It is All Broke and Cannot Be Fixed

Forget — or rather don’t — all past comments on this site about the Irish government, banks, future, bookmakers, and even smallest systems going dysfunctional. Entropy has gone global. Yet it appears the gremlims of the universe may be unfarily targeting Ireland and even more unfairly me in particular. This could be the revenge of the fairies and all because people here started building during orgy times upon fairy circles, which is just not done.

Let me tell you. In the last few days we have had the car’s road-worthiness failed in the NCT Exam (don’t ask about this institutionalized mugging) because of an alledged frayed seat belt. This would be like your mother telling you could not go out for the next year, since you had some fraying at the bottom hem of your gansey, jumper, or sweater. Oh, they also didn’t like a bush-rod baring (cost 8.50) which seems obscene to me. So we bought a 9 year old seat belt, which also could not be cut with a scimater, to replace the old one. Job done. I don’t go to porn stores so don’t know about “bush-rod bearings” but a procurer got one, presumably from the Romanians everywhere.

I was trying to look at the TV but noticed after an hour or two that I was staring at exotically coloured static. Then I dementedly began pressing buttons to see if I could return to the anatomy lessons on CSI, or something. It looked like blood splatter across the screen, so I called Sky. and they suggested that plant life had grown up beside my satellite dish, this being another absurdly wet Irish “summer.” Reasonable notion, so I checked. But I had machete hacked that stuff away before and all I found was a deep and fecund coat of natural Irish riot growth slime all over the dish. Toodle in for some bleach, mix it up, cleanse dish — the way not one civic functionary has done for a public sculpture in this land for years — but still no go.

Meanwhile, the mower starter button broke, the chainsaw stopped going around, the vowel key pads have fallen off this computer, and I found a dead bird in the cottage even though I never gave him a key. My mobile phone has gone missing, but people from India have been calling on the landline just to ask whether they can get inside my computer because it is apparently a national phenomenon in India whatever is being communicated from this computer, they say.

And I forgot to mention the CD player which doesn’t work unless you put a book on top of it — frying pans and stones do not do the job. Would you like to hear about the light bulbs eerily flickering in whatever room I enter? No? Well, you just did.

Or the bank randomly sending out 800 euros to people who send me an invoice for half that. Or the post office casually not sending any of my mail anymore to exotic foreign destinations like the United States. Or the hubcaps flying off my car as I drive.

Tir Eire. Tear Me.

Tags: Irish fairies, Irish gremlins, madness Ireland, unhinged Ireland