GAY ULSTERMEN PREPARE FOR THEIR BIG DAY
For centuries, uptight, fucked-up Orangemen have marched through the ghettoised, township, Catholic enclaves of Ulster, piping their shitty, tinny wee pipes, beating their terrifying Lambeg drums; the Men, as they call themselves, dancing around one another,
flirting with the Love that Dare not speak its Name, so it daren’t; horrible, beady-eyed, pig-faced, women-hating, rage-filled ruffians, kitted-out in their quasi-military fetish gear, sashes and tunics and gloves and bowler hats, horrible, horrible, horrible fucking bastards, terrorising the minority, in the name of the Queen; a demented, degenerate Dad’s Army;
Paisley and Trimble and now this prick, Robinson, a gang of sour-faced, wife-beating Presbyterian Ulster undertakers, coming over here to mainland UK and pretending to be normal, decent, put-upon, at home prancing and dancing like tribal chiefs, stoking hatred and sectarianism and a uniquely Presbyterian apartheid, eventually, in the ‘sixties and ‘seventies, promoting the monstrous, butchering cruelties of Marty Kneecaps McGuiness and that other bastard nonce, Adams; more Men, the Men of the Provisional IRA; a pox on them all and their families and a pox on Blair, too; Clinton, Mitchell, de Chatelaine, all the suits and ties who in the name of Peace put terrorists from all sides in government, rather than in jail.
They’ll be out soon, marching, Ulster’s finest;
ministers and bank managers, taxi drivers and clerks, thugs and bums, the vilest community in the UK, marching, shaking their scabby arses at Decency. The Twelfth of July marks a minor military skirmish, the Battle of The Boyne, fought in 1690. And re-fought by Ulster’s NancyBoy Orangemen, everyday of their miserable, worthless, shit-eating, barbarian lives. Fuck the Orange Order, Fuck the IRA, Fuck Presbyterianism; nonce priests, bloodstained ministers, bent politicians and armies of hate-filled, dancing imbeciles; what a disgusting shower stalks the island of Ireland.
Wiser, better-schooled heads than ours have recognised an emotional or hormonal state in men which is not "flight or fight" but "fight or fuck" where either option will satisfy the belligerents; we see it in the depravity of Uncle Sam's fat, crewcut psychobastard Nazi Mommas boys, sexually humiliating captured, defenceless Ay-rabs, we see it in poor wee Jock, his head wrecked by years of Labour and now SNP brainwashing but we see it writ large in the Loyal Orange Lodges of Northern Ireland, bullying, intimidation and brutality made Worship, made Patriotism.
Anyone who thinks that the Gay Pride marchers are revolting, as many of them studiedly are, should pop over to the UK’s lunatic fringe, Belfast or Enniskillen or Portadown, in time for the Eleventh night, on which effigies of Pope Nazi will be burned on bonfires and the Twelfth Day, on which thousands of drunken sectarian bigots will strut their stuff for one another, bless, shouting No Surrender! as though they had anything worth giving away.
5 comments:
Marty Kneecaps McGuiness and that other bastard nonce, Adams;" You have to admit that the money creamed for the flat they share in London while not attending Parliament is a bargain for these fuckers though. As for fighting or fucking have yoou seen any of these women? Whuch ever course you take you will come of worse.
Last time I was there was like a trip in time, a combination of 1950’s post war poverty and medieval Europe; witch burning, pig ignorance and barber shop surgery, only with power tools. Rarely on my travels have I been surprised by anything I’ve seen, China was a bit different but just about everywhere else lived up to expectation and in that respect NI won’t let you down. Go to a loyalist (protestant) area and the curbstones are red, white and blue, a nationalist/republican (catholic) area and they’re green, white and orange, gable ends of buildings are decorated with pictures of the brave murderers from both sides, still fighting battles that ended centuries ago. Bollocks to all that military reenactment shite, just go to NI for a holiday and see it for real.
It is, indeed, a truly revolting spectacle. Defiant, ignorant stupidity made especially grotesque by an unreasoning pathological hatred. Northern Ireland is a place where tradition was twisted into a perversion.
There was a wonderful vignette on BBC news a few months ago when the IRA found some guns doewn the back of the sofa and shot a soldier who was taking delivery of a pizza.
The BBC went into the more chimp-related Catholic areas and found an incoherent 18-year old fuckwit who will have spent all his (nominally) cogent years living in peace. But he wasn't going to let the chance to show what an utter fuckwit he was to several million people pass.
In between his largely incoherent grunting and strangled 'so it is's and other verbal ticks of the congenitally brain-fucked this imbecile was basically all for shooting squaddies who were getting pizzas delivered. A real student of Irish history.
I'm amazed the cameraman didn't take the opportunity to kill the cunt on the spot because a fuckwit like that will never, ever, ever be anything other than a dangerous fuckwit.
A worthless, jobless, brainless fucking piece of shit. Good for fuck all except, possibly, as compost.
And plenty more where that fucker came from. There will be a reason the Republic dropped its 'claim' to Northern Ireland. In fact there is probably about a million reasons.
Northern Ireland. A shithole. A proxy war for the Scots.
Amen to all of that.
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