St Benedildo’s College, Chill Mo Chuda

If you want a vision of hell, go to the Stillorgan Luas station on a windy Wednesday morning. It’s not even in Stillorgan. It’s lawless out there. The wolves walk around the place wearing those blue stripey shirts with white collars that Sean Fitzpatrick et al wore during the Celtic Tiger. Some people have pink hair. Some people eat chicken-fillet wraps wrapped in a further layer of cling-film. Think of the children Joe. They don’t even have velcro here, Joe. How’s the childerints supposed to be fastening thezzir shoe-laces Joe? It’s cridiminal, so it is.

You can smell the poor people a mile away. They pretend they’re going to work at Vodaphone [sic.], but no real job starts at ten in the morning. Narrow windows. Nothing else but to curtain-twitch.

Gallop your gee to Fanny. Make a clock with your cock, and dwell forever in detached suburban grimness, occasionally driving your Volkswagen Beetle down to Centra for a plastic-packed tikka masala. It’s like being in America, only with less nuclear power and more heroin. Happy children playing together in school. They’ll be dead eventually, like ourselves. Sinné Fianna Fáil, atá ag dul go bás.

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.

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.