score, loike.
Example:
"O, hoy, my name's Maddy and I'm from New Yoke."
"Ah Jaysus, yer accent's bleedin' sexy."
"Oh my Gawd, loike, are you from the Nortsoide?"
"Ah Jayz, are you a fuckin' Soutsoider bollix?"
"Don't ever loike come over to the Southside again or Oi'll roide you and throw you back in the Liffey."
NEWSFLASH:
A READING FROM THE MADE-UP CHURCH OF ULSTER
"Rev" "Dr" Ian Peeslee has issued a new Papal Bull which decrees that "THARR WALL BE NOO GEES IN AWLSTER WHAYLE AY AM FURST MANNASTER OF NORN ARN".
New ad campaigns include and "Save Ulster from Fairy Liquid", "Ulster says no to Rufus Wainwright", and "Death tooy Alton Jawn and awl big farry geeboos". (The latter is "unofficial".)
"Dr" Peeslee says, "Ay yooysed tooy yooyse Farry Lackwad wan that lattle beebee waz on that boddle, but noy that Farry Lackwad raprazants the gees, ay will have noo moor ov ad in may Chorch. Noy wee yooyse Quansworth's bast yallow leebel woshin-up lackwad fur cleenin mee Yooynyun Jack dalf."
Ian "Little Bollix" Jr said when interviewed, "May doddy is rayt, the gees wall destroy Awlster and the Meed-Ap Chorch wath tharr big pank flooyts. Kall tham awl!"
Marn MaGannas said when interviewed, "Shan Fayn wall meek noo comment on Een's remorks. Ay lov Een, but nod in a hoomoosackshooal wee."
MICKEY
Friday, December 28, 2007
A Reading from the Fourth Edition of the Gee Encyclopaedia 1994.
In the beginning there was the Word and the word was with Twink and the word was D. Agnew. And one day when they had a bit of an argument Twink broke D. Agnew's oboe in two. For a while that's why he started playing the English horn. He wasn't just playing at home, he was also playing away from home. Thus, he became a stupid, fucking dickhead. It was all Twinky-winky's fault. One day, while he was playing with his English horn with Proinnsias ÓDuinn, who was playing his own flute, for a change, he spied a young one playing a clarinet. She was very impressed with D.'s mickey English horn playing and he was impressed with her flute playing (even though she didn't play the flute). He reckoned that she was a better flute player than P-P-P-Proinnsias could ever be. So, she decided to became his whore and they lived happily ever after ever in Bastardland. The End.
In other news, the DubDoc (I did say he'd come up again). Once upon a time, there was a Doc that came from Dub. And so the angel of the Lord did appear to him, south of the Liffey. O, faithful DubDoc, you shall serve your people and bear a mini-Doc and he shall be called Mickey, which, when translated from the Latin, means God-is-with-us. But the DubDoc said, "How can this be, since I am a man and not married?" But the angel said unto him, "The Holy Spirit will come upon thee and the power of God.........
Speaking of Mr(s). Henderson, the last time we heard of him/her, s/he was in that bad, bad adaptation of Roger Rabbit. But, now s/he has finally found success working as a tailor(ess) making cheap suits for women in J. Asha's sweatshop in Ballymena, under the very nose of Micheal Collins and Ian Paisley (both of them). They're good value, but the wool ones don't have silk lining. The cheap bastards, harr harr. But, Mr(s). Henderson has settled doyn to become an honourable (wo)man, all in the cases and details under the law. The Nordies allow that sort of thing as it was brought in by the Brits. Like, look at Elton John and Mr. Furnish-me-cock-upon-Tyne for mickey's sake! Ian personally rubberstamped the legislation, even though he hates all them bloody mickey-fiddlers (particularly those that do be fiddling each other's mickeys in the bushes).
At this time the authors would like to point out that "mickey" has absolutely nothing to do with toast or Mickey of the Mouses. Therefore, even though he's dead, Walt cannot do anything against us. Mickey Mouse, we love you!
Enough about mickeys and mickey-related things for now. More to come later. Introducing the newest, brightest item with the most adjectives yet. Big, wonderful, enormous, fabulous, excellent, great, sparkling, awe-inspiring, happy, gee-filled (sorry, that's mildly mickey-related since that's where mickeys go, and because technically, gees are inside-out mickeys. In retribution, we'll smack ourselves twelve and a half times each with our Big Red Mickey™s), mobile, wooden, fantastic THING!! As all of these adjectives can be applied to mickeys and other mickey-related items, the purpose is defeated. Goodbye Napoleon. Some of you may be wondering about the sparkling mickey. It's possible and polished beyond belief. Ask Willy Wonka, with Depp or Wilder. Probably Wilder would be more likely to have a sparkling mickey, or a mickey at all. Since Depp is a mná in the film in the case of Hendersons. Jim Henderson probably has something to do with it. He pulls Depp's strings and his mickey too. God rest 'em. Have yourself a merry little Christmas. If anyone asks, Mr(s). Henderson was Jim Henderson's brother's ex-wife until (we made him/her up) Mr. Henderson discovered that Mr(s). Henderson wasn't a woman at all and therefore couldn't be his wife because he was actually a man, if one gets my meanin'.
So, this is the second chapter of the unofficial biography of Mr(s). Henderson. After moving to Ballymena, where all that sort of thing is allowed, s/he met and fiddled the mickey off a honorary Nordy citizen called Jim Bartley who used to be Bela in Fair Shitty. They availed of the civil-partnership law and got married in Inverted Commas. Well done. Mr(s). Henderson would have become Mr(s). Henderson-Bartley, but when s/he fiddled his mickey off, her/his new husband became a woman in the eyes of both Ian Paisley and Mother Nature. And because Mr(s). Henderson actually had a mickey of his/her own at some stage along the way, things become so incredibly complicated that we'll spare you the details for another day. In
short, the Nordies didn't allow them get wedded in Inverted Commas due to a clause in the civil-partnership legislation of the Nordy Queen Land, related to mickey possession. Instead, the applied to get wedded in Italics but that wasn't allowed either.
In the end, the couple broke it off (not that there was anything to break off in any case). Now poor auld Mr(s). Henderson roams the plains of North America in search of love. All she wants for Christmas is his/her two front ovaries. We will, in time, return once again to the tales of Mr(s). Henderson and Anne Gyna, her new-found Colorado-born friend, that happens to be a beaver, judging by her gee anyway.
Love from us all. Kisses. MMMMWWWWWAHHHH, x.
In other news, the DubDoc (I did say he'd come up again). Once upon a time, there was a Doc that came from Dub. And so the angel of the Lord did appear to him, south of the Liffey. O, faithful DubDoc, you shall serve your people and bear a mini-Doc and he shall be called Mickey, which, when translated from the Latin, means God-is-with-us. But the DubDoc said, "How can this be, since I am a man and not married?" But the angel said unto him, "The Holy Spirit will come upon thee and the power of God.........
Speaking of Mr(s). Henderson, the last time we heard of him/her, s/he was in that bad, bad adaptation of Roger Rabbit. But, now s/he has finally found success working as a tailor(ess) making cheap suits for women in J. Asha's sweatshop in Ballymena, under the very nose of Micheal Collins and Ian Paisley (both of them). They're good value, but the wool ones don't have silk lining. The cheap bastards, harr harr. But, Mr(s). Henderson has settled doyn to become an honourable (wo)man, all in the cases and details under the law. The Nordies allow that sort of thing as it was brought in by the Brits. Like, look at Elton John and Mr. Furnish-me-cock-upon-Tyne for mickey's sake! Ian personally rubberstamped the legislation, even though he hates all them bloody mickey-fiddlers (particularly those that do be fiddling each other's mickeys in the bushes).
At this time the authors would like to point out that "mickey" has absolutely nothing to do with toast or Mickey of the Mouses. Therefore, even though he's dead, Walt cannot do anything against us. Mickey Mouse, we love you!
Enough about mickeys and mickey-related things for now. More to come later. Introducing the newest, brightest item with the most adjectives yet. Big, wonderful, enormous, fabulous, excellent, great, sparkling, awe-inspiring, happy, gee-filled (sorry, that's mildly mickey-related since that's where mickeys go, and because technically, gees are inside-out mickeys. In retribution, we'll smack ourselves twelve and a half times each with our Big Red Mickey™s), mobile, wooden, fantastic THING!! As all of these adjectives can be applied to mickeys and other mickey-related items, the purpose is defeated. Goodbye Napoleon. Some of you may be wondering about the sparkling mickey. It's possible and polished beyond belief. Ask Willy Wonka, with Depp or Wilder. Probably Wilder would be more likely to have a sparkling mickey, or a mickey at all. Since Depp is a mná in the film in the case of Hendersons. Jim Henderson probably has something to do with it. He pulls Depp's strings and his mickey too. God rest 'em. Have yourself a merry little Christmas. If anyone asks, Mr(s). Henderson was Jim Henderson's brother's ex-wife until (we made him/her up) Mr. Henderson discovered that Mr(s). Henderson wasn't a woman at all and therefore couldn't be his wife because he was actually a man, if one gets my meanin'.
So, this is the second chapter of the unofficial biography of Mr(s). Henderson. After moving to Ballymena, where all that sort of thing is allowed, s/he met and fiddled the mickey off a honorary Nordy citizen called Jim Bartley who used to be Bela in Fair Shitty. They availed of the civil-partnership law and got married in Inverted Commas. Well done. Mr(s). Henderson would have become Mr(s). Henderson-Bartley, but when s/he fiddled his mickey off, her/his new husband became a woman in the eyes of both Ian Paisley and Mother Nature. And because Mr(s). Henderson actually had a mickey of his/her own at some stage along the way, things become so incredibly complicated that we'll spare you the details for another day. In
short, the Nordies didn't allow them get wedded in Inverted Commas due to a clause in the civil-partnership legislation of the Nordy Queen Land, related to mickey possession. Instead, the applied to get wedded in Italics but that wasn't allowed either.
In the end, the couple broke it off (not that there was anything to break off in any case). Now poor auld Mr(s). Henderson roams the plains of North America in search of love. All she wants for Christmas is his/her two front ovaries. We will, in time, return once again to the tales of Mr(s). Henderson and Anne Gyna, her new-found Colorado-born friend, that happens to be a beaver, judging by her gee anyway.
Love from us all. Kisses. MMMMWWWWWAHHHH, x.
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