gilbert gilhooley,ireland's biggest thug and gangster here,how are ye all?
no that i give a buck.
documents disappear,golf outings that were fictitious,collective memory loss,does the crook bertie ahern
think us other criminals don't read the daily newspapers or have opinions,that we are all thick as a premiership footballer?
junior ministers by the dozens,the bunch of lazy,bucking dossers,all dressed up in expensive suits and ties and
all hats and no knickers for the lady junior ministers.
dont do a tap of work,they sit on their bony arses all day,doing nothing.
what am i waffling on about?
you must be from planet mars.
the irish mafia who "run" the country of ireland,run it into the ground.
i'm a patriotic gangster,i'll have you know.
anyway,on with my news,i have to decide between fatso kelly or modney bojangles as my new capo,both
are first class hitmen,loyal troops,and dishonest as the summer day is long.
i couldnt show any favouritism so i decided,right,lads,
we hold a polo match,get your polo teams together by next sunday,round up as many stray horses as ye can in
finglas(a hood area of dublin)pick your teams and may the best man win.
modney bojangles is anally retentive,fierce fussy and looked at me as if i was a horse myself.
polo?
in fucking finglas?
i said yeah,who ever wins meaning who ever scores the most goals by the end of the game gets a patek philippe swiss watch,a brand new one,mind,no chinese counterfeit crap.
and becomes my capo,understood?
fatso kelly nodded his agreement.
that's fine by me boss,fatso kelly said,but i'd prefer to have our polo game in fucking timbucktoo,
i hate finglas,rember that fucker who shot me in the neck,i was in hospital for 7 months?
so what?i said.that's ...yonks ago..
he's from finglas,well he was before he was dead.
alright boss,polo next sunday.fatso said.
where do i get the gear?
listen,batter the patter,zip the lip,how do i know where you get polo gear?
just...get it...
