Nice one, Jambo: slate Mickey Martin for having a controversial chat with Neil Prendeville, the RyanAir live-wank sex-show for single ladies sitting nearby.
It's amazing how fucked up the shitty little island is when it comes to Irish males: wankers, losers, power-sharing parasites, gamblers, auctioneers.
It's no wonder you fucks are way down a dark and damp hole in the planet: that makes me laugh, especially at the earnestness of your 'ethno-nationalist' dole sponging losers with no lives, no money, no options, and no hope. Adam and Eve is right: these days you're ruled by gombeens. In previous days you were sold a sick puppy in Roman catholicism, and you Adam and Eve'd that all the fucking way while they were raping your women and children while the men sat over their pints down the local.
Poor Jambo: he's spent around twenty-nine user-named accounts, five years of commenting, and 120,000 posts defining the exact type of nationalism he favours, but he never leaves the house. He could just as well be a planetarium nationalist, or an astronaut, or even Santa Claus and the seven dwarves. It means precisely fucking nothing.
But that won't stop the dumb fucker bleating on and on about it.
Ask him what his deepest sacrifices for Ireland actually are: all he has is a dole queue.
A stay-at-home nursing his tin of Dutch Gold sort of nationalism.
It's about as useful to Ireland as his tiny willy is for population growth.