The Heelers Diaries

the fantasy world of ireland's greatest living poet

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Location: Kilcullen (Phone 087 7790766), County Kildare, Ireland

Thursday, July 02, 2009

life and nothing but

Morning coffee with Doctor Barn at the Newbridge Silverware Cafe Des Beaux Parvenus Et Sexy Russian Waitresses.
I told him I had been thinking of confronting a sister in law I was feeling under pressure with.
He looked at me with undisguised horror.
His brotherly professorial doctoresque demeanour vanished.
He looked like nothing so much as the haggard old boxing coach in Rockie Three at the moment when Rockie told him he wanted to fight Mr T.
"Heelers," he rasped. "Are you mad? She'll kill you to death."
I left him and drove to Dublin.
Parked the car and took a stroll down O'Connell Street.
Found myself in the middle of a Palestinian pro terror rally.
I didn't exactly fit in.
Detaching myself from the valiant little group, I crossed the street and stood outside the General Post Office.
From there I contemplated the knot of demonstrators.
There were about twenty of them.
Some Irish Times types with their classically gormless faces.
Poor little rich boys.
Their worldview writ large in spoilt infantile expressions.
Catholic church repressed us.
If we can't have Soviet Rule we're gonna surrender to something worse.
My gentle preraphaelite features became a tad grim.
Those galoots are gonna just lap up Sharia law.
Hoo boy.
The rest of the demonstrators were real deal Palestinians, Pakistanis and a couple of Iraqis.
The sort of Iraqis who felt they had to leave Iraq after the fall of Saddam Hussein's government.
Lovely people.
Our kleptocratic Fianna Fail government has been handing out passports to the Muslim world hand over fist.
I'm sure they'll all make fine citizens.
They can't be much worse than Fianna Fail anyway.
The street rang briefly with mildly bigoted anti Israeli slogans.
Some of the Muslims had gotten a bit bored and were shouting about what they perceived to be the plight of the Gaza Strip.
Hint: They don't blame their own terrorist rulers or their own terrorist sponsors in Iran for their own wrecked society. It's all someone else's fault.
I toyed with the idea of shouting a few slogans of my own.
No more Al Qaedas.
No more Arab terror.
No more Islamist dictatorship in Iran.
No more Muslim holocaust deniers.
No more Syrian murders of Lebanese Presidents.
No more suicide bombings.
No more crashing passenger jets into sky scrapers in New York.
No more blowing up passenger airliners anywhere.
No more murders of Dutch Prime Ministers and Dutch film directors.
No more torching of French cities.
No more murders of French Jewish citizens.
No more blowing up trains in Madrid.
No more blowing up trains and buses in London.
No more Algerians murdering Irish teenagers on Grafton Street with baseball bats.
No more Saudi Arabian and Lebanese pseudo Sheikhs murdering their Filippino and Hindu housemaids whom they have reduced to the level of indentured slavery before they kill them.
No more murders of Arab girls by their fathers and brothers for the evil crime of wearing a short skirt.
No more Black Jacket Muslim crime gangs.
No more murders of young mothers like Baibite on the doorstep of her house in Dublin for the crime of wanting to leave her Lebanese gangster jailbird husband.
I thought of shouting these.
But I decided there have to be easier ways of committing suicide.
The sun was flooding through the city centre in a sea of light.
This should be a day for joy.
I walked around the corner onto Henry Street.
And lo!
I was slap bang in the middle of another demonstration.
Truly my cup runneth over.
A leggy girl pressed a pro abortion leaflet into my hands.
I eyed her legs keenly.
Here was a moral dilemma indeed.
Around me a swirl of young dudes lolled protestingly.
This demo had been organised by the Socialist Workers Party.
Socialist Workers indeed.
They didn't look like they'd ever done a day's work in their lives.
Arf arf.
A little socialist worker humour there.
I gave one last wistful look at Miss Legs.
It was time to find a quieter more protestor free environment.
I wandered off towards Arnotts cafe.
Perhaps there I would finally find a suitable outlet for my sublime talents.
Coffee drinking and idleness.
You know gentle travellers of the internet, we must all seek to make a difference to the world in the way we know best.

2 Comments:

Anonymous Mary said...

I would love to have a coffee with you someday :)

Brilliant post.

12:42 AM  
Blogger heelers said...

You shall go to the ball Cinders.
I mean. Oh you know.
James

7:45 AM  

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