Captain Purplehead

Where do I fucking start with this fucking week? As you know, I’m normally a calm and reasonable pirate. I don’t fly off the handle without good reason but, fuck me sideways; this week really fucking took the fucking biscuit.
First of all, you have that interminably horrible and vacuous Lady Gaga. The fact that she wins awards for her fucking pitiful attempts at making music is bad enough but she arrives wearing a dress made out of meat. She calls it carnivore couture. What a fucking waste of oxygen that woman is. It’s easy to shock people. It requires no talent or intelligence whatsoever. Similarly, writing songs about having no signal on your phone in a nightclub or a song containing the lyrics ‘ra ra rom rom ra ra rom rom ra ga ga rome ga ga’ requires little to no talent. Putting a catchy melody behind these pieces of shit is also quite easy. I’m thoroughly fucking sick of this woman. In fact, I’m so sick of her that I briefly smiled when I saw the picture of that disgusting dress because for the briefest moment, I thought someone had just disembowelled the whinging fucking dipshit.
I don’t fucking care if she has a fucking penis. I don’t care that she hates animals. I don’t want to hear about her, see her or hear her useless fucking music. Lady Gaga is a fucking persistent floater in the toilet bowl of life and it boggles the mind that she is as popular as she is. There, fucking week is off to a flying fucking start.
We then come to Conor Lenihan, our minister for science who decided to help his friend launch an anti-theory of evolution book! WHAT???? Ok, the first thing that came to my mind was, this is fucking typical Ireland. You appoint a relative of our minister for finance as a junior minister and you ignore the fact that his IQ is struggling to claw its way out of the minus scale. Fucking hell! A minister for science assisting in a publication that suggests that some cosmic magician said “HEY PRESTO” and there we were - a readymade civilisation.
The second thing that occurred to me was, what kind of fucking publishing company even consider publishing such a book. Must be some church-funded shower of cunts.
The third thing that occurred to me was this: MINISTER FOR SCIENCE???? Why does a country that can’t pay its bills have a minister for science? This just goes to show that budget cuts absolutely need to start at the top. No Junior Ministers, NO Senate. In fact, we could run the country on about 12 ministries. Cut their ridiculous wages to around 40 grand a year with NO EXPENSES! Fuck me, this is hardly rocket science - just ask Conor Lenihan.
Ok, so Conor got his job through sheer and unadulterated nepotism and this is one of the many problems we have in this country. Jobs for the boys.
‘Any chance of a job, Bertie? I am your 2nd cousin twice removed, after all?’
‘A…a…a…a…a, well there’s a job going in de canteen, like.’
‘Ah jaysus no, I don’t want to work. I was tinkin more along the lines of being a minister.’
‘Jaysus, I don’t know about that, like’
‘Ah go on, will ya. Give me some ministry where I don’t really have to do antin.’
‘Dere isn’t one available though.’
‘Make one up, then. What about minister for pots and pans?’
‘A…a… a… well, we’d have to make you minister for one or the other. Like, Milly from down the road is lookin for a job too and you’re taking up two ministries there, like. Pick one or t’other.’
‘Ahhhmmmm. Pots so… No, pans.’
‘You sure now, like.’
‘Hmmm, yeah, yeah.’
‘Right, pans it is then. You’ll start of on 150 grand a year with 50 grand unvouched expenses. Say nattin, like, and let’s hope we don’t have some kind of pan crisis.’
‘Deadly!’
Not as far from the truth as you might think. That’s how our inept government works.

Of course, we couldn’t talk about this week without talking about our utter arse of a leader. Brian Cowen gave a shite interview on Morning Ireland this week and was accused of being drunk on air. Now, I’ve since heard the interview and I would definitely say that he wasn’t drunk but was really hungover. Now, this is not the part of the whole thing that annoyed me. What annoyed me is that he was out singing, drinking and telling jokes while he and his cronies were supposed to be working out a way to get us through the problems they helped create. They were supposed to be at a THINK-IN! Puh-lease! A fucking think in? The same shower of thick, corrupt cunts that royally fucked up this country decide that if they think really hard, they will be able to undo all the harm without offending the people who protect the closets that their many skeletons are in. It’s a fucking sick joke! You then have that creepy, horrible little fucking bint, Mary Hanafin, saying that he wasn’t drinking. For fuck’s sake, when to the lies stop and when are they going to realise that we don’t ever believe their fucking lies?

Last, but certainly not least, you cannot pick up a paper or switch on a TV without seeing ol’ Pope Ratzo’s visage. Blanket coverage is being given to this wanker’s visit to Britain. It was initially in jeopardy because they didn’t have a suitable Popemoblie. I mean, back in the forties, the guy was hoping to head to Britain in a fucking tank, for fuck’s sake.
Why give so much coverage to a man who protects people who rape children? Don’t give me this pc bullshit about child abuse; it’s rape! He has covered up for people who have raped children. Think about that. What the fuck is he doing visiting anywhere? He doesn’t care about children. He only cares about the sanctity of the corrupt institution that keeps him in the lap of fucking luxury, living in the most obscenely opulent environment you could imagine. Fuck off, Ratzo and fuck off, Sky. Stop giving this cunt all this coverage. Why not sit him down and ask him the tough questions?
What a fucking week!