Tales Of The Gurrier

Grey morning crept over the Clondalkin valley like dirty dishwater from a greasy privy outflow. Clondalkin’s cannibal knackers were safely tucked up in the bowels of their hovels. The destruction and violence of the night before now the problem of the Gards and Tallaght hospital accident and emergency ward.
As the weak sun struggled […]

Bronze of skin and tawny limbed,
The British beef in sunlight limned,
With mighty hocks and heads like blocks,
They charge together with brains of rocks.
‘Quick lads, quick its time to scrum,
So gird your loins and lick your thumb,
And lay your hand ‘pon that fellows bum.’
A grand and ’stonishing sight to see,
these men of England on bended knee.
Each […]

So last week two women were knocked down on our capital’s premiere boulevard O’Connell street. These two poor unfortunate ladies were over from the UK on holiday. An Irish emigre and her friend. Unaccustomed to the lemming like nature of the denizens of O’Connell street they wandered onto the road thinking they were on a […]

A chill wind whipped down lonely Dawson Street as we marched glumly toward our destination. Searchlights whirled overhead, spears of neon bathed the building in lurid streams of illumination. A garish, luminous precursor to the baleful and malignant events to come. The crowd gathered outside had a nasty feral look. Sporting the glazed over vistas […]

So I heard on ‘the Talk Radio’ today that Puppetry of The Penis is on in the Olympia tonight as part of the Dublin Comedy festival and it costs €27.00 a ticket. Twenty seven euro to watch two fellas playin’ with their mickeys! Jaysus I can do that me self and never even get out […]

Paddy’s Day. Dawning with green eyed malice over unhappy Dublin. The country gripped with the plague fear all gatherings cancelled, gangs of agriculture civil servants roaming the streets armed with rubber truncheons and industrial strength disinfectant. Dousing Mayo accented savages in gallons of evil smelling jeyes fluid, rounding them up in paddy wagons full of […]

Steve Bell nails it once again.

No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun — for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax — This won’t hurt.
Hunter’s last words.
I […]