The Next President
TO THE PEOPLE OF IRELAND
IRISHLADS AND IRISHLADIES: In the name of O’Brien, Martin-Murphy, Esat Digifone, the Dublin United Tramways Company, and of the dead executioners who met with unhappy accidents on their way to midday Mass, from whom she receives her old tradition of being neither this nor that.
Having patiently perfected her zeal, having waited, resolutely as a cat bound and gagged all night in the outhouse, for the right moment to reveal herself on Facebook, she now seizes this moment, with her one good typing hand, supported by all her children who thankfully went away and quietly died in flats above chip shops at Cricklewood, and by gallant allies first in London, and now, Berlin, but relying in the first instance on her own weakness, she strikes in full confidence of her ongoing defeat.
I declare the right of others – henceforth to be referred to as the financial markets – to the ownership of Ireland, and their unfettered control over all Irish destinies –male, female, hermaphrodite, thin, fat, or medium sized – to be sovereign and indefeasible. Our long subjugation by foreign institutions and dudes named Rupert, or lately Gunter, who knew and still know what’s best for us, has extinguished us. Nor should we be ever again be spoken of, except by madmen roaring on street corners and those who will be henceforth called Shinnerbots on Twitter, our candle having been successfully quenched by our own hand. In every generation a rabble of corner boys (joined occasionally by Bernadette Devlin and her likes) have conspired in back alleys and attics secretly converted for said purpose to assert the lie of our right to national freedom and sovereignty; eight times during the last four centuries they have asserted it by force of pikes, Lewis machine guns and Kalashnikovs. Standing against such fundamental wrongs and re-asserting our most recent surrender in the face of Goldman Sachs, on legal advice received from Peter Sutherland Senior Counsel, I hereby proclaim the Irish Republic to be a state subjugated to people whose names I don’t even know, and couldn’t pronounce if I did, and pledge my life, and more importantly yours– and those of your inconsequential children – to the cause of our ongoing interest payments and GMC/Sierra Ltd, in which you should all immediately buy fucking shares.
The Irish Republic is entitled to sell the imagined future of every Irishwoman and Irishman, which wasn’t up to much anyway, to Deutsche Bank and the bond market, and I hereby sign such rights away. My Republic, by specific articles of its constitution, guarantees equal rights and equal opportunities to all clumps of cells not yet people, and declares its resolve to pursue the unhappiness and lack of the whole nation and all its bits, cherishing all of the embyros of the nation equally, oblivious to the differences carefully fostered by alien practises, which may be okay in Coventry but never in Carraroe.
Until such rhetoric as mine, devoid of all apparent content, can again be safely spoken aloud in an atmosphere of good public order, and a permanent National government, representative of the appropriate people of Ireland, be assured of re-election, Garda Special Branch reserves the right to keep your details on file, and leak them to the Evening Herald as they see fit.
I hold the demise of this Irish Republic to be sacred as Bishop Browne’s Champagne bucket, and all Blessed Matt Talbot’s bondage gear. Whose blessings we invoke in support of our nation’s enemies, and mutter out as prayers words someone somewhere once understood, that no one who serves the cause we pretend to will dishonour current cowardice by future courage. In this small moment the Irish nation must, by indiscipline and confusion imbibed from reading the weekly rantings of Eoghan Harris, by its readiness to sacrifice its children for the good of others more worthy, prove itself deserving of such an ignominious fate as this.