Arsefield's Hall of Shame

[David]

Why is Jambo awake day and night trying to convert people to atheism?

Do you believe in God, deities, souls, spirits & things like that?

Depends on where their parents are from. Their parents, do you mean the grandparents of the individual you are assessing as being Irish, or not? 🤔 Do you think ‘anchor babies’ are Irish? I'll tell you what I think that is, are you good at cryptic crosswords?

www.sarsfieldsvirtualpub.com

 

[David]

Do you believe in God, deities, souls, spirits & things like that?

Depends on where their parents are from. Their parents, do you mean the grandparents of the individual you are assessing as being Irish, or not? 🤔 Do you think ‘anchor babies’ are Irish? I'll tell you what I think that is, are you good at cryptic crosswords?

www.sarsfieldsvirtualpub.com

Rolf, you, as a distant foreigner, you haven’t a clue what has lead to the social phenomenon that I have talked about. Also, let’s address the casual slur, “stale Mick farts”. Not only does this betray a deep disdain for Irish people, but it shows you’ve got no business involving yourself in any conversation about Irish nationalism (showing that I'm correct in thinking that you are bit of cunt). You don’t just sound out of touch—you sound like someone who actively despises the country you claim to care about. A nationalist? Hardly. You’re just another wannabe pseudo nationalist sneering down your nose at the people whose culture you neither respect nor understand. The last thing Ireland needs is your ideals or your involvement.

Your fixation on economics as the sole cause of Ireland’s social collapse is a lazy excuse to dodge the real issue: moral and cultural decay. Yes, Japan is conservative and socially cohesive, but that’s because they’ve held on to their traditions and sense of national identity—unlike modern Ireland, which has gutted itself by trading Catholic values for secular hedonism and consumerism. You’ve never set foot Ireland, what the fuck do you know. You can’t even compare the two. Ireland’s problem isn’t a lack of money; it’s a lack of soul. And that, my friend, is on the shoulders of people like you who peddle a Godless worldview while pretending that economics alone can fix what’s broken.

Your argument about young Irish adults staying at home and avoiding families reeks of condescension. It’s not housing prices alone that keep them from growing up; it’s the fact that the modern atheist mindset has sold them a lie. They’ve been told that personal pleasure is paramount, that family is a burden, and that commitment is optional. This has led to a nation of perpetual adolescents, obsessed with escapism and unwilling to embrace adulthood. You’re defending a system that’s robbed an entire generation of direction and purpose. Congratulations on playing your part in creating it.

Meanwhile, I’m out here doing something. I’m part of a group of businesspeople, military leaders, doctors, scientists and others who work behind the scenes (meeting several times a year in hotels around the country for the past 11 years) to build practical solutions for Ireland’s problems. One of our projects is creating a public banking system to free Irish people from the predatory clutches of global financial institutions—something Germany already does successfully, and we are trying to mimic despite the states objections. Another focus has been supporting young women in crisis pregnancies, giving them real alternatives to abortion. Thanks to those efforts, there are children alive today—playing GAA, enjoying Christmas, and bringing joy to their communities—who would otherwise have been dismembered and sold for parts by the monstrous international abortion industry, something that you support based on the canard of pregnancies being the result of 'gang rapes'.

What’s your contribution to Aussie nationalism? Oh, right—some vague ecological project. Important work, no doubt (I have an island in Clew bay that I plant trees on) does that make me special? No. So, forgive me if I’m unimpressed by someone who plants trees while their nation is being culturally annihilated.

You mock me for arguing with James, but at least I’m standing up for something. Meanwhile, you spend your days typing pseudointellectual screeds and smugly patting yourself on the back. Nationalism, you say, includes “soil, plants, and animals.” Admirable sentiment, but what about the people? Or do you see them as expendable?

And let’s not pretend you’re offering anything new. People like you are ten a penny in Ireland: smug, nihilistic, and utterly useless. You mock Catholic nationalism as outdated, but secular nationalism in Ireland has achieved nothing. Show me one victory, one leader, one movement that has advanced your cause. You can’t. Because all the so-called secular nationalists are busy arguing on 4chan or obsessing over online debates. Meanwhile, the last Irish nationalist to capture the public imagination and make a real impact was Declan Ganley—a practicing Catholic who single-handedly defeated the Lisbon Treaty and the entire Irish political establishment. Where’s your secular equivalent? Nowhere. Because atheists make terrible nationalists, and your lot has yet to prove otherwise.

You try to paint Catholic nationalism as outdated, but the truth is, you’ve got no vision, no victories, and no plan. Just empty rhetoric and a lot of excuses. You mock the Church, yet it’s the only institution that ever gave Ireland its moral backbone. Without it, we’re left with your version of “nationalism,” which is nothing but intellectual masturbation dressed up as policy. Go ahead, plant your trees, but don’t pretend you’re building a future for Ireland. The only thing you’re growing is irrelevance.

Have a break, have a Kitkat.

 

[Mowl]

You have no one but yourself to blame, Jimmy. Now everyone wants to be the Mowl, writing these big long posts that have too many words, too many paragraphs, too many points, and not enough Oasis. Your two second attention span has left you in Tigger's wake - even if the mad fucker is a crazy Catholic. Between your alcoholism and Myles's, the race to the bottom of the beer bowl is gathering pace.

Both Fishpaste and Tigger have finally grown into the adult diapers their welfare officers provide them with. The older they get, the more urgent their need to make their point as they see the clock running down and their time running out. They spend their days in convoluted contortions trying to get through to you, but they know they're wasting their time: you're just a little boy with his first ever thesaurus, looking to bug people and steal their time to fill in your own.

Tigger's taken you to the brink, but the poor fool refuses to acknowledge what I told him/her yesterday: you've already reached endgame.

From this point onward, all you're going to get is emojis and questions instead of answers or proof.

He's a sideline ball-boy, nothing more.

He is also gay, and it seems to me to be the case that the crush he had/has on me over the last few years is now being cast in your direction. His tastes are for scampish boys who love to mock and point fingers. You see with your own eyes that he knows you know what he is - a useless yap. He's spent the last three years of his life cradling the words 'nationalist' and 'ethnic' to his breast without any idea of what it really means. He can't seem to find the words to describe how he makes his ethnic nationalism manifest, so it's all just a theory. And because he finally found identity for himself in those two words, they don't actually mean anything at all because they're never acted on, they just help him fill in the time.

He only likes these ideas because he finds Keith Woods voice and wooden presence attractive.

Gay, as gay as a rainbow.

But if it makes you feel better, Jimmy - then blame me for Tigger and Fishtits now writing actual posts instead of bullshit one-liners.

The more they do it, the more likely you'll fuck off back to Boards or Telegram for your jollies. You haven't the attention span or the wit to write anything bar a one liner with a few emojis and an Oasis video tucked in at the end. Everyone sees that now. Your game's up, kid. Time to pull up your pants and find another hobby.

 

[Mowl]

Actually, Tigger: you reached endgame two days ago, you just didn't recognize it for what it is.

I've been through it, umpteen times. He's a boring fucking cunt once you clock his game and rather obvious modus operandi. It's likely the same with his chess playing: set moves he knows and has memorized, and if things don't go to plan - he ups the table and sends all the pawns flying everywhere and the kings and queens pocketed as he runs to catch the bus. That's just one of his ruses when he's been cornered like the sleek rat he is: change the subject to casual mentions of IQ and its worth. That and posting you a chess conundrum to see if you can bust it, and if you can't work it out in fifteen minutes, he's back with the IQ shit all over again.

You're at the point now where you can either play along, or play to win.

The latter isn't just easier, it's also more satisfying, because whenever any of us corner him, he throws a tantrum. Shouts and screams about 'de rules' and how they're stacked against him and how deep in league YOU and Fishpaste are. Same shit. Every. Fucking. Time.

So give him a few hours to get half a dozen tins of Dutch Gold into his blood, then the real shit'll hit the fan. He'll look for any reason at all to complain, then start accusing you of being a mod, of having access to his private shit, and that you're shadowing and shadow-banning him even though you're just a member like me. No ban-hammers. No inflatable fingers to point. The paranoia that comes with it is often hilarious, so look out for that part.

In conclusion - you ran an excellent race: you contained the OP from start to finish, any and every deviation on the thread is Jambo's, so watch out for him going back and editing things - he's a right cunt for that sort of thing. If he can't edit it, he'll try to delete it. If he can't do that, he'll flounce. If his flounce doesn't get the required result, he'll quit and demand a GDPR and keep stamping his feet until he gets one. Or not. Not is much better: there's loads to laugh at.

Once he's confident that we've all forgotten his last username, he'll be back under yet another handle and with the same tired old games.

Here's to ya James, James Dawson, Jimmy D, Electricity, AN1, AN2, U2 Documentary, etc, etc, etc.

You ridiculous fucking loser - Tigs slapped you all over the gay bar and out into the scullery like the little bitch you are.

Your reputation is currently valued at around three and a half Declan Kelly silver dollars, you stupid cunt.

Gas the way Arsefield's tranny Swordid courted you into seduction, then dropped you like a hot mulatto?

You're fucked, Jimmy - time to dream it up all over again - you terminally boring and rudderless loser.

Stick on your favourite Oasis song, then hang yourself - you're done.

 

[David]

Jambo behaves like a spoiled brat who has to have his way 100% of the time.

 

[Mowl]

Any sign of a GDPR demand from Jambo yet?

He's hunkered down over in the dunce's corner - waiting for an update from Keith Woods as to what to do next.

Apparently 'ethnic-nationalism' is the act of screaming and whining for as long as possible, then throwing your soother out of the pram and going into a sulk when you're shown to be the complete arsehole you are. He's been brooding in the corner since last evening's final whipping by Tigger the Tiger - a man who takes his Catholicism very seriously.

Jambo's really hurting: he even offered up (without any demand) the fact that both his Ma and Da are dead - but it didn't buy him any peace from the relentless battering he took from Tigs. This being Tuesday, he can't really do a Friday nighter on it either: so getting drunk on multiple tins of Dutch Gold before at least 1900GMT is probably out of the question. He could try to fill in the time by using these free hours to roll a few spliffs of soap-bar hash instead of drinking himself into oblivion. The soap-bar's never too strong. It stinks of diesel and henna, petrol, shite, animal fats, and who knows what the fuck else, but he might be able to thread a needle with more accuracy than under the influence of that damned Dutch export lager.

He still has account here though - he started a thread last week to greet after such a long break, but I didn't buy into it: no point when he's smarting this bad.

The final hours of AN2's last sunset are way out there on the horizon.

 

[Mowl]

'We'?

Which 'we' are you talking about, Wilfred?
You and who else?
You and me?

Nope - I didn't see you in the basement of the Four Courts nor in the interview room at Pearse Street station. I was there multiple times, I spotted other kids younger than me sitting with their parents, likely waiting for their video-taped interview with an appointed psychologist present. But you wouldn't know anything about any of that, now would you?

You're some sad rat bastard, Wilf: I know harder grannies than you, you cowardly sewer rat.

You did nothing. You'll continue to do nothing. You have no plans to do anything in the future either, because I took care of it in the past. My past. My childhood. Destroyed by the church and state and for what? So their minions could continue to rape and beat Irish kids? For you to laugh at? Where were you? Probably in the sports dressing rooms, cleaning shite and muck off the GAA boots and spraying the jerseys with air freshener because it costs too much to launder them every time they're used. Then trotting off home to some warm oxtail soup cooked by your Ma, whom I hope is dead having suffered terribly in her final months.

Scum like you are what kept the hamster wheel turning, you shit-eating rat-fucker - cowards exactly like you.

The ones who shut up, did nothing, said nothing, kept their heads down lest eye contact be made, and pretended it was all their own business, all their own fault. And at the time you felt no guilt whatsoever either, did you? Of course you didn't. Why would you? Why would any selfish hypocritical sewer rat care about anyone elses tribulations? You rubbernecked it, then pointed fingers at it, just like you're still doing today.

I bet you any fucking money Wolfie was a battered schoolboy, one who felt his esteem lower because he wasn't selected for 'special treatment' of the kind you find so very fucking funny, ha ha ha. You're angry because the brothers didn't rape you, so that at least then you'd have an excuse for being the cheap-assed useless sell-out you show yourself to be.

'..just when we thought we got rid of the perverts and pedos by destroying the RCC, the state steps in to take up the baton...'

You got rid of nothing.

But I got rid of something far bigger than you'll ever understand, rat boy.

Now go crawl back up into your dead Ma's rat-infested womb and pray for yourself, you pathetic little Paddy mouth-almighty.

 

[Mowl]

Ever considered writing a post of your own instead of copy/pasting anything and everything that you pick up from the net like even more STDs than you previously carried? Ever since Kangal left you've been like a kid with a bottle of Fanta from 1975 - and no-one around to open it for you.

If it wasn't for the fact that Roundy's site is a standing joke with four daily Irish users, you'd have been booted out years ago.

You're just a mouth - another Djambo in a frilly shirt thinking you're all that.

A slave to your own pointlessness.

Poor Wilf.

 

[Mowl]

For once in your miserable existence you got something right: I am the last thing I got rid of on precisely the day I left Ireland for good. Or rather: for the better. The rest I leave to you, dear Wilfy. Never has an angrier man awarded himself such a stupid username as yours when you spend your days whining about Ireland and how fucked up she truly is.

The thing about that thing?

You. You're the thing. You have to live with what I left behind. And you clearly aren't even remotely happy about it, are you?

See, that's exactly where I win and you lose - like pretty much every other day of your miserable excuse for a life in the most broken down, massively in debt, rainy, post-catholic, post collapse, post-Mowl country on earth. You suffer the weather. You suffer your political clowns. Your debt. Your sadness at how your life panned out and how dumb your wife is for putting up with you. I bet you whine about Ireland when you're fucking her up the arse, right? I know, I know: you have to find ways to make her think you still love her. She knows you don't. She knows you're a bum. A lazy useless old bollocks who can't even fuck her the way she needs to be. You think kisses are like little credits, so you fake kiss her for your pocket money for your daily few tins of cheap imported lager and frozen pizzas to stuff your face with while you wait for her to get home from work to cook your supper.

No wonder the cheap slag is sucking any and every cock out there, Wilf.

You're letting the side down, man.

Me?

Still happy and getting happier by the hour. Still living a far better life than than you can even dream of. Still kicking your ass like I have been doing since I spotted your dumb username and clocked what a complete fucking twat you are. You hate your life, I know. I would too if I were in your boots but you see I'm not the sort to settle for second best: I expect the best of the best, because I deserve it. This is why I have a harem of Finnish beauties calling by my place to cook for me and pour my wine before I take her and sweep her off her feet into unbridled lust for my body. Must be crap having to pretend to enjoy fucking the same auld sack of a wife once a month so she doesn't clock that you're just bumming off her hard work?

Do your kids also slap you around the way I do, Wilf?

Yours is truly a sorry quandary: you hate Ireland, but you can't leave. You hate me more than you hate Ireland, so you can't stop yourself swinging by multiple times a day to check up on my antics. That HAS to hurt! Oh, man - if I were in your shoes? I'd just get a rope and end it all. Write her a last letter telling her the truth: you never loved her. You never even liked her. The sex died a death around twenty years back and you content yourself online at whatever porn sites aren't charging fees/pay per view. These days it's all over in two minutes, right? She pretends that she likes it and you lie along with her. The poor stupid slut doesn't know what she's missing, but at some point she truly will: all she needs is to actually see the massive black dingus in some Nigerian men's hand before she sucks it down into the back of her throat like a dying man slaking his thirst in the northern Sahara after three days of wandering.

So yeah, wide boy: I got rid of myself - at least as far as Ireland's concerned. As soon as I was established up here was when I truly went hell for leather on Ireland. I flew in, made piles of cash dollar money, then took it back here to enjoy. I've been at it for over three decades and still I haven't paid a cent is Irish tax. Why would I? You can do it instead, right? Or at least - your wife can, right?

Poor Wilf, his wife's no MILF - she's an elderly sack with thick blue veins all over the backs of her legs. Her belly fat not so much pink as it is grey and blue. Big bulges of cellulite and blocked veins. Rolls of fat down to the knees. You might as well be throwing sausages into a blue whale, you sad bastard.



You do realize that having absolutely no mates at all doesn't make you 'hard' right?

I mean, neither does your wife - but that's your own conundrum, innit?

The thing with big huge African blokes is that they don't like skinny white slags: they like them plump and bouncy. Big huge fat arses they can slap and tickle and not have a clue where their cock actually is and which hole's been rogered the hardest. Missus Wilf - MILF of the year in 1973. Had her own column in te back of the Daily Mirror and her picture on the cover of 'reader's wives' in 1974. Big mad bush on her too, right? Loads on her pussy as well as her big mad gaping hole, right? You could roll yourself up in those layers of fat and hibernate until 3024 in guaranteed warmth.

Even Val's brokenhearted for you, and look what he has to look forward to coming home to every other night:

Your fat slag wife's even worse, right Wilf?

Planning on banging her tonight?

Just make sure you hose her out first, there's probably more than a few black lads upside her chuff, dodging the cold and the high rents in Dublin.

Poor Wilf.

 

[David]

What the fuck is Feeney going on about?

Nobody cares, 140 Riverforest lad..

How do we get more people to practise Christianity?

The best way to solve the problems in Europe are not through Leftist theories of economics but through the reinvigoration of the Christian faith, whichever denomination you happen to adhere to. But how do you go about doing this? It seems almost impossible considering how atheistic people are...

www.sarsfieldsvirtualpub.com

 

[Mowl]

What the fuck is Feeney going on about?

I doubt even he himself knows.

 

[Mowl]

'It always amazes me how the jealousy of me by the likes of you outweighs your love for the Gowl (he literally shits all over you guys)..'

Nah, I'm sure they'd like me to, but shitting on other men isn't my idea of hot fun, Djambo.

But by all means feel free to embed your nose upside Roundy's rectum: I'm just so happy you finally found your true spiritual/intellectual home - Arsefield's.

'Funny how he spends so much time commenting on the appearance of others. He's not exactly George Clooney, is he...'

George Clooney? Was it your wife who said that to you about me when you showed her my picture?

It's really nice to know that you and your Missus pore over my photos and always keep them close to hand, eh.

Does your wife really have a bigger dick than you, you big gay yoke?

 

[Mowl]

So Djambo, tell us: do you think Clarke/Connolly is finally starting to realize that you're not his best bud after all?

Nobody seems to LIKE his posts anymore, do you think he'll survive the holiday season without them or d'you reckon he might finally cop on and top himself? It surprises me greatly to see the levels you'll stoop to to fill in the long empty hours of the day: chatting with C/C? You? And Clarke/Connolly?

We all know how empty your life is and how thick you really are after last week's complete run-through you were given by Tigger the token tiger. But to stoop to C/C's level? Perhaps it's good for you. Perhaps you'll finally cop on to yourself and get a job or try to do something/anything constructive with your life. You hate your country but you won't leave. You hate your life but you won't even try to change it. You hate Irish people - I'm with you there, but still: hating the very people you're stuck on the same island as? Not very astute, right?

It's Christmas Day tomorrow (Dec24) here in Helsinki: we celebrate one day earlier, and use the actual Christmas day for lounging in the sauna and having multiple snacks instead of having to cook. I'll be spending mine with friends who dislike the holiday as much as I do so there's no Christmas tat, decor, foods, drinks, or otherwise. The whole point of the dinner party is to bring things that have fuck all to do with Christmas, which is why I'm bringing the basics for copious numbers of tequila slammers, fresh White Widow weed, and Irish coffees.

How about you?

Did C/C ~ ~ invite You Over to Share ~ ~ in a few, NOT Funny Jokes ? ? !

If so, do us a favour: quickly stick a pair of sharpened pencils deep into his eye sockets, would you?

Good man.

 

[Mowl]

 

[Mowl]

Poor Jambo.

Thinks all of Scandinavia and the Nordics are Finland.

#obsessed

 

[Mowl]

Poor Djambo.

The fact that I'm still having to school you about basic geography and language says a lot about your IQ, Djambo.

I've been reliably informed that the above clip was not taken from a Finnish chat show (it's somewhere up there cold anyway).

Norway, Sweden and Denmark are:

(a) Nordic
(b) Scandinavian
(c) Slavic

Finland, Iceland, and The Faroe Islands are:

(a) Nordic
(b) Italian
(c) Lunar

Finnish people speak:

(a) Mandarin
(b) Nigerian
(c) Finnish

Norwegian people speak:

(a) Chinese
(b) Irish
(c) Norwegian

Irish people in Helsinki speak:

(a) Gaelic
(b) Swedish
(c) Finnish

What can I say, we all mistakes.

Your Ma and Da certainly made a huge mistake.

Take it away, Brandon -

Your taste in music is truly appalling.

And if 'somewhere cold' isn't to your fancy, what the fuck are you doing languishing in fucking Ireland? You're colder than I am. Whether indoors or out. Even at -15C I'm still warmer than you because we don't have the humidity you have. Not only that, every inhabited building in Finland has to maintain a temperature above +20 to stop the ice fucking things up.

Example: every drainpipe in Finland has a thick rubber coated electrical wire running through the middle of it.

I'm talking basic gutters and drains here, the standard type.

The electrical line has a low output charge that keeps it warm and it's enough to stop the ice from completely blocking the pipe and the guttering above from freezing and overflowing. If the gutters fill up and brim over, they form pointed daggers of ice that can grow very long and weigh enough to kill you should you walk beneath one that's falling. It'll either go straight through your skull or else it'll smash into pieces ripping your skin apart and cracking your cranium. So even our drains are warmer than your hearth and/or kitchen. On our downtown high streets, there are pipes just below the concrete surface which draw any hot/warm waste water (by standard displacement) from the buildings around which in turn warms the metal pipes enough to thaw out any snow and ice trying to take a grip on the pavements above. So even if it's -35C, the pavements are still clear and dry.

Let's take a look at your pavements, shall we?

Your pavements are mostly pissy, spitty, shitty, and rancid with other vile elements like puke, dead bugs, discarded food, chewing gum, rat shit, mouse poop, phlegm, and menses. Then there are the syringes, the butts, the food wrappers, the dead junkies, the bottles, cans, tins, sleeping immigrants, plastic bags, homeless people, and other assorted bums. Junkies hold sway in Dublin city centre, they've owned it since around 1995. Since then it's only ever gotten worse. Your buildings are equally crap. Slapped up glass and steel monstrosities that utterly destroy what little of Georgian Dublin is left. You build horrible concrete housing estates for your working classes, then abandon them to it while blaming them for becoming junkies and drunkards. Your new houses over the last thirty years are shoddy, cheap, rotten, infected, knocked up, badly designed, and built on flood plains. They have no attached services nor plans for same.

It's +5C in Helsinki right now: no snow, no ice, no white Christmas - our warmest year on record actually.

We may see snow on Wednesday, up to around five to seven inches overnight, but it'll be gone again by Thursday morning: not cold enough.

You?

If it drops to -1C and you're outdoors, you'll be freezing your nuts off and shivering like a shaken bowl of jelly. The damp will grip you and refuse to let go. No number of layers of clothing can stop it biting into the very marrow of your bones. You can't fight it either, so you have to learn to live with it. Which is exactly what you do, almost without even thinking about it, right?

Not me: my apartment never drops below +23C as standard. Same for most everyone else around here. If I open my balcony door and let the heat out, it'll boot the thermometer into overdrive to bring it back up to standard pronto. You have to go out to the shed and get another bucket to throw some more coal onto the fire. Or turn your two-bar electric heater up to the max. All the rings on your cooker. Your oven too. And you'll still be shivering.

So all in all - you've learned a little something today about geography, language, weather, basic civic engineering and utility design, and your own abilities to handle the varying degrees of human misery open to all of us. Which is why you're there and I'm here, laughing at you. You have two jumpers on you right now, yes? Double socks too? A scarf when you head into the kitchen? Cold water only - unless you pay through the nose to heat some up? I have boiling hot water as well as freezing cold (non fluoridated) water. Cleanest in the entire EU. All day. All night. Every day. Every night. My hallway is warmer than your lounge. My bicycle lock-up warmer than your bedroom. And it costs you a fortune to maintain it. Me? I get it all from my taxes, which really aren't all that high - we just say they are to stop fools like you thinking about moving up here to enjoy a life rather than suffer one.

So consider Norway, the setting for your dumb video which you claimed to be Finnish.

Norway is stinking fucking rich, and they love lording it over people. Get into an argument with a Norwegian (which would be difficult given how happy they are) only ever results in one conclusion: 'we have the oil, you don't, and we don't give a shit what you think: we're fucking RICH'. Doesn't matter what the argument is about, they can afford to not give any fucks whatsoever. They just grin at you and wink. You'd last around twenty seconds before dying of poverty, Djambo. A pint in the pub costs around fifteen to seventeen euros. Not a particularly nice beer either, not at that price. You'd need to spend twenty-five euros-plus for a nice beer. Yet Dublin's still worse. It may not cost as much, but a tenner for a pint in Temple Bar? With the smell of bleach, piss, shit, and cheap perfume hanging on the air? Cut-throat skangers on every street corner?

I'd rather the Norwegian option, thanks.

And so would you - if you could afford it, which you can't; you can't even afford Dublin.

Which makes the Mowl laugh, a lot.

 

[David]

Arsefielders must be the only people in Ireland who hate Finland. Don't think I've ever met anyone in real life who dislikes the Finns.

 

[Mowl]

Arsefielders must be the only people in Ireland who hate Finland.

It's all projection really. If I lived anywhere else, like say Barcelona or Amsterdam (again) there wouldn't be such a mystique and jealous rage attached to my location. Who's going to say bad shit about Amsterdam? It does exactly what it says on the tin, and only a complete fucking moron thinks that's all there is to it. Or with Barcelona: it's a place you're more likely to pass through than Helsinki is. Personally, and since my school days and all the pen pal-related tasks we learned about Europe from, I was always keenly aware of the Nordic region and why it was so far off the beaten track. Which is also the very thing I love about it: the chances of my meeting anyone I know are pretty much zero. Lots of professionals in the music biz pass through and I usually get to hang out with them and they all express the same curiosity: 'how did you end up here?' I didn't - I set out to land here, not Ireland. That was the whole point of leaving in the first place - to find a better life than any I might have had in Ireland. Ireland didn't have what it took to hold me, she's a tart, a whore. She's fickle, subject to change, almost always fucking herself and her people up. She destroys the very things that make her unique and her striving for even more of the same loss of identity and depth of culture is bought and sold like cheeseburgers and fries. She's the one country I see trying the hardest not to be herself, but to be what anybody and everybody else wants her to be. Not my kind of people or place. Her whims and her cruelty are too much for a soul like mine to live amidst, too much unnecessary suffering and hardship on an island so small. So I got out, which was the whole point of every choice I made in my childhood and through my teenage years until I finally got a passport. I was out the next day, and the day after that was in Paris, where I stayed for nine months. Coming home to Dublin after that was the most deflating feeling I ever had, and so I knew I had to go.

Besides, where we live is little more than our base, the place we operate from. I'm four hours away from Dublin city on a direct flight: so what's the difference where I live? For me it's about quality of life. Being in a place where everyone shares a common confidence in each other to do their best in whatever their field is. To be good people among good people where the cycle of positivity and input are valued regardless of your trade skills.

These things don't exist in Ireland.
It's every man for himself back on the auld sod.
I tried it, it didn't suit me, so I fucked it back in her face.
I don't want any part of it - I'll whizz in when I have and I'll be gone again as soon as I possibly can.
Spending too much time in Ireland isn't just hard on the wallet, it crushes the soul.
You learn to not give a fuck because if you do it'll break your heart permanently.
Lots of Irish people I know are truly heartless - they have the skin of an elephant.
I don't want to have to harden myself like that, it's too high a price.
I value my soul, my time, my life experience - I have no wish to follow in anyone's footsteps.
I'm happy enough to learn from my own mistakes and have nobody to lean on but myself.
It gives me the will to succeed in whatever I do, and my main objective definitely ISN'T money.
I want to know when I look death in the eye that I used my time well.
I wasn't waiting for directions, lessons, or assurances.
Nor was I afraid: I knew it could only be easier once I assimilated, which I more than have.

So now I'm the king of my own castle, I made my choices and these are how they panned out. I'm in the world's happiest country. I'm fit and healthy, happy and energetic, I have money in the bank and time to spend it. Everything up here works as it should. For my taxes I have a life quality far higher than Ireland could ever afford me - or allow me, as a Ballyfermot boy. I'm more deeply immersed in Finnish history and culture than I ever was in Irish culture. There aren't any Irish heroes any more. They all died after The Rising, and since then Ireland's been languishing on welfare from her neighbours. Ireland always needs outside help, but she won't admit it. Too proud. Too stupid. Too shallow. Too drunk.

She could have been great, but instead she bought the magic beans and now she's convulsing on them.

Personally, I hope the cheap fucking bitch chokes on it.

Don't think I've ever met anyone in real life who dislikes the Finns.

That's because you don't really meet too many Finns. It's not like we all hop the plane south every summer for two weeks of fish and chips and warm beer on the beaches of Spain and Greece. We look forward to our own summer: our mökki culture, our wanderlust for nature and the wilds, the forests, the rivers and lakes. Living off the land. Sunning naked by a cool lake with a sauna nearby and some fresh fish smoking over the open fire while the beers chill in the water (or underground fridge). It's seriously hot in high summer, so much so the sun doesn't set for weeks. Where else would you find it? Fuck your cheap package holidays, I want a real experience: hunting, fishing, swimming, climbing and building, living a very simple lifestyle miles away from any another person, sound, noise, or whatever.

Finns do travel south around this time of year to get away from the hardships of the Nordic winter, which is always an adventure no matter where you live across this broad nation. A week in the sun makes a seven month winter less energy consuming. But even so, it's not the most popular thing for Finns. Or me.

Imagine if I moved back to Ireland?

Imagine how much more hated I'd be?

Or how much a failure to myself - which is why that'll never happen.

Fuck Ireland, fuck everything about her - but mostly?

Her people.

Her Declan Kellys and her Djambos. Her dead and buried robbing bastards like the Bucket. Her snide and two-faced rat bastard scumbags like Swordid and the always angry Wilf the wolfie. The list just goes on and on. The list I keep, the one of good people with whom I'm willing to share aspects of my life with? That's a far smaller list, which is why I keep it closer than the longer one the dear readers of Arsefield's are listed on. Their kind are a huge part of the reason I left. It's just not worth it. The further away from that kind of Irish scum I am, the better I feel.

Which makes this place even sweeter for it.

 

[Mowl]

Yeah, but at least I'm not a lying cunt pretending to be a woman, Ratio. Rat bastards like you are ten a penny in Ireland, and they're among the main reasons I left that little kip of an island for a better life up here. And I know exactly how much that bugs the lot of you: Myles, the burned-out alcoholic who's pretty much all in. Jambo, his lies about chess, millions won/millions lost, personal happiness and achievement, his latent homosexuality, his ongoing celibacy, and his resignation to the pits of a life in Ireland.

I have no need to strive for anything intellectually, mainly because I'm not under the same house rules you losers are. I'm here to lampoon the lot of you. To remind you how ineffectual and pointless your existences are. You know my name. You know my location. You know I'm a handsome bastard. You know my history and you know what it's worth. I never once tried to hide any of it. Why would I? How many Ballyer heads do you think there are in Helsinki? Years back in my childhood, I stepped up to do something for my fellow friends and neighbours in Dublin 10, and ultimately had to leave Ireland because of it. So my heart, soul, and conscience are clear. I have no regrets.

Dimjami: 'No Regrets' (Helsinki Underground)



Why would I when I get messages every passing day thanking me for what I did? Why the fuck do you think they're still queuing up to stay in tune with me? They, as simple working class people, can see what savages like you can't: that you're all failures, complete failures to your country, your culture, and yourselves as people.

Intellectual laziness to my mind would be using five accounts at the same time, all with different handles, on a variety of sites, telling the same lies over and over again. Literally flogging the life out of dead horses pretending to be a woman so you can hide yourself away from the bile you spew day after day. Your existence disgusts me. You are a coward who cannot even stand over what you say. You're afraid to, right? You're scared that one day there'll be a knock on your door and you'll need to be scraped up off your hallway floor. Personally I hope it happens sooner rather than later.

Or Jambo with his IQ bullshit factor, his dead Ma and Da factor, his unemployability, his intellectual poverty, his loser lifestyle wasting all the days he can.

When complete fucking idiots like you lot are all punching the same punchbag and only succeeding in knocking each other out, I'm watching from a distant horizon and laughing out loud at the desperation you all feel. Searching for people to blame for the your own lives being such hollowed-out failures. These bullshit conversations you have with each other: losers looking for friends, for company, for validation. It's so fucking weak.

Weak.

Strength, on the other hand, is doing the right thing regardless out the immediate outcome. The longer term picture being what matters, not one of you can see it, let alone understand it. You hate your country? Grand. I don't blame, I do too. But it's not a hate that kidnaps me, it's a loathing developed over years of experience and observation both within and without Ireland. I'm out, you're stuck there. No wonder you're all angry and want me dead. You're dumb enough to think that only the prisoners on the clapped-up Alcatraz you call your home have the right to observe and criticize Ireland. But you're wrong: I'm still Irish, still working class, and still very much in touch with my roots. With my people. Over ten thousand of them. Salt of the earth people. They suffer it for their children, which is why they send their kids to me, even all these years after the fact. That makes you really angry, right? This working class little git who's outsmarted the lot of you? I do what I do because I choose to. You do what you do because you have fuck all else going on in your miserable little lives on the hopeless little island. You know perfectly well that Ireland hates you as much as you hate her. Yet you're still clinging to it like a limpet?!

You guys crack me up.

Five liars, three alcoholics, three more closet transvestites, an Australian lunatic who thinks he's Irish because his great-great-great Grandad was a criminal, and a dead and buried Monaghan burglar you've all forgotten like yesterdays television schedule. What an utter waste your existences are? At least Saul shuffled off the mortal coil. He's out. Though not in a successful way - he just let the poison take him. He had no fight left in him, which is exactly why he came to me for answers. Imagine being proud to stand together over what you stand together for? You have no solutions, only complaints. You have no plans, only wishful thinking. You have no successes because you're scared to even try. You change nothing, no matter how much you rant, no matter how much you rage and threaten. All you have is each other. Think about that.

Mowl got the hell out of Ireland before the shit really hit the fan, you're stuck there Jimmy.
Mowl's now living a quality of life you can only dream of in a place you wouldn't last three days in.
Mowl's outsmarted you time and again - hence all your usernames, Djambo.
Mowl's laughing louder every day: the more you hate me - the more I know I'm needling your soul.
Mowl has no need for fake friends the likes of which you are to each other (how sad is that?)
Mowl could continue listing all the things that make his life better than yours, but Mowl values his time.
Mowl is the one person you wish you could outsmart, but you know you can't.
Mowl occupies your headspace every passing day: you can't do without me.

What more needs to be said?

 

[Mowl]

Nope.