Christmas has come early for Leo Varadkar who, having recently got his rocks off in a Dublin gay disco, has returned as Taoiseach, as chief of the Irish and, more particularly, of anyone else who rocks up in our green and verdant land.
Being Taoiseach will allow this strange individual to put the brakes into any Garda inquiries concerning his previous shenanigans, where he allegedly passed on Government secrets to one of his buddies at the gay disco. Outgoing Taoiseach Micheál Martin, has threatened to bring the wrath of God, or at least the Four Courts, down on anyone who invades Varadkar’s privacy by filming him snogging the face off young bucks in the gay disco or anywhere else his sexual urges may take him. This Christmas, Leo, as he likes to be called, can look forward to a good and private snog fest.
Happy days for him and, perhaps, Finland’s Sanna Marin, who also likes to party. Justin Trudeau, the Canadian strong man who likes to show Leo his socks, might also like to join them for a fun filled holiday, whilst we Animal Farm beasts of burden must close our eyes to these piglets partying with one another and muse if and how their debaucheries differ from those of our former overlords.
One important difference is that there is accountability, at least of a sort, in Westminster where sexual licentousness oft times brings reprimand. Not so in Ireland where Emmet Stagg, former Chief Whip of the Irish Labour Party, was caught in the Phoenix Park with a young, male prostitute in what was most likely not his first rodeo. The episode is noteworthy as Emmet’s brother, Frank, died as an IRA prisoner on hunger strike and Emmet Stagg stubbornly and stupidly denied Frank his last wish to be buried in the local Republican plot. What is interesting about that is Chief Whips, such as former Tory Chief Whip and Prime Minister Ted Heath, are charged with having the dirt on their fellow Parliamentary colleagues to ensure they vote as directed.
Though British Intelligence obviously had the dirt on Ted Heath, one wonders who, if anyone, had the dirt on Emmet Stagg and so many others with a fondness for women, men or little boys and girls. The case of Sinn Féin’s Denis Donaldson is particularly interesting in this regard. Not only was Donaldson Gerry Adams’ right hand man but, in the iconic photo of Bobby Sands, Donaldson, who had partaken in the Provos’ pivotal Battle of St Matthew’s Church, has his arm wrapped around Sands. As Donaldson was a well known womaniser, one has to wonder, without prying into his private life of course, what dirt MI5 had on him and his chums and was it, as alleged, of a vile sexual nature.
Though I know of homosexual Government senators who, like our former overlords, let their hair and their pants down when they go on tax-funded foreign junkets there is, I feel, something more worrying than the cocktail of exotic sexual diseases these upstanding public representatives might bring back from their overseas travels. I got the same feeling when reviewing Shane Ross’ book on Mary Lou McDonald, where I sensed that someone much further up the food chain than the scandal-ridden Gerry Adams was the strategist in chief.
If we accept that the Good Friday Agreement was simply an American ploy to bring peace in our time to this island, that the American Secret Service, with its British and Irish allies, concocted a peace they could sell overseas whilst defenestrating Ireland, then we are in a better position to make sense of all that is happening. The North of Ireland is simply a backwater which Sinn Féin and the Democratic Unionist Party jointly gerrymander to suit their aims and those of their paymasters.
South of the border, we are being swamped with not only tsunamis of young male economic migrants but with the full array of the consequences such unsustainable waves of immigrants bring.
If we look at who, besides our political overlords and whatever quick-buck immigrants they co-opt, will benefit from all this increased inclusion, diversity and free condoms for all, the end game becomes that bit clearer. Ireland, like much of Western Europe, is to become only a market where cheap produce is off loaded to keep us beasts of burden ticking along and to ensure we know our place in the scheme of things.
Some, like Leo Varadkar, Colm O’Gorman and Roderic O’Gorman have been chosen to rule over us, to be our high priests as we go into our long good night. Others, such as those Irish nurses who begged to return home to Ireland outside Sydney Opera House, are excess to requirements, as they do not serve the gods of inclusion, diversity and free condoms for all.
The same goes for those yellow pack Gardai, who were hired after 2013 and who are best off emigrating to Australia if they want a decent life. Plenty of Indians and Chinese here, who are happy to fill their shoes at a fraction of their wages.
The Gardai, then will be managed by hotshots, many of them formerly of the RUC and education will go the same way it has gone in England, where pay and conditions are generally terrible, except for the managerial and hot shot classes.
Ireland’s best and brightest will have to share such good jobs as do exist with the best and brightest of other climes who decide to rock up here. They will increasingly become like a minnow cult, marrying between each other and trying to preserve what little wealth they have, while not falling foul of any of the self-serving hate crime legislation Varadkar, O’Gorman and their crew instigate.
Much like the priest hunters during Penal times, so also does the government use our taxes to fund both themselves and their NGOs to corral and control us and journalists who do not go with the government’s flow can expect to walk the same plank into oblivion as Leo Varadkar made Kevin Myers walk.
Not that journalists are enough to stem the tide. It seems that almost all media, sporting, community and religious outfits have been neutered by the government controlling their finances and the demographic winter, together with our ongoing drug epidemic, has opiated the young, who generally drive such change. Although many of us might wish to reverse our government’s nihilistic tendencies, we are like a group of ants, not a colony of ants, which all work for the same objective.
On the question of what is to be done, it seems not much can be done for now. We are like Seán Mac Diarmada and Tom Clarke sitting in Parnell St in 1914, watching all our former colleagues march off to their deaths for king, country, inclusion, diversity and free condoms for all.
Yet, just as things changed utterly with Dev’s victory in the 1917 East Clare bye election and the regime’s attempts to introduce conscription in 1918, so might all things change utterly in Ireland in 2023 when the EU stops printing money, when the bills fall due, when the Irish government stops paying out bribes to the unemployed and when the bluffers of both the government and the opposition are called out.
For all their cliches about inclusion, diversity and free condoms for all, everyone outside of the gay disco and all of those who want nothing to do with lecherous politicians know there is something evidently rotten in Ireland’s close knitpolitical world. The issue then is making more people know how rotten it is and, like Mac Diarmada, Clarke and so many others before us, trying to do something constructive about it by turning Ireland’s beasts of burdens and disjointed ants into a force that will give Leo the Loin Hearted something more to think about than getting his rocks off in the the gay club.