Fragments: Aphorisms and Musings from the Irish Right - Part 2
What follows is the second part of our new series: ‘Fragments’.
Each week, or twice a month (depending on our laziness), we will release a motley collection of musings, aphorisms, essays-in-miniature, et cetera.
1
A Ballad:
This is an attempt at magic... at madness.
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Excel haunts my dreams.
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Yet another phone repair shop on Moore street.
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#DublinIsHealing.
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I love the smell of half-chomped Deliveroo in the morning.
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In the rare auld times.
2
An Ulster Unionist in the immemorial Orange tradition of: Standish James O’Grady, Johnny “Mad Dog” Adair, D.P. Moran, Martin McGuinness, Desmond Tutu, Conor Cruise O’Brien, Abraham Lincoln, Edward Carson, the Koch Brothers, Irusan, Samuel “Skelly” McCrory, Ruth Dudley Edward’s grandmother, Sean South of Garryowen, and the Falls Road’s finest, Boris Yeltsin.
3
They're hanging men and women for the wearing of the green (fursuit).
4
The Culchie Meat Grinder means:
Adult male Maghrebis playing for Moyross’ under-17s camogie team.
Two dull boggers on a secondment in Dubai burning the ear off each other about “The 2 Johnnies” latest podcast (vomits) and reminiscing about “playing county”, all the while Emirati Arabs abuse a rusty Hookah that their great-grandfathers smoked with Lawrence of Arabia.
A gaggle of Gaels gaily gallivanting through Courtown only to find, to their horror, that the town, once the abode of the Yola brood, has been subject to the Jackeen Great Replacement. Overwhelmed by durty Dub dials, the physiognomic equivalent of the cheep fags they smoke repetitively, the crew collectively decide to punctuate their excursion via brunch. The waitress who emerges bleeds blue through and through and bears the county castle-crest; she has an abyss for a mind and her mouth concedes nothing but the hollow absence that lurks therein. The sound of a second-rate Luke Kelly kitsch-ly serves as a reminder of encroachment, of dispossession, of the death of locality, and the supremacy of the invidious. Much later, one among the group thinks back on his Courtown experience, denominating it the Culchie Meat Grinder.
Culchie gains internship at ABCXYSHTTI (standard American MNC) Ltd. — €43,854 per anum, 23 days holidays, and subsidised study leave with the Atlantic indirect excise/tax/customs/levies/tithes Institute. First day on the job: forced to do BFE (boyfriend experience) with hairy legged Madrassi manager woman. Second day: intense pivot table training. Third day: BFE redux compounded by polyamory with her sisters (also from Madrass) with the aim of bypassing immigration restrictions. Fourth day: tells mam everything is fine and heart reacts her link to the latest “The 2 Johnnies” podcast; listens attentively, like a good Carlow boy does for mammy. Fifth day: gets evicted by landlord who wants to use the building for a mini-IPAS centre; listens to “The 2 Johnnies” podcast assiduously, noting the numerous immersion and chicken fillet role jokes said by “The 2 Johnnies” with accentuated jocularity.
5
Absolute Monarchy with Christie Kinahan characteristics
6
That is a state of lost content,
I see it shining plain,
Those happy days of unemployment,
That I cannot have again.
No sweeter words of word or pen,
I’ll do another bullshit degree again.
7
In an effort to combat the Midland’s mallard menace, the Irish government is planning to grant indefinite temporary residence to one million Haitians.
8
Levity, joy and many synonyms flood the officespace. Fake blonde, a spectacled mouth breather, now cheerful. Norwood to the north of me, he reminiscences of Romanian sexcapades and lavishes the vista of leggy Lithuanians; he belittles his filial thane for the sake of colleague’s smirks (a right man for the laugh, so he is); somatically ra(h)tish, Lombroso, Nordau, and all faithful to the school of criminal anthropology, would demote him to the category of ‘chimera’, half rat-half garda (ra(h)t) - he’s happy too. As is the fucker in the corner, for whom I hold an effaced, thermic hate.
