What is it with Arsefield's and transvestism?
If Mrs Martin, Mrs Kelly and the rest of the wives knew what was going on they'd surely be shocked.
I'd say the wives already well aware that their husbands have in the past flaunted with transvestism and that the residue of those same antics are still doing the rounds because neither Dan nor Val are in the position whereby they can delete their past online affairs. For example, take a look at the previous pages on this 'Culchies' thread and count how many 'this video is not available' blips you see from Val's youtube account.
I'd say he's had his son working on his youtube uploads, parsing every one of them and eliminating the ones that reflect badly on Val's clownish antics. But regardless of how many videos Val deletes, the ghosts of them haunt our hard drives and they cannot be eliminated. That's the crux of it for Val in particular: if he honestly thinks that the events of the last few weeks since his Big Announcement about running for the Irish Freedom Party weren't noted by lampoonists like I, then he's in for a big shock. You cannot completely erase your online history when you've been acting the clown online all day every day for around twenty years. Look at some of the regulars on P.ie? Some of those guys have post counts in the high five figures margin. And still at it. All day. Every day. Every single fuck day of the week, month, year. That's why the other crank Swordid thinks he's getting away with it - because (as yet) nobody has given me an image of him that I can truly say is him. But there have been a few attempts made, so it's good to know I'm not the only one on HIS tail. He has lots of enemies. The kind who'd plot and plan colourful ways of exposing the fake cunt. It's only a matter of time: I get my man every time: search infiltrate, destroy. Take a look at Declan? While he appears to be happy enough to post his bullshit, he's acting like my exposing him for the buffoon spoofer he is still rankles. I know it gnaws at his soul. Nags his nerve endings and makes him jerk like an epileptic when he sees my happy/Ballyer face smiling back at him. From his point of view, he has every reason to hate me. From mine? I just laugh at the sheer pathetic nature of the man. See, I know the view from the front and back of the stage like the back of my hand: I'm an artist, not a humper. Declan only sees the view of the rear doors, the drive-in delivery/collection bay. The STOP signs and the NO PARKING 2100-0500 signs. Where the trash is gathered. Where it's always dark and oppressive. Where the smell of gas mixes with the stink of garbage and bleach. Where all of the concrete underfoot is stained with kerosene, petrol, oil, anti-freeze, and cigarette butts stuck in gobs of phlegm.
His wife must at all costs be protected from ever seeing that shot of him in drag: the make-up in particular. Marianne's going to crown the fucker with an iron skillet when she finds out he used her make-up, lipstick, one of her party wigs, and dressed up in her bra and
panties knickers bloomers pantaloons. Big enormous white panties that start between the thighs and ends just under the tits. I'd say Declan's lad Eric gets the pocket money for making sure of that. Deco's fucked: he can never walk away clean any more than Swordid.
Now Sword McZippy isn't in the same category as either Val or Dan: they're family men. Zippy's a loner. A bit of a freak, he suffers something awful with the agoraphobia. No family, no friends, no kids, no workmates, nothing. Just his laptop and the seven million post-it notes with all of his passwords and usernames on. A right miserable gimp. Too ineffectual to be bothered by, but too clingy and musty to ignore. When I finally get the beans on him, I'll lay any money with any of you right now at considerable odds, that he'll disappear moments after clocking it. Real name. Exact location. Recent photo. Previous workplaces, schools, mental institutions, gender reassignment rejections from Johns Hopkins, criminal records, known pedophile history, sexual preferences, and how often he ever leaves the house (never).
Meals on wheels, counting the last saddening moments until the shuffling of this mortal coil finally ends his misery. Dying alone. Nobody will even notice. Even fewer will care, apart from site owners looking for Grade A morons to work for them for free.
All in all, those three are all way too far out to be reeled back in.
It's going to be a fucking free for all by the time Val's election
bus van car tractor starts on the long trek up to Dublin (ahh, one-two-three-four-five) to clock in his fob key for Leinster House. All the lads'll be out to greet him, press some palm, crack open a few tins of Dutch Gold. Saul, Jambo, Myles (in a drunken hump on the kerb) Swordid (in his wheelchair, and Saul - dressed in burglar's black and white stripes and a sack over his shoulder marked : SWAG
Val on the telly, at the final count in Cavan north. All his mates and fellow soap-dodgers all in a line supping from pints of Guinness in the background.
Val, dressed in his best but still looking (and smelling) like Father Jack.
Val, doing his best version of '
A Rover I Was Born' ala
Brian Cowan on the back of a flat-bed truck on the town square - locked. Foaming beige dribbles running down either side of his trap, they flick in all directions when he shouts out the words of the songs. I want to be there: right in the front row: a download MP3 of '
The Scratchin' Song' blasting out of a ghetto-box from hell.
'
Oh, I burst me new pants from the britches to the balls,
An' me wife's all a-fretting screaming up and down the halls...'
His campaign is going to be fun: he has only a few weeks to get his shit together, so he'll be keeping busy and will have selected a trusty team around him to take on '
dem Jackeens abuv in Dubbilinn' with his culchie schtick. They're going to love him, RTE might turn their noses up but you have to let the other channels hear about him. I was going to ask the producer of '
Upfront With Katy Hannon' on RTE. They wanted me to appear last year to discuss the effects of online activism across all the political chat-boards of the time. They know who I am. That's why Jack (the producer) emailed me multiple times: he's knows what I do. He sees the value in it. He also sees the humour and irony dripping off all of it.
One guaranteed money-spinner is to do a (say) fifteen minute short infomercial about Val's online history over the years during a discussion where the IFP are actually present. Send in a few emails before the show is filmed: if they arrive in the morning, they can reviewed and graded for use during the live presentation. Imagine Ireland's reaction to Val's antics? His general toothlessness? A cheap suit that's hanging all over him like, like.. .a cheap suit. Val singing the American National anthem. Word for word. Totally and utterly out of tune. In the see of key. A laughing stock. A national clown.
The Last Of The Great Cavan Lads. Minister Martin. Shaving his chin with a hatchet and brushing his teeth with the burgundy velvet curtains. Nicking all the toilet paper. The soap he leaves.
What date is the election?
I'm really looking forward to Val's campaign: there'll never have been anything like it.
Ever.