Archive for April, 2010

Faces I could never tire of kicking – 4

April 3rd, 2010

This weeks winner singlehandedly represents everything that is wrong with modern Irish politics.

Jackie Healy Rae is an independent TD for South Kerry.  He is supposed to be the voice representing the people of Kerry in national affairs.  Is he though?  Is he fuck!

This country is crawling with parish pump politicians, whose only concern is getting re-elected and therefore spend their entire time fixing local issues that are the responsibility of the local authorities.  JHR is proud of the fact that South Kerry probably has the best roads in the province, as he extracted vast sums from the government in return for the promise of his vote.

JHR doesn’t give a flying fuck about national issues.  What he cares about is keeping his six-figure salary [plus very generous expenses].  What he cares about is being a ‘cute hoor’ who sits in the pub getting free pints from everyone in return for promises of favours.  He comes across as a thick red-neck culchie, but he knows which side his bread is buttered on.

On a couple of occasions, he held the power to bring our fiasco of a government down.  In particular, he voted in favour of NAMA, which is a scheme pumping thirty billion into a failed private bank which singlehandedly caused our financial crisis.  Yes – that’s €30,000,000,000 of our money, when we can’t afford teachers, care for the elderly, the infirm or the disabled.

This little fuck had one glorious opportunity to do the right thing, but did he do it?  No.  Why?  Because that would have been the end of the gravy train, and the hassle of having to go forward for another election.

The sight of JHR has always set my boots twitching, but lately, like the little turd that he is, he has floated to the top of my cesspool.  In fact, I don’t think he needs a kicking.  Slow drowning on a slurry tank would be far more satisfying and appropriate.


Jackie Healy Rae claims he has no power.

This fine specimen of manhood is a national politician.  This Adonis represents us on the International stage.

God help us all.

 

The Faces collection.

Miserable Friday

April 2nd, 2010

Good Friday, Huh?

What the fuck is good about it?

This is a day when Christians commemorate the day that their founder was tortured and executed, and they decide to call the day ‘good’?  That is weird.  Surely from their point of view, it would make more sense to call it Bad Friday or Sad Friday?

I always hated Good Friday.  I don’t know why.  In fact I always hated the word ‘good’ because, as a kid it meant not having fun.  Any time I was really enjoying myself, my mother would pop out from nowhere and tell me to stop.  “Put those matches away and be good,” she’d say, or “Stop playing with that carving knife and be good”.  Good just became synonymous with boring.

Then there was the church bit.  I used to be dragged off to church on a regular basis, and the sermons were always full of creepy stuff about nails through flesh, torture, suffering and blood everywhere.  It’s enough to twist any kid’s mind.  Then to cap it all, all the statues in the churches would be covered in cloth and wrapped up which used to really freak me out.

My mother was a very strict Catholic [my father had more sense but knew when to keep quiet] so Good Friday meant we got nothing to eat which was a pain in the arse.  I discovered years later that my father used to sneak off to less observant neighbours and scrounge a meal there. Cute bastard!  Apart from the lack of food, I wasn’t allowed to enjoy myself in any way.  Good Friday was a day for prayer and that was it.  It was the most boring dreary day in the calendar.

Then of course there is the shit about the pubs.

What the fuck is it with this country that pubs have to close on Good Friday?  I have heard excuses that it provides a day of rest for serious drinkers, which is a load of bollix because any serious drinker worth his salt is going to stock up on the hard tack the day before.  Or is the Catholic Church so unsure of itself that it’s afraid that if pubs are open that no one will attend church?  Why does the Catholic Church have any say in the matter at all?  I know the law stems back to the time when that bastard McQuaid ruled the roost here, but surely times are supposed to have changed?

It’s freezing cold and pissing rain outside.  The spring flowers have enough sense to stay well wrapped up in their buds.  It looks and feels like winter.  Good Friday, my hole.

At least Pullit has the sense to open the pub when he feels like it.

I think it’s a day for the High Stool.

Misogyny

April 1st, 2010

Recently I was accused of being a misogynist which amused me somewhat.

Am I a woman hater?  Fuck, no.  I can’t afford to be.

Let’s do a head-count in Head Rambles Manor.  Apart from myself, there is Herself who is definitely more than 50% female.  Then there is Sandy [female], Minnie [female] and Fizz [female].  I have one daughter [sort of female].  It is reaching the stage where if I find a mouse in the house I check for gender and if he is male, I welcome him with open arms so I can have a bit of a manly chat.

Since I got married, oh so very long ago, I have been surrounded by female undergarments hanging from every available object.  I had to grow a beard as there was no room for a razor in the bathroom.  I know everything there is to know about tampons and sanitary towels.  Unfortunately.

I like women, as Sharon will testify.  I enjoy their company as they are less likely to talk about football.  They do tend to talk rather a lot more than men, but provided the conversation doesn’t drag on too long and we can get down to serious business without too much earache I don’t mind.

I think the reason I was accused of being a misogynist is because I made some comments about a website that sold makeup and cosmetics.  Now I must admit, I think makeup and cosmetics are for the main part a load of shite where the commercial world just cash in on the gullible, but I’m not totally against a drop of female grooming.   I am a little put off when a girlfriend’s armpits can vie with my beard for longest hair, but apart from that I’m happy.  Herself can look quite good too with a discreetly applied mask of Pollyfilla makeup.  Her eyes are beautiful enough [when they’re not bloodshot] that she doesn’t require makeup in that area.

I see the advertisements on television and I feel a little sorry for those unfortunates who fall for them – promises of rejuvenating cream and gunk that will make the head of straw look like a flowing mane.  Of course they always use beautiful young Fine Things to give the impression that if you buy the crap, that you will end up looking like a top fashion model, but it’s true what they say about silk purses and sow’s ears.

No.  I am not a misogynist.  I love women.

In fact, I think I’ll drop down to the village now and see if I can find one to love.

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