Bertie Ahern

Broccoli…Taoiseach…teabagging…leader…ipod…Drumcondra…Katie Holmes…these are all words that come to come to mind when we think of Bertie Ahern. The truth is Bertie is much more than these words…much much more. The picture above is himself at a Scouts Den, flanked by a ginger bloke and a woman dressed in a wicked sea scouts uniform / drag…whichever. I wonder did Bertie get an honorary Scouts badge or complementary woggle for turning up?

B to the A entered the Dail at the tender age of 25 in 1977 and will presumably fuck off to the backbenches next week. The 31 years interlude involved pints in Fagan’s (which apparently has Tranny Night on a Friday*) and not having a bank account. Not much else happened in those years except the making of an odd remix tape, which I’ll come to next, and being Taoiseach for a while.

The first time I saw Bertie, was on a night out in Vicar Street a good few years back. Ahern was at the time getting big on the dance / trip-hop scene, a scene which now acknowledges him a visionary. I can truly say I’ve never heard anything like it since.

“This is for me beatch Cowen”, he bellowed, the strobe lights got going and Bertie kicked off his DJ set with a savage remix of Shadow’s tune “Organ Donor”. Ahern just kept the place pumping for hours – it was classic. At the end of his set, he fucked an empty bottle of Bud out into the crowd capping some young one – the bouncers didn’t like that, but nobody cared. The next time I saw Bertie was a few months later. He was eating a Spar roll in Eyre Square, Galway.

I couldn’t be arsed going into detail about his dodgy goings-on, and fuck if you want a balanced, non-biased account of the bloke read the Sunday Indo. I guess if you manage to block out all the other shite and remember that the man openly admitted a while back that he took ‘political donations for personal use’, then you will probably have a fair picture of Bertie. So if someone were to ask me did I think he was corrupt, I would have to answer - does a camel shit in the desert?

On a serious note, it may be obvious but all politicians crave a positive legacy. Bertie’s (supposedly positive) legacy will be out the fucking window if former secretaries, who got paid less than slaves, keep turning up to Dublin Castle.

I reckon like Westlife, Bertie just wants to “go home”, but the problem is that he doesn't know where the fuck home is. St.Luke's, his dump in Drumcondra, Celia's gaff, who really knows? He hasn’t resigned his seat but the chap has pretty much retired. B to the A, for me, has two options now. He can hit the red Luas line everyday pissed off his tree on cans of Druids, shouting at people in suits. Or…

He can go to Rio, do lots of drugs, expand his DJ repertoire and enjoy the easy lifestyle of the Copacabana. Both are appealing on different levels, but I think Bertie should take his time on deciding. Lest we forget he gets to chill on his way to retirement 15 years before the rest of us will ever do. Plenty of time left for Alan Mahon, the Revenue Commissioners, jail, turntables, the Luas, Rio…

A bientot Bertie.

(*A few months ago, on a Friday night, I was walking by Fagan’s in Drumcondra with a mate. A taxi pulled up right beside us and a tranny wankered off his/her tits proceeded to get out. The tranny had a bit of a Lindsay Lohan, noticed and then folded his/her knob back into his/her pants, underneath his/her mini-skirt. After the tranny got out, he/she pointed across the road to Fagan’s and shouted to me mate, “Im going in there to get some cock”…and off he/she went.

True story.)

Tommy Broughan

Tommy Broughan is hard. He is one of those politicians who you see walking around Leinster House like a mad yoke sporting a Ben Sherman luminous rainjacket, white Lacoste runners with his hand constantly rammed down a pair of Adidas tracksuit bottoms. The bitches love this kind of shit on Kildare Street…apparently. Tommy represents Coolock and Donaghmede in Dublin – that’s why he’s hard. You know all those knife attacks you hear about every twenty minutes on Lyric FM – they’re all Tommy. He has lost a little bit of it now that he lives in swanky Howth, County Dublin, but fuck man – give him a dodgy look and Broughan will bottle ye on the Dart.

According to Tommy on his website, he was born and reared in Clondalkin, which has been “the ancestral home of my (his) family for centuries past”. His folks have got to be pissed that he broke the family line and fucked off to Howth. I reckon he made the right decision. Clondakin has a massive carpark (more commonly known as the M50) beside it and it ranks second only to Baghdad for the number of deaths on a Saturday night linked to ethnic violence.

(*Note to Tommy about your website: the personal background section should be a brief description of where you first learned to throw bricks at the 51 bus, not the start of a ‘Lord of the Rings’ type mythical story.)

Broughan is a member of many useless councils and committees, including the “Northside Security Services”, which does a bit of keying ‘08 cars on Sunday afternoons and plays Bridge on Thursday nights with members of his local hospice.

Akin to his Fine Gael counterpart Leo Varadkar, Broughan is the Labour Spokesperson for Wank, Wank and Wank or Enterprise, Trade and Employment. I don’t know for sure if there is any enterprise or trade of a legal nature done in his Dublin constituency and if there is it’s probably something that has its financial backing from a drug racket or prozzie ring…like Woodies on the Malahide Road or the Post office in Bayside.

Tommy has been warming the Opposition benches for an embarrassingly long time since his election to the Dail for Dublin North East in 1992. I’ve heard him regularly refer to this situation as “bent” on programmes like Primetime and Loose Women.

Apart from bottling people, Broughan is ‘mad in-te’ his supped up Mazda, tinted windows, robbing cars, joyriding cars, burning cars out, robbing more cars, Tiesto, his new Nokia and his bird. He also likes watching the ‘Tic’ beat Rangers. He doesn’t like parsnip, guitar music or when Rangers win. I got all this shite off his bebo profile (which impressively has over 967,000 hits).

Which is also what he is turning around to look at in the above photo. According to a Labour spokeswoman I contacted, Tommy likes to spend a lot of his time on Bebo…updating his profile, writing “Gilmore is a sap” on Gilmore’s wall (oddly enough) and seeing if his bird has any new photos up from Tina’s weekly gaff parties.

Broughan, on the left, is showing what I can only assume is an audience, where he gets his hits from in the Bebo map section. Most of them are from his mate Deco.

At this point in time I would like to mention that Tommy is a local TD of mine and I say fair play to him. It takes some balls to rob cars from Darndale in broad daylight, burn them out beside the Coolock copshop and still have the audacity to run for a seat in Leinster House. Fair fucks indeed.

Mary Coughlan

Who is this woman, because I haven’t got a fucking clue? According to a website I just checked out she is Minister for Agriculture, Fisheries and Food. When the Big G was putting together a little list of Ministries on the ninth day of creation he kind of screwed Coughlan over. To begin with she really doesn’t need a salary of €240,000 a year for having to deal with the odd potato blight, disgruntled salmon fishermen and banning Portuguese food from Tesco. Sure fuck, we dealt fine with the last famine…population control and all that good stuff. I heard somewhere that Coughlan invented the lava lamp. Is this true???? Probably…. I do hope that its not one of those “lampoons” we hear about so often.

Mary Coughlan doesn’t have her own website, so I am going out on a limb with some of me yarns about her. She hit the Dail with a passion in 1987 at the age of 21. According to her wikipedia page she also went to UCD and worked as a social worker. Haughey was a massive fan of having young college girls strolling about the House, especially elected ones. Even more so if they wore his favourite…Reebok LA Lights.

So at the age of 21, did this woman divide her week into 3 days of lectures, 8 hours of helping junkies off heroine and 40 minutes of getting her arse grove in order in one of Leinster House’ backbenches? Probably…

In my own humble opinion I think this picture above of Coughlan (the auld one on the left) is fucking genius. Some Fianna Fail dickwad took it while Mary was on a trip to J-Pan and thought it would be cool to post it on the party’s webpage. Check out the guns on Coughlan, she has to be on protein shakes. Man she doesn’t need that dagger for the oyster, she could just fucking rip the thing open with her teeth. Either the Japanese bird is seriously crossed-eyed or she is scared to shit that Mary is going to tear her face off and stab her in the neck with that mini-dagger. That is a face of pure Nipponese fear…. ‘Iwo Jima 1945 -Yanks about to land on the beach fear’.

Coughlan deserves her €240k a year because the beatch is inspired. You can have your heroes like Bono, Nelson Mandela or Dana. Coughlan has Bobby…Bobby Kennedy. This is her personal message on the FF website:

“Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centres of energy and daring, those ripples build a current that can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance.”

This is one of my favourite quotes from Robert Kennedy. He made the comments in 1966 and they are equally relevant today, because this is what politics is about. It’s about making change, making a difference and bettering society in a true republican ideal, which is central to Fianna Fáil’s own ideology and raison d’etre.

Where the flip to begin? First off Mary, its harsh to rob the words of a man who passed away in a rancid fashion for use on a shabby Fianna Fail website. Its just bad out. Secondly Mary, renting out ‘Bobby’ from Xtra Vision and skipping to the last chapter on the DVD doesn’t mean you’re inspired. Its just laziness. And finally, I don’t know how the fuck you can transfer a sense of inspiration or a need to send forth a tiny ripple of hope into the Department of Agriculture, Fisheries and Food on Kildare Street. You’re yapping through your hole Coughlan.

Mary hopes that we find our visit to the Department of Agriculture, Fisheries and Food website to be a stimulating experience. It appears that she wants us to have a big wank while browsing the Site Map section.

Sound.

Leo Varadkar

The man has to be a Communist, with a name like that he just bloody has to be. Or one of those Chechen rebel blokes. I thought we had got rid of the last of those fuckers when the people of Dublin West told Joe Higgins to piss off in the last election. (Communists that is, not Chechen rebels, there are a load of them kicking it about in Bantry). It’s a little dubious that Varadkar replaced Higgins in Dublin West, strikes me as a Stalinist-type transfer of power. Fuck it anyway, Castleknock could do with a few gulags and collectivised farms.

Rambling a bit there, so yeah…Leo on the left is chilling with his dealer, a chalkboard and some auld fella. I have to say he does look like a bit of a spa, but I’ll get back to that later. Leo, as mentioned, got elected to the Dail in 2007 and Kenny has made him Spokesperson for Wank, Wank and Wank or…Enterprise, Trade and Employment. For the previous ten years, he had been one of those people with no friends, partly because he is from Chechnya, but also because he was involved in political youth parties. While normal teenagers were out boozing and getting head in the local carpark, Varadkar was writing discursive essays on Marxism.

The story of how Leo got into the Dail is pretty shite, but the one of how he got into Ireland is classic. The man should get some memoirs in order; make a few quid in Easons. With war-torn Chechnya looking like Lower Manhattan after Al-Qaeda had a go at it, Varadkar decided to embark upon one bad-ass adventure. Think Black Sea cargo ship, Adriatic, Italian port with guards and alsatians, back of lorry, Channel Tunnel, jumping barbed wire, Stena Line, dodgy passport, hostel. You get me drift.

The main thing that one needs to know about Varadkar is that (apart from his fetish for giant Chinese panda’s), for the last 8 months or so, he has been trying to sexy up the Oireachtas. Not since the time of Sean Lemass cracking one off in the Seanad’s disabled jacks has there been this much sheer raunchiness in government. The problem with Leo is that he suffers from what is known as F.M.S, or Fat Mess Syndrome. The bloke is a tub, who looks alarmingly like a medieval troll.

Like with the photo above, Varadkar always has his bleedin’ shirt open and never seems to wear a tie. Maybe its cool not to wear them in Asia Minor, but you’re in Dublin now fuckwit and if you are going to represent the people of this shithole, get with the program and buy yourself a tie from Dunnes Boutique. Also, every time you see the bloke interviewed on telly for political matters he is never near the Dail, it’s always somewhere fucking random, like his local in Castleknock, his local in Chechnya or outside Champion Sports on Henry Street.

In keeping with his portfolio and general theme of sexiness, Leo has introduced a few forward-thinking pieces of legislation. Varadkar has been pleading with the House to pass his bilateral Sex-slave trade agreement between Chechnya and Ireland. He argues that the government should be promoting our European philosophy of free trade for goods, services and people. This piece of legislation, according to Varadkar, encompasses all three (can’t argue with the man on that). His other main piece of legislation has also been greeted with applause – legalising the use of strap-on’s in all public offices. There is a degree of hope, in some circles, that this Bill might be as successful as the Smoking Ban.

It appears he has also tried to sexy-up his website. Rather than go for the simple “Comments” section on his contact page, he has spruced it up with a bit of, “Any Comments You Might Have”…yeah one - “fuck off”.

Brian Lenihan

There are two things you need to know about Brian Lenihan. (1) He is amazing at Rounders. If that boy gets to second base, by Moses he will make it home. A solid winner. (2) He likes his deportations as much as his Tangle Twisters. And he really...really likes his Tangle Twisters.

So above is a photo of Brian with with some kid who is about to throw up, her family and their guide dog. Jesus, the man looks demented - look at those eyes. Speaking of eyes, it would explain a lot of shit if it was found that Lenihan was blind. Maybe it's his dog and he brought it along to the ceremony for free Pedigree chum snacks.

Brian was born in 1959 and had the family business passed down to him when his pa hit the turf. Its amazing how many by-elections in Ireland can be won by simply canvassing with a relative's obituary in tow, a taiser, and a stupid fucking grin. Anyway, this point has nothing to do with the election of 'Leno' (as his mates like to call him) to the Dail in 1996. His whole family have been pissing around Kildare Street since the time of Gladstone, selling tin and shit. Mary-Lisp O'Rourke is his aunt. I'll leave it at that.

After the election of 2007 Leno was appointed Minister for Justice, Equality and Law Reform. In fairness to the bloke, that does sound kind of bad-ass. The problem though is that Brian has done little on the auld equality side of things. On weekends, he likes to engage in a little bit of deporting in the style of 1930's Germany.

Unknown to many, Leno orders his own deportations. This puppy doesn't need civil servants, lawyers or even the fucking courts. He has his own SS, the Blanchardstown Garda force. First thing you know, you're Nigerian and taking your kid to Burger King in the Tallaght Square Shopping Centre and then bang!!!, you and your little nipper are in the back of an unmarked Ford Mondeo on the way to the big barn in Santry, having a Ryanair ticket to Luton shoved in your face. That is how shit goes down in "Leno's Land" (from his website).

If you do manage to get some hippy from Amnesty Ireland to delay your deportation by a few days, Brian takes this as a personal insult. Another thing that few ordinary people know is that Leno has a first class honours in Law from knob-filled Trinity and a first class Masters in Law from Cambridge. Which means that he has done some lurid things against his wishes...very lurid things indeed. It also means that he knows his shit and doesn't need state appointed lawyers to get these foreign terrorists out, he is the fucking state.

Researching this article I contacted the Department of Justice, Equality...blah blah blah by phone. The receptionist wanted to remain anonymous but I got the crux of what Leno wants to do in this term of office. "His is really going to fuck those immigrants up", stated my insider in a surprising note of glee, "Seriously fuck them up - you ain't seen shit yet". Apparently, the plan is to turn Lambay Island, off the coast of Dublin, into some sort of Ellis Island facility, where your usual types; the young, sick, feeble, returning emmigrants from Leitrim, could be weeded out and sent back home.

Happy days.

Mary Hanafin

These randomers in the photo above just don't want to be there - you can just fricking tell. They are all holding this brown book looking 'deadly', except that guy on the very right who probably ate his. And the bloke second from left is also about to eat his. Yes, Hanafin is the one in the middle. Not the dude in the shirt. So yeah, Mary is holding the book open, trying to look all studious. Eh Hanafin, you need to be actually looking at it to be able to read it.

So anyway, who know's how exactly Hanafin was conceived, probably in the cradle of hell, but what we do know is that she has made a right fuck-up of the department she is in charge of - that of Education and Science. Sure she can't even spell properly, this is an extract from the welcome page on her website(www.maryhanafin.ie/failte.htm) :

"T� �thas orm go ndearna t� teagmh�il liom agus t� s�il agam go l�ifidh t� �bhar suimi�il. F�ilteofar roimh do thuairim�!

What is that? I think its an attempt at our rancid language. Hardly inspirational for the students, forced by Hanafin, to take the subject for the Leaving Cert. (She signs off on her welcome page with the simple signature 'Mary' - D?n Laoghaire Fianna F?il T.D - how sweet).

Hanafin was born in Thurles, County Tipperary in the year 11 A.D and over the last 2000 years she has been intermittently engaged in epic Highlander-esque battles with various pig farmers. She converted to Catholicism in 316 A.D after she went out for a few cans in the local field with Saint Patrick who told her JC "was wicked". After realising that being only able to converse in an ancient dialect of Hebrew was useless to her, Hanafin decided to enroll in Presentation Convent Thurles, in the early 1970's. Somehow she managed to get a degree a few years later from some shithole.

After getting fleeced numerous times by teenage scobes on her stroll home to Coolock (Mary likes to walk everywhere), Hanafin decided that Blackrock, on the other side of Dublin city was where it was at. Teaching to little shits in the Dominican College, she realised that having power (the non-mythical type) was savage and gave politics a go. To cut a long story short Mary, after getting fucked around a bit by her local electorate and Fianna Fail, eventually got elected to the Dail in 1997. Well done Mary.

Hanafin, as mentioned, has gone on to become the Minister for Education and Science. This job basically involves visiting a few bankrupt schools around the country for PR purposes, looking like a spa at the Young Scientist Awards once a year (again for PR purposes) and taking the piss out of kids with autism and principals in Celbridge, County Kildare. In 2009, Hanafin will get €240,000 a year for her labour. She maintains it shows "leadership to defer the pay increase by 12 months" (RTE interview with Dobson) - eh what. The high wage is also needed to ensure that Ministers don't revert to dodgy deals for income (again with Dobson) - how fucking noble. Pity she is full of turd.

However, the lesson learned from 'North Kildare Educate Together....gate' was that you should never fuck with someone who has been around since crucifixes were all the rage. Even if you are "verbally attacked and berated in an aggressive and confrontational way" by Hanafin, try to take it on the chin. She is always right - fucking always right, especially when it comes to kids with autism. Like Montana, Hanafin likes to do things her own way and if she needs to single out some beatch who gets in her way and publicly humiliate her, then she will, don't doubt it. The best thing you can do is to get the fuck out of Hanafin's warpath.

Or she will be on to Lenihan to get you and your kids deported.

Introduction

So there are a lot of shit blogs out there, and this one could probably be included as one of them. I don't intend that this blog should be held up as a beacon of intellect, in fact I hope the people who stumble across it will think the opposite.

This blog is concerned with one topic - the people who presently hold ministerial positions in Dail Eireann. Who are these knobs and why should they be paid so much money? For a job that uses more underpaid and malnourished assistants than a Vietnamese sweatshop, the least we should expect from our ministers is a bit of competence and effective governance. Indeed Mongo Harney has ensured over the last four years, that when someone is rushed to Beaumont Hospital all bloodied from a drunken fight the only thing they are going to get in A&E is syphilis. And we also got those fucking ads with the nurse : "I've had enough"???? - You are enough.

Basically, our tax money always go to shit. The buck stopped with Stan after our crap European campaign, so how come these pricks after chilling out in Kildare Street for two hours, still get a Garda escort to the nearest house with smack?

I intend, over the coming months, to give an alternative biography/'current status' of each of our Dail Ministers in the hope that some of it, or maybe 20% of it, is true. For equality sake's, I will also discuss the lives of some of our Ministers in shadow, i.e the saps in Opposition.

I will not start with "Y Tywyswr" ('The Leader' in Welsh), or the cretin that is otherwise known as Bertie Ahern. He can wait. I questioned myself as to who was most likely, among the Cabinet, to have been conceived through incest. With this is mind I turn to my first Dail Minister...


*(Disclaimer : This blog is meant for shits and giggles and offence is unintentional....except Bertie)