Wednesday, 9 October 2013
Bolloxed is thy name, and fucken 2 euro pints on Diceys* is where the fun starts. Got talking to this lad, completely on the fritz, musta got himself some fine arse Charlie, happiest, most vivacious cunt in the room. He's vertically challenged toos quote de Cultural Marxist cuntflaps, shit, I looks like a right old slumbering giant compared to this lad. An old saying of me mate's da: never trust a midget. I sigh. But then I remember. That man once got punched in the face by a circus clown.
So anyway, this cunt teaches English abroad. He's as white and as amorphous as dough (strange lad) and he's talking about how he taught to these rich cunt teenager lads in one of the istan countries. Yous all know the type. The Borat countries, the ones nay a cunt knows a goddamn thing about. He's been toos Russia as well (now that is an interesting one) and a Chechen wedding, which literally sounds like the most, deranged, pure unadulterated pandemonium kind of event on the planet, but Is be digressing here. So anyway, he's back on talking about teaching in this area of the stans, and especially, more so than some of the other countries he has been to, he talks about this sort of detachment, nay aeolist this cunt be. He talks about being in but not off, a foreign agent attacked by white blood cells, not part of the community, he's the oil, and these cunts are the water. It goes on an on. He talks about some lassie he be riding, he points up, fucken shite Diceys garden, and he points out. Dublin, the lad says, like that old grey mare, she ain't what she used tae be. He goes to the bathroom, rude cunt. He's back and he's running on fucken Duracell max. Cunt.
Dublin's a funny city. A mishmash, a conglomeration of lowest common denominator Westernized eat this shite and yous be happy, buy this pair of puffy pants and a cunt be smiling all the way to the bank, diluted, refined grains of de culture, alongside a true, genuine sense of pride, and a true sense of being Irish. Take a walk from Trinity College, where the cunts drink fancy ass Italian coffees and indulge in the most opulent shite imaginable, to Dorset Street, up de north, where a cunt meets Cash 4 Gold shops, kebab shops, lots and lots of them, lassies with pyjama bottoms in de local spar, dirty filthy gorgeous dirt faced cunt, the contrast is defo contrasty. Shit ken. The rest retreat intae there nice little subbos in de South, such a bewildering, messy, clash. This is Dublin. This is Ireland. I've been here a long time, too long. Yous are who you are and I be an Irish cunt.
This is, I believe, some of the worst evil that leftism has done.
"I wish they'd swoop down in a country lane, late at night when I'm driving, take me on board their beautiful ship...."
Roosh V is a sort of nomad ken. He's in and out of other countries, elusive, couchspot.com walking, walking walking...yous are who you are. You can stay in another country, learn the language, ride chicks up their hole with Well Hung Franco (TM) and immerse yourself in the culture, yet, yous be not the salubrious cunt that yous thought you would be. The soul atrophies. You're not of there. And that's fine too in a sense. Black people have their own culture. Asians have their own culture. Irish people have their own culture. It's being eroded though, at an exponential rate. What is Irish? A hard enough question ken, especially when yous have a number of extraneous, gays, whites, evil, men fucking women, privilege etc, components attached. Yous want to do something about it. Yet yous can't reclaim it. It's dying off ken. The west is fucken dying ken, and the place yous see looks less and less like home everyday. Not necessarily in the sense of multiculturalism, but just general Irishness. We won't get a cultural revival, like in the 1880s. Right now, it's just fucken Guardian shite with a fucken leprechaun hat.
Having said that, this cunt plans to get the fuck out in the next while. Post tae follow.
There's a show on RTE airing right now called Love/Hate, roysh. It's about gangland Dublin, with the most recent season doing a Wire on it, trying to bring in the police into what is going on and all that shebang. Suffice to say, it's an extremely watchable show, and has become quite popular over here as of late. RamzPaul had a good video on why Breaking Bad is so good and compares it to Fight Club. I wouldn't say that is necessarily the case with Love/Hate, but suffice to say, it feels unique, it feels well and truly Irish, from the words, to the colloquiums to the characters themselves. King Nidge King Weasel, couldn't have come out of any other country ken. It's the way fucken Tommy asks for fizzy soda, or the whole thing with de IRA lads, fuck it wes did something here did we not? What people think is Irish is westernized and vice versa. That's the saddest thing about it all en aw.
People feel this ken, and that's why paradoxically, they want to get out. Put de blinkers on and pretend that somewhere out there, it's only a rock in the middle of the deep blue death. the open set of the silky sea.
*fucken savage burgers as well