Archive for the ‘Heraldy Press – The Satirical Side’ Category

Irish Hipsters To Boycott NY’s Non Craft Beer Bars

Saturday, July 26th, 2014
Coffee and an ‘ironic’ hipster musical instrument.

A self-proclaimed Irish ‘hipster’ and his two friends will be boycotting every drinking establishment which stocks anything other than craft beers in the coming weeks. Davie ‘Nicholas’ Dwyer, originally from Sligo but now based in Brooklyn, claims that bars and restaurants that stock the likes of Heineken, Bud and Guinness were merely; ‘Capitalist buzzkillers out to harsh the mellow vibe of the downtrodden hip cats’. The Heraldy Press had no interpreter on hand, so we didn’t know what he meant, but we think it may have been something about ice pops, drainage systems or Chile’s attacking formation in the recent World Cup.

Dwyer, who relocated from Sligo, northwest Ireland, after realizing nobody in his hometown had an Arcade Fire (‘You’ve probably never heard of them’, he added) album he could borrow, arrived in Williamsburg, County Brooklyn, in 2013, where he swiftly became immersed in the so-called ‘hipster’ lifestyle. Buying a Jack Kerouac (‘You’ve probably never heard of him’ he again added) book to have sticking out of his back pocket to impress the ‘hipstettes’ and having his dad buy him an antique Fender Stratocaster guitar that he could strum outside the Starbucks on north 9th street, a year later, the by-now semi-bearded Dwyer claims to have noticed a disturbing trend in local bars. Most of them sold alcohol products that people outside his inner circle of two pals had heard of.

Said Dwyer, as he bummed a cigarette from a nearby homeless man, before putting it in his pocket (‘For later’); ‘If a distillery or like, pints factory or whatever, employ like, I don’t know, um, hundreds of people to make their government-approved product, then what’s the point, the chemicals man, it’s killing the industry, this isn’t how great warriors of literature and music are made. Dostoyevsky, Tolstoy,  or the dudes from, um, Led Zeppelin, you’ll not have heard of them, didn’t develop their genius drinking Budweiser, they did it with Tommy Ferret’s Blueberry Stout or Pineapple Froth from The Greenpoint Brewhouse’. Incidentally, when talking, he misspelled ‘Dostoyevsky’, we had to correct him..

From April 2nd onwards, Dwyer and his cohorts will begin picketing outside the bars of Brooklyn to support the idea of more craft beer bars. They’d have started on the 1st, but a nearby tavern has $2 mugs of Budweiser and free wings all night. They’ll not be protesting on Thursdays either, most likely because Heineken have promotions in the neighborhood, where if you buy three $11 bottles you get a free keyring.

Leaving his 2,400 square foot condo in Williamsburg bright and early each afternoon because; ‘Like, the cleaners are there’, the seemingly unkempt Dwyer, so stressed he even forgot to remove the Banana Republic tags from his tweed jacket, said; ‘You’ll thank me man, with more craft beers in the hood, there’ll be more choice, and with more choice comes better jobs, so I’ll not have to keep buying my friends drinks, my dad’s not made of money, you know’.

With 817 craft beer bars springing up in Brooklyn alone last week, and fourteen bookstores which only serve $9 decaf herbal non-foam lattes (not books though) and a thrift store where locals pretend to buy their clothes, things are looking up for the hipster community in Brooklyn. The pack of bastards.

Words by Bosco Coppell, Picture by Dorothy’s Antique Bridal Gowns. 

 

Ireland’s 33rd County Found by Divers

Tuesday, July 22nd, 2014
Ireland as it looks from a hot-air balloon or a very tall ladder.

Ireland’s archaeologists, divers, historians and scientists are in a state of excitement, following the discovery last week of a major land mass several hundred meters below the water’s surface off the coast of County Wexford. Upon first inspection, locals felt that it was merely an extraordinarily large sand bar, but upon further investigation, it appears that the find could well be the long-lost city of ‘Atlondis’, or Ireland’s unofficial 33rd county, which is believed to have sank without trace hundreds of years ago.

The discovery was made when Cavan man Peter Chestnut had a scuba-diving unit called to the area, after dropping his wallet overboard when out fishing. The Heraldy Press asked Mr. Chestnut how it felt to be at the root of what could well be one of the most incredible archaeological finds of all time: ‘I couldn’t give a shite about that, I just want me wallet back. There’s 23 Euro and the phone number of a young one from Tipperary who’s father owns a pub in the zip pocket, I’m just hoping that I closed the zip, sometimes I do forget and me coins do fall out. I lost me comb too. Incidentally, I meant that the phone number was in the zip pocket, not the pub. Archaeologists? More like ask me bollixes if you ask me’, he replied, with a surprising level of wit for a Cavan man who’d just lost his wallet.

‘Atlondis’, according to local legend, was a large town on the outskirts of County Wexford, ruled by the handsome Prince Fiachra and his personal assistant, Clive for almost a week, after the death of Fiachra’s father, the High King Dermot. When the English invaded the area in 1647, at around lunchtime on Saint Valentine’s Day, destroying most of the region’s vineyards and playing havoc with the good Prince’s antique shoehorn collection, the local residents revolted. Subsequently, under Fiachra and Clive’s instructions, the town’s citizens began hammering and digging ditches along the border of Atlondis and Wexford, eventually cutting a line the entire length of the town’s westernmost border, and in effect, setting it free from Ireland. It then sailed for several feet, before sinking without trace, until, it seems, last week.

Fortunately however, the local residents, exhausted from all their digging activities, are rumored to have taken a rest when the job was done, and could only watch as ‘Atlondis’, with Fiachra and Clive still ‘on board’ sailed off and capsized.

Ever since, there have been many expeditions, well, two, to determine the exact location of ‘Atlondis’, or indeed, whether the region even stood at all. Now however, with the discovery of such a substantial land mass at the exact location that it was to have once been located, there could finally be proof that this once luscious land, with its sprawling vegetation, thriving economy and sluttish women, sorry, adventurous citizens, did indeed exist. A nation, as if it were in possession of a suitcase full of elderly milk, holds its breath. Probably.

Words by Bosco Coppell. Picture by Dorothy’s Antique Toys from Olden Days and Live Bait.

Cork Man Admits Dublin Is Ireland’s Capital

Thursday, July 17th, 2014
Side by side on their sideboard, oh lord, why can’t we?

An elderly man from Cork has, for the first time in his life, acknowledged Dublin as the real capital city of Ireland. To the disgust of his neighbors, family, friends, former cellmates and at least one mistress, Seanie ‘Dave’ O’Driscoll (87) last week said that the people of his beloved Cork should move on and accept Dublin, for so long Cork’s bitter rival in the ‘We’re The Best Place in Ireland’ game, as the nation’s capital. A game County Leitrim was never, incidentally, invited to partake in.

Seanie, a sprightly pensioner with, according to his former friends, the mind of a 20-year-old, and the table manners of a baboon, is fiercely proud of his Cork heritage, and has, over the years, had twenty-three mostly Cork-related tattoos inked on to his skin, though one of them, a map of Limerick covering the left side of his face, was done as a joke by friends on the night before one of his weddings. Sadly, nobody has told Seanie that crayon tattoos such as that one, wash off rather easily.

Micilin Beag ‘Jim’ O’Conaire, a long-time friend of Seanie from 1941 until 1976, then again in the mid ’80s, and twice more after the millenium, when questioned by The Heraldy Press on Seanie’s comments, said; ‘He what?’ When we explained the circumstances to him, he continued; ‘The dirty langer’.

Dublin and Cork have enjoyed a healthy rivalry for many decades, be it in Gaelic Games (Barney Rock vs Jimmy Barry Murphy), literature (Brendan Behan vs Sean O’Faolain), stout (Guinness vs Murphys) or music (U2 vs The Cork and Surrounding Counties Tin Whistle All-Stars), with neither county either gaining, or giving, an inch.

The last time someone from either city paid a compliment to the other, was in 1973, when Phil ‘Howya’ Humphreys, of Finglas, north Dublin, said that the Cork hurling team of the previous season; ‘Weren’t as shite as their footballers’. The same year, a woman from Bantry, County Cork, purchased a  tape by The Cranberries, thinking they were from Dublin, but returned it when she realized Sinead O’Connor or ‘Any of them Corr sisters’ weren’t in that band.

Seanie maintains that he will continue to; ‘Love Cork as my wife, though not my first wife, she was an oul’ bitch, but treat Dublin like the prodigal son. As long as he hasn’t turned into some sort of langer on his travels’.

Words by Bosco Coppell, Picture by Daisy’s Chainsaws and Ribbons. 

Marching Season’s All About The Hats Says Top Unionist

Monday, July 14th, 2014
A bowler hat, pictured without Orangeman underneath.

Hughie ‘Hugh’ Syndrome, a high-ranking member of the Lovelier Unionists Movement, has claimed that despite developing a reputation of bullying, beatings and bigotry over the years, the real reason that Orangemen continue with their marches throughout Ulster in the summer time is down to the other ‘B-word’, bowler hats.

Mr. Syndrome, a Lieutenant Cardinal with the organization, a splinter group which developed following a split within the ranks of the Unionists Against Things That Are Green Like Apples Grass and Fenians, itself an offshoot of the Anti-Brady Bunch-The Movie Unionists, says that if it weren’t for the hats and the lovely shiny sashes, he’d not be an Orangeman at all.

We called to Mr. Syndrome’s home, a gorgeous split-level treehouse in a field on the outskirts of Ulster, where, through a window (he made us wait outside because it was raining and didn’t want our allegedly dirty, supposedly Free State footprints all over his rugs) we witnessed his mammy, Colin, ironing his sash and seductively slow-dancing with a packet of Jaffa Cakes, all while politely humming the popular Orangeman’s ballad, ‘Burn In Green Hell You Dirty Shamrock  Bastards’, a minor hit in 1975 for The Loyal Nephews of Darling King Billy.

When asked whether he still believed in the Unionist ideals that made Orangemen tick, Mr. Syndrome dressed in a mauve, off the shoulder Dolce&Gabbana number, with matching orange socks and a pirate’s hat, said; ‘What?’ We repeated the question, but he still didn’t hear us as some gobshite beside him was banging a drum and saying mean things about people who didn’t have bowler hats. His reply, we think, was; ‘Unionism as an ideal, is alive and well throughout Ulster. We also have nicer hats, and shinier sashes than other such organizations, and our marching is very orderly and pretty, with our clenched fists and perfectly-formed knees moving together at a rhythm most ballerinas would marvel at’. He either said that, or ‘All Taigs are bastards’. It was hard to tell with all the beating of drums, blowing of fifes, and the standing outside in the lashing rain while not even being offered a cup of tea.

So far this year, there have been eleven July 12th parades celebrating something that Unionist lads are really into, with just 819 incidents of violence being reported, including the savage beating of one bowler hat, a man arrested for the inappropriate fondling of an Orange sash in public and another individual taken in for questioning for having a cousin who once said something nice Glasgow Celtic.

Words by Bosco Coppell, Picture provided by Daisy’s Return of the Jedi Memorabilia Store.

Man To Be Deported for Not Liking ‘Mrs Brown’s Boys’.

Friday, July 11th, 2014
A telly, which ‘Mrs. Brown’s Boys’ was probably on.

A 47-year-old hedge fund manager faces being deported from Ireland, due, he claims, to the fact that he doesn’t enjoy the popular television show, ‘Mrs. Brown’s Boys’. Pablo Dominguez-Burke (he’d an ‘aunt’ from Bolivia) from Finglas, north Dublin (so he claims), says that it was an off-the-cuff remark in an elevator at work that subsequently set off a chain of events, which led to a letter from the Irish immigration services, requesting that he call to their offices for an urgent meeting regarding his Irish citizenship, or as Pablo worded it; ‘About gettin’ f***ed out of the country again’.

Speaking with The Heraldy Press just now, seriously, it was just before you got to this sentence that we hung up the phone, Pablo said; ‘I was in the lift at work, when one of the cleaners, said to his colleague, and, I can’t do the accent, but sure, yiz’ll be writin’ this anyway, so you won’t be able to tell the accent so it doesn’t matter, but he said; “Ah Jayziz, did yeh see ‘Mrs. Brown’s Boys’ last night? Wasn’t it brilliant the way she was carryin’ on and doing things that were really funny?’ I then merely tutted and rolled my eyes, though that was in relation to the lift’s doors not closing quickly enough, not a reflection on the cleaner’s choice in wonderful Irish comedy”.

A former cat-burglar with 112 previous convictions, the Dublin native mended his ways to go on to study chartered accountancy at ‘some college down in the countryside’ (his words), before developing his interest in international banking and the funding of hedges. He has denied not being a lover of the show and not having a sense of humor, claiming that he was a massive comedy fan, enjoying legends of fun like British ’80s stars Little and Large and Cannon and Ball, ‘all the funny ads off the telly’, and especially ‘them redneck lads what do say funny things about lawnmowers and having long hair at the back’.

‘Mrs. Brown’s Boys’, a comedy created in 1970 and shown twice on the hour on all 83 Irish channels ever since, was recently reported to have a global audience of 109 billion, and is particularly popular with people who don’t like other stuff, and lads in jail for doing mad things.

Sean Driscoll, a representative for the Irish Immigration Services, when asked by The Heraldy Press about the allegations regarding Mr. Dominguez-Burke’s status in the country said; ‘What?’ When we repeated the question, he replied; ‘Ah here, would you stop’.

Incidentally, Pablo’s attempts at taking off the ‘working class’ accent of the lad in the elevator was atrocious.

Words (and numbers) by Bosco Coppell, Picture courtesy of Wacker Grogan’s Bridal Bouquets.

Garth Brooks Fans Accused of Being Awful Eejits

Saturday, July 5th, 2014
A guitar, with some Jaffa Cakes.

A country music superstar, or to describe him more accurately, a bloke who sings in a cowboy hat, is alleged to be disappointed and a little amused with the fact that many of his fans, both in Ireland and other countries, have difficulty spelling his (two syllable) name. Garth Brooks, due to perform a number of high-profile shows this summer in Dublin, is the topic of conversation across the breadth of Ireland, or at least, in parts of the country where people don’t have other things to talk about, due to the fact that the Government of Ireland will not allow him to play a number of his scheduled shows in the capitol city.  It appears that those in power are concerned with the thoughts of so many boggers arriving into Dublin without greencards or other necessary paperwork, resulting in an extraordinary influx of culchies overstaying their visas and according to one city-based councilor with a foreign-sounding name; ‘Stinkin’ up the joint and robbin’ our women’.

Despite the continuing problems with Mr. Brooks’s concerts, or lack thereof, much of the pre-gig chatter concerns the inability of most of his fans to spell his name correctly. A quick investigation on Facebook, resulted in his name being spelled eleven different ways. The most common one, Gareth Brooks (there’s no ‘E’ in ‘Garth’) appeared on 149 different fan pages, while Garreth, Garret, Gary and Dave also showed up upon further searches. According to Dr. Peter Buachaill-Dana, a research scientist at the Tullamore Institute of Spellings, the mistakes are continuing to occur as; ‘His fans are gobshites’. The Heraldy Press asked Dr. Peter to elaborate on this, but he informed us that he didn’t know what ‘elaborate’ meant, then told us to go and shite.

Concert organizers fear that the shows, which will go ahead on July 18th, 21st, 8th, 32nd, once more on the 18th, and back for a final encore on the January 3rd, will be a washout, as many fans may wind up going to see Gary Brookes, a jazz pianist, playing at Luscious Lawrence’s Lounge and Gazebo, due to their ongoing problems with spelling the singer’s name. When asked his opinion on whether the spelling of a name was a non-issue, or something we should be concerned with, Oliver McGoldrick (Mrs), a die-hard fan of the country superstar since earlier this month, said; ‘What?’ When we repeated the question, she said; ‘I haven’t a clue what yis are on about’.

With as many as 39 country music fans descending upon Dublin from fields, forests, campsites, mountains and the skyscrapers of Edenderry to watch Mr. Brookleigh, whose albums include ‘9 to 5 (What a Way to Make a Livin’), ‘Achy Breaky Heart’, ‘Kenny Rogers Greatest Hits’ and ‘The Best of Dolly Parton’, it’s a fun time to be a country music fan in Ireland, at least on those dates it is, because we hear it’s shite most of the rest of the time, what with the brutal weather and not being able to spell and all.
Story by Bosco Coppell Picture by Badger Grogan’s Bridal Wear. 

Mass is No Craic Anymore Says Priest

Wednesday, July 2nd, 2014
bishops-hat

A fairly holy hat, yesterday.

A popular Irish priest, now based in the US, has claimed that mass is no longer any craic. Father Seth Goldstein, a 44-year-old cousin of nine based in Wisconsin, said that due mainly to a few hundred bad eggs on the tree, that mass was no fun, forcing people to stay away in droves. He failed to elaborate by telling us what a ‘drove’ was though.

Goldstein, who graduated from the seminary in County Monaghan in 1961, when he was just nineteen, worked for several years in a small parish in Leitrim, before emigrating to the United States, where he worked first as a taxi-driver in New York City, before touring the country as a backing singer for Celine Dion. He returned to the priesthood part-time in the early 1980s, rising to the rank of Lieutenant Cardinal, in a small parish on the Virgin Islands, which is several thousands miles west of County Monaghan.

“Back then, we’d have a good oul’ laugh, making the altar boys, or altar boyos, as we called them, laugh when they were supposed to be working. One time I switched the altar bells that they had to ring, with an elderly angry barn cat in a paper bag, ah it was a great oul’ laugh”, said Father Seth, over the phone from his lakeside retreat in Havana. “It’s different now though, sure now we do have to learn hymns and prayers and that, and the altar boys have no senses of humour. A while back I put a ‘kick me’ sticker on one young lad’s back, and kept kicking him up the arse during mass, he was bawlin’ cryin’, it was hilarious, but sure his oul’ fellah came round to the sacristy afterwards and kicked seven shades of sh*te out of me. Sure that’s no craic”, he said.

Attendances at mass have dropped in the US and Ireland, with nine churches and two cathedrals having had to close down in the past hour and a half due to poor sales and leaky roofs. Terry McNee, a former Protestant now working as a sales rep for the church in County Wicklow, has recently introduced schemes to win the punters back, including a giveaway of bobblehead dolls of Pope Gregory IV, Pope Steve the 6th and Ireland’s very own, Father Luigi Gomez (the ‘Hula Hoop King of Wexford’). The plans have so far failed however, with nobody showing up for mass, possibly, because the mass dolls were, as one child described them, ‘shite’.
Words by Bosco Coppell, Pictures by Dervla’s Knick Knacks and Root Canals. 

We’d Win World Cup If We Were Any Good Claims Irishman

Saturday, June 28th, 2014
A football, earlier this afternoon. 

Pablo Fitzsimons, the manager of Birrcelona FC, in the Tullamore and Surrounding Parishes Football League, has made the outlandish claim that Ireland would be just as good as the world’s football greats, such as Brazil, Germany and Switzerland, if only they were any good. Fitzsimons, one of Offaly’s longest-serving sports coaches (only Dessie Lopez, trainer of Tullamore’s senior camogie side since 1942, has been involved in local sports longer), said that things had changed since Ireland’s glory days of the early to mid 1990s, and that other teams had since stolen not only our thunder, but also our sunshine on a rainy day, our clouds with silver linings, our greased lightning, the wind beneath our wings and our foggy dew.

Speaking with The Heraldy Press about fifteen minutes ago, Fitzsimons, who is of part Bolivian, part Roscommon heritage, hence the bizarre name, said; ‘Back in the forties and fifties, you’d have had Irish lads like young Mick McCarthy, John Aldridge and Ray Houghton kicking a ball around the streets of Barnsley, Liverpool and Glasgow, hoping that one day they’d grow up and play for the Republic of Ireland. Nowadays, sure there’s that many immigrants in the county, you don’t know who’ll be playing for who. Sure only yesterday, I met a lad from Fermanagh, and a family from West Cork right here on my doorstep, I think they were delivering milk. I can’t remember the last time I heard a Tullamore accent in the town, they’re nearly all from Edenderry or even Mullingar these days’. When asked to get back to the point, Pablo told us to feck off, and said; ‘Sure it’s none of your business what does be going through me head’. Even though it was he who called us with the story in the first place.

Ireland, not having qualified for the World Cup in ages, has hardly ever won it, unlike other countries, who, between them, have won every single World Cup ever held.  With the right management, players, finances, supporters, stadia, history, sponsorships and a nice shiny team bus however, Fitzsimons reckons Ireland could win the World Cup every year, and would be honorary winners for being so brilliant in the years that it wasn’t held. Said Pablo; ‘I’ve since gotten together a petition, in order to have Ireland host the event some year, and of the nine people who’ve signed it so far, four of them weren’t me. People laugh, but sure we’re a nation of fields, where football is played, and people live here too, and as far as I’m aware, it’s people that do be playing football. They do other things too of course, but football is one of them. I did contact FIFA, UEFA and the Westmeath Amateur Football Association, and have since met Tommy Gormley, the General Secretary of the latter, but he told me to feck off and quit being such a gobshite’.  Words by Bosco Coppell, Picture provided on loan by Marian’s Buttermilk Ltd. 

Sportswriter Fired for Brutal Suarez Jokes

Saturday, June 28th, 2014
Some footballers legs, a few years ago. 
An English sportswriter has been fired from his job, and faces further action from British journalism’s governing body, for continuing to irritate his readers, colleagues and superiors with shockingly predictable jokes/puns and doctored images of controversial footballer Luis Suarez. Stephen ‘Soccer Stevie’ Hockley, a 59-year-old football-mad part-time journalist and amateur frogmologist (he collects scuba diving equipment) from North London, has, since Mr. Suarez was sent home from the World Cup for biting another player, featured 194 different images relating to the Uruguayan on his Facebook page, generating in total, five ‘likes’ and three comments, two of which were from colleagues warning him to quit it, or he’d be fired for being a pain in the arse, and another from his Aunt Irene in the west of Ireland, who asked him if he was ever going to grow up and stop being such a gobshite. 
It is the ninth time that Mr. Hockley, a lifelong supporter of Manchester United since 2007 (he did support Arsenal, and before that Chelsea, Aston Villa, Liverpool, Nottingham Forest, Leeds United and when he was on holiday in Edinburgh, Dundee United) has faced disciplinary action with regards to being not very funny. In 2006, he forwarded 116 emails about Zinedine Zidane’s World Cup Final headbutt and was suspended for a week, in 1995, he mailed 812 letters with jokes about Eric Cantona’s kung fu kick into the crowd at Crystal Palace (though he did apologize for that once he became a United supporter) and in 1986, he telephoned 4 of his relatives claiming to be God and that he’d like to speak with Diego Maradona. 
Says Oliver Gibb (17) the Managing Editor of The Swindon Furniture Trader and Antique Collector’s Monthly, where Hockley has had a football column since the mid 1970s; ‘The dude’s like, so, unfunny. He’s texted me 14 times with jokes since lunchtime and I’ve had no reason to LOL, never mind ROFLMAO’. Another of Hockley’s colleagues, Marjorie Dibbs, who pens an occasional gardening column from prison, said; ‘I’m not surprised, he’s always been a c*nt’. Admittedly, we at The Heraldy Press weren’t prepared for language like that, and sure, it’s too late to change it now. Mr. Hockley, who was unavailable for comment, has eleven minutes with which to decide whether he will appeal his dismissal, though since typing that sentence, he did contact us to say something about Luis Suarez winning the Golden Tooth award, and how the footballer probably just fancied some Italian, but sure, we’d already hung up by then. 
Words by Bosco Coppell, Image by Yvonne’s Curtains and Antique Telescopes Store. 

Dublin Gangster Angered as Pint is Spilled

Tuesday, June 24th, 2014
A knocked-over glass earlier today.

Alleged Dublin gangster Kevin ‘The Wheelbarrow” McFlynn, was angered last Tuesday, when another customer at Dublin bar The Ferret’s Nest, bumped into him, spilling some of his wife’s pint. Shouting at The Heraldy Press this morning, McFlynn said; ‘I was only after buying eleven pints for meself and the missus, when some useless p***k walked into me, knocking the head off me bird’s shandy. When I catch the ***t, he’ll be the one having his head knocked off, not some poor defenseless pint. And if yiz print this, I’ll ***in’ batter you too, yeh c***’.

The Ferret’s Nest, in Drumcondra, a small village just outside Ireland, is well-known as a meeting spot for alleged criminals. In the space of eleven hours on Wednesday morning, this reporter witnessed two stabbings, a small explosion and some fellah selling Norwegian cigars from the basket of his bicycle, though admittedly, most of that was on an episode of ‘The A-Team’  that the customers were watching on television. The bar itself was quiet, besides the lad who showed up on the wrong morning for Karaoke and sang ‘Lady in Red’ in just his (or perhaps somebody else’s) underpants.

McFlynn (22) has 179 previous convictions for receiving stolen goods (mainly DVD players and cattle) and one for the inappropriate use of a hairbrush. The former garden hose repairman, celebrating a recent victory in the courts, where he was given a suspended sentence for doing something really rude out the window of a ice cream van, is a feared man in the nation’s capital, with one resident, Ollie ‘The Golden Badger’ Gleeson, saying; ‘He’s a feared man in the nation’s capital’. Another part-time criminal, Jimmy ‘The Dirty Eejit’ Brennan, who asked that his name not be printed, said; ‘He’s not as tough as he thinks he is. I’d batter him. The only reason he got the better of me before was that he was dressed all in black, and I thought he was a nun, so I couldn’t batter a woman. I was raised better than that. Now **** off, I’m tryin’ teh break into this bleedin’ pet shop. Me young lad wants a canary’.

McFlynn not only wants revenge on the man who spilled his wife’s pint, he also wants the eight Euro it will cost him to buy a replacement shirt. He had asked staff at The Ferret’s Nest for their security tapes to view the incident in an attempt at identifying the pint-spiller, but the entire security system, including the cameras, monitors, cables and four elderly guards, had been stolen by McFlynn himself just days earlier. When asked to comment upon this, the alleged gangster said; ‘Bleedin’ irony wha’? You bo**ocks’.
Story by Bosco Coppell. Picture by Dorothy’s Hats and Hairbands.