Skateboarders in West Dublin have won a five-year battle to build a local skate park, and new government funding could now lead to other such facilities around the country.

Wonderful news for the baggy-panted, lice infested, Tony Hawks wannabes that infest our fair city. If they all have to go to Lucan to skate it means they're well away from me and with airborne disease and rats the size of cats rampant out there chances are lots of them will never come back. I heartily endorse this idea and would even contribute €5 to make it happen as quickly as possible.

But who else could we get rid of by building them a special place?

Goths: Yes, the world is a miserable place, there's little or no point to life and you would be better of dead because nobody cares about you anyway. So let's help them on their way by creating a giant room with red velvet walls and black wax candles with easy access to handguns. Just put them in your mouth and pull the trigger. Then we can all blame Marilyn Manson and feel better.

Gorks: These are a cross between Goths and Dorks. They're internet goths if you like. Making a special website giving them details of how to commit suicide online should take a few of these wretched cretins out.

People with weirdly spiked hair: There was a time when people used to spike only the top of their hair. Now though you see people with the top, sides and back all spiked in different directions. Obviously this is unacceptable on many levels. To bring this infestation under control we create a kind of caged boxing ring and use industrial starch to ensure the spiked hair is rock solid. Then combatatants must go at each other like rutting stags until one lies dead. The winner is then shot in the face.

Convenience store staff: For all the people that work in Centra or Spar and other such shops we can create a new kingdom, a land with strange customs, a giant wall and obscenely muscled gymnasts. We can call it China and...erm...

Oh.

Politicans: VAT, you say? I'll give you VAT you feckless thieves. A large vat of boiling oil can go on public display at the Royal Hospital in Kilmainham and once a week a front bench politician is dipped in it up his or her genitals. We'll then make a reality TV show about their struggle to survive called 'When politicians get dipped in boiling oil' and it can air every night on TV3 with camp presenter Alan Hughes as the frontman.

Anyone who thinks Shirley Temple Bar is funny: The worst drag queen anybody has ever seen is a firm favourite of people who like Telly Bingo and patrons of the George (Dublin's premier gay bar). Problem is Shirley is about as funny as having your entire family gang raped and butchered before your very eyes before having your penis sliced in two, your testicles crushed in a vice and having a knitting needle rammed into your ear.

DIE CUNT

Therefore anyone who finds it (STB) funny needs to be got rid of. I suggest we invest in a large rocket ship and send them all into space. Either that or Mullingar. Whichever is cheaper.

D4 rugger girls: The ones who wear the faded jeans, a rugby shirt (always with a white collar) and a blue jumper thrown over their shoulders. Their only interest is finding a man who's played for Clongowes or Blackrock, who works in a bank and drives a BMW at least. What we do here is tell them there's a special 'Single men for free' night at Anabel's Nightclub, lock the cunts in and come back in a month. Survivors can then be prosecuted for canibalism.

Who would you get rid of?

How the buggery fuck has Damien Rice ended up in the top Irish 3 albums of all time in the latest Hot Press poll?

Been-around-forever editor of the music rag Niall Stokes said the success of his album, O (he couldn't afford any more letters when he recorded it), was remarkable.

I have to agree. It's remarkable that people who don't live in perpetual nightime like Nothern Scandinavians will try and make up for it by listening to music that makes you want to kill yourself. Because thats what that bloke does to me. He makes me want die. As soon as possible. Anything to stop listening to him.

Have people gone mad? Don't they realise that prolonged exposure to this whiny cunt will result in serious damage to their mental health and their wallets as their depression sends them on binges of comfort-eating. Each sitting of the album will be accompanied by 1/4 pounder from Silvios, washed down with a batter sausage, spice burger, fresh cod and two large singles of chips.

Anyway, here's hoping he makes like Kurt Cobain and does us all a favour. Anyone out there care to introduce him to heroin? And while he's at it maybe he'd take Brian Kennedy with him.

Anyone else remember that thing they used to do in the Phoenix about the Pope and how they'd make fun of his accent. "Yang peepul ov Ireland, I laf you all." etc?

Would it be bad taste to do that now, do you think? "Yang *slurp* - *drool* - beurrrgh - *elephant man noise* - *dribble* - peepurrrrghl...." etc. It is bad taste? Sorry.



Finally for today I urge you to discover a fine new Irish publication called Dangermaus. It's chock full of the stories they don't want you to hear about the celebrities and politicians you don't want to know about. The latest issue was published but yesterday and in the future will be published every Monday (except this coming Monday because it was only published yesterday). Go now. Enjoy. Bookmark. Tell your friends. You will be rewarded in *droool* *slurp* heaven. Oh yes.

Picture the scene, it's Sunday morning in my local, Ron the barman being a cunt just by existing, I'm sitting with Jimmy the Bollix having a pint, a bite to eat and reading the papers. All is as it should be.

All of a sudden there's a noise as three English lads burst in through the door. One of them, who looks like a cross between an Ork and Gollum, literally jumps in through the door and announces at the top of his voice "It's Sunday and I'm in love!!"

I look at Jimmy, he looks at me, neither of us says anything but both of us are thinking the same thing - 'Shut your manky little mouth you spastic wanker.'

We're very much in tune, Jimmy and me.

So the three English lads go to the bar, ducking and diving, weaving and bobbing, like the likely lads they are, hopping up and down on their giant-soled trainers which make the tallest of them 5'6" and they try and engage Ron the barman in conversation. Naturally Ron is having none of it and tells them they can speak to him only to order. No matter how much of a little scumbag you are you don't argue with Ron unless you want to wake up some hours later with your own hand shoved up your arse (depending on his mood your hand may or may not be attached to your wrist).

They order some pints, probably of cider, and proceed to talk to each other like they're in the middle of a nightclub with blaring music and not in a quiet local on a Sunday. Orkface is leading the conversation "SO I SAYS TO 'ER LAST NIGHT, 'ERE, YOU A VEGETARIAN? SHE SAYS 'NAH', SO I SAYS 'WELL I GOT A BIT OF FACKING MEAT FOR YA LUV'. They all think that's the funniest thing ever because they're witless cunts.

Now, regular readers will now that I, Twenty Major, am a very tolerant sort of a person, but there are some things I just can't stand. The noise of people eating, lemurs, and having to hear people that I don't want to hear. I shoot a glance of Jimmy who's rubbing his temples. This is not a good sign. Last time Jimmy did this was the night he was arrested for throwing a brick at Christy Moore (that's a whole other story).

The three English lads are onto to their second pint when the straw that breaks the camels back arrives. The Ork says to his mates 'ERE, I'M GONNA DO THAT CRAZY FACKING FROG' and they say 'YEAH, ORK, DO IT. IT'S FACKING WICKED!!!'

So Ork sits in my local, on a Sunday morning, while I'm trying to read the papers and have a quiet pint and does the Crazy Frog ringtone with stunning accuracy. "BLEM BLEM BLEM BLEM BLEM BLEM, BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEM, BLEM BLEM BLEM, WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" - he goes, as loud as he can, and let me tell you this cunt was loud. That's was it. I'd had enough. I look at Jimmy the Bollix. He looks at me. We get up and go down to where they're sitting. They're at the bar sitting on stools.

"Lads, that was hilarious", I say in a jocular fashion. "I really love that ringtone. Any chance you could do it again, it cracks me up!"

Ork doesn't need a second invitation, his mates are egging him on, so he starts again and this time we can see he's doing the actions too. Revving the motorbike he's supposedly riding. "BLEM BLEM BLEM BLEM BLEM BLEM, BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEM, BLEM BLEM BLEM, WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE."

"Oh you're some man for some man" says Jimmy the Bollix just seconds before punching him as hard as he could in the throat.

Ork is gasping for breath when I kick his stool over and he crashes to the ground. I boot him as hard as I can up his arse while Jimmy pours his pint of cider all over him. His mates get up, realise we're much bigger than they are, and back off a bit. Jimmy bends down and picks him up by the collar.

"Get. Out. Of. My. Bar. You. Crazy. Frog. Loving. Cuntsack." he says, with each word giving Ork a light slap in the face. Ork doesn't need a second invitation. He heads for the front door with his cronies. As he's going out he tries to regain some of his dignity by croaking "YOU FACKING CANTS" and knocking over a chair. I make a move like I'm going to start running after him and he shrieks slightly before legging it out the door.

Jimmy and I nod at each other, pick the stool up and go back to our snug to continue our quiet morning. A couple of minutes later Ron the barman appears with two fresh pints, which we hadn't ordered, puts them down on the table and as he's walking off says "Thanks, lads"

"You're welcome, Ron," I say. And he was.

I read this morning that to mark the anniversary of the building of the Titanic, ill-fated ship which sadly only took the life of Leonardo di Caprio on-screen, a giant iceberg is going to be towed into Belfast harbour. Of course it's the plan of an 'artist' who has sensibly left the word conceptual out of her title.

It does seem a bit inappropriate though considering the unsinkable ship was sunk by an iceberg all those years ago. It got me thinking what other inappropriate celebrations could we be looking forward to in the coming years.

- The anniversary of the Hindenburg airship could be marked by tethering a giant airship to the ground and setting it on fire while dozens of people suck helium from balloons and run around shrieking 'Oh the humanity!' in high-pitched voices.

- The Chernobyl explosion killed many and affected millions more as radioactive fallout covered vast areas of Europe. To mark this occasion we could staple extra limbs and eyes to babies to make them look like mutants while a man dressed as our favourite nuclear safety inspector, Homer Simpson, runs around glowing bright green.

- Exxon Valdez - a giant oil tanker driven by a hopeless drunk crashed in Alaska spilling millions of gallons of crude oil and devestating the wildlife. To ensure nothing like this ever happens again let's get some seals, polar bears and drunken sea-captains, paint them with hammerite and deliver them to hippy layabouts Greenpeace.

- Let's commemorate the Space Shuttle Challenger explosion with a massive fireworks display.

- Union Carbide's gas leak in Bhopal in India left nearly 4,000 dead and thousands more injured or sick. What about building a statue in the shape of a giant gas mask? 'Oh the humanity irony!'

- Closer to home we could commemorate the famine by removing every single piece of food from every single shop for a period of 8 months leaving only rotten potatoes for people to scrap over.

- Or we could pay our respects to the victims of the Stardust disaster by getting David Bowie, dressed as Ziggy of course, to sing a benefit gig then setting him ablaze during his encore.

- Or the U2 Croke Park disaster of 2005 could be....

...oh, I've said too much.

Yet another Luas crash last night saw people injured, traffic jammed and more embarassment. The accident happened around Connolly Station last night when a truck drove right into the side of the tram.

It's obvious what's happening. Firstly people can't see the Luas well enough, they need to be painted fluorescent yellow, like highlighter markers, and secondly there's a concerted campaign by people who want to be able to drive down Harcourt Street again. The common man is fucked off having to drive down Hatch Street and then Leeson Street. He's confused at having to drive the wrong way around St Stephen's Green. It's time to admit the Luas is a total failure and invest in a series of sky tubes like they have in the opening credits of Futurama. It would take away the need for cars, it'd be environmentally friendly and while there would be some initial problems with in-tube collisions we could extensively test it using the dregs of society like Sinn Fein money launderers, Ryan Tubridy, anyone who went to the Billy Barry School and RTE rugby commentator Ryle Nugent.

Think how great it would be to zip from Kilmainham to Santry in 5 minutes without traffic lights, cunts not indicating and all the other problems we have when we drive.

Come on Bertie, sort it out now. Sell off Michael McDowell to the IRA in return for the rest of the Northern Bank money and get the first tube up and running before Christmas. Otherwise we might end up with a Taoiseach called Enda.

Luas aside I was reading yesterday about a number of eldery people who were victims of robberies. They're easy targets, no doubt, but what sort of a cunt do you have to be to batter an eldery person during a robbery? The worst kind of cunt there is, apart from Sinn Fein money launderers, Ryan Tubridy, anyone who went to the Billy Barry School and RTE rugby commentator Ryle Nugent, that's who.

They could easily just truss them up and steal what they want to steal. There's no need for them to get violent but the fact that they do makes me angry in a Doctor David Banner 'don't make me angry' type of way.

I think it should be written in law that if you batter an elderly person, and how many times have we seen some poor auld fella/dear in hospital because some cunts robbed him/her of the €63 he had in a jar in his kitchen, you get battered yourself if you get caught. Public beatings are in order - let's get a big old boxing ring in the middle of Smithfield Market, tie these cunts hands behind their backs, then fucking smash their fucking faces in, the cunts. We could even have a lucky draw where members of the public can administer these beatings wearing boxing gloves with horseshoes in them and when the poxy little cowards are lying on the ground crying like some cunt of an actress on Oscar night then let's kick their bollocks up and out of their mouths.

Speak to your TD today. Let's get this plan into action and let's smash some heads because one day you're going to be old.

Those crazy travellers are at it again, this time in Kerry.

All the Gardai in the south-west were involved as running battles erupted between travellers and members of the 'settled community' which I assume is just another way of talking about travellers now living on a halting site. Apparently some youths have been taunting other youths ('I prefer to have sex with my own sister than your sister' - 'Your wedding to your own sister only had 13 injuries after scraps with fish-hooks and planks with nails in them' - that sort of thing) and there's some kind of turf war over drugs where gangs have been throwing bales of peat briquettes at each other.

So these cunts spend their time trying to banjax their counterparts and more police, who could be out fighting real crime like finding Northern Bank money or the continued presence of Bryan McFadden in the pop charts, have to be drafted in to deal with them.

I say let them fight. Let them do whatever they want to each other. With no fear of intervention they'll really go for it and will be delivering killer blows all day long. Those that don't die and lie horribly wounded on the streets should be left there, denied hospital care and if their own want to apply stinking poultices or whatever kind of black-magic they use on the sick then fine but we shouldn't waste any precious resources on them.

In the end there's bound to be an overall winner, he'll have nobody left to fight and any remaining opponents will be crippled, maimed, blind or otherwise incapcitated. And everyone lives happily ever after.

Of course if the winner has a taste for blood and tries his caravan based shit-witchery on real people then we just shoot the cunt in the head and be done with it. Simple.

Elsewhere I saw a very frightening headline this morning "Display on Collins is museum's star exhibit". I was about to launch into a tirade about how it would be a waste of valuable cultural space to have an exhibit about that baldy in-the-air-tonight cuntbag until I realised it was about Michael Collins and I realised I didn't give a shit either way.

Why is it the older I get the earlier I wake up when I get drunk the night before?

So there were a bunch of people arrested and a load of cash linked to the Northern Bank robbery was found yesterday. Gavin has a nicely detailed account of what went down.

No surprises to anyone to find Sinn Fein involvement and while lighting a big fat Cuban cigar with a £50 note Martin McGuinness tried his Manuel from Fawlty Towers impression and said last night "I know nothing..."

Seriously. What a bunch of feckless liars they are. I'm not really one for politics to be honest. Asking me to choose between Fianna Fail and Fianna Gael is like asking me if I'd like to be sodomised by Macho Man Randy Savage or Hulk Hogan. The Labour Party are just failed commies and lost all comedy appeal once Dick Spring (heh, Dick. Spring) and s-s-s-s-stuttering rapper Proinsias de Rossa left the scene. The PDs are Ireland's answer to the BNP while the Green party just don't care how many lives they ruin with their support of Greenpeace and their disruptive activities. However, this is going to make Sinn Fein squirm like the bitches they are and I can't wait to read all about it.

I wish I could take credit for the two pictures below but they were sent to me via email yesterday.





I definitely had more to say today but I've forgotten what it is. Check back later and I'll see if it comes to me.

I watched with horror last night as hundreds of Dubliners queued up to take part in auditions for the upcoming series of Big Brother - the TV show where they put a dozen cunts in a house and film them 24 hours a day. Millions of other cunts sit at home watching these cunts eat, sleep, poo in the hot tub and generally make complete cocksuckers of themselves.

I remember the first series with Nasty Nick and some lesbian girl who now works for RTE (although she'll never know I'm talking about her) and it was kind of interesting as nothing like that had been done before. This one will be the 6th series though and the aim now is not social interaction and to see how people will get on, it's about who will fellate who on screen, who's willing to humiliate themselves the most. It's a grotesque cunt's convention with the winner being crowned cuntiest cunt of all time. £70,000 is the prize for your dignity but then I suppose you have to have some to begin with.

So up stepped so many of my city's people. One girl dressed as an angel - how whacky. She admitted to being so enthralled with Big Brother that she ended up watching the contestants on last year's show as they slept. Can you imagine having a life so vacuous and desolate that you spend your time watching those bovine cunts sleep? No, me either.

One older lady said she should be on the show because she was sassy and was different because she was an older lady who wasn't afraid to show her sexuality - Newsflash for old bint: I only saw you from the neck up and I'm telling you now there isn't enough money in the world to make me unafraid of seeing your sexuality. I'd say she's got a quim like a wizard's sleeve.

There were lads dressed as cowboys, people with the arses cut out of their pants, girls in bikinis and hot pants, people with stupid hair, a large number of dirty looking students and a countless assortment of witless meatheads desperate to make thundering dimwits of themselves on live television 24 hours a day.

These are the kind of people that would describe themselves as 'zany'. If I was in government one of the first things I'd do is send out a questionnaire asking: Are you zany? Choose one: Yes or No. Anybody who replied 'Yes' would be rounded-up and sent to England. Or shot in the face and interred in a mass grave somewhere near Thurles where nearly 63% of the population is self-confessed zany already.

Let's be realistic about this "Reality TV" is for cretins and z-list celebrities. The world would be a better place without any of them and the more I think about it the more upset I am that I didn't know this fucking thing was happening beforehand. Jimmy the Bollix knows some blokes who can blow stuff up.

What a service it would have been to the people of Dublin to eradicate every single one of those shitehawks yesterday.

Thanks to an anonymous tipster I have been informed that access to this very site has been barred to employees of RTE, Ireland's national broadcaster.

Perhaps it was this piece, critical of the Sunday night 'comedy' show called The Panel. But surely an organisation like RTE wouldn't block a website on their network just because it didn't like a TV show?

Maybe it's the use of expletives like 'cunt', 'shitbox' and 'elephant felching wanklords', but then I'm sure a national broadcaster would do all it could to help people in their employ enjoy the diversity and wonder of the English language.

Maybe it was me highlighting a terrible error by Pat Kenny on his radio show, or maybe it was the recent idea of Gerry Adams appearing on the Late Late Show in that Jennifer Lopez dress.

I don't know what it is but I do know that the poor people that have to work in RTE every day shouldn't have their access to Twenty Major barred. What kind of Chinese internet is the RTE webmaster running?

Poor Charlie Bird. Poor Anne Doyle. Poor Ray D'Arcy. How can that man, or woman, deny honest, hard-working RTErs like this?

It's censorship at its very worst and it's unbecoming a national institution like RTE. Just for that I'm not going to pay my TV licence even more now, you cunts.

I read this morning that almost 6,000 illegal immigrants avoided attempts to deport them after their applications for asylum were turned down. The law says that these people have to be notified in advance that they're being chucked out so they just move, most of them fecking off to England which is fine as the English love illegal immigrants.

What I propose we do here though is make some subtle changes to the system. Don't restrict the influx of illegal immigrants at all. Why's that, you ask? Well, here's what you do. With the swarm of giant shopping centres based around the M50 motorway let's raze The Square in Tallaght and in its place we'll build an 18th century style asylum. A monstrous grey building with iron bars, damp corners and stone bath houses.

When illegal immigrants apply for asylum simply say 'Yes, that's no problem. Sign here please' and when they mark an X or leave their paw-print on the piece of paper we just put them in the asylum they applied to join. In there they can live for the rest of their lives in austere conditions, having wonderful therapies like electric shock treatment and frontal lobotomies, bathing in cold water and eating easy-to-prepare and cheap gruel.

I guarantee you that after a while applications for asylum in Ireland will slump, the cost of running the place for the lifespan of the existing inmates will be more than offset by the savings made from years of not having to pay social welfare to thousands of new immigrants every year and we could even get the most mentally damaged residents to play each other in violent sports like ice hockey and gaelic football.

It's a winning idea you have to agree and it solves the ongoing problem of illegal immigrants, asylum seekers and what to do with doctors who've been struck off for being crap.

I'm sure you've seen it. Where the guy sings to ask for a bite of her burger (why he can't just fucking go get one if they're only €1.69 is beyond me, he must be from Cavan) then the girl with a mouth larger than a whale's vagina sings like a banshee with a three octave range just to say 'no'.

I wish yer man would loaf her at the end. Then steal her burger. Then kick her up and down the shop. And before I get castigated for promoting violence towards women I would say the exact same if it was the other way around. I'd be quite happy for the girl to batter him to death. I'm all for equal opportunities mindless violence.

Anyway, enough of that. I have some questions that I'd love to know the answers to so please comment if you can help me out.

1 - Is Damien Rice a cruel joke from the makers of David Gray?

"Can't take my eyes off of you", he warbles. How about if I gouge them out with a wooden spoon? Reckon you could manage it then you poxy bastard?

2 - How did it come to pass that Simple Minds were one of the biggest bands in the world for a time in the 80s?

3 - What exactly is the point of Samantha Mumba?

4 - How many candles do you think you'd be able to make if you melted down Mary Harney's blubber?

5 - Does anyone else read about Shiite muslims but pronounce it 'shite' just because it's funnier?

Please feel free to chip in with your answers. I'm now going to buy a Valentine's card, pretending to be a 20 year old barmaid working in the local I'll write a slushy note thanking him for the night of filthy backdoor love and put it through my mate Jimmy's door. His wife opens all his post.

After some commission or other decided the IRA was responsible for the recent bank robbery in the North and that senior members of Sinn Fein knew about it there were some harsh words from IRA Sinn Fein leader Gerry Adams yesterday. He accused the government of playing 'dirty politics' and challenged the Taoiseach, Dirty Ahern, to have him arrested if he was so sure he had something to do with it all.

Of course nobody really believes Sinn Fein didn't have prior knowledge of the plan to rob the bank and the big downfall of Adams' denials is the fact that he talks in with a northern accent. Normal people just don't trust anyone who speaks with a northern accent. That's just the way it is whether you like it or not. If Julian on Friday was to deliver you any kind of news you'd just roll your eyes in disbelief. Not because he's a hopeless gayer but because of his accent.

What Grizzly should do is undergo a course of elocution lessons and learn to speak with a flat mid-Atlantic accent like Tony Fenton. Not only would more people believe what he says but he could get sponsorship every time he speaks and give away great prizes when he plays three songs in this exact order, and so on.

In the meantime however he still has to convince people that his political party knew nothing about the Northern Bank raid. If he's serious about proving his ignorance in this matter I suggest he carry out the following easy tasks and if he completes them without moaning and with a smile on his face then we should give him the benefit of the doubt:

1 - Appear on The Late Late Show in that Jennifer Lopez dress.
2 - Record a version of 'Save your love' by Rene and Renato with Dana - complete with tacky video shot in the grounds of Stormont Castle.
3 - Get his car insurance with RAC but modify the windscreen sticker so it reads RUC and drive around Belfast all year
4 - Have Martin McGuinness change his surname to Martin McNewcastleBrownAle
5 - Shave his beard off leaving only a Hitler moustache which must remain in place for at least 6 months.

I don't think that's a lot to ask to prove the credibility of a political party that most people think are just a bunch of thugs and liars. Over to you, Gerry.

I have to say I found Kevin Myers' article about the children of unmarried mothers in Ireland being bastards ridiculously offensive and short-sighted.

It's a new low for the Irish Times and shows an incredible lack of judgement. I mean I'm sure some of these children are bastards but you can be quite sure there's a smattering of cunts, a plethora of feckless pricks, a gansey load of gobshites and an unholy alliance of poxy wankers.

Shame on you for neglecting to mention them, Myers, shame on you.

Yesterday being Ash Wednesday I spent all day smoking and collecting the ash in a Superquinn green bag (environmentally friendly, dontcha know).

I then made a cardboard dog collar, dressed in black and went out into the streets of our fair city where I proceeded to smear the ash all over the foreheads of willing recipients who thought I was a kindly old priest.

All those people going home thinking they had the sign of Jesus when, in fact, they all had the mark of Twenty Major.

Peas be with you, brothers and sisters.

So lent begins today. A time when good catholics deny themselves one of life's pleasures for 40 days and 40 nights in remembrance of the time when Jesus spent 40 days and 40 nights in desert with only cheap wine, fig rolls and scorpion piss to keep himself alive.

I pondered long and hard about what to give up this year. Booze? Not a chance. The world needs a pissed-up Twenty Major. Cigarettes? Sorry, but I've got a website name to maintain. Eating fatty foods? What would Silvio the chipper man tell his kids when my lack of income means they can't go to chip shop college? So it was quite a choice.

To try and figure out what it was I was going to do I decided to spend 40 days and 40 nights in the desert myself. Sadly, Ireland has no deserts so I went to the closest thing we have. Athlone. I didn't last 40 minutes. What a fucking kip it is. I figured I'd be better off at home thinking about it.

Then it came to me in a flash. How could I have been so blind? I finally knew the way to honour our old beardy up there.

So from today, and for the next 40 days and nights, I will completely abstain from sex with 6'0" tall Venezuelan supermodels called Ramona. It will be difficult but I think I can make that sacrifice for our lord Jebus Christ.

Now, if you'll excuse me I'm off to guzzle a great tankard of scorpion piss. Mmmmmm.

- Irish people invented the English word 'gonads'.

- Colin Farrell likes to put African honey bees down his Jap's eye during sex.

- A huge government and media cover-up is hiding the fact that cholera and typhoid are rampant in Blanchardstown.

- This new town - Adamstown - is built on the site of an ancient traveller's burial ground. Expect polterthieves and people knocking around all night looking for 'milk far da babby'.

- Due to her immense size the government is contemplating reclassifying Mary Harney as a county.

- A hairdresser that makes regular appearances on national daytime television used to lie around in his underpants selling drugs to clubbers who would call to his apartment. Not seal clubbers either.

- Eamon Dunphy has no furniture in his house apart from old tea-chests used for tables and a four-poster bed that used to belong to Liberace.

- If you punch a tiger in the face it will fall asleep with its eyes open for 20 seconds giving you time to run away.

- Aussie pop-singer Holly Vallance has a 16 inch long clitoris which she ties in a double-Windsor knot.

- 97% of the people of Arklow are related to each other. The other 3% are illegitimate.

- The guy who played Big Bird in Sesame Street now lives in Clontarf where local shopkeepers are fascinated by his high pitched voice and lurid tales of what Oscar the Grouch really did in that bin.

- East Point Businesspark, opposite Fairview Park, was built on land reclaimed from the sea. Now the sea wants it back and is prepared to go Tsunami on the tech support cunts that work there. Be afraid.

- Miss Selfridges is to launch a new range of clothes which don't show off the pubic areas of 13 year olds. Wait, that's a lie. Sorry.

- Celia Ahern's fluffy brand of girly fiction has set the Irish literary scene back 25 years. Raging at seeing the young lady make so much money from two books John Banville has written his own chick-lit novel about a plucky Trinity classics professor who sees her male colleagues get promotion and pay rises while her career remains stagnant. Using the poetry of Homer and the mathematics teachings of Archimides she plots her way to the top in a cheeky and sassy way knowing the only thing that can stop her is love itself.

- Some of these facts may not be true.

Now that the 'RA are back in business I have to say I'm considering moving somewhere else. If they begin to commit acts of terrorism again it surely won't be long before Ireland becomes part of George Bush's war on terror. Us poor old Micks will be lumped in with Eye-ran, Syria and North Korea as part of the axis of evil.

How long will it be before US troops invade, using Shannon airport (no levies or fees coz Bertie still wants to be chums with Dubya)? Not fucking long at all, let me tell you.

Aren't there obvious similarities between Osama Bin-laden and Gerry Adams? Both are bushy bearded cunts who speak in an almost unintelligible dialect?

America will try and introduce democracy to our fair land - casting aside years of nepotism, cronyism and back-scratching. Well, that'll be their excuse. As they storm our churches on a Sunday, shoot, rape and pillage their way from village to village we'll all know the real reason they're here. Our greatest natural resource, the bogs. That's right.

There's enough peat to power the world for the next 250 years and America wants control of the reserves. They'll drive up the price of oil then introduce briquettes at a low, low price making 87% of the world dependent on them within 10 years. Irish people will be forced to toil in the peat fields day in-day out, being paid a miserly wage while Americans roam our land driving their giant peat-powered SUVs.

That's what the real threat of a return to violence by the IRA is. We can't let it happen. Someone take out Gerry Adams ASAP (word of advice - don't give that other fella a second go, he was a crap shot first time around).

Sorry for my absence. I had a very important hit job to take care of.

Now, imagine you or I being so down on our luck and having being pissed on by life from a great height that we find ourselves outside the labour exchange in Limerick City. You see someone you're 'feuding' with (in my case it would Gerry Sharkey from down the road. The nosey cunt is always poking his nose into my business. Head of Neighbourhood Watch, you see. Knocking on my door asking me to put up an 'NW' sticker on my window. Like that's going to deter the crackhead burglars. Fucking prick so he is, but I digress) and he's with his girlfriend who is holding their 5 month old baby.

You go over, threaten to kill the girlfriend unless she gets out of the way, then threaten to kill your man and stab him twice in the arm. Some time later you get sent down for fighting in a chipper. Then you're back in court for stabbing the bloke in the arm and you'd have to hold your hands up and say the judge would be right to add a bit to your sentence.

Not if you're a traveller though. If you're a traveller you can get away scot free with this kind of behaviour. If you're a traveller you're an ethnic minority and nobody is willing to give you the 50 lashes you deserve because they're afraid of being done for discrimination. If it were a normal member of the public, or some young lad from Cherry Orchard, you can be sure the judge would have slapped on another few months.

Fucking judge cunts. Fucking traveller cunts. Can't we rid our country of these plagues once and for all?