If You Buy The Daily Mail You Are Willfully Feeding Evil

While writing this I saw a Facebook post about something awful in the Daily Mail and thought to myself “what a coincidence”, but on second thought, nah, what an inevitability. It is a fucking awful rag.

 

 

Contortion of statistics.

promotion of mystics,

silencing of ethics,

and demonising critics,

Selling of cosmetics,

by attacking women’s aesthetics.

Dishonesty will always prevail,

when you read the Daily Mail.

 

Remember when this country was great,

the calling card for rallying hate.

Blame inequalities on the vulnerable,

protect and apologise for the culpable.

There’s always a problem with Asians or Blacks,

the everyday reporting of racist hacks.

Take it to heart,

whiter than a shade of pale,

is still to dark for the Daily Mail.

 

Playing on the fears

of those living in arrears,

pushing hatred of migrants and queers,

scaremongering the EU with smears,

snapping mourners tears,

and at struggling youth sneers.

Pass Farage another ale,

scraping the barrel with the Daily Mail.

 

Watch out for this evil pedophile,

maintain the ‘we’re different’ denile.

Take a gawk at looking good Jojo (15),

and our exclusive countdown ’til Hermione turns eighteen.

Tell women what kind of man to love,

and that there’s another body part to be ashamed of.

All part of the toxic tale,

printed every day in the Daily Mail.

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Using Car Exhausts To Hurry On The Rapture

One of the few things that lets me know I haven’t entirely succumbed to the numbness of modern existence is just how shit-flingingly angry I get every Sunday when I pass Foxrock Church to find that hundreds of people have driven alone. Over loading a fucking huge car park and that the slothful parishioners who couldn’t be arsed getting up early enough to get a space feel entitled to park on the footpaths and cycle lanes of the Stillorgan Dual carriageway. Not only is the single person use of cars an environmental shit-hoop but their driving over the cycle lanes has torn up the surface making them dangerous for cyclists. Seriously dickheads, car pool, organise a parish bus or fucking walk!

 

Sunday morning blooms,

cars arrive one by one,

exhausts belching fumes,

in the name of the father, the ghost

and the holy son.

Bless us oh lord,

deliver us from sin,

to eternal reward,

let the wheels spin.

The Church ground

numbers cannot contain,

cars to footpaths bound,

and also the cycle lane.

Too slothful to walk,

cars pumping exhausts,

the holy flock,

care nothing of the costs.

The environment’s damage,

none of their concern,

the world be ravaged,

only prayer shows return.

Only to afterlife

they care to provide,

this world’s strife,

easily brushed aside.

The commune of flock,

driving all alone,

walking and carpooling they baulk,

the one sin they should truly seek to atone.

 

Melting Waxwork Whoopee-Cushion Seeks Similar For Voting And Maybe More

A loudmouth racist cunt,

joined by a melted barbie-doll Forest Gump.

Common decency he’ll affront,

as he drags public discourse to the dump.

The vulnerable and marginalised face the brunt,

as he feeds xenophobia and bigotry until it’s plump.

 

He portrays himself an astute man,

though he filed four times for bankruptcy.

Wants to build a wall to keep out the Mexican,

even children who from slaughter have to flee.

He shouts out “make America great again”,

while he shits on the poor with smirking glee.

 

He shouts “beware of Islam!”

that they want to kill you and your family too.

He slathers his lies like racist balm,

beware this man, nothing he says is true.

Every crudely crafted word a scam,

count yourself warned of this bitch’s brew.

 

 

An awful child on a rampage,

with plenty of hate to pump.

He panders with fear-mongering rage,

to the delusional bumpkin chump.

So who is this evil outrage?

Of course it’s Donald fucking Trump.

Masculinising Language Is Just Bros Being Bashful

Looking for manswers from my mantor.

Cool guy, got a man-bun and quite the manther.

Wearing my mandigan on my mancation,

so mantastic I got a manrection.

Got some guyliner on and done some manscaping,

for my man crush, itchy crotch means I’m man spreading.

Why the mantrum, you hit the manopause?

Calm the mangry, got a manwich in my man-purse.

Hell let’s get some manburgers I got a manatite.

It’ll be mantastic, have a man nap and we’ll be up late tonight.

I’ll have my man card and manties in man bag.

We’ll man-chat, man-dance and man-hug.

Got to follow man-code in my man-cave,

Looking hot, no gay, it’s just man-love.

I’m not mansplaining it’s just bromance.

Get the sand out of your mangina, just give this bro a chance!

Farewell To A Man Whose Music Touched My Life More Than I Knew

Didn’t know what time it was the lights were low,

I heard Bowie coming through on my radio.

Starman, Life On Mars, Shake it,

bringing joy couldn’t fake it.

I’m afriad of Americans, Cat People, China Girl,

laying in bed with my head  all aswirl.

Rebel Rebel, Rubberband, 1984,

staying awake just to hear more.

 

Bought albums but also copied discs,

The Man Who Sold The World was worth the risks.

Perfect Circle, Alladin Sane,

music, and my life, would never be the same.

Young Americans, Let’s Dance,

Success not born from chance.

Ziggy Stardust,Hunky Dory,

now we’re at the end of the story.

 

Ashes to ashes,

stardust to stardust,

time to say goodbye,

only as we must.

 

Farewell on your journey back to the stars.

 

Thank you.

Hopes For A New Year

As the new year takes centre stage,

here are my hopes for change;

a fair, living minimum wage,

and payment not dependant on age.

 

No privatisation of public health,

more even distribution of the nation’s wealth,

greater controls on Dublin’s rent,

and better quality and numbers in employment.

 

Less private money in politics,

no more dwelling on political optics,

less men sending pictures of their dicks,

and more services for drug abusers and alcoholics.

 

Fair treatment for victims of mother and baby homes,

of sexual abuse hidden by the Church of Rome,

of symphysiotomy sawing pelvic bones,

and girls whose youth Magdalene Sisters stole.

 

An end of the Fine Gael and Labour coalition,

a referendum on blasphemy and abortion,

fair and equal access to education,

and Saudi Arabia facing international condemnation.

 

More money to medicine provision,

to science and exploration,

more money to working moms,

and less, much less, to building bombs.

 

A better plan to deal with Isis,

an end to the homeless crisis,

better flood defences,

and less politician’s false pretenses.

 

Target Islamic extremism at its root,

US cops think before they shoot,

FIFA give corruption the boot,

and drugs policies based on truth.

 

Refugees being safe to return to the middle east,

less space in newspapers for despondent priests,

political debate not lead by the least,

false balance in news is immediately ceased.

 

Denis O’Brien becoming a pariah,

people stop waiting for a messiah,

Rupert Murdoch leaving media,

and legalisation of sinsemilla.

 

An end to the career of Joan Burton,

Sepp Blatter off to prison,

and in the US more controls on guns,

everywhere else far less puns.

 

More support for Bernie Sanders,

no one suing first responders,

a cure for those suffering with Alzheimer’s,

and less, a lot less, lonely old timers.

 

More support for Jeremy Corbyn,

on TV less James Corden,

maybe a JJ Abrams Flash Gorden,

and ISIS don’t make it into Jordan.

 

Less children round and plump,

People finally get bored of Donald Trump,

for god’s sake not another economic slump,

and that that’s not a baby in my girlfriend’s lump.

 

That my girlfriend would actually exist,

less bigots in our midst,

perhaps a moonlit tryst,

and that I’d catch up on all the sleep I missed.

 

Middle aged people stop sneering at youthful boozing,

all my friends stop fucking emigrating,

Varadkar gives up on minimum unit pricing,

and most of all, a fucking standardised system of cloths sizing.