Fighting and drinking and drinking and fighting

Ireland, A Culture Under Attack:

Not so long ago, I remember, I would awaken from a drunken coma and think . . . Where am I? I often thought I'd died and gone to heaven before realising I was in Dublin . . . a simple mistake. Nowadays when I wake up, with the likes of Boots, Next, Ann Summers and The Body Shop around me, I think I'm in England. A cairde Gael, our culture is being destroyed. You don't believe me? Take a read of this:

Music:

In Ireland we used to sing songs about drinkin', fightin', animals, old characters with psychiatric problems, fightin' the English and various geographical features like rivers, mountains, the weather, the sea and famous rocks. Nowadays, of course, we're stuck with the likes of The Corrs. Did you know that more people have bought their records than died in the Famine? Although, in fairness to The Corrs, they're no strangers to a bit of starvation by the look of them. But isn't it sad when our young people choose as their anthem a song called Runaway? Could you imagine Pearse or Collins singing that? We should be into The Cause not The Corrs. Then of course we have Westlife. Westlife? Sounds like a bleedin' insurance company.

Fancy Food:

An Irish dinner used to be slimy cabbage, spuds and a lump of burned meat. Now its nouvelle cuisine, GM and best-before dates. A coddle was always best before it got cold - and after 15 pints. Let's forget about "pasta" and "thousand island dressing". It's the one island we should be worrying about.

Pierce Brosnan:

What can I say? An Irishman, with the holy name of Pearse playing the part of an MI6 agent. When you think of what they've done to thwart the cause of Irish freedom. If James Bond is so great how come they didn't send him up the North. "My name is Bond, James Bond, I am f*****g brilliant, I have a licence to kill." Well up there he'd have to deal with the real Dr No, Dr Ian Paisley - No! No! No! - with his little apprentice boy sidekick Odd-job with the killer bowler hat.

Manchester United:

Little upsets me more than seeing Irish young fellas walking around wearing Manchester United shirts. Wouldn't it be nice, just once, to see an Ireland United shirt. The only soccer team I like is Celtic; I believe they are a GAA team trapped inside a soccer team. Funny, it seems that other countries respect our games more than we do. Sure only last week the Chinese government granted the status of martial art to hurling.

Unionists On Our Streets:

Years ago our streets were filled with great oul' characters, people like The Arse Flynn who used to sit on your face for two bob, Simple Simon: a rebel gunman who would go round robbing banks with his shoe - "Put yer hands in the air," Simple Simon said - and others like Doggie Styles, The Hedge and B.P. Fallon. Now they're blocking our streets with big gates to prevent people from engaging in the traditional Dublin pastime of joyriding. And they are allowing Unionists to march on our streets. Yes, we've been tangoed. Marching to show their dominance over Nationalists. If they want to show their dominance, let them have their go off us again and they can forget about getting a dig-out from the Dutch this time: sure them Dutch would be all out of their trolleys. It'd be more like the Battle Of The Bong than the Boyne.

There you are. Now, if you love Ireland and you want to know more, the best thing you can do is get me new CD, Publocked, where our traditional values of drinking, puking, spitting, fighting the English and inbreeding are celebrated. Thanking you.