Just cos a cunt is dead doesn't mean he wasn't a cunt. - This person (the last post on the page).

Naturally he was discussing Charles Haughey but the point is an excellent one. There was a bloke who used to hang around Ron's a few years back called Enda McNicholas.

He was a fucking turd of a man. He was a cheapskate who hardly ever bought anyone a pint despite the fact he was never short of a few bob.

He had a lovely wife who would come and pick him up when he was in his cups and he would belittle her every single time she came into the bar. It was awful. She was such a sweet woman and he'd stand there and crack feeble jokes which made nobody laugh and made her squirm with shame and embarassment. The fact that he was having a long term affair with a gossip columnist made it worse. Everybody knew. I suppose even she knew but it was just never spoken of.

He was aggressive when he never had any need to be and a coward when he should have stood up to be counted. He would do things then try and blame other people.

He was an inveterate liar who invented a murky past and stories which couldn't possibly have been true in a vain attempt to be vaguely interesting.

He was a petty thief who preyed on people in wheelchairs, old ladies and handicapped children.

He smuggled arms into the country for the IRA.

All in all he was really not a nice person and when he was beaten to death one night nobody even slightly upset.

Not till the day of the funeral though. His poor old wife asked Ron if she could have the afters in his place. He laid on the tea and coffee and the soup and sandwiches and after the cunt had been buried in Mount Carmel cemetery we all came back.

You'd swear we'd buried the pope the way people were talking.

"Ahh sure he was a grand man really."

"Don't we all have our faults? He was no different."

"Let he who is without ... erm ... whatever that is ... throw the first ... erm ... whatever it was". Dirty Dave is not well up on his scripture.

After listening to this for a while though Jimmy the Bollix couldn't stands no more and he had to say something.

"You fuckers are full of shit. This man was a fucking shyster and a spiv all his life. He said one thing and did another. He told us how to live our lives frugally while he fucked off to Paris with his newspaper column writing girlfriend and did her six ways from Sunday in a suite in the Ritz which cost more for one night than your average man earns in a month. He stole. He made his fortune by fucking over the ordinary man and I don't mean Christy cunting Moore. He, a rich man already, took money from rich people so that they could make themselves richer at other people's expense. He looked after his buddies once his buddies paid him enough money. He was a cheat, a crook, a seasoned fabulist, a man who would move the pieces on a chessboard if you went to take a piss, a man who only ever acted in his own self-interest and here you all are saying he's a great man. You fucking cunts make me sick."

"Jaysus, Jimmy", said Stinking Pete. "A bit of respect. This is the man's wake. His wife is standing right beside you."

"No, he's right", said his wife. "I'm glad he's dead. He humiliated me in public time and time again. I only stayed with him because how else could I continue to enjoy the lifestyle he provided?"

Nobody raised a glass to him that day because nobody could be arsed filling up a pint glass with their own piss.