Mowl
Member
'We're the future - YOUR future' (Johnny Rotten 1978)
You poor misfortunate fucking losers. Look at them? I mean, just fucking look at that man-child? And yer wan beside him? Have you ever seen such dead and lifeless eyes? That wan's carrying some heavy bananas these last few years, so much so it'd make you wonder how close she is to replicating her father's suicide. She fucking freaks me the fuck out. Every time. Worse again when she's actually mumbling into the camera. She speaks like and AI bot on too much WD40.
These two are now in charge of your already mutilated basket case of an island.
That's the thing about islands: you can't run away - and according to Lenihan Jnr (RIP) neither can any money.
These two are sitting right under The National Debt as well as simple's new children's hospital. Billions and billions at stake. And what do you get? Harris? This'll be a fucking gas watch the skinny little cunt slowly fall to pieces. Though I have noticed a new way speaking and gesticulating from him over the last week or so. You do know he has Crohn's Disease? Well, he has. Do you know what it does to a person? No? Well, it means he can eat a meal, sometimes. But he can't complete the loop in the usual manner so his lower intestine and bowels get all backed up. And he can't poop. I imagine that?
Full of shit.
Literally.
As for The Grim fucking Reaper's partner in crime bringing up the rear, McEntee?
Hah hah! You've one seriously over-zealous pre-menopausal fruit-cake right there, ready to pop like an egg in a microwave. Mother's Little Helpers ain't going to help her. Not even an intravenous drip-feed of liquid amphetamine can spark those dead eyes up. Then there's your upcoming assisted suicide issue to debate.
Ask yourself: of all people in the cabinet, which one should definitely NOT be given the brief?
Now ask yourself: which one most likely WILL get the brief, regardless?
See?
That's why you're all on a poxy wet little island. Years and years ago, Ireland used to be physically attached to Scotland, Wales, and England. Even France long before that. But over generations of evolution and hundreds of thousands of centuries, the real world gave up on Ireland and the climate change of the time separated you from the civilized world because nobody wanted you stupid cunts around. Pro-creating with their children and making even more little stupid cunts. Ostracized. Bifurcated from the decent world. Cast out.
Now look at you?
Your prime minister lad's full of shit.
Your justice minister looks close to death.
The National Debt's still climbing.
And your National Children's Hospital looks fit to take kids in in the thousands at a time by the look of it.
Why's that?
The most expensive public building ever constructed, I heard a few days back.
You planning on some serious pro-creation condom-free orgies of Paddies and Biddies over the next few years?
The average size of the Irish family unit's shrinking, not growing - why the massive mega-structure?
You expecting company?
Heh.
Why?
Are you still stuck for one?
You poor misfortunate fucking losers. Look at them? I mean, just fucking look at that man-child? And yer wan beside him? Have you ever seen such dead and lifeless eyes? That wan's carrying some heavy bananas these last few years, so much so it'd make you wonder how close she is to replicating her father's suicide. She fucking freaks me the fuck out. Every time. Worse again when she's actually mumbling into the camera. She speaks like and AI bot on too much WD40.
These two are now in charge of your already mutilated basket case of an island.
That's the thing about islands: you can't run away - and according to Lenihan Jnr (RIP) neither can any money.
These two are sitting right under The National Debt as well as simple's new children's hospital. Billions and billions at stake. And what do you get? Harris? This'll be a fucking gas watch the skinny little cunt slowly fall to pieces. Though I have noticed a new way speaking and gesticulating from him over the last week or so. You do know he has Crohn's Disease? Well, he has. Do you know what it does to a person? No? Well, it means he can eat a meal, sometimes. But he can't complete the loop in the usual manner so his lower intestine and bowels get all backed up. And he can't poop. I imagine that?
Full of shit.
Literally.
As for The Grim fucking Reaper's partner in crime bringing up the rear, McEntee?
Hah hah! You've one seriously over-zealous pre-menopausal fruit-cake right there, ready to pop like an egg in a microwave. Mother's Little Helpers ain't going to help her. Not even an intravenous drip-feed of liquid amphetamine can spark those dead eyes up. Then there's your upcoming assisted suicide issue to debate.
Ask yourself: of all people in the cabinet, which one should definitely NOT be given the brief?
Now ask yourself: which one most likely WILL get the brief, regardless?
See?
That's why you're all on a poxy wet little island. Years and years ago, Ireland used to be physically attached to Scotland, Wales, and England. Even France long before that. But over generations of evolution and hundreds of thousands of centuries, the real world gave up on Ireland and the climate change of the time separated you from the civilized world because nobody wanted you stupid cunts around. Pro-creating with their children and making even more little stupid cunts. Ostracized. Bifurcated from the decent world. Cast out.
Now look at you?
Your prime minister lad's full of shit.
Your justice minister looks close to death.
The National Debt's still climbing.
And your National Children's Hospital looks fit to take kids in in the thousands at a time by the look of it.
Why's that?
The most expensive public building ever constructed, I heard a few days back.
You planning on some serious pro-creation condom-free orgies of Paddies and Biddies over the next few years?
The average size of the Irish family unit's shrinking, not growing - why the massive mega-structure?
You expecting company?
Heh.
What's yours?
Why?
Are you still stuck for one?
