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.

Brief Interuption

We will return to the Lesbo Trilogy shortly after this coverage of some golf game somewhere.

"Well, Tom, isn't it a lovely day here at this large expensive-looking green place?"

"Yes, Tom, I couldn't agree more. It's very green here today."

"We have some guy with a stripy tee-shirt at the eighth hole. I presume he's going to try to put the ball in the hole now."

"Yeah, Tom. That's a good guess. Oh, here he goes. He's started to wiggle a bit as he lines up or whatever they do."

"That's right, Tom. I'm going to predict that he's going to strike it next."

"OH, yes. He's just hit the ball using the stick. Remarkable."

"So, the ball is now on its way towards the hole."

"I think the ball might go into the hole, Tom."

"Yes, Tom. It might go into the hole. But, I also have my doubts. Maybe it won't go into the hole."

"Well, I have to say, it's surely going in the direction on the hole."

"I see your point, Tom. It is going in the direction of the hole, but maybe only the general direction."

"It's pretty tense here as we continue to watch the ball travel towards the location of the hole."

"Oh, look at that, Tom. He's missed it."

"He has missed it, Tom. I really thought it was going into the hole."

"I was thinking that myself. But I now see that I was right to doubt that it was going to go into the hole on that shot."

"All the standing around leaning on sticks isn't going to change the fact that the ball just didn't go into the hole that time. For a while it looked like it was going to go in..."

"It did, Tom."

"...but, in the end, it didn't."

"And he doesn't look happy about, Tom."

"Well, I wouldn't be happy with that miss either. Want to go for a WKD?"

"Bang up job, Tom."

The Nordies go by in twos and threes.

The Nordies come ALL the way down the M1 by the busload for the attack, painting county flags red and white as they went. When they came off the motorway the first place they saw was Drumcondra.

"Well, thaat'll have t'dooy. ATTACK!"

The bastards burned Upper Drumcondra Road to a crisp with all their Nordy flag waving. The aul' orange floyt doubled up as a flamethrower to scorch Free State arses.

After their embarrassing defeat in Swords, they changed tactics. Instead of attacking the watering holes of the town, they revised their battle plans and decided on sports grounds. Poor Na Fianna and their GAA pitches were the first to get it. The Nordies just HARR-HARRed and blew the house down aswell as the goal-posts.

Ironically (maybe it was coldly calculated) enough, it was the third Sunday in September and the All-Ireland (Bank of Ireland) football final was being held in Pairc na Crocaigh up the road. Kerry were due to play Galway at four o'clock but The Nories burst in through the Nally Stand and demanded to be allowed to play Kerry. Their ultimatum was ignored until they shot Nicky Brennan. So, the GAA committee had an emergency meeting to insert a new clause in the GAA Constitution that would allow such a situation.

The match began and despite the turmoil, Kerry were kicking ass as they do. But after a late counter-asskicking, the Nordies won. Their control over Drumcondra was complete. They blew up the Bishop's Palace using a well-armed warboat that they'd brought up the canal. Poor Bertie's house was blown up aswell as St. Luke's for good measure. What was strange was all the people in Drumcondra just sat on their arses and did nothing. Sure, it's only full o' aul ones and priests. God love them.

Thankfully, when the scum from the surrounding areas heard about the Nordy invasion and occupation they came out. Whitehall, Santry, Ballymun, Beaumount, Phisboro and Fairview Divisions all reported for duty. Facing such fierce opposition, and not forgetting THAT day on O'Connell Street, all the Nordies legged it for Drumcondra Station and off they went.

Everyone then had a great piss up in Fagan's and all was fine. The Nordies wone the All-Ireland, but at least they were out of the Republic again. Well done.

Gees and Marys (or Maries?).

To follow on from the last post, we here at the Bram would like to point out that no reference was made in the previous post to Mary Robinson's gee, as that would have been grossly improper and frankly disgusting. Boutros Boutros Ghali would not at all be happy if a lady of the UN was violated by having her gee mentioned on the internet, O no! And in keeping with the new Bramblog policy on gee, mickey, and general durt, there will be, to quote Old Shawneen Pursill, "Less of that."

Now on the other hand, it would be a gross and heinous impropriety to mention the gee of another venerable Mary, she of the Mac Giolla Íosas. That would be completely desperate. Apart from being utterly filthily vile, to mention Mary's gee would be tantamount to treason. Yes, dears, I mean that. Not only would it be an embarrassment to the good and generous lady herself, it would be offensive to the Irish state and more particularly the office of the President.

So you have been warned. Don't talk about Mary's gee.

Awomen.

Gerry Ryan's Friday Giveaway.

Friday morning at 11 o'clock with Gerry Ryan as he gives out prizes for the most disgusting stories possible.

GERRY: And now on Ryan's Friday Giveaway, we have Barbara from Killester.

BARBARA FROM KILLESTER: Howya Gerry.

GERRY: Well Barbara, I've heard from Brenda that you have a story about shite.

BARBARA FROM KILLESTER: That's right Gerry.

GERRY: Good, I love a bit of shite. Entertain us, Barbara.

BARBARA FROM KILLESTER: Well Gerry, I was in the Maldives last year with me husband Brian and one day we were at the beach and we were after eatin' ice-cream.

GERRY: Right.

BARBARA FROM KILLESTER: And so Brian says to me, Jaysus Barbara, I think I'm goin' to have the scutters. And so I says to him, well, what are ya goin' to do about it. And before I knew it he'd scuttered all over his jocks right there in front of everyone on the beach.

GERRY: What a great story. Amazing. I think that one deserves a round of applause lads. Ah, nothing like a bit of shite on a Friday morning. Barbara, hold the line there, I think you might be in with a chance to win our fabulous prize of a fifty-euro voucher for Ann Summers' in O'Connell Street to buy yourself whatever sort of vibrator you like. Now, I hear that next on the line we have Linda from Cabra who has a story about snot. Good morning Linda.

LINDA FROM CABRA: Good morning Gerry.

GERRY: So Linda, is it true that your daughter failed her Junior Cert because she was picking her nose?

LINDA FROM CABRA: Well Gerry, me daughter Jacinta was in doin' her Junior Cert home ec exam and she was making an apple tart and when she thought the examiner wasn't looking she picked her nose and flicked it into the apple, but she got caught and got zero for it.

GERRY: Well that was a bit silly wasn't it? But, I mean, why shouldn't a young girl be allowed to pick her nose in full view of another person? I think it's appalling nowadays how dictatorial schools are. In my day you weren't just allowed to pick your nose, you were encouraged to do it. Extra points if you could flick it into someone else's dinner. So I say fair play to your daughter and may she have many more days of nose-picking ahead of her. Margaret from Finglas good morning.

MARGARET FROM FINGLAS: Good morning Gerry.

GERRY: So tell us your story.

MARGARET FROM FINGLAS: Well, one time back in the 90s when I was in holiday in Courtown myself and me husband were ridin' in our caravan when next thing he shoves his mickey by accident into the bed and it goes through and gets caught in a spring and fell off.

GERRY: Amazing. So what happened to it?

MARGARET FROM FINGLAS: Well, he had to get it stitched back on by the paramedics. So we weren't able to ride ever again.

GERRY: You mean you haven't had sex since the 90s?

MARGARET FROM FINGLAS: That's right Gerry. Well, I had a vibrator I bought down in Courtown afterwards but the batteries kept running out and it broke there for good about two months ago. So I haven't had me hole since.

GERRY: Oh dear, oh dear. Well we can't have that. Buy that lady a vibrator!

GERRY RYAN AND VIAGRA FOR THE LIPS

NEWSFLASH: Today in RTÉ, famed radio presenter and fat Gerry Ryan pioneered the newest medical treatment for men's health, Viagra for the Lips.

"Mrs. Ryan left me because she said my lips weren't sexy enough, so I decided to launch my own brand of male health products so that men can have the best rides possible. I just thought it would be great if you could have lips as hard as your cock for a bit of an aul' shag."

The Legion of Mary protested outside RTÉ holding banners which read "Jesus and Mary hate the Gerry Ryan Show", but nobody cares about them because they're nothing but a bunch of holy aul'ones.

Well done Gerry.

Cahal does Nepal.

"I love sex," says Cahal to the Nepalese youngfella.

"But what is sex?" asks the youngfella, confused.

"It is complicated," replies Cahal. "You see, most of the time when my hand is on your mickey, that's not really sex. But sometimes it is."

"But Mr Oshark, I am confused."

"Well, Jumbo, don't be. And call me Cahal. Actually, no, call me Bernadette because it turns me on. Now, where were we?"

Happy Christmas Lorna.