Whack-a-Paddy-to-Deathery Uimhir a hAon(1): Whipping Boy

Stretch right back atcha! I went into a toilet at a skanger shopping centre recently, broke my paw, couldn’t

An Irish person

An Irish person

reach the door and was stuck there for ages. I heard the sound of needle hitting skin far too many times to care for. Heard drug deals done; awful humans having sex in order to populate an already over-populated transit van; poo; irritating optimistic whistle and at least one homicide. I was finally released when the toilet backed up and the resulting flood lifted me over the cubicle door and to freedom, only to be ridiculed by a bunch of people wearing their Tuesday tracksuits. Bastards!

Casino Royale? Seems very odd that RTÉ, Irlandia’s premier TV schnauser, should choose to show a movie about a British Secret Service agent as their St. Padge Day’s centrepiece. At least it wasn’t Clear and Present Danger or the Devil’s Own or All Irish People are terrorist bastards.  It seems a bit shit that that’s all they come up with. Maybe they think it’s good for the peace process. Fuck that! The movie’s only good for the first half hour and that’s only coz they’re ripping off the Bourne Identity. Sheeeeeeeit.

Speaking of dodgy movies….PS I Love You!!!!! How, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how,how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how, how the fuck did this get made? You would be doing a disservice to a pile of human excrement to call this THING shit. Poor Gerard Butler. I mean I suppose that being spawned in a

An Irish person texting

An Irish person texting

Caribbean country such as Scotland would make it oh so difficult to figure out how to do an Irish accent. Also, they shoot a scene in a place they call “Whaylen’s” which has posters all over it saying “Whelan’s.” Why did they have to change it? No, really why? There’s no-one on the fucking island called Whaylen! What the fuck was Kathy Bates doing in it? What was Spike from Buffy doing in it? What kind of money did they pay Harry Connick Jr to play a complete fucking imbecile in a sub-plot so fucking jarring, annoying and worrying? I thought I’d missed my IMDB updates about him having some sort of stroke.

Don’t recommend it.

Musically, as I have mentioned before about the man Christy Dignam, St Patrick’s Day drags forth music from its hearth the same way a trainee biochemist would drag semen from a second-year student bull for a bout of animal-husbandry homework. Hard work, some satisfaction, but a strange sense of self-loathing comes upon a man when he is faced with the heavy weight of Irlandia’s past. Your patriotic duty on the day of Patrick is to listen to the Dublin City Ramblers while shoving a gram of cocaine into the capillaries around your asshole so that you can drink more alcohol than Charles Bukowski and tooraloora your way to a fucking insane asylum. Let’s just get rid of this day. It’s shit, a day off. Nobody in the country ever met anybody in the country who has ever enjoyed it. It’s like spending Christmas Day with six million people, half of them packing knives. Only people outside the country enjoy it, because it’s a chance to re-identify themselves with something other than the corporate nightmare they work for in Belarus.

Anyway, here’s an alternative to the Paddy’s day music. Whipping Boy were really good, but thanks to record labels etc, don’t really exist anymore. Ferghal McKee was one of the more interesting characters on the music scene, considering his trials with mental illness. Their first album, Submarine, was very Sonic Youth, but Heartworm, which I still think has flaws (something you can’t say to some people without them freaking out on you like, well, like Ferghal McKee) is one of the better Irish albums in existence.

Here are some classics and the lyrics, the lyrics:

Babies, sex and flagons, shifting women, getting stoned
Robbing cars, bars and pubs, rubber johnnies, poems
Starsky and Hutch gave good TV
And Starsky looked like me

“Yeah, and you thought you knew me”

I think this is more what being Irish is like. Fuck you Ahern!

3 thoughts on “Whack-a-Paddy-to-Deathery Uimhir a hAon(1): Whipping Boy

  1. Ah Stretch …. a gibbon after my own heart… I am considering changing my nationality after seeing that train wreck of a movie !! and I love Whipping Boy !!

  2. I wish you were more famous.

    I’m going to try to make you more famous.

    This is the only blog that I have ever read that isn’t either meaningless whining or the life of some skank that isn’t really that interesting. Unless of course she’s entering into intimate congress with another skank(s) and/or posts pictures.

    I hate the internet

  3. When We Were Young…..jaysus i remember those days…..class band, class song. Brings back great memories of drinking in fields and then trying to act sober to get past the bouncers in The Mean Fiddler or somewhere.

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