Joseph Haydn, Austrian composer and ladies' man.
Jeremy Paxman, difficult British man.
Wednesday, April 15, 2015
Thursday, January 22, 2015
Separated at Birth: Part the Sixth
Irish author and unwitting progenitor of this august blog (est'd 2007), Bram Stoker.
English composer, Basil Harwood.
Tuesday, January 13, 2015
Visitation
I was having dinner in a pub in Rathmines and by chance I
ended up sitting beside a table of clerics all wearing scarlet shirts and
collars. I spotted the Archbishop
amongst them and thought it might be an opportunity to introduce myself. How could I do so without appearing forceful?
I wondered. I kept looking over my
shoulder, appearing to do it casually but really keeping a close eye on the
episcopal table.
Just after I finished my garlicky spaghetti the Arch stood
up to go to the bar. Here was my
chance. I waited a second, and then rose
from the table sharply (though doing my best to retain the appearance of
coolness), dabbing the garlicky oil from the corner of my mouth with a cheap
crimson serviette (the sort of thing that leaves a stain if you try to wipe
your trousers with it).
I went to the bar, and seeing the grey curly back of the
Arch’s head before me, I dived straight towards him, and jabbing him in the
shoulder with my entire outstretched hand I almost dislocated one of my
fingers.
—Ah sorry, sorry, I said, wringing my hand and looking at
the floor.
He turned around. It
wasn’t the Arch at all—it was some other auldfella who wasn’t even wearing
clerical garb.
—Ah sorry, I said.
Thought you were someone else.
Never mind.
The auldfella looked away without saying anything. Prick.
I stood at the bar for a second. There was no barman to be seen. Fuck.
I looked over at the wall where the television (Sky News) and the
dartboard were.
—Brian, I said. The
auldfella turned his head to the left and looked at me.
—Ah, sorry, I thought Brian was over there. Never mind.
Fuck that, I said to myself, and giving the bar a little
imperceptible shove with both my hands (the left one still a bit sore, as I
realized a second later), I began to walk away and headed towards the jacks.
Inside the jacks there were three cubicles on the right,
urinals just beyond them, and sinks on the left wall. I decided to wash my hands, because I didn’t actually
need to use the toilet and needed to find some excuse to have gone in there. I washed my hands with shitty blue liquid
soap and then dried them under one of those fucking mental handdriers that
nearly take your skin off. As I was
rubbing my hands together in aimless circles I noticed the vending machine on
the wall to my right. Mini Vibrator,
€5. Fuck that. I’m not paying five quid for that shit. Extra Safe Condoms, €3. That’s not bad. Might be worth it in case I get the ride some
time in the next six months, I thought.
I took out my wallet and withdrew a €1 coin and put it into
the machine. Then I took out another €1
coin and put it also into the machine. In
preparation for the final coin I twitchily felt the knob on the machine which
moments later I would turn to retrieve my purchase. There was one more coin in my wallet but when
I took it out it wasn’t a €1—it was a 20 cent.
—Fuck. Fuck! Fucking COCK, I shouted as I dropped the 20
cent coin into the sink and banged my fist against the machine in rage. At that moment someone emerged from one of
the cubicles and appeared in the peripheral vision of my left eye. My eyes darted to the left and I glanced in
his direction. It was the Archbishop.
—O your grace, hello.
How are you? Em, I’m sorry, I
just got a bit carried away. You see I
was putting money into this machine.
He raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
—I wasn’t buying one of those mini vibrators! I shouted.
Silence.
—Or a cock ring.
Why did I say that?
The machine didn’t even sell cock rings.
The arch stared awkwardly at a fixed point on the tiled
bathroom floor ahead of him as he walked past me to the sinks, where he began sheepishly
to wash his hands, all the time staring downwards.
—It was only condoms your grace. Better safe than sorry, eh?
I laughed awkwardly but lightheartedly. He didn’t say anything. That made me very angry.
I snatched up my wallet (which I had dropped onto the floor
earlier) and shoved it half into my pocket and made for the door. As I opened the door I turned around and
shouted in the direction of the Arch who was just about to dry his hands.
—Yeah, well, fuck you anyway Ernie, you big PRICK.
I stormed out the door.
I don't know why I called him Ernie.
That’s not even his name.
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
Thursday, September 11, 2014
Friday, August 12, 2011
Uachtaráin na nGaybo abú.
Hello, hello, hello there now thank you very much, and welcome to the little Áras of the Uachtaráin—ye wha', Gay?—the Áras of the an-Uachtaráin, or the Residence of the Presidents if you will thank you very much, well done to you all. Now, I came here all the way on my little Harley Davidson, all the way, all the way from my little home on the little hill of Howth, isn't that right now, thank you, thank you very much now, yes, yes. And I'd like to thank all those who voted for me in this past election to be a President indeed, especially Agnes from just down the road there around the corner now, that's right. I'd also like to thank Bono, the lovely lovely Sinéad O'Connor and of course the dear darling national broadcaster, the RTE, the Lord above be good to them all indeed, and of course Tayto crisps, all of whom, without whom none of us, none of us I say would be here today for little old uncle Gaybo's little Presidential serenade, dear O dear O deary me. And there's one for everyone in the audience...
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Devil Eire beyant the grave.
'Hlo, Eeamon Oo Cweeve? Week up...it's your Grendeddy.'
Eamon Ó Cuiv wakes up in a cold sweat having heard the voice of Granda de Valera from beyond the grave. He immediately phones the Feena Fawl press office to tell them the news.
DE VALERA NOMINATES HIMSELF FOR THE PRESIDENCY FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE, runs the headline of the Irish Press, which was dead a while since. Liberal Ireland was in uproar and the Papal Nuncio was flown back to Dublin from Prague in order to explain to Enda Kenny in person that he had seen a vision of John Charles McQuaid holding hands with Our Lady of Knock appearing in the skirting board of his hotel room.
'God is angry at you for disrespecting the Holy Father, Mr Kenny,' explained the Nuncio in far worse English than that. 'This is his retribution.'
The whole presidential election shite was halted because Gawd hath ordainéd that de Valera was to be dug up and removed to the Áras at once and installed as President-for-Life-and-All-Eternity (Amen). Nordy Mary mother of Éireann was removed immediately from the Áras along with her family by An Garda Sicíní. The bastards didn't even give her a chance to pack and just fucked her belongings (and her husband) unceremoniously out onto the Twenty-Nine Acres (or whatever you call it). A Garda helicopter escorted the McAleeses (with the help of searchlights) into a safe house prepared for them in O'Devaney Gardens, North Circular Road, Dublin Seven, between St Bricin's and the pond where all the local drug dealers go to have a piss. (Note the irony of 'safe house' in this context. Refer to Chapter Four, Page Twenty-Eight, the section entitled 'Irony, Bwooh!'.)
They started digging up de Valera's grave, but when they discovered that he'd rotted away to nothing they commissioned Madame Tussaud's to make a lifelike wax replica of him that was installed in the front hall of the Áras in a glass case that Lenin would have been proud of. A ceremony was held to mark the occasion, celebrated by Archbishop Dearmit Martin and accompanied by a performance at communion by thrice-failed presidential candidate Dana Rosemary-Scallions, who treated the congregation to a lovely rendition of her hit 'All Kinds of Everything (Remind me of the Eucharist)', which was briefly at number two in the US Christian charts in 1987.
President-for-Life Eamon de Valera, 1882-1975, 2011-∞. Amen.
Eamon Ó Cuiv wakes up in a cold sweat having heard the voice of Granda de Valera from beyond the grave. He immediately phones the Feena Fawl press office to tell them the news.
DE VALERA NOMINATES HIMSELF FOR THE PRESIDENCY FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE, runs the headline of the Irish Press, which was dead a while since. Liberal Ireland was in uproar and the Papal Nuncio was flown back to Dublin from Prague in order to explain to Enda Kenny in person that he had seen a vision of John Charles McQuaid holding hands with Our Lady of Knock appearing in the skirting board of his hotel room.
'God is angry at you for disrespecting the Holy Father, Mr Kenny,' explained the Nuncio in far worse English than that. 'This is his retribution.'
The whole presidential election shite was halted because Gawd hath ordainéd that de Valera was to be dug up and removed to the Áras at once and installed as President-for-Life-and-All-Eternity (Amen). Nordy Mary mother of Éireann was removed immediately from the Áras along with her family by An Garda Sicíní. The bastards didn't even give her a chance to pack and just fucked her belongings (and her husband) unceremoniously out onto the Twenty-Nine Acres (or whatever you call it). A Garda helicopter escorted the McAleeses (with the help of searchlights) into a safe house prepared for them in O'Devaney Gardens, North Circular Road, Dublin Seven, between St Bricin's and the pond where all the local drug dealers go to have a piss. (Note the irony of 'safe house' in this context. Refer to Chapter Four, Page Twenty-Eight, the section entitled 'Irony, Bwooh!'.)
They started digging up de Valera's grave, but when they discovered that he'd rotted away to nothing they commissioned Madame Tussaud's to make a lifelike wax replica of him that was installed in the front hall of the Áras in a glass case that Lenin would have been proud of. A ceremony was held to mark the occasion, celebrated by Archbishop Dearmit Martin and accompanied by a performance at communion by thrice-failed presidential candidate Dana Rosemary-Scallions, who treated the congregation to a lovely rendition of her hit 'All Kinds of Everything (Remind me of the Eucharist)', which was briefly at number two in the US Christian charts in 1987.
President-for-Life Eamon de Valera, 1882-1975, 2011-∞. Amen.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Monday, March 8, 2010
Origin Myth of the Bram, a History of the Bram & letter of resignation from Bram
Origin Myth of the Bram
The following is a pseudo-history of the Bram, as written by Martin Luther after actually reading the Bible. After much scholarly revision of the material from the early Irish historic period, this tale fits into the Cycle of the Kings classification. It is known as The Book of Hendy.
Mr(s). Henderson was the grand-daughter of Noah, the sole survivor of the Great Flood. After combining with the Vikings of the Hebrides, Dublin ands Waterford (all quite miffed after losing the Battle of Clontarf), Hendy took the Kingship of Tara and ate a white mare after killing, fucking and sharing it out among his/her kinsmen (Jeremy of Connaght and Rufusonium of the Columban church of Linndisfarne). Hendy’s lineage continues straight and pure until the invasion of the Green Party from the islands of the north where they studied the arts of war, magic and the crafts. The Green Party made an alliance with the McQuids, of the land over the seas, by way of the marriage between the kings’ children. The bride-price was paid with the land afforded by the Green Party being given to the McQuids. A fort was built by the Green Party for the McQuids. The Hendersons were driven from their lands and replaced in the north of the island in special reserves (the borders of which would later be used by the Boundary Commission to create the territory of the State of Northern Ireland as led by Liam Neeson and Martin McGuinness of James’ Gate). The Green Party-McQuaid majority government of the island extracted tribute from the Hendersons and taxed their smoke, feet, heat, streets and their Apple Records. Dissension existed within the ruling classes but they maintained supremacy by rigid oppression. The ritualistic beating and ill-treatment of the Hendy children was widespread. It would later become a key-stone policy of state and non-state organisations.
…to be continued… (Please fill in below.)
This tale ends here rather suddenly. Eight empty folios are found after the end. They were presumably to be used by future storytellers/ historians.
A History of the Bram
‘The Bram aims to reunite the Irish people under common comedic values. While the Bram treasures its members’ individual identity it will not discriminate on any grounds of identity.’ –the Constitution of the Bram (1937)
In the early days, Douglas Hyde proved, using the analytical techniques of many academic disciplines, that de-Anglicisation of Ireland was needed. Hyde drew attention to one example—RTÉ showing Jimmy Carr’s stand-up shows in the theatres of Shrewsbury Avenoo. Even the mild Anglo-Irish gentry thought he was a flange sponge cake.
The Marquis de Bram (Bram being the next town along the east-bound main road from Bodenstown where T. Wolfetone was busy setting up the United Irishmen, writing bad ballads to be sung form the 1960s onwards and getting his private regions rubbed by Hispanic tourists for good luck) was a good friend of D. de hÍde and an avid believer of de-Anglicising the Irish.
At the height of C. S. Parnell’s fame (as he battled for a good woman, finding many a strange one and finally settling on an English whore—pity really, but it did make for a cracking period drama as broadcast by ITV on Boxing Day 1985) and successful career, around the time of the ‘new departure’, the Marquis de Bram called for the creation of an organisation to petition RTÉ to remove Carr from their Tuesday night schedule. After appearing on the ‘Midday’ show on TV3 and speaking on Matt Cooper’s radio show a boards.ie discussion showed the Marquis that the people were in agreement. He called for a mass (monster, if you will) meeting on the Hill of Tara but cancelled it due to RIC intimidation. Instead he got into contact with Parnell (to primarily buy some granite to pave Bram Street, Dublin 1) to get the leaders of the various strata of Irish society to accept him as a friend on Facebook so they could organise a representative meeting without the hassle of twenty thousand followers descending on the Hill of Tara and disturbing the British Israelites as they searched for the Ark of the Covenant.
Status update: The Marquis de Bram is way excited about the meeting, lol!
1 New Event: De-Anglicising Meeting
Who? Host: the Marquis de Bram
Where? Table-tennis Room Miss Hayes Commercial Hotel, Thurles (Main Street, between Via Gesú and Thorpebank Road, Shepherd’s Bush. (The table-tennis table is foldable and will fit easily behind the main door. Please supply your own seating.)
When? 3 p.m. Saturday, 1st November, 1884.
Why? To reinvigorate the Irish sense of idiosyncratic, misplaced, inappropriate humour.
That was the day that the Irish Truly Funny Association for the Preservation of the National Humour (ITFAPCNH) was founded. The association’s name was roughly translated (and later impugned) into Irish as Cumann Luthcleas Gael.
At the meeting, the patrons were named and accepted. Each was asked to become patrons as they represented a section of Irish society—Rufus Wainwright (representing the gays, of course), David Kelly MEP (RIP) (bow-tie lovers), Gerry Ryan (the general Evening Herald reading masses) and Dr. Garret Fitzgerald (representing the children that would be affected by the up-coming Dublin insurrection of 1916).
Local legend has it that a larger number of persons were present at the meeting, including some well-known personalities. Folklore historians add to the supposed list of attendees every year. The potential list includes the following:
Field Marshal Horatio Herbert Kitchener, 1st Earl Kitchener
Tom Lehrer
Pat Ingoldsby
Nicky Brennan
Charles the First of England
Madonna
Father Ted Crilly
Émile Durkheim
Thomas Clarke
George Hook
The ITFAPCNH set up branches in any parish in Ireland that would have them. By the end of ’84, they had a following in the regional centres and other minor towns.
Secret comedic societies around the country watched with both dismay and delight as Irish humour was being given a public respectable face. At the town level of organisation, some groups were more successful than others at infiltrating the ITFACPNH. The Knock-Knock Jokes Club tried and failed at their attempt to get a prominent member elected to the Ennis Committee. The semi-militant Poshbastards Underground had a strong presence in the Association in the south-west and exerted much influence on the association’s monthly publications (source: Bureau of Military History Release XM120J5 1971).
At the foundation meeting in Thurles, the Marquis de Bram was unanimously appointed Life-Time Honorary President of the ITFAPCNH having brought the pieces together for such an association to be formed. On the event of his death, the association was renamed in his honour. It became known simply as the Bram and to this day the Marquis de Bram’s dream lives on through the activities and determination of the Bram’s members.
The Bram has founded the Bram Charity to further the cause of the child victims of mickey mutilation in the developed world. It has also proved itself able to flex its political muscles by showing support for Noel Browne in his mother and child scheme. When the scandal ended in the opposing favour, the Bram paid for Dr. Brown and his immediate family to take a recuperating holiday to a popular Greek island.
More recently, the Bram has sponsored the Love Irish Food campaign alongside Anne Doyle and has forwarded the work of Childline in people’s minds. The Bram itself receives sponsorship from Toyota and Avonmore. It also gratefully receives honorary grants form various American universities, including Yale and Columbia, for being so fucking hilarious.
The Bram, for most of its existence, has shown itself unified. Only once did a leadership struggle threaten the association. In 1985 a radical grouping within the National Assembly attempted to seize power and install a new constitution and value system of a very different direction. It was led by Tom Waits, Michael McDowell and Geraldine Kennedy. The group were defeated and left the Bram. After their leaving they found refuge in the fairy mounds of the midlands where they continued to influence Irish society, interacting with the human world on the festive quarter-days especially Samhain.
To Whom It May Concern:
Since the foundation of the State in late December 2007, I believe I have acted, as administrator and contributor, in good faith and in the best interest of the Bram.
However, as it is very fashionable to do so and with due regard to outstanding managerial, financial, administrative, temporal, economic, racial and legal issues, I hereby tender my resignation from all posts and positions I currently hold.
I have come to the regrettable conclusion that my continuing in office will only serve to distract from the important and vital work and the serious challenges that the Bram faces at this time.
I leave, confident that my department’s contribution will be remembered fondly and with due credit in any possible further use, whatever form of manipulation that may take.
The material up until this post in which I was involved (whether partially or wholly responsible for) can be accredited to the authors of the Bram, as of the eighth of March 2010, in a manner similar to that of the late Mr. John Lennon and Mr. Paul McCartney in alphabetic order separated by a forward slash. The one exception to this is this post; I would like to hold lone credit for it.
I would like to take this opportunity to apologise to persons (still alive at this time) that I have killed fictitiously in the running of this administration. I extend my apologies to all affected family and friends.
I would like to thanks the National Geographic magazine, the British Broadcasting Company, Raidió Teilifís Éireann, Blogger, Google, Bill Waterson, Tom Lehrer, Dublin City Council and the wonderfully friendly citizens of Love, Missouri, USA.
I extend my best wishes to the administration remaining and look forward to further cooperation in the House.
I leave you with some words that have soothed me in recent decadent times.
‘Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?’
‘That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,’ said the Cat.
‘I don’t care where—’ said Alice.
‘Then it doesn’t matter which way you go,’ said the Cat.
‘—so long as I get somewhere,’ Alice added as an explanation.
‘Oh, you’re sure to do that,’ said the Cat, ‘if you only walk far enough.’
Carroll, Lewis. Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (1994 edition) Penguin Books: London, pp. 74-5.
‘Don’t let us put the responsibility, the individual responsibility, upon anybody else. Let us take that responsibility and let us in God’s name abide by the decision.’
Michael Collins in a speech to Dáil Éireann, 19 December, 1921.
Aldous, Richard. Great Irish Speeches. (2007) Quercus: London, p.74.
Go raibh míle maith agaibh.
The following is a pseudo-history of the Bram, as written by Martin Luther after actually reading the Bible. After much scholarly revision of the material from the early Irish historic period, this tale fits into the Cycle of the Kings classification. It is known as The Book of Hendy.
Mr(s). Henderson was the grand-daughter of Noah, the sole survivor of the Great Flood. After combining with the Vikings of the Hebrides, Dublin ands Waterford (all quite miffed after losing the Battle of Clontarf), Hendy took the Kingship of Tara and ate a white mare after killing, fucking and sharing it out among his/her kinsmen (Jeremy of Connaght and Rufusonium of the Columban church of Linndisfarne). Hendy’s lineage continues straight and pure until the invasion of the Green Party from the islands of the north where they studied the arts of war, magic and the crafts. The Green Party made an alliance with the McQuids, of the land over the seas, by way of the marriage between the kings’ children. The bride-price was paid with the land afforded by the Green Party being given to the McQuids. A fort was built by the Green Party for the McQuids. The Hendersons were driven from their lands and replaced in the north of the island in special reserves (the borders of which would later be used by the Boundary Commission to create the territory of the State of Northern Ireland as led by Liam Neeson and Martin McGuinness of James’ Gate). The Green Party-McQuaid majority government of the island extracted tribute from the Hendersons and taxed their smoke, feet, heat, streets and their Apple Records. Dissension existed within the ruling classes but they maintained supremacy by rigid oppression. The ritualistic beating and ill-treatment of the Hendy children was widespread. It would later become a key-stone policy of state and non-state organisations.
…to be continued… (Please fill in below.)
This tale ends here rather suddenly. Eight empty folios are found after the end. They were presumably to be used by future storytellers/ historians.
A History of the Bram
‘The Bram aims to reunite the Irish people under common comedic values. While the Bram treasures its members’ individual identity it will not discriminate on any grounds of identity.’ –the Constitution of the Bram (1937)
In the early days, Douglas Hyde proved, using the analytical techniques of many academic disciplines, that de-Anglicisation of Ireland was needed. Hyde drew attention to one example—RTÉ showing Jimmy Carr’s stand-up shows in the theatres of Shrewsbury Avenoo. Even the mild Anglo-Irish gentry thought he was a flange sponge cake.
The Marquis de Bram (Bram being the next town along the east-bound main road from Bodenstown where T. Wolfetone was busy setting up the United Irishmen, writing bad ballads to be sung form the 1960s onwards and getting his private regions rubbed by Hispanic tourists for good luck) was a good friend of D. de hÍde and an avid believer of de-Anglicising the Irish.
At the height of C. S. Parnell’s fame (as he battled for a good woman, finding many a strange one and finally settling on an English whore—pity really, but it did make for a cracking period drama as broadcast by ITV on Boxing Day 1985) and successful career, around the time of the ‘new departure’, the Marquis de Bram called for the creation of an organisation to petition RTÉ to remove Carr from their Tuesday night schedule. After appearing on the ‘Midday’ show on TV3 and speaking on Matt Cooper’s radio show a boards.ie discussion showed the Marquis that the people were in agreement. He called for a mass (monster, if you will) meeting on the Hill of Tara but cancelled it due to RIC intimidation. Instead he got into contact with Parnell (to primarily buy some granite to pave Bram Street, Dublin 1) to get the leaders of the various strata of Irish society to accept him as a friend on Facebook so they could organise a representative meeting without the hassle of twenty thousand followers descending on the Hill of Tara and disturbing the British Israelites as they searched for the Ark of the Covenant.
Status update: The Marquis de Bram is way excited about the meeting, lol!
1 New Event: De-Anglicising Meeting
Who? Host: the Marquis de Bram
Where? Table-tennis Room Miss Hayes Commercial Hotel, Thurles (Main Street, between Via Gesú and Thorpebank Road, Shepherd’s Bush. (The table-tennis table is foldable and will fit easily behind the main door. Please supply your own seating.)
When? 3 p.m. Saturday, 1st November, 1884.
Why? To reinvigorate the Irish sense of idiosyncratic, misplaced, inappropriate humour.
That was the day that the Irish Truly Funny Association for the Preservation of the National Humour (ITFAPCNH) was founded. The association’s name was roughly translated (and later impugned) into Irish as Cumann Luthcleas Gael.
At the meeting, the patrons were named and accepted. Each was asked to become patrons as they represented a section of Irish society—Rufus Wainwright (representing the gays, of course), David Kelly MEP (RIP) (bow-tie lovers), Gerry Ryan (the general Evening Herald reading masses) and Dr. Garret Fitzgerald (representing the children that would be affected by the up-coming Dublin insurrection of 1916).
Local legend has it that a larger number of persons were present at the meeting, including some well-known personalities. Folklore historians add to the supposed list of attendees every year. The potential list includes the following:
Field Marshal Horatio Herbert Kitchener, 1st Earl Kitchener
Tom Lehrer
Pat Ingoldsby
Nicky Brennan
Charles the First of England
Madonna
Father Ted Crilly
Émile Durkheim
Thomas Clarke
George Hook
The ITFAPCNH set up branches in any parish in Ireland that would have them. By the end of ’84, they had a following in the regional centres and other minor towns.
Secret comedic societies around the country watched with both dismay and delight as Irish humour was being given a public respectable face. At the town level of organisation, some groups were more successful than others at infiltrating the ITFACPNH. The Knock-Knock Jokes Club tried and failed at their attempt to get a prominent member elected to the Ennis Committee. The semi-militant Poshbastards Underground had a strong presence in the Association in the south-west and exerted much influence on the association’s monthly publications (source: Bureau of Military History Release XM120J5 1971).
At the foundation meeting in Thurles, the Marquis de Bram was unanimously appointed Life-Time Honorary President of the ITFAPCNH having brought the pieces together for such an association to be formed. On the event of his death, the association was renamed in his honour. It became known simply as the Bram and to this day the Marquis de Bram’s dream lives on through the activities and determination of the Bram’s members.
The Bram has founded the Bram Charity to further the cause of the child victims of mickey mutilation in the developed world. It has also proved itself able to flex its political muscles by showing support for Noel Browne in his mother and child scheme. When the scandal ended in the opposing favour, the Bram paid for Dr. Brown and his immediate family to take a recuperating holiday to a popular Greek island.
More recently, the Bram has sponsored the Love Irish Food campaign alongside Anne Doyle and has forwarded the work of Childline in people’s minds. The Bram itself receives sponsorship from Toyota and Avonmore. It also gratefully receives honorary grants form various American universities, including Yale and Columbia, for being so fucking hilarious.
The Bram, for most of its existence, has shown itself unified. Only once did a leadership struggle threaten the association. In 1985 a radical grouping within the National Assembly attempted to seize power and install a new constitution and value system of a very different direction. It was led by Tom Waits, Michael McDowell and Geraldine Kennedy. The group were defeated and left the Bram. After their leaving they found refuge in the fairy mounds of the midlands where they continued to influence Irish society, interacting with the human world on the festive quarter-days especially Samhain.
To Whom It May Concern:
Since the foundation of the State in late December 2007, I believe I have acted, as administrator and contributor, in good faith and in the best interest of the Bram.
However, as it is very fashionable to do so and with due regard to outstanding managerial, financial, administrative, temporal, economic, racial and legal issues, I hereby tender my resignation from all posts and positions I currently hold.
I have come to the regrettable conclusion that my continuing in office will only serve to distract from the important and vital work and the serious challenges that the Bram faces at this time.
I leave, confident that my department’s contribution will be remembered fondly and with due credit in any possible further use, whatever form of manipulation that may take.
The material up until this post in which I was involved (whether partially or wholly responsible for) can be accredited to the authors of the Bram, as of the eighth of March 2010, in a manner similar to that of the late Mr. John Lennon and Mr. Paul McCartney in alphabetic order separated by a forward slash. The one exception to this is this post; I would like to hold lone credit for it.
I would like to take this opportunity to apologise to persons (still alive at this time) that I have killed fictitiously in the running of this administration. I extend my apologies to all affected family and friends.
I would like to thanks the National Geographic magazine, the British Broadcasting Company, Raidió Teilifís Éireann, Blogger, Google, Bill Waterson, Tom Lehrer, Dublin City Council and the wonderfully friendly citizens of Love, Missouri, USA.
I extend my best wishes to the administration remaining and look forward to further cooperation in the House.
I leave you with some words that have soothed me in recent decadent times.
‘Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?’
‘That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,’ said the Cat.
‘I don’t care where—’ said Alice.
‘Then it doesn’t matter which way you go,’ said the Cat.
‘—so long as I get somewhere,’ Alice added as an explanation.
‘Oh, you’re sure to do that,’ said the Cat, ‘if you only walk far enough.’
Carroll, Lewis. Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (1994 edition) Penguin Books: London, pp. 74-5.
‘Don’t let us put the responsibility, the individual responsibility, upon anybody else. Let us take that responsibility and let us in God’s name abide by the decision.’
Michael Collins in a speech to Dáil Éireann, 19 December, 1921.
Aldous, Richard. Great Irish Speeches. (2007) Quercus: London, p.74.
Go raibh míle maith agaibh.
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