Get Stuffed Eire ! (redux)

Source —

The Republic of Ireland has a population less than half that of Manchester. It has a history of welcoming colonial oppression as an opportunity that it clearly is. At the outbreak of the First World War, the paddies, priests and ponies flocked to the shore to jump on the first boat available to the trenches to sludge in the mud of Passchendaele and The Somme. Such was their distaste for their own island, the decided they would rather rot in rot in Belgium, than laze in Longford. Of course the Irish think they won the First World War for us, especially the 36th Ulster. Ok, they built a few concrete boats for us, provided a few chaplains. A couple of nurses may have mopped up a messy tent here or there, but it was British Military bravery that won the war. Particularly the courage it took for a small group of privately educated men to send 100,000 untrained soldiers over the top in a courageous and brilliant plan to confuse the Germans into thinking it was a slaughtering match. On 1st July 1916, the British forces suffered a mere 57,470 casualties, including a paltry 19,240 fatalities. They gained a heroic total of three square miles of territory. A small price to pay you would agree for what was one of the greatest displays of British bravery in Europe since Brexit.

Eire has long complained that their contribution in WW1 was not recognised. Their own people wouldn’t even recognise it! And in the end, we gave them the best thank you present ever — we took the North.

For almost 100 years, we have had to put up with the likes of Jeffrey Donaldson and co, a bunch of mumbling buffoons whose only contribution to the British cause is to uphold some of the last bastions of Britishness.

- A strong desire to protect the Union; where they bravely burn and destroy their own towns and communities once a year in a show of total love and selfless devotion to Queen and Country.

- They protect the greatest language in the world; with great modern thinkers like Jamie Bryson and Sammie Wilson, The Queen’s English is in safe fingers. They also have the good sense to ensure that the oldest vernacular language in Europe does not receive any type of legal recognition or protection from parliament, and that marriage remains as God intended: between one Man and as many women as he sees fit.

In the Second World War, the Paddies lost their bottle, and lost out on another great opportunity to further the British cause on a global scale. They got into bed with the Germans again, and we would all be singing Deutschland über alles if it wasn’t for the intervention of the good ol’ boys up North. They put the yanks up for a few months and refuelled their planes, before the Americans could go on and win the War for us.

Eire is the land of ‘The Craic’. Where poor peasants while away their evenings playing brutal games like ‘hurling’. We tried to save them from themselves by banning it, but the stubborn bog monkeys wouldn’t have it. Why practice the fastest field sport in the world, when you could be tapping a ball round a croquet lawn, or engaging in a gentlemanly pursuit like chasing a fox around the countryside on horseback until it becomes exhausted and is ripped to shreds by a pack of loyal, bloodthirsty dogs. The Irish continue to peddle the myth of community, togetherness and youth participation. Over 130 years ago, a group of sporting wannabes and has-beens met in a whiskey fuelled piss up in Tipperary, and created a fantasy organisation that would protect a culture that had long been stamped out by centuries of mature British governance and administration.

Thankfully nothing much came of this ill-advised republican cabal, and the resulting shambles has spread to a trivial 430 clubs across four different continents.

Unlike the Irish who are too afraid to let other nations play their games, we Brits are man enough to take a beating. We aren’t afraid of seeing the great nations of the World thrash us in our own sports of football and Cricket. The world renowned British sense of generosity recently extended to allowing the minnows of Iceland to dispose of England in the recent European Championships. You wouldn’t see the Germans doing something like that!

Eire of course, has long tried to boost their pathetic sporting endeavours by employing researchers to trawl ancestry records in the pathetic hope of finding an Irish Grandmother for some British outcast. Ray Houghton? You can have him, the little Scottish pixie! How many significant goals in major championships did he ever score?

No thank you, we’ll have our players British please, as British as Tetley tea, from India. True Brits like our great Tennis champions Greg Rusedski and Johanna Konta, our Cricket stalwarts like Eoin Morgan and Kevin Pietersen. Not to mention our brilliant Rugby mastermind Eddie Jones, and the best No 8 in the world, Billy Vunipola.

Of course the best things in Ireland, are British. The white lines in the middle of the roads, Red Telephone boxes in second hand yards in Westmeath, and Nelson’s Column. Tracey Piggott, Daniel Day-Lewis, and Lisburn. Perhaps one day the leprechaun chasing drunkards will realise the generosity we have shown them over the years, and give us a slice of credit. Unlikely though, when their elected leader doesn’t recognise true leadership, even when he is placed right in front of it.

Invited to the White House for Saint Patty’s day, this lippy Tee-shock from Mayo gets all uppity and calls out President Trump for extraditing illegal immigrants, for trampling the dreams of the ‘Dreamers’. What does he think the Irish did anyway, build America or something? Yeah well, Enda, why don’t you buy all your guys a Green Card? Sort of ironic that colour isn’t it, saying as none of you Paddies seem to have one! President Trump has followed the British example and taken back control of his borders. He might have saved his Country. He might have saved our Prime Minister when he caught her heroically after a dangerous slip in Washington, avoiding almost certain death.

Maybe one day, when the dust has settled, and Brexit has been revealed for the master-stroke it undoubtedly is, Eire will pat us on the back for a job well done. It might appear to be an act of national mutilation and a destroying of self interest now, putting at risk political stability and peace in Northern Ireland. Sure, it might seem like a return to 17th Century mercantilism and neo-nationalism, but just you wait Simon and Leo. When David Davis, Master Negotiator is able to charm those unwitting Eurocrats with his fluent French and accurate German, the Boffins in Brussels won’t know what has hit them. Britannia will once again rule the waves! In a country where journalists have the courage to write un-researched and unreferenced articles, apologise for them, and then resign despite having nothing to apologise for. And Eire, we might even let you back into the British Isles, as you almost certainly won’t have profited from being the only English speaking alternative place of investment inside the European Union.

Good luck Eire, see you on the other side of our frictionless border !