It's not like maimimg teenage boys but it'll do for now.A mass murderer, lavishly salaried and pensiond and protected from his chums by the British taxpayer, enjoys one of the simple pleasures of life.
Gerry Adams, MP, of the Noncing Adamses. His brother is on the run after allegations that he repeatedly raped his own daughter and Adams' assertions that he broke off contact with his Beasty Brother are contested, convincingly, by many in the Paddy media. Photographs exist of the two monsters, the paedobeast, surely the white sheep of the family and the serial murderer/torturer etc etc have been published in hitherto sympathetic newspapers showing them campaigning together to get the nonce a Sinn Fein sinecure, long after Gerry is supposed to have denounced his bro and called for him to surrender to the Old Paddy. Still, torture, arson, extortion, burying-alive, drug-dealing, protection rackets and mass murder on a Wehrmacht scale, wotsabit of inter-family rape to get excited about, when the Peace Proh-Cess, or the survival of Sinn Fein/IRA is at stake ?
Gerry, anyway, is hauling himself up to his full beardy height and throwing his toys out of the Ulster Hellhole pram. Delegating his chum, Marty Kneecaps, to go and sort out the cuckolded, thieving, turd-muching, numpty wanker, Peter Robinson, Gerry says that youse bastards better start taking us seriously or we won't play, so we won't. Gerry and Marty want the Ulster cops to be led by veteran IRA school-bombing kneecappers and Pete wants them to be led by bowler-hatted Orangemen and while Pete is struggling to hang on to his many jobs and salaries, following his allegedly sick wife's GrannyKnobbing episode, the terrorist component of the Northern Ireland Assembly is trying to kick the poor man when he's down on his knees, praying to God, and counting his money, the rotten piece of greedy, bigoted Presbyterian shit.
If the Peace Proh-cess is in danger of being derailed can it be long before its architect is summoned. He is well-regarded by this assembly of fuckpigs, having paid them all ministerial salaries and expenses for four years when they weren't doing anything and, of course, writing-off, with the Hand of History, all their considerable atrocities. Not doing deals with terrorists, it's called.
Gerry, anyway, is hauling himself up to his full beardy height and throwing his toys out of the Ulster Hellhole pram. Delegating his chum, Marty Kneecaps, to go and sort out the cuckolded, thieving, turd-muching, numpty wanker, Peter Robinson, Gerry says that youse bastards better start taking us seriously or we won't play, so we won't. Gerry and Marty want the Ulster cops to be led by veteran IRA school-bombing kneecappers and Pete wants them to be led by bowler-hatted Orangemen and while Pete is struggling to hang on to his many jobs and salaries, following his allegedly sick wife's GrannyKnobbing episode, the terrorist component of the Northern Ireland Assembly is trying to kick the poor man when he's down on his knees, praying to God, and counting his money, the rotten piece of greedy, bigoted Presbyterian shit.
If the Peace Proh-cess is in danger of being derailed can it be long before its architect is summoned. He is well-regarded by this assembly of fuckpigs, having paid them all ministerial salaries and expenses for four years when they weren't doing anything and, of course, writing-off, with the Hand of History, all their considerable atrocities. Not doing deals with terrorists, it's called.
I'm a pretty, straight guy.We'll see about that, so we will
17 comments:
Misread your banner as "...Blair Peach corpse" for a second there.
Need to wipe the old eyeballs, so I do.
Nicely understated use of punctuation in that caption, Mr Ishmael.
Can't help but wonder where your mind is bound, sometimes, Mr Verge, must be all those dirty books. Have you read, incidentally, Mad Man by Samuel R Delaney?
Thanks, sfter all these years you are the first to mention it, although I do hope not the first to notice. From the time he said it - the I Would Never Do Anything Wrong remarks - I have written it thus, Mr Edgar and I think he would, too, if he thought about it - firm but fair, for the many not the few, pretty, but straight; the narcissism of he and Imelda is boundless, isn't it, yet based on such mis-shapen, bug-eyed, jug-eared, slot-gobbed unwholesomeness.
"..., yet based on such mis-shapen, bug-eyed, jug-eared, slot-gobbed unwholesomeness."
..and in my view it is the look of a born Catholic. So his "accomodation" seems perfectly in keeping.
As an Irish Catholic by immediate descent, I am the only person who thinks SF/IRA are actually National Socialists?
Why is this never mentioned by the Mainland Socialists?
"Bound to a rock
like the time to a clock"
Don't know the SRD you mention, though I was, years back, charmed by Nova and Babel-17. Then I read Hogg and I think I'll give the mad old bastard a rest for a while. (For anyone who's not come across this novel, it's as powerful, disgusting, & serious as that nasty, necessary Austrian film "Funny Games.")
While not being his brother's keeper, Mr Ishmael, you would have thought the bastard had the political sense - we know he has not the honour - to draw the line at protecting a nonce. In the old days, it would have a couple of the boys, a lonely road and no more knee-caps. Or worse. Might still be. "Who will rid me of this embarrassment?" We live in hope.
Its in the Irish Tribune, mr mongoose, some brave wee girl reporter is going up against the great man and of course, the beasts's daughter is a brave wee girl, too. Sounds like Adams' brother should have been a priest, probably still time, Pope Nazi could take him in, forgive him and turn him loose on some distant parish. You won't be surprised to know that I think nonces need treatment but only if they put their hands up to it. I have known a few and they keep secrets, even from themselves, all the more reason that those around them do the right thing, in this, as in everthng else, Gerry behaves with an obscene, supercilious, I-KnowBbestism, tinged with menace, someone should off him.
I don't think so, Mr Irish Catholic, I think it's just the wood and the trees, most people are just so revolted by the PIRA that they don't think they need a further appelation but if you asked most people for a historical parallel for Adams and McGuiness and their HardMen chums most would say Berlin 1930s.
I swear I have read Nova and Babel 17 but for the life of me cannae remember a word of them. I will sleep on it, Mr Verge. MadMan is a tale of cheesy, random, SkidRow urophilia, right up your street.
i enjoyed that piece as a resident of or in the province. (is it still a province, post lisbon?) our politicians are mostly vile - there's an Edwin Poots who wants a curfew for newly-qualified drivers, for example. sorry to say that i voted for both these parties at times, but have since been cured
It is true that most kiddie-fiddlers have been victims themselves. And so sorrow and charity are natural and decent. This does not absolve us all - the damaged and the undamaged - of the requirement not to carry the horror on.
As you say, hands up and down to the cop shop and we will do our best. I would imagine however that that is a difficult ask. The Catholic Madness one imagines makes it even more difficult. "Bless me, Father, for I am a nonce." "Funnily enough, my son..."
Thanks, mr richard.
Very good, mr mongoose, a chuckle in the wee small hours; an extra snake's egg to you, or whatever it is which passes for mongoose treats, the mind fucking boggles, really.
I am not sure that there are exact figures - noncing is a notoriously difficult crime to catalogue, they're being everywhere - but not all nonces were victims and not all victims become nonces. My own limited experience of sex offenders taught me that they inhabit a different but to them equally valid moral universe to most -some- of us, convinced that the child they are repeatedly molesting is asking for it, leading them on, exploiting them, a right little tart, actually the guilty part, ruining a decent man's life. it's a horror story and unfortunately what happens is that the same people work with it year after year. There's one guy, Ray Wyre, who claims to be the national expert in this shit and pops u everytime skymadeupnewsandfilth wants an expert, thirty years he's been living amongst this madness. Dunno if you saw Cruising, with Al Pacino a san undercover cop who becomes so immesred in sex crime that he winds up doing it. The home office should wise up, insist that nobody spends too long in nonce world, might see some progress then.
It's not all open sewers, shooting galleries and live sex shows up my street, you know, Mr Ish. The two books I have on the go currently are Patrick Harpur's History of the Imagination and Margaret Lane's My Life With Ionides. Not a golden shower between them (though come to think of it there is a description of giving a mamba accidental hand-relief in the Ionides book - there really is no escape, is there.)
Ray Wyre died in 2008, Mr Ishmael.
kindly obit
Wyre meant well and I can see where he was coming from - he was absolutely right about some things - but he was himself a failed priest and his own demons chased him. There was (and you can't libel the dead) a little too much insight in to sex offenders in his work.
With 20/20 hindsight of his work, much of it was attempt to make sense of his own history, especially that he wanted to take the cloth. The reasons he didn't have never been adequately elaborated - and they were his own - but they left him with trying to build a personal secular priesthood whilst still in love with a primitive theology. It's a bad mix.
My particular beef with him is the lunacy whereby he lost touch with reality and became far too wound up with the literal believers in the existence of the devil. He got all hot'n'bothered in at least two Satanic Panics, him and the thoroughly nasty Bea Campbell winding up police officers who thought they were taking part in The Wicker Man.
Because Wyre had a modicum or credibility in some areas earned on sound work and validation of theory, his word was insufficiently challenged in others where, frankly, he was losing the plot.
Dear Mrs. Woman on a Raft,
I think you must know everything.I'm most impressed by the range and depth of your knowledge, and, today, by your take on Ray Wyre and the link to the very interesting obit. Long,long ago and far away, I was employed as a Probation Officer and respect the ground breaking work of Wyre and Finkelhor in understanding sex offenders and the offending cycle, and, importantly, providing a method of working with some sex offenders to initiate change. Previously, all we could do was monitor and try to reinforce what Wyre and Finkelhor came to describe as external inhibitors against offending. However, I also take Mr. Ishmael's point that, if you swim in the sewer long enough, you're likely to get specks of shit on your swimming costume.
The Satanic thing. You don't have to believe in Satan and his minions yourself to be aware that paedophiles and paedophile networks(who also don't believe in it) find the Christian belief system a fabulous way to trap, bully, coerce and frighten children and some vulnerable adults who should have been protecting them, into compliance with their sexual desires and behaviours, particularly because religious teachings have already done the hard work for you.
Best Regards,
Agatha
And Jesus said, suffer the little children...
"Because Wyre had a modicum or credibility in some areas earned on sound work and validation of theory, his word was insufficiently challenged in others where, frankly, he was losing the plot." Thanks, mrs WOAR.
That's what I always thought, I didn't know he was a failed skypilot but it makes sense, so many in that field are, isn't it just a shifting, to a more captive, controllable congregation, another group upon which the practitioner/shamanist can work his voodoo?
As to whether or not Wyre meant well that remains for me a moot point; I have known too many to whom the condition or the offence or the failings or the disadvantage of others is a three-ring circus in which they crack the whip, often holding-up the client group to ridicule and condescension. I bet you have, too.
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