Captain Purplehead

The English language is a funny thing. It seems that everything is up for interpretation and contexts change everyday.
Puppies, for instance, used to be a word to the describe young dogs. It was always associated with warm and loving things that you just love to cuddle and stroke. No surprise then that the word’s use has been extended to be a euphamism for breasts. Y’see, I can understand that. It makes sense. There are lots of these extended usages that make sense but some of them are baffling and then you have the language of the angry woman. I’m not being sexist; you all know it’s true. I’ll get into a little more detail on this subject later but, for the sake of all those people who’ll cry, “oh that’s great, Captain, first you call Dublin 4 people cunts and now you’re being sexist”, there follows an example.
“Do what you like!” This is a term that certainly doesn’t suggest that the girl wants you to feel free to indulge your merest whim. This means that you will not do what you like. In fact, if you decide to cede to her demands, what you end up doing is something you most certainly will not like. Anyway, I’ll get to more of these examples later.
I’ve gone on ad-nauseum about how television is destroying the English language and changing some of us in to some kind of mid-atlantic-gangsta-neurotic-wannabe celebrities. It’s enough to make you hurl your lunch.
There have always been some confounding terms that have become associated with a certain place at a certain time. For instance; in Limerick in the late eighties/early nineties, something really good was described as “fuckin rapid”. Rapid? How did we go from high velocity to superlative? “That fuckin jacket is fuckin rapid, man” What they’re actually saying is that your jacket is fucking fast moving.
Another Limerick saying of yesteryear is “shift”. Now I must admit, I was a bit hazy on the details of this one because there was another term “move” that could be used in the same way. My understanding was that “move” meant kiss and “shift” meant you got a bit further along in your amourous exploits. Now it’s important to learn that the girl’s name was almost always replaced with “yer one”. Now, you must also remember that the words “dating”, “seeing” and “going out with” are all replaced with the word “knocking” Here’s how a typical conversation might have gone in this context.
Mr A: “I saw you with yer one last night, man. Rapid bird, boy. Are you knocking her now?”
Mr B: “Kind of, like.”
Mr A: “Did you shift her?”
Mr B: “No, I moved her.”
Mr A: “You didn’t shift her?”
Mr B: “No I moved her.”
Mr A: “If you shifted her, it would be rapid.”

Right. If you were to translate that, ignoring any euphamistic licence, it would read thus:

Mr A: “I saw you with that girl last night, man. Fast girl boy. Are you felling her?”
Mr B: “In a manner of speaking.”
Mr A: “Did move her?”
Mr B: “No, I moved her.”
Mr A: “You didn’t move her?”
Mr B: “No, I moved her.”
Mr A: “If you moved her, it would be quick.”

There are plenty of words whose meanings have been changed to service the ever increasing need for shortcuts in vocabulary and, by and large, I’ve nothing against them. I was going to continue this for a while but I’ll call it a day now as I’m knackered and I’m due a stint in the scratcher.

‘Thot’s jost graysh, Copton,’ spake the Dublin 4 gobshite before I made a map out of his face.
For the uninitiated amongst you, let me just advise that the aforementioned idiot was simply saying “That’s just great, Captain”. You see, Ireland has been divided for years. We have Northern Ireland, who are subjects of the Queen, The Republic of Ireland who are constantly being screwed by our government and Dublin who bow only to their own arse biscuits. Now, within the Republic of Dublin there is a sub-republic called Dublin 4. For my American friends, the fact that there is a digit after the name doesn’t mean that it should have a tag line. If Dublin 4 did have a tag line, it would read something like; “Dublin 4: Be aloof….. Be very aloof.”
Most Dubliners, in my experience, are ok but I’ve never met somebody from Dublin 4 that I liked or didn’t want to bludgeon to death with their own severed arm. Yes, Dublin is a violent place but they have the Irish Independent to deflect all the bad publicity towards Limerick so they can sleep easier in their beds. Dublin 4, however, is beyond saving.
Are they Irish? Well, as their republic is contained within the Island of Ireland, I suppose they are Irish by proxy but, essentially, nobody really knows where they’re from. Whilst their geographical location is indeed within this island, their accent seems to suggest that they come from somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic - and we wish they’d fuck off back there.
It seems like the founding fathers of the sub-republic of Dublin 4 tried hard to cultivate an accent and, indeed a language, of their own. For instance, where a normal Irish person would say, “I went down to the pub last night and got a bit pissed”; the Dublin 4 translation would be, “Oi, loike wont doon to loyson stroyt lawst noish and, loike, gosh toodally woystod, mon.”
I think you see the difficulty that we have with Dublin 4 - or do you? Y’see it goes much deeper than the language barrier. I don’t mind people who stick strictly to their own heritage but the fact is that Dublin 4 people are generally annoying. Now, I don’t mind annoying people if they keep to themselves but Dublin 4 people like to get right in your face. You could be having a normal conversation with your friends in a pub and next thing you know there’s a Dublin 4ian saying, “Moiself ond moi fronds wor jost lostening to your convorsoyshun, thur and I hov to soy thosh I comploytly dosugree”. A blow to the bridge of the nose normally sorts these pests out but, after a while, it gets really annoying. I mean, how many broken limbs does it take before they get the message?
I’m generally a live and let live kind of pirate. If you don’t step on my toes, I won’t pummel you with a piece of furniture. I’m not generally xenophobic or racist and I believe in giving people a chance but, when it comes to Dublin 4ians, I’m at a loss. I’ve tried to be understanding. I’ve tried to be patient. I’ve tried to approach each encounter with a 4ian in a diplomatic fashion but my endeavours in this regard have led me to one irrefutable conclusion……. Dublin 4ians are cunts. There, I said it. It’s not that they’re particularly violent. I mean, even if they were, they’re genetically predisposed to be utter crap at it. It’s not that they are trying to take over the world. They’re just…… cunts. I can’t say it any other way. It’s a word I seldom use but I can’t allot any other description to them and do them justice.
If anyone has any other description I could use, please let me know. If there is the merest saving grace amongst Dublin 4ians, give me a shout. I really don’t want to be known as the person who labelled an entire sub-republic cunts but I can’t seem to put it any other way.

[Content removed due to breach of terms -> Defamatory content]

There are normally few reasons why I’d ever wish to see people stumbling in anguish around an airport concourse, trying to get to the exit for fear of being overcome, but t’was a welcome sight indeed yesterday. They weren’t fleeing an unexploded device - though he’s been called worse. No, they were fleeing as me ol’ pal and shipmate Slimey Pete came within ten feet of their olfactory senses. Of course, the fleeing innocents made it easier for me to spot him - well, that and his distinctly pirate motif. I must apologise if I alarmed anyone with my protective suit but such garb is an absolute necessity when accompanying ol Pete.
He has returned from a land where everyone speaks in the interrogative and call ponds after falling cooking utensils. Yes, he has returned from Oz. He brings with him the Yoko Ono of the Thirsty Kipper but she’s welcome too. The Kipper was a lesser if somewhat sweeter smelling place in his absence and I would like to welcome him back aboard.
Break out the rum and hoist the main sail, ol’ green eyes is back in town.