I'm not the racing kind, Che.
You're like a stuck record from 1973: out of date, unhip, not diggity, and impossible to dance to.
Read it again a few times - only very, very slowly at first, then as fast as you can for fifteen minutes.
When you're through, let us know - we're all ears.
No diggity?
I guess you meant to fill that one
in later?
'
Children, what's that sound?
Everybody looka Jambo goin' down..'
Actually, I think you and Damo (or is it Ian?) make a lovely pair.
You two could be the Irish football team's new mascots: doing your little dance in your fake Adidas tracksuits, stolen runners, baseball caps, and pockets full of stolen gear from every shop along Henry St up to Capel St. Apart from the stylish ones. Those are for your betters.
Tis.
Yourself?
Losing the patience a bit?
Have a few tins - you'll be right as rain in no time, unlike the dead Congolese man and his five Congolese assailants dressed as Arnott's security goons.
Mental the way these timeless and non-aging imports of yours get to spend a full
nine hours of 'protest' outside the Abbey St door of Arnott's under the supervision of one rather patient looking copper built like a sweeping brush smiling beatifically at them as they call for not just a boycott (
as they did when they started) but then somehow managed to start demanding that Arnott's be
closed down and
still the copper didn't move. Smile still fixed firmly on his little culchie face. Nodding along like a twat.
And you?
Sitting at home, playing with yourself in between the occasional insistence that I said the goons killed him because he's black, and all the while these lunatics on your high streets are still yelling and screaming, making threats and pointing fingers, upsetting the grannies and single Ma's, and still you won't get off your fucking arse and do something about it. No. You'd rather sit there like the cuckold you are, knowing you're being usurped, laughed at, pointed at for being the useless fucking mouth you are because you genuinely think that stopping immigration and racism is best done by arguing with The Mowl.
A man living a few thousand miles away in far happier country than you'll ever get to see. A man you know is blessed by fortune and who always managed to land in exactly the right place at the right time to get the right result and have a right old time of it with the time I have. That's what saddens me, Jimmy: you're wasting your minutes, your hours, oblivious to the damage it has on your days, weeks, months, and even years. It's all passing you by while you seek clarification about what you think someone you've never even met said, might have said, could have said, you wished he said, and whatever else he said thinking you're doing great work for the gnationalist cause.
You're a moron, Jimmy.
Your claims to a high iq are laughable.
Sure I'm from Ballyfermot and I can run rings around you and drive you nuts.
But I certainly don't need to make any bullshit claims about my education, knowledge, iq, or otherwise.
Sadly you do.
You know what?
That was probably an abacus your teacher was showing you, except you tried to eat it.
Then you threw it on the floor and started crying like a little girl.
That was when she told you it was an IQ test, wasn't it?
That's when she stroked your fat little head and told you you were too brilliant for the numbers, isn't it.
And you, sucker that you are, have been dragging it behind you like a dead cat with mange ever since.
Boring everyone with that, your boy-band predilections, and videos from BoyZone and East17.
Jimmy, I've met discarded old door handles with more interesting histories than yours.
Empty beer glasses are more entertaining than you'll ever be, son.
Have a few tins on top of the last few, it'll all start to matter less and less the more you drink.
