Correct. Me and everyone else (besides you two)
Point out for me - if you will, this '
everyone else' you refer to.
This is borne out by the fact that no one else has ever thought to ban social media on Irish political fora in the history of Irish political fora
Telegram isn't social media: via your take on it - it's a sewer of failed white Irish mongs trying to convert other white Irish mongs into believing twats like Keith Woods has any worthwhile point to make. So you're angry that Ireland hosts so many immigrants. Is posting your pretty postcards from Telegram going to change that? Nope. Is you repeating yourself day in and day out going to change anything? Nope - apart from you becoming less and less relevant the more you skid your back wheels into the mud.
You're going nowhere, Jimmy - and your point of view is going with you.
Very good.
Really.
You hear what I have to say in every post I make..
Nope - I heard what you had/have to say
years back, you're only repeating it since, well.. ..years back.
Maybe you can spin at at 45rpm so I can dance to it instead?
Regardless of whether it contains any chosen (by me) social media
Your choices in social media are about as relevant and real as your '
millions won and millions lost' as a failed card-sharp.
It's just a daydream, something to fill in the emptiness in the vacuum you call your life.
The most strenuous thing you do is turn on the television
I don't watch 'television', Jimmy. I pick out the documentaries and things I like in advance and program them to switch on using the scheduling system in my remote control. Soap operas and drama series aren't my bag. I also like to watch RTE news
once in a while, or listen to it at least, when I'm pottering about and arranging my apartment for the day's tasks. Because it makes me laugh, out loud. I scrub my pots and pans and vacuum the floor with a cheesy grin across my face, with sudden bursts of laughter whenever they trot out those two mental sounding culchie reporters to talk down to Paddy and Bridie. It's pure comedy to me.
Michael Jackson's father used to whip him with a belt
Most Irish people know exactly how that feels, Jimmy. What's the big deal about Jackson getting some? Irish schools endorsed beatings with the leather strap until the 1980's, you dumb cunt. Some preferred long sticks, dual purpose too: one to smack kids, two to point at the board. Others again didn't bother with sticks or leather straps, Jimmy: they preferred to use their fists and their well-shod feet. And they laos liked to put their hands down into the same little kids pants to feel them up and have a 'moment' of pleasure.
James Brown beat some of his wives. So they took him for every dollar they could get. He ended up in prison. Broke Should Jackson's father also have been sent down? Or should it have been Jackson himself sent down? Can you figure it out yet, Jimmy? This cycle of violence?
He beat on him so him beats on you, ain't that a grind, Jimmy?
A little insider fact: Michael Jackson and his kids spent almost a month living in the attached house of a recording studio in the Irish midlands. This was about two/three months before he died. Nobody knew he was in Ireland - or at least, very few. He was the guest of a prominent business man I've known since I was a young teen. I got the skinny on it: he didn't use the studio, at all. He took the kids out for walks in the rain in the Irish countryside, but never left the confines of the estate. His food was shipped in along with anything else he needed, because he arrived in Ireland with practically no luggage at all. His band members never arrived, the studio booking was done solely to make sure nobody else showed up while he was there.
And when he left, nobody knew about that either, Jimmy.
Just the limo driver, the airport staff, and his pilot.
During the time he spent, I'm told he was devoted to his children, never let them out of his sight. Comforted them, watched TV with them, played with them, and generally had a wonderful time with them because he said he thought Ireland was simply beautiful. Especially in the rain. They got muddy. They kicked ball. Hide and seek. Went for drives on the ATVs. Whatever they liked, they did. When he was ready to leave, my associate made sure all the bookings were seamless: car, airport, plane, out.
So whatever his Dad whipped him with, he turned out as he did. He showered the kids with love and attention. Nothing came between he and them, by all accounts. On the other hand, most of your Irish pals old enough to remember corporal punishment mostly turned out to be cunts themselves. Jackson tried to end the cycle of violence, and he did it by example. In Ireland, you fuckers can't let it go. Your courts are clogged up with angry men looking for retribution. Every day another case of historic violence and rape. Another man in tears at the doors of The Four Courts telling you how it didn't just fuck him up. It fucked his wife up, his own parents, his own children, and their children in turn.
Ireland is a hot-bed of historic rape victims, of dead babies in sewers, of priests languishing in open prisons like The Curragh. Of women whose kids are lost. Whose kids were forcibly taken from them and sold like commodities on the international markets. America, England, Germany, etc. This was called adoption. This was justified by lies about how the mother wasn't fit to raise a child: too young, too interested in literature, not attending church, went mad, died in childbirth, was dead on arrival but the baby saved. And masses more lies on top of lies down all the days since. And you're still not at the finish line. There are hundreds more infant carcasses to be unearthed, possibly thousands.
So if focusing on Mick Jackson's Da steams your boat, go ahead and sail your choppy seas of blame.
You're going to sink in the end, Jimmy - and there's no way to stop that.
I don't mind you talking about things that you're interested in, why would I. But you make it hard to be reciprocal or even curious when you shit all over what other people are (interested in)
Nah, that's not close to the truth, Jambo. You aren't interested in '
sharing what you know' - your game is simple switch and bait. You ask a question that has fuck all to do with the subject at hand, then poke fun at your adversary because they refuse to answer, then you try to frame it as you knowing something few others know. Which is clearly bullshit: you're just another messenger boy. You're just another vacuous conduit for your hate and rage at how your life has turned out.
I don't
want to know what you
think you know. This is mainly because: I'm happy, contended in my life. You're not. Not even close. You're sitting there reading Telegram while Jamal and Lornell are making progress - sewing up large parts of your capital city while you sit idle. They're running the hash, the weed, the powders, the robbed gear, used cars, and the various household items of your neighbours and friends. And you're still sitting idle, looking for someone to blame. Here, try this:
Before Jamal and Lornell took over street dealing -
who were the previous businessmen?
Ask yourself
why Dublin city center (and many satellite towns) turned so quickly from a vibrant and healthy shopping and leisure towns into a junkie pits of hell?
Who strung all those white Irish skangers out, Jimmy?
Who front-loaded them with cheap dope to hook them, then squeezed them until they had fuck all left?
You're pointing your fingers in all the wrong directions, kiddo.
You're obliviously looking around for a black cunt to blame while the real cunts have their fingers in your pocket, up your arse.
And you can't even see it: chances are, if you did - you'd mistake it for something else entirely.
Forget it, Jimmy - it clearly sailed above your hollowed-out once.
It had to do with a conundrum of a musical bent - so clearly not your bag at all.
You can switch back on any one of around fifty recorded songs by Oasis.. ..again.
You see, you're dumb and paranoid enough to think that those
immigrant kids who raided your sports shops along O'Connell Street during the
Big Night Out a few years back -
where white Irish kids burned buses and cars out - were robbing those high end sneakers out of desperation - or greed. They weren't. They were reacting to simple reality at the heart of their street culture: those are the same kids whose cash dollar money lines the pockets of the global brand names they favour as their chosen style and fashion. Shell suits and sneakers, topped off with gold hanging off them like seaweed on a drowning drunk Irishman. That's how they roll. A tailored suit is for court appearances - their daily wear is branded items by Nike, Puma, Adidas, and Boss.
When they hit those sports shops and raided them, it was
a calculated act of revenge. It was and is their way of responding to the simple fact that for all the money they spend into these brands, all the free advertising the global brands get from them, they give
nothing back in return, even though they're raking in trillions off black culture.
Which is exactly why this lyric here (from the Public Enemy song above) matters:
'
I like Nike, but wait a minute.
The neighbourhood supports so put some money in it.
All corporations owe, they gotta give up the dough
To my town or else we gotta shut them down..'
Paddy was only in it for the excitement and danger, an element of mindless destruction too.
Lornell and Jamal were in it to rob Nike and Adidas blind, to get some payback for all their inward investment.
You haven't the awareness to realize that, because you're the angry white Irish cunt burning a €120,000 brand new 68-seater public bus out.
You're shooting yourself in the foot while they're taking care of business.
See, you think you're smart, you have a Telegram or meme, or a well-rehearsed and trotted out line for every misguided aspect of your thought process. It suits you better to class Lornell and Jamal as common thieves, when that's not their game at all. It's an insider thing: they all share this viewpoint. Paddy spends on Guinness, and in return, Guinness supports all kinds of white Irish shit: music festivals, sports events, arts and cultural events. Lornell spends on Nike and Puma, but neither brand lift a damned finger to support
his interests.
Like I said years ago: you're an army of one sorry loser yapping about this shit right here while all the real action is happening just out of sight.
But only just, Jimmy - it's there for those wise enough to understand what they see. Not chumps like you who reacts to absolutely fucking everything to do with migrants and skin colour culture wars. You can't even see where the real game is taking place, even though it's right under your nose.
Me?
I don't have your problems - because up here, we do what needs to be done and we say what needs to be said.
We run Finland, we are Finland, and our elected government is there to serve our interests, not that of some blow-in from some desert shanty-town.
We're happy, Jimmy.
The happiest in the entire world, my sad little friend.
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