Saturday, 26 June 2010


The divine Mrs Robinsonbag, 60, above, has been helping Old Bill make-up his enquiries.  Her Don't-Fuck-With-Me-I'm-Suicidal defence (also known as the Gordon Snot manouvre) has been abandoned now that it is obvious she isn't.

Iris, notional wife of the abominable Peter,  First Orangeman, leapt to international stardom when it was revealed that she had been banging a man of eighteen

and sorting him a dodgy loan, from which she,  then an MP and an MLA,  demanded a ten per cent fee.  Belfast rumours are that Mrs Robinson had been banging the boy's dying Dad  and promised to look after the son, too. Which she did, in a manner of speaking.

The Robinsons are infamous for the sums and perqs they have amassed from the public purse, collecting, at one time, a joint salary of half a million pounds.  A year.  They have a multi-millionaire property portfolio, although it is said  that the homes are of thesaurus-defying vulgarity. All Orangey. With bunting.

Peter modestly regales folk with tales of his necktie collection - he says he has well over a thousand.  Now, these won't be part of Tesco's Florence and Fred shirt-and-tie-for-a-fiver bonanza and will probably have cost someone, but not Peter, close on thrity grand. Or more. He is fussy.

This whole tie business, it's as though a pretty cravat will compensate for the larcenous, brutal, ugly face above and it is the view in Ishmaelia that anyone vain enough to have a thousand neckties should see them woven into a shortish rope, tied firmly around his neck and him being placed atop a longladder*.

 . Multi-skilled - and multi-pocketed - Peter  was both Westminster MP for the Undertakers of Ulster Party and an MLA in the local government.  Until the recent election which saw him dumped by local voters, horrified by the scandals - a different standard, of course, being applied to the wretched Iris than to, for instance, the smiling Mr Huhne, whose ethical dilemma was at least a little more age appropriate, but only a little. And who's in the Coalition. Bravely making cuts. Just not to himself or his friends.

But we digress, a sign of the times, one which will intensify as Ruin stalks the councils and the hospitals and the old people's homes but never mind, we are Tackling the Defecit. As the fetishists say in their new, mindless mantra. One big all-in-this-together-shit push.

Peter, anyway, disgraced by a randy wife, revealed as  a bullying, manipulative liar and a rotten, thieving bastard and rejected by a usually overwhelmingly loyal constituency decided that he was too important to the Peace-Proh-cess and should not therefore, in decency, resign his local seat. And so, surrounded by scandal, there he stays, FirstAngryOrangeman.

Those poor benighted RedHand Ulstermen, eh, what are they like?

Except that Tony and Imelda shredded their expenses,

except that Lord Pies wickedly preyed on a secretary young enough to be his daughter;

Dead man waltzing.

except that Blind Boy Blunkett deployed his security detail to bully his non-co-operating mistress and then used his connections to perform dodgy but profitable share dealings; except that Peter Mandelstein was apparently able to blackmail his way out of anything,  and even into the joint prime ministership of the United Kingdom - commitments to Russian gangsters permitting, of course.

So, are the horrid, stupid,
angry, cuckolded FirstAngryOrangeman and  his thieving, adventurous Mrs any worse than our stellar cast of Public Service miscreants and felons?

Well, the Old Bill are keeping schtum about Iris. No comment. But she was questioned this month by senior detectives from the newly devolved - devolved to the IRA - Police Service of Northern Ireland. It will be interesting to see if the often historically rough justice of Ulster is visited upon Mrs Robinson and by default the FirstAngryOrangeman, himself, or if, as is normally the case with politicians, there is insufficent evidence to prosecute them, as they would so vigorously you or I.
Peter's predecessor as FirstAngryOrangeman,

The Lord  Doctor Paisley of LoudmouthBigotry (PhD, Univ. of eBay)  used to remark, snarlingly, that the PeopleOfNorthernIrelnad Will Not Stand For This, So They Won't.  In the matter of Grannygate, we shall see whether they do or not.

* A Belfastfast street cry from  infancy -Up the long ladder and down the short rope. Gawd bless King Billy and to Hell with the Pope.


Anonymous said...

perqs"? Shurley perks and stop calling me Shirley.

call me ishmael said...

Perquisites, Shirley. Nice, though, to see the apostrophe jihadists aren't all dead.

Verge said...

Dear Mr Ish, should we inaugurate a new acronym do you think?


Motherfucker I'd like to kill (metaphorically speaking of course, for any literalist cyberplods passing by with too much time on their's what you're left with when you've wiped off all the blood, boom boom.)

PT Barnum said...

Mr Verge, M.I.L.K has made me somewhat queasy in the context of Iris's noncing ways. I propose M.I.L.O (where O is Off) with a suitable nod towards Catch 22.

Verge said...

Or simply B.I.L.E. - B for bastard, berk, or Bliar, E for exterminate, eviscerate, eliminate, and end.

At least Heller's Milo was funny. (There's another good one in some of James Crumley's novels.)

Funny these fuckers are not.

call me ishmael said...

MILKS, lovely.

PT Barnum said...

Or VILE, Vicious Idiots...Eviscerate. Lovely word, eviscerate.

Yes, Milo was/is funny, but he never let any fluffy ethical considerations stand between him and a nice little earner.