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Thurles Man Forced Out Of Marital Home

As far as I know, Mikey Ryan didn’t venture home to the wife as yet.

Oh, sorry you are probably not fully acquainted with reports of certain marital dissentions, which recently reared their ugly head, here in our rural, politically forgotten town.

To better explain; we were above in the Arch Bar in Liberty Square, Thurles last Monday, when a most dishevelled Mikey desended in, much later than usual.

To give him his due, Mikey, ordinarilywould be the sort of a guy to spruce himself up when heading out “on the tear”.  Mikey, for all the years I have known him, usually appears with his face as smooth as a baby’s bottom, togged out in a pinstriped suit, with a striped, blue tie, foiled by a rather crisp, white, starched shirt. Indeed, it’s as if all of his clobber had been plucked straight out from the front window of Stakelum’s Menswear in Friar Street.  Now add to this ensemble; that splash of Old Spice; top it off with a Sunday best, white, Panama hat and add a pair of highly polished brown shoes and you can see at a glance, even if only in your mind’s eye, the type of person that is our Mikey.

But last Monday night it was a different kettle of fish; he turned up in a truly scruffy state. To describe him as displaying a rather “slept in look” could be more rightly seen as being a sort of exaggerated benevolence, to say the very least.  Pat, the Arch Bar proprietor, wasn’t even sure that he was worthy of admission. Indeed, were it not for the fact that he was a regular, it would have been a “No way Jose” scenario regarding admission rights, as Pat warned me quietly afterwards.

Mikey arrived through the bar portals like a man who had been found absent when his house was searched by the Criminal Assets Bureau or a relative of the Hutch-Kinahan criminal gang.
“Was she in tonight,” Mikey queried hurriedly, glancing continuously over his shoulder.
“Who are we talking about”, says I.
“That sadistic bitch of a wife of mine”, retorted Mikey.

It was only then through my persistent questioning that I learned that Mikey, following advice, had not dared to venture home in the last few days, choosing instead to sleep (if that is possible) on a two-seater sofa in the front room of his sister Bridie’s house.

From what I can gather it all began in the latter half of the previous week. According to Mikey, his wife had come home from a doctor’s appointment she had been granted, regarding worrying chest pain, and was now grinning from ear to ear.

“What’s making you so happy”, Mikey asks, “Why the ‘pleased as punch look’ on you”.
His wife smiled again, “The doctor told me that for a forty-five-year-old woman, that I have the breasts of a eighteen year old virgin.”
“Oh yeah?” quipped Mikey, “What did he say about your forty-five-year-old fat arsehole?” to which she is supposed to have replied, “Trust me your name wasn’t even mentioned in our conversation.”

But it wasn’t until Saturday that the real difficulties came to the fore, Mikey forgot their wedding anniversary. His wife was furious, informing him in no uncertain terms that, quote, “Tomorrow morning, I expect to find a gift in the driveway that goes from 0 to 200 in 6 seconds and it had better materialise”

Living in fear and dread all night, Mikey arose early next morning and left in his van for work, having placed a gift as directed. When his wife woke up, she looked out the window and sure enough there it was, a box beautifully gift-wrapped sitting, as requested, in the middle of their driveway.

Confused, the wife put on her dressing gown and rushed out unto the driveway, narrowly missing a somewhat now startled postman. Bringing the box back into the house she opened it to find that the contents contained a brand-new, state of the art Weight Watchers, Designer, Precision, Electronic, Bathroom Scales.

Don’t ask me how I know, but personally my feeling is that Mikey may end up sojourning on the sofa in Bridie’s house for just a day or two longer.

Women; sure I could never understand them either.

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TD Runs Up Drink Tab For €1,200 In Dáil Bar

Inside the Dáil Bar

According to last weekend’s Sunday Times, in the Dáil bar, one TD has run up a bill of €1,200 over the summer, despite the Dáil only sitting for just eight days. The Dáil’s Bar tab, in total, reached over €31,000 up to the end of last August.

We can now confirm we saw yesterday, one Irish Cabinet Minister quickly attempting to exit through the side gates of Dáil Éireann, being chased by a man waving a drinks bill, before being accosted by a particularly dirty and shabby-looking homeless person, who asked him for a “couple of Euro to get food”.

Dodging out of site, behind the front entrance security building, the Minister routed in his trousers pocket, before extracting a two Euro coin. Holding it up between finger and thumb he asked, “If I gave you this money, will you take it and buy whisky?”
“No, sure I stopped drinking years ago, Sir,” said the unfortunate dishevelled individual.

“Will you use it to gamble?” asked the Minister.
“I don’t gamble. I need everything I can get just to keep body and soul together, Sir”, said the starving man.

“Will you spend the money on greens fees at a golf course?” questioned the Cabinet Minister.
“Are you totally mad, Sir?  I haven’t played golf in 20 years“, said the now confused man, wishing he had never asked for help in the first place.

“Come quickly” said the Cabinet Minister,  “I’m not going to give you two Euro. Instead, I’m going to take you to my Dublin residence for a terrific dinner, cooked by my adoring wife’s fair hands.”
The starving, homeless man was astounded. “Sir won’t your wife be furious with you for doing that?  Sure I’m dirty, and I probably smell like shit.”
“Hey, not to worry”, said the Minister, “I want my wife to see what a man looks like who, in just a couple of short years, has given up drinking, gambling, and golf”

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O, To Have A Little House Mr Varadkar

Old Woman Of The Roads
by Padraic Colum.

O, to have a little house!
To own the hearth and stool and all!
The heaped up sods against the fire,
The pile of turf against the wall!
To have a clock with weights and chains
And pendulum swinging up and down!
A dresser filled with shining delph,
Speckled and white and blue and brown!
I could be busy all the day
Clearing and sweeping hearth and floor,
And fixing on their shelf again
My white and blue and speckled store!
I could be quiet there at night
Beside the fire and by myself,
Sure of a bed and loth to leave
The ticking clock and the shining delph!
Och! but I’m weary of mist and dark,
And roads where there’s never a house nor bush,
And tired I am of bog and road,
And the crying wind and the lonesome hush!
And I am praying to God on high,
And I am praying Him night and day,
For a little house – a house of my own
Out of the wind’s and the rain’s way.

One wonders if the Co. Longford poet Padraic Colum (1881 – 1972) were penning his poem “Old Woman Of The Roads” in today’s Ireland, what would be the title? “The Lament Of A Homeless Person Neglected by Government” perhaps.

“Ireland has one of the lowest levels of homelessness,” stated Mr Leo Eric Varadkar yesterday which perhaps suggests that the problem is being ignored.

You will of course remember Mr Varadkar, the Irish Fine Gael politician and now the leader of a minority coalition government since June of this year; same government which includes quite a number of Fine Gael members. Representing the Dublin West constituency and ‘people who get up early in the morning’, since 2007, Mr Varadkar has previously served as a Minister for Transport, Tourism and Sport (2011 to 2014, the period that himself and Mr Alan Kelly increased train fares from Thurles to Dublin by 100%); a Minister for Health (2014 to 2016), and yes, actually the Minister for Social Protection from 2016 to 2017.

The Cabinet, which Mr Varadkar presides over, of course contain numerous individuals who, like himself occasionally demonstrate ‘Learner Driver Syndrome’, in their cases continuously failing to ‘engage brain, before operating mouth’.

Take a look at just one other example; TD Mr John Halligan, the Irish Independent politician who has served as Minister of State for Training and Skills since May 2016 and who is surprisingly an elected TD for the Waterford constituency. This same week Mr Halligan; (anxious to grab a “see me appearing to do important work” headline with the national press), threatened to visit North Korea on a diplomatic mission to halt a nuclear Armageddon.

An impressed Chairman of the Workers’ Party and the supreme leader of North Korea, Mr Kim Jong-un, (as one does in every good home these days), got his wife Mrs Ri Sol-ju to polished the silver and run their china under the tap, before laying it out in the parlour. He himself nipped out to clip the hedges and mow the lawn at the front. Now after all that effort, what happens?  Mr Halligan decides (following a rumoured kicking from civil servants at the Dept. of Foreign Affairs), not to travel. Now between you and me and without in anyway trying to cause panic; Waterford people should be keeping one eye gazing skyward, as I can confirm from first hand sources that Mr Kim Jong-un and the wife are feeling rather ‘pissed off ‘ over the whole damned affair.

I mean Mr Halligan, having failed to acquire a permanent second Catheterisation laboratory down in Waterford, actually instead nipped out to meet with the Palestinian authorities on the West Bank, not to mention the Israeli authorities on the opposite bank, just a few months previously, and you can visibly see today the almighty changes immediately brought about by his diplomacy, which focused the world on his true political ability as a possible leader in Europe.

Anyway, enough on Mr Halligan, sorry, we were chatting about Mr Varadkar and his excuse yesterday for allowing 8,374 Irish people remain homeless during the week of September 18th to the 24th, 2017, across Ireland.

Homelessness, as everyone knows, has had its roots well-watered by past and present Governments failing to legislate. Their failures to correct a broken housing system; low Rent Supplement Payments; low Incomes; forced Social Welfare reductions; Landlords selling; Bank repossessions; Shortages of property stock; Properties refusing to accept Rent Supplement in an effort to avoid Income Tax; High Rents charged by Irish Get-Rich-Quick Landlords, acting out similar sagas as that which existed when we were being exploited by England Landlords; Vulture Funds, and finally a Governments decision to cut spending on social housing by a colossal 72%, between 2008 and 2012, and which now talks about reducing taxes, while they themselves have granted themselves massive salary increases.

Surely it’s time to change our system of elections.

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Thurles Winner Of National Lottery On Safari In Tanzania

We were above in the Arch Bar in Liberty Square here in Thurles last night, enjoying a few pints and celebrating Mikey Ryan’s win at Thurles Greyhound Track, when Mikey declared out loud, that there was nothing smarter than a Thurles reared Greyhound.

To support this claim, Mikey related the true story of the recent €7.5 million National Lottery winner here in Thurles, who decided to go on a month’s Safari to Tanzania in eastern Africa; taking with him his champion Greyhound named Spot.

Spot of course, as indeed any self-respecting Greyhound on Safari would when he got to Tanzania, began the early morning with chasing the local butterflies and soon found himself totally and utterly lost in the long Pennisetum purpureum (Elephant Grass to those of you lot less educated). Now having lost his bearings and wandering about, Spot suddenly spotted a Spotted Leopard (sorry about the synonyms) heading rather rapidly in his direction, latter with mouth-watering intent on enjoying an early Greyhound breakfast.

Spot quickly realises “Jasus, I’m up to my neck in deep faecal matter”, but then notices some rather large bones strewn on the ground. Grabbing one between his teeth, he squats down to chew, turning his back to the approaching giant cat. As the Leopard is about to spring, Spot stretches to his full height, exclaiming loudly in his best Tipperary accent, “Jasus that was one extremely delicious Leopard. I wonder are there are any more of these appetising creatures around here?”

The Leopard having never seen a Greyhound before, decides to halt his intended assault, and now somewhat terrorised, skulks away into the nearby tree line. “That was a close shave”, thought the Leopard breathing a sigh of relief, “That ferocious Greyhound could easily have ate me.”

However, Spot had failed to observe a Sanje mangabey Monkey, who had been eagerly watching the proceedings from a nearby tree stump.  The Monkey quickly recognised he could put this newly acquired knowledge to good use, by trading it with the Leopard in exchange for future protection. Off he heads, but Spot seeing him for the first time, now believed that the Monkey might also help him find his way home, and he headed after him.

When the Monkey catches up with the Leopard, the former ‘spills the beans’ and overheard by the now worried Greyhound, a protection deal is struck with the Leopard. Understandably the Leopard is furious at being made to look like a fool and invites the Monkey, “Here Monkey, hop up on my back and let me show you what’s going to happen to that cursed Greyhound.”  Spot spots the Spotted Leopard returning along the route of his earlier hasty retreat, with the Monkey riding on his back, and thinks, “What the feck am I going to do now?”

Quick thinking Spot once again sits down with his back to his attackers, pretending he hasn’t as yet observed or overheard their plans. When they are in reach of ear shot, Spot swears out loud, “Where is that feckin Monkey?  Sure, it must be over an hour ago since I sent him off to bring me back another Leopard.”

Sure it’s true for Mikey Ryan, “There no hair on a Thurles Greyhound, then again on reflection ………. I wonder who won the National Lottery here in Thurles?”

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Last Request From Irishman Condemned To Death

An Englishman, Irishman, Welshman, Scotsman were recently captured while fighting in Homs province with the Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF) against ISIS.

The leader of the terrorist group, Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi speaking to the captives demanded, “Boys, we’re going to make an example of you. We are going to line you up in front of a firing squad and shoot each of you in turn. But first, I will allow each of you to make a final wish.”

The Scotsman is first to reply; “I’d like to hear that traditional song ‘Wild Mountain Thyme’, preferably sung by that Scottish rock band The Silencers, just one more time. It will to remind me of the good times when I lived in the auld country and bring back happy memories of midnight on Hogmanay”.

The Englishman quickly salutes before stating, “I would like to hear “God Save The Queen”, just one more time to remind me of that once great British Empire. I would like to hear it sung by the London Male Voice Choir, with Cotswold Morris Clog Dancers tapping out the tune in the background.”

The Welshman in a more sombre voice states, “I’d like to hear “Men Of Harlech” just one more time, again to remind me of my countries rich Welsh national feeling, and sung if possible by the Treorchy Male Voice Choir.”

The Irishman quickly states “Is their any chance ye could arrange to feckin shoot me first.”

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