Who Needs International Rescue?!

Is End O'Kenny. Our Very Own Tracey Ireland!!

Do you remember growing up the very amazing clever animated television program show The Thrunderbirds Are Go!? No. Me neither. I am too old. In Spain, when I was grow up, all we had was comic magazines about the Crusades and oranges on a stick. But a few years ago, the Thrunderbirds was come back in fashion for the young children these days when the presenters on The Blue Peter Show make a cheapskate version of the program set, featuring the Thrunderbirds' home base, Tracey Ireland, named after the head of the family, Tracey Ireland. It was composed with cheap nasty disposable items that children could easily find such as plastic bags, Stanley knives, Parazone bottles, used toilet paper, coat hangars, some leaves, and a rocket ship. Children all over the world made their own Tracey Irelands and played at being one of the Thrunderbird pilots, such as Alan, Scott, Gordon, Brians, The Hood, Tintin, and Bitch. Very few of the children wanted to be Tracy Ireland himself, since he was a kind of father figure who overseed everything with a benign indifference and was too busy anyway playing golf, reading the papers, and shooting boatpeople.

The show was brung to mind for me only his week by the uncanny parallels between Thrunderbirds the show and Ireland the country, which is this week facing the dismal prospect of a democratic election. As you are already know by now, I am violently opposed, in principle and also in practice, to democratic elections, but this one in lovely pissing holy Ireland is different because it is not really a proper democratic election anyway: all the parties who are being allowed to win have the same policies. Also besides, the election is already a foregone conclusion, since the winners and losers are already decided. End O'Kenny will be the winner, and everyone else will be the losers.

The Fine Gaels have been keeping End O'Kenny under raps, which I was thought was because they were embarrassed by him. But now I realize that he is their secret weapon. Like Thrunderbird One. At the bottom of the swimming pool. Escept he would not sink, because he is so wooden.

This was what was strike me when I watched O'Kenny in one of the tougher interviews he has done this election, on The Den. For the viewer, the esperience was like the end of the book Animal Farm, where the animals look from pig to farmer and back again and cannot tell them apart. This time, my eyes was switch from End O'Kenny to Dustin the Turkey (the interviewer) and from Dustin the Turkey (the interviewer) back to End O'Kenny, and it was impossible for me to tell which one was the politician and which one was the puppet. And then, when O'Kenny kept going on about the International Rescue and taking care of the corporations but otherwise cow-towing to Ireland's European masters, it hit me that he is not just any puppet running just any puppet government. No! He is Tracey Ireland from Thrunderbirds, the father of all the Ireland people, and like they did on The Blue Peter Show, he is going to transform the country into a model economy, composed of cheap nasty items and used toilet paper. But without the rocket ship.

The wondrous thing about lovely pissing holy Ireland is that most of the Ireland family (Scott, Gordon, Alan, Bitch etc.) are not only willing to trust Tracey, they are lending him active support by voting for him in their drives. The only dissenters seems to be Brians, the twins, who have cut the apron strings, and also the puppet strings, and fled the nest to Australia, a large, warm, sunny Ireland with jobs. The rest of the family, brought up on obedience and father nose best, are ready to put their shoulders to the grindstone and their ears to the wheel, even though they will have no jobs, no homes to go to, and not even a suitcase to hide in and shout "let me out." Like Cuddles the monkey. On the contrary and neverthenonetheless, they have taken up the Fine Gaels campaign slogans as their own: Vote for Emigration! Vote for Homelessness! Vote for Famine! And they are all singing the Fine Gaels' campaign song, Prince's "Tonight We're Going to Party Like It's 1845."

All this, of course, on the proviso that it is the public sector workers and trade unions which suffer the most. "You must never underestimate the power of spite, Señor Estímulo" Herr Mengele was point out to me as we watched O'Kenny struggle with short words and lose to Dustin at Jenga. "So long as he promises vicious vengeance against anyone with a cheerful, positive, or compassionate outlook on life—nurses, carers, firemen, charity workers—there will always be plenty of pinch-faced misanthropic church-going rural folk—our kind of people—ready to support him, keen to punish anyone who exhibits such naivety and arrogance. You must see, of course, that it isn't self-hatred that motivates people to vote for Kenny. Nein. It is hatred of other Irish people. For being uppity. The Brians realized this, and they have already left the country, because they could. Those who remain behind in Ireland either have a vested interest in the system and too much to lose by emigrating, so they will vote O'Kenny, or else they have no choice but to stay. And those, the ones who are stuck, they are the ones O'Kenny will punish. The sitting ducks."

"I have to say, Herr Mengele," I was reply. "I do like his style. He really does sound like one of us, doesn't he? Do you think we should invite him to join our Fascist International?"

Herr Mengele just winked at me and was tap the side of his nose.

"I don't think he needs an invitation, Señor Estímulo," was all he said.

VOTE CHAIR FOR A FASCIST FUTURE!!

We Promise an Electrifying Campaign!

If you are say to anyone, "Who was your favourite ancient Greek philosopher born in the 4th century BC and who was belong to the Cynic school and who live in a barrel," seven times out of ten they will answer you "Diogenes of Sinope." Because he is. Everyone is know about and love Diogenes, who was called a Cynic because he believed that human beings are no better than dogs, and who therefore was a proto-typical fascist. The word "Cynic," incidentally, is come from the Greek word for "dog," which finds its roots in the original Spanish word "Canarias," meaning "canary," named after the bird which the ancient Spanish used to hunt dogs. There was some confusion at the time, when the ancient Greeks didn't realize which one we were pointing at.

Diogenes was well known not so much for his theories as for putting them into practice, such as living in a barrel, masturbating in public, and living on a diet of onions, all of which are things that dogs do. Most famously, on once occasion, Diogenes was walked around Athens in the middle of the day holding a lit candle. When people was ask him what he was doing, he reply, "I am looking for an honest man." This is clever, because it is imply that daylight on its own is not enough for him to find one. Legend has it that when Alexander the Great was meet Diogenes and his candle and ask him if there was anything he could do for him, Diogenes' reply was, "Yes. You can get out of my light." For which he was killed. On another occasion, when Plato had made the pompous declaration to a crowd that "Man is a featherless biped," Diogenes turned up later with a plucked chicken, which he then throw in front of the crowd and say, "There is Plato's man." Everyone had a big laugh. Diogenes was actually more of a Sarcastic than a Cynic.

Anyway, I am mention Diogenes because of the story that when the Athenians was preparing for their elections, Diogenes used to get out of the barrel and roll it all around the city just so he could "look busy as well." Nobody liked him. However, it again is time for us to "roll out the barrel," because the pointless politicians of lovely holy pissing Ireland have begun their pointless election campaigns to decide who will implement the policies of their Illuminati/Masonic/Jewish masters. Earlier this week was appearing the first priministerial debate on Ireland's porn channel, TV3, in which the priminister in waiting, End O'Kenny of the Fine Gaels, didn't not appear. He had something more important to do in Leitrim. Such as hide. Instead, the debate was between the two runners-up, Martin Michael of the Fianna fail and Eamon Gilmore of the Labour Pastry. Overall the general view afterward was that everybody was a winner. Martin Michael was a winner just by being there, because his presence was lending credibility to the idea that Fianna fail is a party that may legitimately be considered as the prospective government instead of a bunch of criminals and traitors who should be making their argument in the dock, not on television. Eamon Gilmore was a winner because he is not Biff O'Cowen or End O'Kenny, even though everyone would have preferred to see his Fat Rabbit. And End O'Kenny was a winner by NOT being there. The only loser was the Irish public, because TV3 had originally announce that if End O'Kenny did not turn up, they would replace him with an empty chair. But they did not. It was a lie. But also, it was a disappointment, because a lot of people would have like to have hear what the empty chair had to offer.

I made the point to my neighbour Herr Mengele yesterday morning over Bran Flakes and brandy and cigars, that a very good case could be made for the Irish people to elect an empty chair rather than any of the partys in thrall to the Dark Alien Forces. Herr Mengele was agree with me hole-heartedly, but then he was come up with an even better idea. "Rather than just any old chair, Señor Estímulo, we should encourage the Irish people to vote for an electric chair." I was at first bemused, in spite of my natural prejudice in favour of capital punishment and my desire to see it implemented everywhere. But Herr Mengele elaborated: "Not only would it be a snub for the Eurocrats and Jews," he said, warming to his argument, "But we can make a perfectly plausible and economic case for its use as well. What is more, I know just the place where we can get one. It is fortunate for us that the American judicial system is so soft and weak-kneed liberal. These days they only ever do humane executions. Where's the fun in that? Come, let us draw up a manifesto."

And so we was spend all of yesterday morning fine-tuning our policies, using a calculator and a colouring-in book, like the Greens do. I am not personally having a particular head for business, but Herr Mengele is still rapier-sharp in his head. "First, we will execute the paedophiles," he said. "Not priests, though," I interjected, "who were tempted by Satan." "Then we will execute the drug dealers." Again, only illegal drugs will be included, such as marijuana, smack, and crunk, not legal drugs such as Bran Flakes, brandy, and cigars. "Then, of course the Travellers." By which he mean not people going to their second home in Kinsale or rich foreingers bringing in money to the country, but gypsies and anyone generally scruffy. "And last but not least, strikers," by which he was mean Aer Lingus cabin staff, nurses, and so on, not Robbie Keane, who isn't much of a striker these days anyway.

"Most importantly," said Herr Mengele, "are these two points. One, we show the executions on the paper view channel. And two, all of the patients, er, I mean prisoners, will be executed naked."

At first, I was not sure about this. I am not the sort of man who is interested in looking at a naked man, even if he is being killed. "But Señor Estímulo, consider how much pleasure you will get as a diminutive hairy ugly old Spanish man with a tiny penis seeing a tall handsome oiled blond 20-year-old with an enormous wang meet his maker as an undignified writhing contorted mass of shit, piss, and dripping fat. We Germans have a word, you know, which is called schadenfreude. I do not know what it is called in Spanish. But trust me, you will not be alone in wanted to see such a show. Besides, we can always get in PR and marketing people like that Terri Prone to advise us on who we should be executing to maximize our returns. You'd be surprised at the things people will watch. Ryan Tubridy, for instance. Besides, if they are naked we can post the videos on the Internet. That's where all the real money is being made these days."

We have therefore calculated that if we charge €100 per execution and begin with 100 executions a year, with a population of 4 million people in Ireland, that will bring in roughly €40 billion in the first year alone, more than enough to pay off the Gnomes of Zurich, Bankers of Brussels, and Merchants of Venice. Then we will take our product to the next level. Advertisers will be knocking down our door for a piece of the action, I think. Not the Gas Bord, obviously, but undoubtedly companies like George Foreman, Marlboro, Braun, McDonald's. And then we will broaden out into celebrity executions. Under the Taliban, the half-time entertainment at the Afghan Cup Final used to be provided by one of the popular local boy bands, who would be reunited for a final time in front of a huge crowd by being hanged from the crossbar. I have no doubt that we could do something similar in Ireland with Westlife or Jedward. Also, we could have a phone-in vote for viewers to decide which member of the band will be killed. I shall call it the Execution Factor!

You know, I am amaze really that Rupert Murdoch has not yet trademark this idea. But then, when did he ever have the interests of the public in mind? He is happy just to force-feed them shallow, hedonistic garbage, not the kind of edifying, motivating and spiritually rewarding programming we are talking about here. Sometimes I wonder if he is even a Catholic at all!

So I am asking all of my Irish friends to spread the word. Myself and Herr Mengele have become very aroused at this conception, and now I think we can arouse the hole Irish people by getting them to fill in their box with CHAIR. There is no better alternative in this election, and in the long run they will thank us. Go home, therefore, back to your cottages, huts, and hovels, with this powerful, uncompromising message:

ELECT FOR ELECTROCUTION

YOU ARE KNOW IT MAKES SENSE

VOTE CHAIR!!

The Haçienda Must be Destroyed!

Send Off the Clowens!

Lovely holy pissing Ireland has erupt into chaos and violence this week as the government was dissolve and now there is an empty vacuum standing in its place. A very espensive vacuum that does not work very well. A Dyson. And as any moron student of political philosophy can tell you, if a society is not having a leader, very quickly humans return to a state of nature, eating berries and twigs, like they do in Monaghan, and having unprotected sex outside marriage and without a priest watching, like in Cork. Is therefore imperative that lovely holy pissing Ireland is soon replacing the vacuum with a new brush that sweeps clean. Not one of those little handbrushes with a dust pan, either, but a gigantic nailbrush, with metal wires for hairs and wielded by a strong man. Or better yet, a strongman.

The currant problem with Ireland is that it is have an electoral system which guarantee that nothing can ever change. The same peoples have been in power in the country since the 1920s. They are called The Gombeen Men and they have a new record out in March. Of course, not having no change ever is a very good thing, so long as what you have in place is a strict feudal hierarchy, but Ireland was taking a wrong turn in the old days when it was introduce the new-fangled concept of democracy, even though it had already been tried and showed to fail in the USA, America, Britain, France, and Germany. But once democracy sinks its teeth into a people, it does not let go. Is like rabies. And also, like rabies, eventually the people who are bitten stop noticing that they have been bitten and even stop being in any pain after a while because the virus has got to their brain and they end up comatose and frothing at the mouth and being scared of water. Is like a frog in a blender. You can slowly turn up the speed and the frog will not notice.

Ultimately, however, what is happen is that the democracy atrophies into the kind of corrupt, decadent, nepotistic cronygarchy that we are see today in Ireland. Is only natural, of course, and Aristotle the Greek was warn everyone about it several hundred year ago. What will happen, he esplained, was that when you have a stable democracy, everyone is go about their normal day-today lifes and in the meanwhile there is develop a division of labour, with the consequence that you end up with a political class which is self-perpetuate and act in its own interest at the espense of the rest of the people. And because the job of running a democracy is in basic one of managing the state, all the rival groups within the political class all end up looking and acting the same, going to the same restaurants and brothels, the same schools and golf clubs, and in reality they have nothing between them different escept a cosmetic veneer. Thus, as you can see above, Biff O'Cowen has eyeliner and lipstick on, whereas End O'Kenny, who is boss of the Fine Gaels, wears a wig and high heels. Otherwise, there is nothing to tell them apart. Even their parties are no different, escept that the Fine Gaels does not pretend that it cares about the working class.

This stability of the decadent corrupt political class is reinforce by the political structures that the class has put in place to protect itself. The simple idiot Irish electorate votes by using a system known as UTV, which is stand for Unavoidable Transferring Vote. What this mean is that whoever they vote for, the same people get in. If they vote for the Fianna fail, that party is form the government with its Gombeen agenda. If they vote for the Fine Gaels, that party forms the government, with its Gombeen agenda, with little difference from Fianna fail. And if they vote Labour, Labour is make a coalition with the Fine Gaels, who they pretend not to agree with but in fact they are indistinguishable. So, a vote for Labour is a vote for the Fine Gaels is a vote for Fianna fail. Is genius!

Not only that, but also the political class has covered itself so that when one party is out of power, it is really in power by virtue of marriage. For instance, Richard Burton of the Fine Gaels, who was use to be married to Elizabeth Taylor, is now married to Joan Burton, of the Labour Party. Brian Lenihan of the Fianna fail is married to the chairman of the Central Bank of Ireland and to the head of RTE. End O'Kenny is married to the owner of the Irish Independent and Biff O'Cowen to the owner of the Irish Times. And Eamonn Gilmore is not married to anyone but he has a Fat Rabbit. Is just like the 400 Familles that run France, or else Paraguay in the 19th century, when the country was belong to a small elite of landholders and haçienda dwellers, all married to one another and owning the newspapers, television, race horses, race llamas, and the now-estinct paraguays, after which the country was named. Similarly, in Ireland even today, a third of all the TDs are landlords. And some of the others are landladies. The rest are not. But they would like to be.

Is therefore impossible for the electoral system in Ireland to change anything. Is the electoral system itself which is have to be change. The most sensisble suggestion I have heard so far is that instead of electioning a government, Ireland should dissolve the political class altogether and hold a lottery. Whoever wins the lottery can then be made ruler of Ireland, unless it is a lady who wins, in which case we will have to re-run the lottery until we get it right. As Aristotle was rightly point out, dictatorship is a much better idea than democracy and has been tried many times in history with much success, e.g. Spain. The lottery has the added benefit that whoever is made dictator will probly be just an ordinary decent run-up-the-mill Irish citizen with your typical broadly acceptable fascist beliefs, and he will no doubt jump at the chance to rule the country if history is anything to go by. However, to ensure that there is no nepotism or cronyism, which has been the downfall of Ireland so far, whoever wins the lottery, we will have to kill all his family. Is a small price to pay to avoid corruption, I think, and I imagine the winner himself will be okay with it given all the free sex and drugs he will be able to get as absolute ruler. Berlusconi seems to handle it quite well.

Therefore, to all my reader in Ireland, I would ask you to doorstop your candidates when they come pleading for your vote and ask them, "Are you willing to have all your family killed for a better Ireland?" If they say no, you have my permission to slam your door in their faces. Do not accept any compromise on this point. Sinn Fein may offer to have other people's families killed, but that does not count.

And if they DO have a lottery, don't forget to buy a ticket. It Could be You!!