Burn them all!
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 zebra crossing and were struck by a bus. This was a tragic incident that could no doubt have been avoided if greater care and attention had been paid to the recent facelift the O’Connell streetscape received. However I am not here to speak of that. Oh no, there are far more important windbags than I who could bore the face off you for hours concerning the wrong headed folly of our urban zonemonkeys up there in the bunkers on Woodquay.
No I am here to bring you reports that after these two women were knocked down and seriously injured they were promptly robbed. ROBBED! Yes within the first minute of being run over by a double decker bus the people of Dublin robbed them. Media reports claim the gards were on the scene almost immediately. That means the fucking gougers saw them being struck by a bus, and over they went “Heeear are yeh all righ dere missus?” and off they sidled with their handbags and suitcases. Fucking sickened I was when I read that. Sickened and depressed. That’s the kind of shite that makes me want to march down Henry street with a can of petrol and a flaming torch. Dowsing gurriers in super unleaded and screaming “Was it you? WAS IT YOU? I BET IT WAS YOU, YOU LITTLE BASTARDS!” But I’m not allowed to burn people anymore.
September 23rd, 2005 at 9:19 am
This is why my birthday \ Christmas present requests for a flamethrower are ignored.
September 23rd, 2005 at 5:00 pm
You ask for matches, I’ll ask for petrol.
September 24th, 2005 at 12:06 pm
Fuck, I hadn’t heard about the robbery. The whole business just fits in with the general soul-withering awfulness of this O’Connell Street “makeover”. Once the street was merely shabby, now it resembles a mortuary slab with a giant hypodermic needle sticking out of it. The lighting is too harsh (a pitiful attempt to make this by-the-numbers urban desert dramatic) making the place feel empty and exposed at night. To add to the alienation, the squared-off trees resemble the little green plastic shrubberies one sees in a butcher’s shop window.
The Commies used to build shit like this: the Celtic Tigers share the same lack of concern for the human element and same surfeit of ideological smugness as those old regimes; hopefully, they will end up sharing the same unmarked quicklime pits.