The Gospel According To Johnser

DUE TO CIRCUMSTANCES BEYOND OUR CONTROL

2009-02-14T11:44:00.000-08:00

the site is being closed, some clown has tampered with settings of both of my blogs so the new one is

www.nevillethompson.blogspot.com

Buddy Can You Spare A Dim?

2008-12-01T05:59:00.000-08:00

By jaysus the government are really taking the biscuit with the law on begging.
Fucking beggars have the place ruined.
I mean it is now not possible to stroll down a road in Dublin without some sad fucker throwing a Formica cup into your face. I am sure there are some real hard up cases but I’m sorry most of them are only trying it on.
They are just too lazy to get up off their skinny arses and get a job. And why should they? I mean they pay no taxes and only have to sit on a permanent coffee break all day.

While every other company in Ireland is making layoffs the number of beggars just keep on increasing. Pitch battles are beginning to happen all over the town.
The other day I seen two travelers girls reef a Romanian out of it on Abbey Street because he was taking their pitch. Anyone who ever stopped for a cuppa in a street café will know what a pest the beggars are. They stand there hand out making you feel guilty, guilty for what?
Guilty for having a cup of tea?
Guilty for having the money for it?
Guilty for having friends who you can sit with?
And then when you eventually tell them to fuck off, you’re wrong!
Sorry but I don’t feel guilty.
In the case of the foreign beggars if they can’t make ends meet here fuck off back to wherever you came from.
In the case of our own its usually either travellers or druggies.
In the case of the travellers I’m sorry your families got fucked off the land during the famine but, get over it.
In the case of the druggies, sorry but enough is enough.
When you are fit you fucking rob us blind to feed your habit, then we have to give you medicine to control your habit and now that you can’t be arsed to rob you want us to give you more hand outs, not a fucking chance.

The government is so afraid to offend the do gooders that they bring out a law that only stops aggressive beggars.
What is aggressive?
Are they going to stop the beggars who sit at the bank machines?
Are they going to stop the ones who come up on yeah after dark?
Are they going to stop the ones standing at the luas stops pestering people for spare change.
Once again the law has bottled it.
The new law, the minister says, will still allow you to go up to someone if you have not got the price of a taxi home at night.
Funny I always thought there were three solutions to that problem already.
1. Don’t go out.
2. Get the last bus
Or 3… fucking walk.

sex lies and butterflies chapter four

2008-11-27T04:53:00.000-08:00

Chapter four
As soon as he had the money in his hand John was making excuses and gone. He had just enough time to catch a quick pint in The Elbow Inn before meeting his gagging for it conquest. He sat nursing a pint and studying tomorrows racing page.
At the bar the locals where winding Philly the Barman up.
Philly was always thinking of new ways to impress his boss. He wanted a pay rise but the boss kept on telling him that times where hard. Trendy clubs where killing the trade and sure as it was, especially with the smoking ban, he was lucky to have a job at all. Philly decided his happy hour cocktails would make all the difference. On his lunch hour he had written the “All Cocktails one euro sign”. He’d even bought three markers without charging them to the pub. When word got around about this offer, he thought, the punters would surely be rolling back through the doors and the boss would have no choice but to give him a sizeable rise.

At the bar three regulars sat in silence. Jasper sat reading his paper. Jasper always read The Sun even though according to him the Daily Mirror was the only paper worth its salt. Being a union leader he didn’t read the Mirror anymore to shown allegiance to his comrades during the strike. Admittedly the strike was back in the eighties, ‘People have short memories,’ he would say if he ever he caught any of the boys reading it. Sometimes Timmo would buy The Mirror just to wind him up. Timmo sat with Connor looking at the sign that Philly had placed on the wall, behind the till.
“That's discrimination.” He said.
At first the barman didn’t even realise that Timmo was talking to him.
“What's discrimination?”
Timmo pointed to the poster
“That.”
That was a sign advertising all cocktails for two euro during happy hour.
“How do ya make that out?”
“Well cocktails get special treatment.”
“You've lost me.”
“Take parties. All year round it’s a pint of the black stuff for meself and a vodka and orange for the Mrs., but come to a party and there's not a pint in sight. Not at all; just cocktail this and leg opener that. Discrimination.”
Realising a wind up when he seen one Jasper put his paper down.
“Right on Brother Timmo. Take the ordinary sausage. Food of the masses, stable diet of children. Children get it with mash; men use it to dry up the pints on the way home from the buzzer. But it never gets invited to any parties. Ah no, that privilege goes to the cocktail sausage. All week long no one would look at a cocktail sausage but as soon as there's a party... out it comes. No party is complete without it.”
The duo nodded as Timmo continued:
“And if yeh were to hand people a plate of ordinary Ding Dong Denny Sausies with sticks hanging out of them...”
Jasper answered him:
“ They'd look at yeh like yeh were the missing link. Discrimination, I'm telling yeh.”
For the first time in over an hour Conor spoke:
“If it was human yeh wouldn't get away with it.”
The Barman was losing the will to live and Conor getting involved was the last straw. As had been said on many an occasion, the best part of Conor had run down the inside of his mother’s leg.
“ Get away with what?”
Like a good choir they all answered in unison.
“ Discrimination!”
“Ye'd be sued. Charging different prices to different people.”
The barman leaned into Conor’s face:
“ But it's not a person, it's a fucking drink.”
Timmo coughed:
“ Makes no odds. Not in the Politically Correct World we live in. Noddy can't call Big ears, Bigears any more.”
Staying serious Jasper added:
“Yeh never hear me calling for a pint of the Nigger Stuff.”
“ It's only drink!”
Conor raised his glass:
“Drinks have feelings too.”
Philly looked from one to the other, as if trying to spot whether they were messing or not.
“You lot are mad, you deserve locking up.”
“They said the same about Nelson Mandela.”
“Locked him up.”
“But they never broke him.”
“He stood strong and fought for what he believed in.”
Not believing the barman shook his head:
“And what do you believe in?”
“Solidarity…”
All three raise their glasses
“…for the pint.”
Philly sighs. He grabs three umbrellas and cherry's on cocktail sticks and places them in the pints.
“There. There's yer solidarity”
The three look at the drinks in front of them.
Jasper looked at the other two:
“And the price?”
“Two euro... Happy?”
“Ecstatic!”
As the row finishes and the trio settle into their new pints, John finishes his pint and heads to go.
“Are yeh heading?” Asked Philly.
“Yeah.”
“Ah stay,” says Jasper, “have another happy hour pint.”
“I can’t you know yourself people to do, things to see.”
They all laugh as he heads out onto the street.

sex, lies and butterflies chapter three

2008-11-27T04:52:00.000-08:00

Chapter Three
Through moans Max packs the tray and backs out the door. He balances the tray in one hand while opening the handle of the door with the other just about managing to hold on to the tray-
“Oh I'm fine you two stay where you are.”
They both “Shusshed” in perfect unity.
Max places the tray on the coffee table in front of them. As he does he blocks their view of the telly.
“Geroutoftheway!”
Max goes to sit but just as his cheeks are about to hit the cushion of the chair Tina pipes up-
“Tea won't pour itself.”
He rises again and pours. Taking a cup for himself he reaches for a sandwich, Tina slaps his hand-
“What did I say about a diet?”
John takes a handful of slices and laughs-
“Yeah ya fat fuck”
They sit in silence watching Gay Byrne ask a question, suddenly John sits up-
“Yeah fucking eejit!”
Max answers defensively-
“What did I do now?”
John points erratically at the television but talks to Max-
“ Not you yeh fucking eejit... that fucking ejet. He's only goin' for a grand and already
he’s used ask the audience.”
The contestant is sitting looking blankly at Gay Byrne as he reads out the thousand pound question.
BYRNE: (to contestant) Who wrote EMMA? Was it..?
A. Jane Austen
B. Jane Rover
C. Jane Morris or
He laughs as he says the fourth answer.
D Jane Mini
The audience laugh too. The contestant doesn’t, he sits and stares blankly. Byrne advices him to take his time.
John screams at the television-
“ A! You fucking gobshite. A!”
Byrne reminds him that if he were to answer incorrectly he’d go home with nothing.
John was almost at the telly-
“It’s A, everyone knows its A.”
Byrne asked-
“Any idea?”
The contestant shock his head-
“None Gay, you see I know absolutely nothing about music.”
The audience laugh, Gay smiles-
“ I think without breaking any of the rules of the show I can tell you EMMA is a book.”
That sets John off completely, he stands up screaming-
“Fucking ejet. Get him off. They should fuck him off the bleeding show.”
“Who Gaybo or yer man?” Tina laughs at her own joke.
The contestant opts for Fifty-fifty.
John crushes the can he has in his hand-
“That’s fucking stupid.”
“Why?” asked Max.
“ If the fucker thought it was a song, taking away two wrong answers
isn’t going to help, is it? I bet yeh he’ll still end up using Phone a friend.”
As John says this the contestant looks at the two remaining answers and says to Gay-
“I need to phone a friend.”
In disgust John sits back heavily into the settee-
“ Told yeh.”
He screams at the telly. “Fucking Simpleton!”
Max smiles and puts on Byrne’s voice-
“Remember they’re only easy if you know the answer.”
Max laughs but stops when he realises that he is the only one who sees the funny side to what he has said. Byrne turns to the camera and asks the home audience to come back after the break to see if Lionel goes all the way to a million euros.
“A million euros!” Sighs Max. “That fucker couldn’t go all the way to the fucking toilet
without pissing himself.”

Max and Tina laugh.
John protests-
“I’m serious people like him really piss me off.”
Max reaches over for a sandwich but caught by Tina’s glare resists.
Instead he quizzes John:
“Jesus John but you’re hot and bothered tonight. Is it really just that lad on the telly?”
For a moment John doesn’t reply but then taking a second can of beer from the tray he begins-
“Ah, I’ve had a bad few days and then to cap it all I got this.”
He pulls a letter out of his pocket and hands it to Max.
Max reaches for his reading glasses as John continues-
“You remember that little garage I owned a few year back? Well it seems that I still owe a few people a few bob, including the taxman.”
Tina sits up all interested in the juicy gossip-
“How much?”
“Seems I owe them thirty one thousand four hundred and twenty pounds,
fifty-six pence.”
“ That can’t be right, can it?”
“That's what I said.”
Max finishes the letter and hands it to Tina as he comments.
“Outstanding taxes.”
John replies-
“That's what they said.”
Tina chips in-
“But you went out of business years ago.”
“That's what I said.”
“Yeah but he still owes.”
“They said that.”
Tina offers-
“Say you’re bankrupt.”
“ I said that.”
Max shakes his head-
“If he does that they get to sell everything that belongs to him, his flat, his car everything. And he can’t get a loan or start a business for another seven years.”
“That's wha...Where you fucking listening in on my call or what?”
Tina gives Max a dirty look-
“Max if you can't say anything constructive say nothing at all, do you hear me?”
The music for the end of the adverts starts up again, Max points to the screen-
“You need to go on that.”
The start of Millionaire begins.
“Oh very witty.”
“I’m serious.”
Tina agrees-
“Max is right. What have you to lose?”
John gulps back his drink-
“Do you have any idea how many phone calls they get?”
“So? Someone has to get on.”
John thinks about it for a minute:
“ Naw!”
Tina gets up and hands him back his letter-
“Ah Suit yourself but don’t be whinging to me about being hard up.”
She heads for the door. Max looks at her-
“Where you heading love?”
“Sorry Mien Fuehrer? Not that it’s any of your business but I’m heading out. Are you being jealous… again?”
Max begins to apologise-
“No no, it’s nothing like that I just don’t remember you saying that’s all.”
“Of course you don’t. It’s not to do with golf or your precious butterflies so you wouldn’t. I said I’d meet Jenny down the pub. Her and Robert, the pig she married, are thinking of splitting up. She needs all the help she can get.”
Tina exits leaving the two men behind. John seems restless, he opens another can-
“So are we still on for that game of golf tomorrow?”
“Yes although strictly speaking…”
John cuts across Max-
“Max buddy…”
“Oh, Oh Buddy now that sounds ominous.”
“Any chance of you subbing me a few bob.”
Max shoots him a look, John continues-
“Just a score... I know I still owe you... but I’m a bit short. And I've a hot date tonight.”
Max smiles-
“A married one no doubt.”
John is surprised that Max knows. Max explains-
“Sure everyone knows you’ve a string of married fluff on the go.”
Max reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a bundle of notes, John seeing the notes decides to ask for more.
“You couldn't make it forty, could you?”
“She must be good?”
“The one tonight? She’s dynamite, gagging for it.”
“You'd want to watch out that the hubbie doesn't find out.”
John smiles-
“Oh I will Max. I will.”

sex lies and butterflies chapter two

2008-11-27T04:51:00.000-08:00

Chapter two
Max Musgrove watched the crow rip a hole in the black plastic bags in his back garden. He should have shouted at it but he liked nature and was curious what the poor bird had smelt that had made it feel the need to puncture the bag. After all, every night he poured Big Dom all over the bags to keep those fucking Tom Cats from ripping them open. His chain of thought was shattered by a high-pitched whine. He left down the dish he was cleaning and walked briskly into the sitting room.
“Yes Dear.”
Tina, Max’s wife lay on the sofa.
“Be a love Max and give us over a cushion.”
The cushion lay only a stretch away. Max walked across the room to collect it.
“Max,” She shouted irritated, “Get outa the way. Why did you have to walk straight in my line of view.”
Her comment made Max look to the telly.
“Ahhh Tina why didn’t you tell me that Millionaire is on?”
“I thought you were having too much fun with the dishes.”
She leaned forward and let him put the cushion behind her.
“You know that Millionaire is my favourite…”
She interrupted-
“Well if you weren’t so mean and got a dishwasher like everyone else we wouldn’t have this problem, would we?”
“How many times do I have to tell you, two adults don’t need a dishwasher? They are not practical for two people. And it’s not hygienic”
“And tell me now, Mister Pearls of Wisdom, how did you work that one out?”
“Well, we wouldn’t have enough dishes or cups so they’d sit in the washer for days waiting on a proper load and by that time germs would be running riot… And there is the global footprint.”
“Ah forget it. I’ll just remain the laughing stock of the road. The only house without one. Go on… go back to your precious clean dishes.”
Max stands transfixed with the question on the television-
“In a minute.”
“God will the germs not be running riot by then? I swear you watch too many films, I think you think this house is the set of outbreak.”
“Shuush.”
Tina sits up-
“Don’t you dare tell me to shut up.”
The door bell rings. They both ignore it, it rings again. Max looks at Tina as he walks toward the hall-
“I’ll get it, will I?”
She ignores him.
He opens the door and before he can speak John Doe is past him.
“Howya Max baby?”
John is gone into the sitting room before Max’s sarcastic answer of ‘come in’ is out. As he enters he rips off his jacket, slings it untidily on one chair and lounges, legs sprawled onto Max’s chair.
“Have I missed much?”
Tina replies without looking at him-
“Just started.”
Max comes in and picks up John’s jacket placing it on the coat stand in the hall.
He mutters to himself-
“Come in John, sit down John, make yourself at home John.”
“Max!”
“Yes.”
Tina smiles at him-
“Be a love and get the remote.”
The remote sits within reach of the duo but Max decides to get it as he does he gets in the way of John-
“Ah Max move for fuck sake.”
Max picks up the remote and starts turning it up-
“Don’t know why people have remotes if they don’t keep them beside them?”
Tina snaps it off him-
“Can’t understand why people insist on doing a favour if they’re going to moan about it.”
Max looks around and sees that John has taken his seat, he goes to take his place on the sofa as Tina stretches her legs.
He lands straight on her, she screams-
“Max, yeh fat fuck!”
He jumps up-
“Sorry Love.”
“Don’t love me, yeh nearly broke me fucking legs.” She rubs her legs as if they are broken. “You’re back on that diet, do yeh hear?”
John sits laughing-
“What’s that Max would I like a can of beer? Jaysus I’d love one.”
Max sighs and moves toward the kitchen.
As he exits Tina pipes up she could murder a cup of tea, Max sighs again-
“Anything else while I’m out here?”
John calls for a few Hang sangwiches.
John liked to say things in annoying ways, Max often thought that deep down John wanted to be a cockney all “Apple and Pears” and “Tins of Fruit”.
Max detested what he called the misuse of the English vocabulary and knew that John did it to wind him up.
Max opens the fridge mimicking them-
“A beer, I’d murder a cuppa, a few sandwiches… Oh you sit there...don't mind me, sure why would I want to watch a telly programme that gets a mere million viewers a week....”

sex lies and butterflies chapter one

2008-11-27T04:49:00.000-08:00

Chapter One

John Doe snuggled into her tits and wobbled them in to his face, she giggled…
“Slapper” he thought but, tits are tits and her’s, whoever she was, were nice.
She called him honey.
‘Call me what you want, just keep those beauties within sucking distance.’
He thought.
Suddenly she froze.
“What? What’s wrong? Don’t you like that?” he asked.
“It’s him!”
“Who?”
“Me Husband”
“But you said…”
“I know, I fucking know what I said.”
Her well pedicured toe went through a sheet as she tried to rise-
“Fuck, fuck fuck.”
“You said he was gone to Scotland!”
“He was.”
“Well he must have his own fucking boeing 747 to be back that quick.”
She started crying-
“He’ll fucking kill me.”
John was dressing now-
“He’ll never guess.”
“He’s not stupid.”
John wanted to say he doubted that, after all any guy who didn’t know his missus was a good thing didn’t exactly belong in Mensa!
“He’s going to ask what I am doing in bed.”
“Tell him you were sick and had to lie down.”
He looked at the bed, it was obvious it had seen action… and her still cuffed to the bed might fuel his suspicions.
She screamed-
“Get the fucking keys.”
John looked around but couldn’t see them. He could here the front door open-
“Honey I’m home.”
She was hysterical-
“He’ll kill us.”
John was crawling on the ground searching-
“Hey I’m looking.”
“No I mean it… Vivian’s mad.”
John stopped-
“How mad? Are we talking one sandwich short of a picnic here?”
“We’re talking empty picnic basket, you remember Mad Frankie Moore?”
“Yeah the poor fucker got nailed to a cross last year, stuck in the middle of the dump...”
She continued the story-
“By the time they found him the rats had had his feet for starters, his legs for main and his…”
“OK OK I get the picture! What about it?”
“Well my Viv was the one who pinned him to the cross, just for whistling at me in the street.”
They could here his footsteps on the stairs. John ran to the window still pulling on his trousers.
“Hey what you think you’re doing… get me out!”
John climbed out the window and onto the drainpipe-
“No offence love but I don’t want my balls being rats desert.”
As he slide to the ground he could here Vivian burst into the room. He laughed as he jumped the hedge and strolled down the street.

His boxer dog Tyson jumped with joy at seeing his master, they played together as they went. Tyson was a good dog, he looked fierce and that pleased John. It stopped people taking liberties. He’d even had Tyson’s ears pinned to give him a “don’t fuck with me look”. In reality Tyson was just a loveable bundle of muscle.
He bought the evening paper to read the latest on transfers, there was a rumour that United were set to buy Figo. If they did he felt it was time for Sir Alex to hang up his boots. Sir Alex was God but Figo hadn’t even been good in his prime never mind now. He made Beckham look energetic and sure Sir Alex got rid of him in his prime. John was reading the paper on the way out of the shop and automatically taking the turn that led to the house he was living in. It was easy for John never to bump into anyone on his way, one look at Tyson and even Blind Man Branson’s Labrador crossed the road to avoid him.
Tyson stopped and started growling.
“Come on Tyson,” John called not even looking up. “Come on the fuck.”
But the dog stood rigid and snarled.
John looked up and sure enough there, at his door was Troy Davis, wanker exstradinaire and his equally wankerish side-kick Frisco Ferris.
Not two people that John wanted to meet, in a single move (that would have made John Cleese, minister of silly walks happy) he about turned and headed in the opposite direction.
John knew he couldn’t avoid Troy forever but, he needed to buy time.
Of late his investments weren’t doing to well, they tended to be falling at the first jump or losing in photo finishes and his outgoings were greater than his incomings thanks mainly to a shitty job and an expensive pint. His stomach rumbled jaysus it had been a while since he ate, he’d have to cadge a meal and quick.

Dunnes Stores For Better Value

2008-11-20T04:35:00.001-08:00

Dunnes Stores Better Value My Arse

Fucking Freezing I was. It was me own fault I thought the off licence opened at ten but it wasn’t til half. I got confused cause Ireland’s answer to Nora Batty was standing outside it, all blue rinse and shopping trolley, and it was only ten to ten. I stopped and decided to wait… big mistake.
“Cold.”
She said it three times until I nodded back.
“Budget was terrible, wasn’t it?”
‘The budget was a month ago you sad cow,’ I thought but didn’t say.
“Crucified the working classes.”
“You were Ok then.” I said. It was clear she hadn’t washed in the last year never mind worked.
“Wha?”
“I said they did Ok.”
Doris arrived. I only knew this cause Nora said it.
“Here’s Doris.”
I looked up to see a Dunnes Stores girl approach. There’s a bitterness to their faces when sent to the offy like they have been sentenced to Alcatraz.
“Howya Doris?”
“Howya. You’re early.”
“Ah yeh know yourself.”
Doris went in.
“What time do they open?”
“Half.”
Fucking half, I went for a cuppa.
I had only sat when it started.
“For baby food… have money for a hostel… have you a fag…”
“Fuck off!”

I arrived back as the clock on the happy ring shop struck half, so I knew I was on time. Nora Batty had been joined by Money For a Hostel and Have you a fag.
“What time do they open?” Asked Hostel
“Half.” Says Nora.
“They’re late, fuckers.” Says Hostel.
“No security.” Informs Nora. “They’re short staffed.”
“Fuck sake, do they think we have nothing better to do than to stand around here waiting for them to open?” says Fag
“Dunnes stores better value beats them all.” Nora exclaims
“Better Value my Arse.” Says Fag.
I had enough, I would rather stay sober than another minute of this.

Wrong Place Wrong Time

2008-11-20T04:23:00.000-08:00

If it wasn’t so serious it would make me laugh.
An innocent guy in Limerick, decent bloke by all accounts played a bit of rugger, big bastard gets killed in the so called gangland feud. It immediately comes apparent that the bloke was in, as the local gangland figures said, the wrong place at the wrong time.

What does that mean?
Wrong Place At The Wrong Time.
The guy is walking down a street for fuck sake, how can that be wrong?
It’s time all this shite was put to an end for once and for all. A guy walking down a road is not in the wrong place at the wrong time... not unless he is walking in the middle of the road and a steamroller is coming along driven by a blind man.
Walking on the path back from your mates is in the right place at the right time so lets not try and say it any different OK?
Because wrong place at wrong time makes it sound trivial.

What made the shooting really sickening for me was the attention the papers gave to the so-called hardmen in Limerick.
Papers letting them get on whinging that they don’t get any sympathy when one of their lot get killed. News of the World gave one low life four pages to regurgitate his self-obsessed crap. Wants us to feel sorry for him?
Now I know in his own area some poor fuckers whacked out of their head on drugs would have to listen to him but for a paper to give him any time is disgusting. And then on Monday the Evening Herald show the same sad fucker flashing his fat bastard body covered with tattoos to his fallen soldiers.
Soldiers, war… it’s a fucking disgrace to use those words in relation to those scumbags. People fought real wars, were real soldiers and its an insult to their memories.

And the police looking for witnesses! Don’t make me laugh.
If the government is serious about getting scum off the streets first thing to do is to stop filling the general public with bullshit.
The cops know who did this, know everything about it and could pick the lads up within a week. at the moment they are no doubt lying low, but in a week they will be back in the city parading around the place acting like local heroes.
In the prisons the gangs are making great allegiances together when supposed to be doing hard time. Rumours around Dublin is that the Limerick Boys in Midlands Prison are running the place, all getting box visits without getting checked because they have the screws threatened. Sounds about right, screws would say they ain’t paid enough to get involved with those boys…

So what’s the solution?
Get tough.
Tell all the do gooders to fuck off and get real.
When was the last time a drug dealer’s house was broken into? Never.
Despite the fact that in any given area he will be the richest fucker (with the most upto date telly, phone and a bundle of money and drugs) his house will never ever be touched… why? Cause he will find the fucker who does it and break him up that’s why.
So everyone knows not to mess with him.

Papers need to take responsibility too, stop giving scumbags a voice.
Zero tolerance should mean exactly that… fuck all tolerance, if it isn’t then forget it and get ready for more innocent people being
In the wrong place at the wrong time.

Karma, my arse

2008-11-07T09:52:00.000-08:00

Karma is wrecking my head

I was watching My Name Is Earl on the box about a fella called Earl and the way Karma fucked with his life. And its true, the amount of times I done something on someone only to have the little fucker rat me up is unbelievable.

For years I always gave to beggars on the streets, back in the day it was only ever a few knackers and the odd wino. You’d feel sorry for the poor fuckers. I mean ok I knew the knackers had more money than I had after a bank robbery but still the kids looked bleeding freezing sitting on O’Connell Bridge or the poor hoor who was sipping household bleach to get a buzz. But the powers that be went all out to get them off the streets and for what?

You can’t walk fifty yards without some junkie or foreigner, with a polysterine cup, in your face begging you.
And wasn’t Big Issue meant to be a hand up not a hand out?
Now a days they are disgusted if you buy it off them cause it’s their cover for begging.
They are wrecking the coffee culture that has become part of Dublin.
You think I’m being unfair?
Think I’m being politically incorrect?
Well fuck yeh, you sit on the boardwalk with an open twenty cigarettes and see how long they last. There’ll be more scangers around you than seagulls around a trawler.

And I am all for foreigners coming in and working, sure the Irish done it elsewhere for years. We built America and England for fuck sake. Them Poles are amazing workers, Russians, Chinese, Spanish, Italians too but I’m sorry what benefit does a legless Romanian, begging on the street, bring to our economy?

And I know Karma will probably come and bite my arse. But fuck it, if it means I can have a cup of coffee without someone sticking their hand into my face, begging me for a few bob, it’ll be worth it.

Jackie Loves Johnser OK?

2008-11-07T09:42:00.000-08:00

When I wrote Jackie Loves Johnser Ok? ten years ago I could never have imagined how Johnser would effect a whole generation of people. People always think that Johnser is real and that he is in fact me. It's weird for fuck sake Harry Potter isn't yer one that rights him! Anyway for all Johnser lovers I have decided to let Johnser have his own site and his own rants and outlooks on life.
I hope you enjoy
Neville