The Heelers Diaries

the fantasy world of ireland's greatest living poet

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Saturday, January 09, 2016

the crunch question

Question: What is the difference between broccoli and snot?

Answer: Snot never made any good James Bond films.

window on the world

earth sea sky are sewn
the wicklow mountains fountain upwards
in geysers of stone
immense impossible verdure
clothes black bleak grandeur
valleys on valleys thrown

when my soul has fled modernity
i will ask of heaven
to pass brief eternity
on the woven wicklow mountains

Thursday, January 07, 2016


Wednesday, January 06, 2016

the silence of the pseudo elites

Unreported Jihad And Wishful Thinking As Polity In 21st Century Europe

On New Year's Eve, Muslim skang gangs organised simultaneous mass assaults, including molestation, rape, theft and violence, in three German cities.
The attacks began with an estimated one thousand Muslim hoodlums at Cologne's railway station directing fireworks into crowds of German revellers.
The Muslims then scattered into smaller groups and began singling out and systematically assaulting women in the crowd of revellers.
Similar coordinated attacks were launched at the same time in the cities of Stuttgart and Hamburg.
These premeditated Muslim mass rape attacks were deliberately ignored by German and international media groups for several days precisely because the perpetrators were Muslim. Media groups generally in Europe and America seem to have become accustomed to downplaying the prevalence of Muslim and Jihadist crime.
As evidenced by the chaos last Thursday, the media's unwillingness to report Jihad that is right before their eyes, has reached near farcical levels.
When the story did finally leak into the public domain over the internet, German Chancellor Angela Merkel warned the public not to link the night's systematic coordinated Muslim rape gang attacks to immigrants.
You couldn't make it up.
We are already paying a high price in Europe for Frau Merkel's faux compassion towards passing Muslims.
It's going to get higher.
German police have continued to drag their heels in making arrests after the attacks on New Year's Eve in Cologne, Stuttgart and Hamburg.
A German television station today admitted it had made a decision to suppress the story and apologised.
An intersting part of the debacle has been the response of the lady Mayor of Cologne Henriette Reker.
Miss Reker said: "Young German women must learn not to go within arms length of men they do not know. We will issue guidelines for them before the upcoming carnival."
Well folks.
I'm no feminist.
But I'd take a harsh view of Miss Reker's notion that in this instance it's young women who need to adjust their behaviour.
Hoo baby.
Among other unreported, or barely reported, pieces of seasonal Jihad  taking place on New Year's Eve was a terror threat in Munich which led to the cancellation of all public celebrations there. You see how it works? Al Qaeda, Isis and that little known combo the Muslim Brotherhood (big shout out to Sheika Halawa in Dublin) don't even have to bomb our cities. They just have to threaten to bomb us.
And everything closes down.
Over the border in Belgium Muslims sabotaged New Year's Eve celebrations in Brussels by torching Christmas trees in the city centre and yelling "Allah U Akbar" which apparently is Arabic for "I'm gonna git you sucker."
This just a month after Muslims operating out of Belgium murdered 130 people in the streets of Paris.
It's getting hard to keep up.
My ear was caught amid all this light hearted jihad jollility, by a condescendingly preachy comment from the American broadcaster Bill O'Reilly to the Republican Presidential nominee seeker Donald Trump who has said that if elected President he will temporarily put a stop to any Muslims entering the United States.
Mr O'Reilly told him: "We're never going to win the War on Terror if you keep offending Muslims."
I gave a rueful grin when I heard this.
You know folks I think the opposite and I think more.
We are never going to endure as a free people if we don't, all of us, become a whole lot more ready to offend Muslims.
I think the citizenry are starting to finally figure that one out. Appeasement has not worked.
But as the commentator Mark Steyn (no friend of mine) once said, Europe is a top down construct.
It takes a long time for public concerns, no matter how pressing, to percolate into the political elites.
Instead of having our lazy, do nothing, overpaid, corrupt police forces making young Muslim thugs feel important by half heartedly following them around our streets trying to figure out what they're going to blow up, shoot, rape, throw a firework at, or subvert next, we should simply expel the lot of them,
They have not been worthy of the fellowship and freedoms we offered them.
End gangland people trafficking, that is to say end the IRA, Cosa Nostra, the Triads, the Russian Mob and Nigerian devil worship gangs who brought the Jihadis here.
End them.
End them for a start by re-establishing our borders and the rule of law.

Delenda est jihadis

quare times

Picked up a copy of the Times of London this week.
They have an Irish edition.
Thought I might pose with it on Main Street.
I'm going for the executive look this season.
It's as close as I get to a new year's resolution.
During a lull in the posing, I wandered into a cafe and for want of anything better to do, began to read the Times of London.
And lo!
What light through yonder window breaks.
It is the east and my cousin Freddie Treeves is the sun.
Amid a cornucopia of wearisome arteekles about climate change, there was one particularly dramatic surprisingly fascinating splash in the centre page featuring my own cousin no less and his shop being inundated in the south eastern town of Enniscorthy.
Here's larfs, thinks I sympathetically, reading eagerly.
The Times gave a little back story, pointing out that Freddie's family business had traded since 1880.
Close enough.
The family were indeed doing business in the nineteenth century.
Some romantics say as early as 1820.
But that's only if you consider sheep stealing a business.
Arf arf.
I'm not going to fault the Times on that.
No the flubber is that while the family have indeed been in business since 1880, they have been in business in Enniscorthy for just the last twenty years.
The 135 year old business was here in Kilcullen.
So we wouldn't really have been in a position to note any climate change down Enniscorthy way before the Britney Spears era.
The Times didn't bother finding out that our family bought the Enniscorthy premises at the side of a bloody great river so recently. Nor did the Times find out that we made the purchase during a long hot Summer without bothering to check whether the nearby river flooded the premises during Ireland's traditional winter storms. (Plot spoiler: It did.)
Under the pression of a sort of selective noblesse oblige, Freddie did tell the man from the Times that the premises had flooded once before, around the year 2000.
My Uncle Ron confrimed for me this evening: "Sure it's always flooding."
No need to let something so arcane as a reality check spoil a good climate change story.
The most poignant bit of the Times account was where they described my fatigued gritty tousled cousin (played by Bruce Willis) sleeping upstairs in the shop as he had stayed there late trying to move stock to safety.
He woke up in the morning and found the ground floor under three feet of water.
He was eventually evacuated by boat.
He really was.
The Times got that bit right.
I would have to quibble though with the three feet of water reportage.
And knowing Freddie I would also quibble with them about the reasons for an evacuation by boat.
I'm guessing maybe twelve inches of water in the ground floor of the shop.
And the necessity of a boat to evacuate the cousin?
Well Freddie is a big tough rugby player and could stroll through three feet of alligator infested water without a problem for anyone except the alligators. Only he is also a rather natty dresser and would not like to get his cuff links or his Brooks Brothers trouser suit damp.
Listen folks.
It's not exactly a scene from the disaster movie Twenty Eight Days Later, is it!
I can practically hear Freddie's exclamation as he looked downstairs yesterday: "F------  water, It'll ruin my Calvins. I'm calling the cops."
And the Paddy Whacks brought in a boat to evacuate him,
You gorra larf.
The punchline of this Pullitzer Prize winning piece of Times romanticism came with Freddie telling the reporter: "We don't want relief assistance. We want people to stop shopping on line and to start buying from local retailers again. That's the only way you're going to have businesses on main street."
Ah yes.
I agree with Freddie on that point.
At least he's put his finger on the real cause of climate change in Ireland.
King Canute couldn't have said it better.
By the by, there's another more bathetic boat story doing the rounds from our winter of climate change.
Assistant Prime Minister Maisie Baines (Or some such name, she's the Labour Party woman, election slogan: "And abortions for all") was visiting a disaster zone in the west of Ireland.
She was being transported in a canoe.
The canoe tipped over.
The canoe tipped over because the depth of flood water in the disaster zone was not sufficient for a canoe to gain traction.
Oh the humanity.
Well folks, I do not believe the planet is doomed from climate change.
But I do think the Times of London is doomed.
It can't be long now.
Last word to teeny bopper temptress pop group Bewitched, who like all Irish teeny boppers are aged in their fifties.
Take it away girls:
"And the rain goes on
On and on again
Don't blame it on you
Don't blame it on me
Blame it on the weatherman"

Tuesday, January 05, 2016

tonight's irish prime ministerial broadcast to the nation

Prime Minister Enda Kenny of the Fine Gael political party is seated at the old oak desk in his office just down the hall from the parliamentary chamber. The camera pulls back. He is wearing a yellow plastic raincoat, a thong, and rubber boots. This outfit lends him about as much gravitas as everything else he ever wears. He stands and begins to dance. Very catchy music kicks in as he sings thusly:

"Peasantry's risin
Popularity's gettin low
According to our sources
The streets the place to go
Because tonight for the first time
Just about half past ten
For the first time in history
We're gonna claim climate change is real again
It's climate change
It's climate change
I'm gonna go out
And make the peasantry get
Absolutely distracted
By the wet
God bless Mother Nature
She's a Fine Gaeler too
She saw our polls collapsing
And knew just what she had to do
She moved around the heavens
And arranged some precipitation
So that each and every government department
Could distract the entire nation
It's rainin again
I feel
It's getting under my thong
There's rain on the breeeeeeeeeze
It's raining climate change
It's raining climate change
Wet, slushy, droplets, drippy
It beats the hell out of having a real economic policy
God bless Mother Nature
She's a Fine Gaeler too
She saw that we were tanking
And she knew just what she had to do
She phoned up the Irish Times
And made a call to RTE
So that this bunch of bolshevick gombeens
Would help me manipulate the peasantry
It's raining climate change
It's raining climate change
I'm gonna go out
With this crisis confected
And get myself
It's raining again
Nerdle nerdle nerrrrr
Wooooo oh oh ohhhhhhhhhh"

There is an elegiac wistfulness to this song which appeals to me, gentle travellers of the internet.
All you have to do, regarding the real political, economic, abortionist, euthanasist, culture of death, neo feudalist IRA, mafia, criminal, and Islamist in-migratory challenges engulfing our country is... ignore them and worry about the rain.
Regarding the actual problems confronting us, you needn't give a dam.
I wish I were a Fine Gaeler.
My gosh, perhaps I am.

Monday, January 04, 2016

laughing in the new year

There was another rain shower in Ireland today.
The government has named it Storm Frank.
Hilarious no.
No one can accuse them of being overly dramatic in their choice of names, but it's the novel practice of naming ever squall that gives me a chuckle.
If they're gonna give a name to every shower of rain in Ireland, they're gonna run short of names awful quick.
Still, I'd love if they called the next one something eclectic, say Storm Snurdlebaum.
I'd almost sign up to the myth of climate change if they did that.
One woman was interviewed on radio this afternoon crying out with strange high passion: "It's too much. We had this in 1995. Then in 2000. And now in 2015. We can't take this any more. I can hear the rain all night. I keep wondering will it destroy my house."
That's what the media and our government have done to people in order to convince them that climate change is real.
They've driven a peasantry that was barely sane to being with, out of their tiny cotton picking minds.
I would humbly contend that the government are doing this in order to justify the internationalisation of our sovereignty represented by their acquiescence to the delusional soviet style command and control policies of unelected or barely elected polit bureaus in the European Union and United Nations.
It's easier than actually thinking for yourself.
All the other lemmings are doing it so why can't we, eh Prime Minister.
Well folks you gorra larf.
In Ireland a group of government apparatchiks styling themselves the Irish Meteorological Service have announced that this is the wettest winter in Irish history.
Ah yes.
The wettest in our history.
They must have seasonally adjusted the figures from the Night Of The Big Wind in 1845 to discount that one.
In any case I can tell you that this winter the roads and most of the fields in County Kildare have not flooded at all.
Five years ago at this time of year many of the fields, several of our roads and half the Curragh plains were under water.
So the current Meteorological Service pronouncement is pure bollocksology.
It didn't stop Prime Minister Enda Kenny from touring an afflicted area in the west.
Imagine if your house was flooded, or you had a media induced neurotic fear it would be flooded, and the next thing you saw was that vapid vacuous atheistic abortionist hair style of a man Enda Kenny drifting up the road in rubber boots, intoning grandly to the cameras: "Apres moi le deluge."
It would be the last straw.
It would be for me anyway and I have a rubber boot fetish.
Prime Minister Enda Kenny was forced to start touring the puddle zones after our bankrupt newspaper groups began claiming there was public clamour for him to "express solidarity with people trapped by flooding."
That's why Ireland's newspaper groups are bankrupt by the way.
They think they've done something clever by inflicting on Prime Minister Enda Kenny and on the rest of us a half baked immitation of the year 2005 American media calls to President Bush to visit New Orleans at the time of Hurricane Katrina.
That's what they call journalism.
Treating Enda Kenny like the Bush whacker.
And likening a few Irish puddles to a hurricane which killed 1500 people.
And poor ould Enda Kenny bought it.
Let me make one thing clear.
Ireland's Independent Newspapers group are the most out of touch idiots in the history of idiocy.
They're still trading ironically enough only because our rubber booted Prime Minister Enda Kenny nationalised Allied Irish Bank, the bank to which they were refusing to rapay a billion dollar loan, and which was part owned by billionaire Lochlainn Quinn the brother of Enda Kenny's then Education Minister Ruairi Quinn, and having nationalised Allied Irish Bank with public borrowings, Enda Kenny then permitted Allied Irish Bank to cancel Independent Newspapers' billion dollar debts in perpetuity.
I kid you not.
Independent Newspapers is also still trading because Prime Minister Enda Kenny has chosen to take no action at all after a Judicial Tribunal deemed the white collar criminal proprietor of Independent Newspapers, one Denis O'Brien, (two Denis O'Briens would have been silly) guilty of bribing a former government Minister called Michael Lowry to award him billion dollar mobile phone service provision contracts dirt cheap.
And the peasants are worrying about climate change.
Meanwhile in the Daily Telegraph, a bankrupt British newspaper, a commentator remarked along the following lines: "It doesn't matter if climate change is real or not. One hundred and fifty countries have decided it is, and national policies are henceforth going to be shaped by that fact."
What a profoundly moral stance by the Telegraph.
Goodbye Telegraph.
You're nearly gone.
If you want to postpone the inevitable, I suggest you appoint Ruairi Quinn's brother to your Board of Management, and pray for rain.
Back in Ireland I listened to twenty minutes of verbiage about the weather on what passes for a news programme on our State run national broadcaster RTE this afternoon.
Right at the end of the programme, the presenter gave a single sentence report that ran: "In other news Saudi Arabia has cut off diplomatic relations with Iran."
Now that story is the biggest story on the planet earth today.
Ho hum.
A story that could mean a Muslim induced conflagration for all humanity, and it gets relegated to the tail end of RTE's rain dance of a news report.
Judgement thou hast fled to brutish beasts.
Here's a thought.
What if God was displeased with us for our culture of death, our abortions of unborn children, our euthanising of the elderly, our suicide assisting of teenagers, along with our fornications, our sorceries, and our sacrifices to satan?
What if God was letting us know that this cannot continue?
What on earth would the difference be between the apocalypse and what RTE calls climate change?
I'm just asking.