Hardcore Eurovision Fans Lament Moldova’s Poor Placing

Düsseldorf, Germany – As Azerbaijan celebrates being the first Central Asian country to win the Eurovision Song Contest, die-hard fans of the competition’s trite pop, malfitting costumes, and antic stage routines lamented the poor showing of Moldova.

The small Eastern European country lived down to the finest traditions of the Eurovision with a cheesy combo of rockin’ rappers singing in pidgin English while wearing giant dunce’s hats, before wowing Eurovision fans with a trumpet solo by a girl dressed as a fairy princess on a unicycle.

“Moldova just ticked all of our boxes,” said Michael Jaeger (47), head of Fans for the Real Eurovision, a continent-wide grouping of people dedicated to fighting the growing trend towards emphasising music and performance ability in the assessment of European music.

“From the medallions dangling pendulously between their knees like glittering scrotums to not being able to afford a stool for the drummer, Moldova really excelled itself this year and deserved at least a top three placing.”

“And, of course, the trumpeting unicycling fairy princess should have put it over the top and given it victory,” he added, to emphatic nods of agreement from Fans for the Real Eurovison, who looked depressed and angry at how the voting had gone.

"Is that the Israeli transsexual or the Irish guy?" asked Jaeger, scratching his head.

Previous winners of the Eurovision have included an Israeli transsexual, a Russian ice-skating on a small puddle, and Ireland. However, fans are worried that a growing number of Eastern European countries are taking the competition seriously, thereby raising performances to an unacceptable standard.

“They’re just not getting into the spirit of the Eurovision,” complained Jaeger. “I mean, at first I thought Azerbaijan was going down the traditional sexy girl route to Eurovision glory – short low-cut flouncy billowing dresses, and plenty of ‘em – but then some fag in a white suit showed up in the middle of them.”

“You can’t mix the ‘sexy girl’ with the ‘flaming queer guy’ approach, unless you do what Israel did and make them one person – Dana International.”

Jaeger also expressed disappointment at those traditional enemies of Europe, France, for sending someone who could actually sing. “The moment he hit that first note with a clear, ringing, operatic tenor voice I nearly vomited,” said Jaeger, looking visibly nauseous. “I mean, who do the French think they are?”

"What is that fag doing mixed in with the sexy girls?!" yelled an enraged Jaeger.

“They’ve just been pissed off ever since Abba won it with Waterloo back in ’74, but that was no reason to send a singer to the European Song Contest.”

“They’re just trying to ruin it for everybody else,” he added bitterly.

Many expressed dismay that traditional favourites had failed to make much of an impact. Former man and winner, Dana International of Israel, failed to make it past the semi-final stage. Ireland’s all-non-singing, all-non-dancing duo Jedward failed to live up to the hype, despite obviously forgetting their dance routines at one point.

“Well, the transsexual thing had been done, so Israel needs to up its game,” said Jaeger with a shrug. “And Ireland, while sending an entry to compete with the worst, still had an air of neediness about it this year, like they were trying too hard.”

“I mean, no one can be that shit by accident,” he added sceptically.

"Sorry, Ireland were just trying too hard to be shit this year," said Jaeger dismissively.

Fans for the Real Eurovision are mounting a campaign to recognise Moldova’s efforts this year and restore Eurovision to its former troughs of greatness.

“Look, some of those performances on Saturday weren’t that bad!” said Jaeger in disgust. “If they get any better, some of these acts might be just plain lousy. Then we might have an evening of lousy bands playing imitations of music, and we can get that an open-mic night in our local pubs.”

“Do you want to spend a Saturday evening in May listening to Europe’s best open-mic performers?” he shouted, to cries of “Never!” from increasingly frustrated fans who were riding around him on unicycles, blowing trumpets and waving their dunce’s hats in support of Moldova.

Christian Bale Seriously Fucking Pissed Off That Melissa Leo Used ‘F-Word’ in Oscar Speech

Los Angeles – Hollywood was shocked today as new footage emerged from the Oscars that shows Christian Bale angrily reacting on stage to Melissa Leo, winner of the Best Supporting Actress Oscar, for her seriously fucking unprofessional use of the ‘F-word’ in her acceptance speech.

Leo (50) shocked the tender ears of American audiences by saying, “When I watched Kate Winslet two years ago, it looked so fucking easy!” thereby dropping what reporters later called ‘the F-bomb.’

However, new footage that was prevented from being broadcast live by an extensive commercial break has revealed how deeply upset Christian Bale, her co-star in The Fighter, was with the ignorant bitch’s rudeness to her fucking colleagues.

“I want you off the fucking stage, you prick!” interrupted a shocked Bale with a scream at the petrified actress. “No, don’t just be sorry, think for just one fucking second. What the fuck are you doing? Do you think it’s acceptable to just stand up here and swear at these people?”

The furious Bale then punched a couple of dickheaded security men so he could continue remonstrating with Ms. Leo.

“I really don’t mean to offend, and [it was] probably a very inappropriate place to use that particular word,” stammered Leo, shaking. “There’s a great deal of the English language that is in my vernacular.”

"Do you really want me to rip it off?" shrieked Bale, causing many women to faint.

Bale was in no mood for such feeble excuses, however. “Am I going to walk around and rip down your fucking dress on stage so America can see the sagging tits in your vernacular?” he snarled sarcastically.

“If you don’t want to offend anyone with those inappropriate things, then just keep your fucking dress up. Don’t make me fucking rip it off! Watch your fucking mouth. Don’t just go waltzing around the stage going oh-dee-do-dee-fucking-da while we’re trying to be professional.”

“Fuck,” said Bale, trying to calm himself down in order to go on with the show. “You are so fucking amateur.”

Bale has long been a noted champion of polite manners and courtesy to others. In July 2008, he famously took issue with a fuckwit who disturbed a film set by walking behind the camera while a scene was being filmed. That same month, a discussion over appropriate behaviour led to Bale being arrested for assaulting those well-known bitches – his mother and sister – at Dorchester Hotel.

At the Oscars, the Dark Knight of etiquette continued his crusade against social impropriety.

“Can somebody do something about this bitch?” said Bale, jerking a thumb at the tearful Leo. “She just doesn’t give a FUCK about what’s going on in front of the camera. We’re trying to present a fucking show, live to a fucking global audience, and I can’t concentrate on what I’ve got to do if you keep saying ‘fuck’ to that audience.”

Bale's dismissive thumb gesture is rightly feared in Hollywood.

“Just stay off the fucking stage,” he said in disgust. “For fuck’s sake. Right, let’s keep going.”

“No, let’s not take a fucking minute, let’s go again!” yelled Bale at the stage manager, who was trying to bring some semblance of calm to proceedings. “You just don’t understand what it’s like fucking working with actors. I’m going to fucking kick your ass if you don’t shut up!”

The live feed then returned, and Bale turned urbanely to the camera to give his acceptance speech for Best Supporting Actor.

While many were shocked by the evening’s events, legendary star Jack Nicholson said it was about fucking time Hollywood stopped presenting sanitised versions of the world and showed it how it is.

“This is as bullshit as the Janet Jackson Superbowl incident,” drawled Nicholson in disgust. “People use the word ‘fuck’; Janet Jackson has tits. I mean, is this information you didn’t already fucking know?”

“Next thing you’ll be taking pictures of the huge dump I just left in the john,” he added, before groaning as the papparazzi made a rush for the toilet.

John Banville’s Next Novel to be “Sexy Vampire Action Romance”

Dublin –If there is one thing I would not have expected Booker-prize winning Irish novelist John Banville to say during our interview, it’s that he intend to stop writing his uniquely lyrical and yet deeply cynical novels investigating the futility of human endeavours in favour of writing riotously sexy action vampire romances.

Banville said his public image as an intellectual distressed him greatly and was none of his doing.

And yet Banville (65), one of Ireland’s greatest living writers, declared his intention to radically change his aesthetic in response to changes in the national psyche.

“One morning, as the sun’s glair in the matudinal sky flared cruelly like the bonfire of all human vanities, a thought trembled fragilely among my stringy and vibrating synapses,” mused Banville as he leafed idly through the pages of Diderot’s 18^th century encyclopaedia.

“For decades now, the sight of pale melanochroids gliding imprintless over the concrete grass of Dublin’s cancerous streets has filled me with quiet despair. I have not been fooled by lustrous sheen of the Celtic Tiger’s fur – I have seen its bicuspids glittering in the dark and known that all was folly, that not just our dreams but our very selves were artifices designed to hide from us the knowledge of our inevitable and welcome failure.”

“But now the twilight world has swiftly followed noon’s brief zenith, I thought: ‘Fuck it, John, no one wants to hear about that shit. Write about something with gunfights and tits and teenage vampires and fart jokes. God knows, people could do with some light entertainment.’”

Following his Muse’s clear and strikingly crass voice, Banville has decided to stop writing artworks loved by the few and start writing pulp fiction for the many, who are so desperately in need of cheap escapism right now.

“My initial drafts looked something like this,” said Banville, allowing us the rare privilege of viewing the literary mind at work.

"The last thing Irish people need now is more elegiac and poignant stories of loss," said Banville.

A paragraph read: “Bella was so frightened she could barely see over her gigantically heaving bosom. ‘O Jedward,’ she gasped, turning to her cool, gentlemanly lovers, the vampire twin singing sensations. ‘How can you remain so calm, so manly, so rock hard in the face of these desperadoes with their guns?’ Jedward, their PVC outfits glittering in the sunlight, replied huskily, ‘Stay calm, sugartits. We’re gonna blow them away,’ before turning and farting insolently at their attackers.

Fantastic, I assured Banville, a guaranteed populist triumph.

“I thought so, too,” said Banville, snatching the pages away. “But then I pondered if perhaps my own voice might not be the perfect river for such narrative craft? Plot is mostly inconsequential to me; none of my best books had one. But perhaps this plebeian tale infused with my elegiac musings might bridge the Plutonian chasm between art and the public?”

Banville then showed me the latest drafts of his impending work, The Twilight Sea of the Jedward with the Dragon Tattoos. The earlier paragraph had now been transformed by the master’s idiosyncratic diction and poetic rhythms:

“The raven Bella, only dimly aware of the futility of hot-blooded animal desires in a coldly indifferent universe, was half-blinded by her own tumultuous mammaries. ‘O Jedward,’ she breathed with an air of faintly ludicrous mourning, half-conscious of the Socratic irony of speaking of deep matters of love while Death’s superficial grin drew near. ‘How can you remain so calm, so manly, so rock hard in the face of these desperadoes with their guns?’

"My new book will be much more accessible to air-headed teenage girl dimwits," said Banville.

The melanochroidal twins watched one of the desperadoes trip over a fallen branch and laughed in amazement at the richness of the world, which always has some comfort to offer. ‘Stay calm, sugartits. We’re gonna blow them away,’ they said, curiously feeling their own indifference to the raging gale of flatulence thundering vengefully through their tortuous bowels. As the storm erupted from the contracted sphincters, Jedward felt the faint touch of ridiculousness that always comes with having a body made of liquids and gases, even as the noxious fumes cleared a path to safety.’”

Incomparable, I gushed, a masterpiece to rival Kepler or The Book of Evidence. “This could mean your Nobel,” I said in awe.

“Perhaps,” nodded Banville gravely. “It’s certainly bad enough. But really, I just hope it’s truly awful enough for the public to love it and take their minds off the recession for a while.”

New Irish Monopoly Board Includes Square for Government

Dublin – With great fanfare yesterday a new Irish version of the popular board game Monopoly was revealed, with an extra square added for the Irish government.

Said John Heasley (41), a spokesperson for Waddingtons: “We’re absolutely delighted to introduce this new element into our popular board game. We feel it will add greater excitement and also reflect more accurately the contemporary state of Irish society.”

The new Irish version of Monopoly will include a square for 'Buy Government' in the top left.

“Let’s face it – you can’t make half the money out of “Waterworks Utilities” as you can out of buying the government,” he added.

The new square sits at the corner previously occupied by “No Parking,” which players usually circled around for ages without being able to land on.

Those landing on “Buy Government” can now purchase government influence and see the value of their houses and rents increase.

“Yes, it’s a tremendous advantage to land on ‘Buy Government,’” agreed Heasley enthusiastically as he explained how this new square would change the dynamics of Irish monopoly.

“But what’s really innovative is that, unlike other squares that can only be owned by one player at a time, all of the players can buy the government and thus raise the rents on all of their houses.”

“It’s a win-win situation, except for the poor sap who has to pay the rent!” chortled Mr. Heasley.

Mr. Heasley explained that the ability of all players with sufficient cash to own a piece of the government was one of the new square’s ‘special properties’ that altered the natural workings of the Monopoly market.

Waddingtons said it planned to use this image for its new 'Buy Government' square.

“Traditionally, Monopoly was played on a level playing field and it was down to the individual player’s skill and luck,” said Mr. Heasley. “But ‘Buy Government’ adds a whole new element. Every time you land on the square, after the initial purchase of the government through campaign funds, you get to take a card from the ‘Government Chance’ deck.”

The ‘Government Chance’ deck includes such wildcards as: “A fortunate meeting at the Galway Races has seen your property rezoned and double its value,” or “A friend in high places has just gotten you planning permission. Add five houses and a hotel to all your properties.”

The new rules have also added a doomsday scenario into the game’s design.

“At some point, every player will own a piece of the government and get their share of government favours,” said Mr. Heasley. “If, or more likely when that happens, the number of houses and the size of rents on the board will explode to astronomical levels. Players will barely be able to move at all without paying a fortune.”

“At this point, all the players will try to sell their houses to the bank to raise money, but the bank won’t have sufficient cash for such outrageously overpriced properties.”

“This raises the possibility of everyone losing by all going bankrupt simultaneously.”

Some of Ireland's many homeless people enjoy a game of Irish monopoly.

In such a doomsday scenario, players can take a wildcard from the ‘Government Community Chest’ deck, which controls funds taken from the national community and can be distributed to the players.

The deck consists of cards like: “NAMA has bought out your properties at their full prices. You may buy them back in ten turns for one-fifth of the price,” or “A friendly golf game has led to a blanket guarantee of your debts. You can travel for free for ten turns.”

The winner is then the one who has landed on ‘Buy Government’ the most times and gotten the most ‘Government Chance’ and ‘Government Community Chest’ cards.

Parents were enthusiastic about the new rules. “I always felt that Monopoly was a great way for children – and even a few adults – to learn about the workings of the market,” said Gerard Hegarty (48) after buying the new game.

“But this new version will really teach our children what it’s like to do business in the Irish market.”

“The only thing I think they should add is an “Escape to Australia” square for those who are tired of the madness and want to go do something else.”

Mystery of Pierce Brosnan’s Irishness Deepens

Navan – As hapless politicians bluster unconvincingly about ‘hard choices,’ and the media devotes hours to political commentators discussing what would be the best option for Fianna Fáil now, as the country disappears into an economic black hole, one question has risen to the forefront of national debate: can Pierce Brosnan really be Irish?

Given his legendary suave confidence and charm, Pierce Brosnan's Irishness seems increasingly improbable.

“I mean, really Irish?” asked Róisín Burrows (24) with furrowed brow, looking at a picture of the debonair Pierce Brosnan gracing the red carpet at a Hollywood movie premiere. “He’s from Navan?”

“But, sure, that would be like finding out Elvis was from Dundalk,” she continued in bewilderment. “We just don’t produce those kinds of men.”

Nodding up at the TV, where Brian Cowen was speaking with some overweight red-faced Fianna Fáil TDs bursting out of their polyester suits, she said: “That’s the kind of man Ireland produces.”

Her friends at the table glumly acknowledged this as the truth, before turning back to the picture of Pierce Brosnan smiling with calm assurance before the glare of the world’s media.

“He is just so fucking suave,” said Nora Ryan (24), with an air of disbelief. “I mean, look at the fat dickturds who bankrupted the country. I wouldn’t mind if they were criminal masterminds, but they’re only a bunch of ould farts – and they’re the best we could find.”

“D’ye think if we asked him to become Taoiseach, he might do it?” she asked hopefully. “I mean, if no one knows how to run the country anyway, what harm would it do? I bet Angela Merkel would throw her knickers on top of a €50 billion loan if Pierce Brosnan asked her.”

Merkel said she would be a lot more generous to Ireland if Pierce Brosnan were Taoiseach.

“She’s hardly likely to do that for Brian Cowen or Enda Kenny.”

“I’m still not sure he’s Irish, though,” said Maeve Walsh (25) doubtfully. “I mean, when was the last time you saw a man like Pierce Brosnan in Ireland?”

“Well, in the interview he says: ‘My Irishness is in everything I do. It’s the spirit of who I am, as a man, an actor, a father. It’s where I come from,’” read Nora.

“That’s not very Irish to have pride in your country,” replied Maeve skeptically. “If he was really Irish he would have called it like it is. I’d say he was raised in the US or England or somewhere like that.” She tore her eyes away from Brosnan’s sleek, well-groomed hair to look at the interview and said, “Oh no, wait, look at this.”

Speaking of his schooldays at a Christian Brothers school, Brosnan said: “I grew up being taught by the Christian Brothers, who were dreadful, dreadful human beings. Just the whole hypocrisy. And the cruelness of their ways toward children. They were very sexually repressed. Bitter. Cowards, really. I have nothing good to say about them and will have nothing good to say about them. It was ugly. Very ugly. Dreadful. I learnt nothing from the Christian Brothers except shame.”

“Well, that settles it so,” said Maeve with a note of finality. “He really is Irish.”

Sadly, the kind of man Ireland actually produces.

The others nodded in agreement, recognising that only someone who’d lived through it could describe a Christian Brothers education so precisely.

“Jesus, where did he get that accent, then?” asked Aisling Doherty (23). “I tell ya, he could melt the chastity belt of a ninety year-old nun with that voice of his.”

As Biffo droned on in his soulless gruff monotone on the TV, she turned irritatedly and yelled, “Would you turn that shite off?!”

“Oh, and his fucking clothes!” exclaimed Róisín to enthusiastic nodding. “I’m torn between wantin’ to tear them off and just leavin’ them on so I can look at him wearin’ them.”

Their discussion was interrupted by an unwashed local man in stained overalls butting in: “How’r ye, girls, any chance of a roide, wha? Nah?! Fucking lesboes,” he muttered, before turning around and farting at them.

With a resigned sigh, the girls realised that this was about as good as it would get in Navan on a Saturday night, and put the magazine away so the worldly charm of Pierce Brosnan would no longer mock them with images of an Ireland that does not exist.

New Eurovision Song to Revolutionise Music History, claim Jedward

London – “Not since Kevin Debussy’s Prélude à l’après-match d’un faune has there been such a musical sensation as we will unleash on the unsuspecting bourgeois public at the Late Late Show Eurovision special,” claimed John Grimes of Jedward yesterday, haughtily tapping his cigarillo ash onto the floor of the hotel lobby where we met to discuss the duo’s latest groundbreaking foray into the unexplored realms of musical possibility.

I met with Jedward to discuss with them their latest artistic creation, a top secret musical work to be unveiled at the Late Late Show Eurovision special on 11 February, and was instantly struck by the brothers’ natural brilliance and unaffected superority.

Jedward, les enfants terrible of Irish music, explore phantasmagoric atonal worlds in their Eurovision song.

“To call it a ‘pop-song’ would be to trammel a unique form of art into the pre-existing molds ordained by the high priests of late capitalist decadence,” added Edward disdainfully. “What we’re interested in are soundscapes of the surreal mind, tonal journeys into the phantasmagoric interstitial world between illusion and reality.”

“Not that we expect you to understand,” he added with the melancholy air of misunderstood genius, taking a sip from his wormwood-laced absinthe to ease the pain.

Jedward’s musical gifts and dashing avant-garde hair have inspired worship and resentment in equal measure since they first broke onto the scene on Britain’s The X-Factor show. Simon Cowell famously cut them off after one verse, saying they weren’t “very good and incredibly annoying.”

John snorted with laughter at the memory while Edward simply raised an eyebrow sardonically. “Simon Cowell can’t even tell the difference between the technical piano-playing virtuosity of Charlie Parker and the inspired jazz improvisations of Ike Turner,” said John derisively.

“One might expect better, but then he is only an X-Factor judge.”

"Not very good and incredibly annoying," claimed Cowell, despite the brothers' obvious brilliance.

It’s easy to see how Cowell was so spooked by the Brothers Grimes. As they litter our conversation with references to influences as diverse as Brian Mozart, Django Winehardt, Vidal Sassoon, Louis Strongarm, Marty Morrissey, and Diana Ross, I saw how even five minutes in their company is enough to convince one that here are two unique individuals whose prodigious talent threatens to overturn centuries of Western tradition in a radical postmodern assault on the foundations of all we assume is ‘music.’

Jedward’s first single, Under Pressure (Ice Ice Baby), showcased their talents while giving the finger to the Establishment.

“We’ve always been fascinated by the retrogressive harmonics of 1980s music,” said Edward, becoming incredibly animated. “In particular, we’ve always admired the pastiches of Vanilla Ice and the insouciant manner in which he reconstructs original material according to a Schoenbergian dodecaphonic compositional method.”

“We wanted to pay homage to such ideas and extend them by randomising time signatures, jamming extra syllables into the lyrical pattern, and limiting our vocal range to half an octave, thereby breaking the line and the rhythm in a free atonal manner that would shock the desensitised ears of radio listeners into truly hearing the music again.”

So successful were the twins in their endeavour that Sony dropped them after one single.

However, the more visionary music executives at Universal Music immediately signed them up to a three-album deal. On 26 July, their first album Planet Jedward went straight to No. 1, largely due to the spending power of teenagers and children.

“We find that younger listeners are more receptive to our experimental approach to contemporary music,” said John as he put the finishing touches to a tone poem he had absent-mindedly been composing as we spoke. “They are less hidebound by the conventions and formulae of what passes for music among the great unwashed.”

Jedward promised, however, that Planet Jedward was only the prelude to the groundbreaking work they had prepared for the Eurovision.

“It’s impossible to describe in words the harmonic range and intensity of our latest work,” said Jedward, weary of having to explain themselves to the ignorant.

“You’ll just have to wait and hear it for yourselves.”

Limerick Increasingly Resembling Angela’s Ashes, Admit McCourt Critics

Limerick – Since the publication in 1996 of Frank McCourt’s Pulitzer Prize-winning memoir Angela’s Ashes, which details the grim horrors of growing up in Limerick in the 1930s and 1940s, defenders of the city have lined up to attack McCourt for misrepresenting the beauty and charm of Limerick.

Memories of his miserable childhood's runaway success always brought a smile to McCourt's face.

In recent days, however, even McCourt’s fiercest critics have started to admit that his memoir may have been prophetic.

“I’ve always been one of McCourt’s fiercest critics,” said Dave Farrell (53), a local Limerick journalist who has written numerous chronicles of the ‘real’ Limerick to counteract the bad publicity generated by Angela’s Ashes.

“I was fully behind Gerry Hannan when he said: ‘The book was vindictive towards Limerick and it’s people. There were plenty of scurrilous lies about innocent people and a lot of facts about the McCourt family were conveniently omitted. It’s a fairy tale disguised as fact.’ I agreed completely there.”

“But now I wonder if the book was less a memoir than a prophecy,” mused Farrell, looking reflectively out the window at a gang of teenagers shooting heroin in a burnt-out Toyota.

“Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood,” wrote McCourt famously in the opening sentences of his famed memoir.

"Actually, conditions in Limerick may be worse than McCourt let on," said Farrell.

“I used to think that was a load of bollocks,” said Farrell, puffing on his pipe. “My childhood in Limerick was very happy. But for these kids today, I don’t know, maybe McCourt was on to something,” he said with a shake of his head, watching through the window as a young man berated his 14-year-old daughter for smoking in front of her baby.

Limerick was originally founded by Vikings back in the first millennium, and as we enter the third millennium the Viking spirit is alive and well in the old town, which has become notorious for unprecedented levels of murdering, raping and pillaging.

“Don’t forget drug-dealing and gang violence,” added Farrell. “There are quite a few books on the subject now.”

One recent international guidebook curtly reviewed Limerick as “best seen through the rear view mirror.”

We joined Farrell on his daily walk into town, accompanied by 200 other citizens of Limerick, scurrying in a large group past estates with blank windows staring soullessly out at the deserted streets.

A typical Limerick Monday morning.

“There are still some parts of the city that retain the old beauty and charm of the city,” said Farrell, casting glances around for any sign of gang activity. “But to see them it’s best to move in broad daylight in large numbers.”

McCourt famously wrote about the small lanes of Limerick, stuffed with overcrowded and unsanitary tenements where alcoholism ran as high as unemployment and grinding poverty was the norm.

“Well, I’m not sure about the 1930s and 1940s,” said Farrell. “Plenty of older people here say it just wasn’t like that.”

“But it’s a pretty accurate description of today,” he said, looking around at the ruins of another closed factory currently being used as a back-alley abortion clinic.

"Totally unrealistic, there's no way two children would be let onto Limerick's streets on their own," said Farrell.

Recent figures show that single men living in a council house in Limerick have the lowest life expectancy of anyone in Ireland. The Guardian in England reports, “So numerous are the inhabitants who carry the white wormy scar from a knife blade that Limerick’s enduring monicker remains Stab City.”

With recession driving unemployment to unprecedented levels, and drug-related gang violence reaching uncontrollable levels, the situation on the ground has now gone far beyond anything envisaged by Angela’s Ashes.

“Well, in any event, it all shows that I was right and Frank McCourt really was making it all up,” declared Farrell, as he watched a group of six men raid the public library for something to keep the hearth burning.

“He made this place out to be an awful lot better than it actually is.”

Culture Ireland Launches ‘Imagine Ireland – As It Isn’t’ Campaign

New York – Irish culture has always valued a ‘cute hoor’ who could screw something out of the government that she wasn’t entitled to.

"No, not that Ireland, imagine a different feckin' Ireland!"

Yesterday, the people of New York got their first taste of this great Irish tradition as musicians, actors, dancers, and performers cutely hoored €4 million out of the Irish government to go live in the US for a while as ‘representatives’ of the Irish people.

The ‘Imagine Ireland – As It Isn’t’ campaign was launched by Culture Ireland yesterday to introduce Americans to all the things that Ireland most definitely is not, in order to convince people abroad that Ireland is not the place it so obviously is.

This quixotic scheme will use taxpayers’ funds to help struggling artists get out of Ireland and into America, in order to show that the ‘cute hoor’ system of public administration is alive and well.

Said Colum McCann, winner of the 2009 National Book Award: “Imagine Ireland will change the perception of Ireland as ‘wrecked and reckless.’ We’ve had a bad run of it. It’s nice to pop back and say we’ve also been creating dance and making stories and films. It’s important that we get this particular part of the story out, because of the crisis.”

“It’s also important that we get ourselves out of Ireland, because of the crisis,” he added.

The old man with the accordion is one of the great myths of Irish culture.

The ‘Imagine Ireland’ campaign features many of those great favourites of Irish mythology, such as the old man with the accordion and the guy with the thing that looks like a set of bagpipes but has some other name no one can remember.

“This is exactly the kind of trad music one can hear in pubs across the country any night of the week,” lied Minister for Tourism Mary Hanafin. “We’re just delighted that we could bring this imaginary Ireland to the people of America, and hope they will continue to believe in it despite the other news they might be hearing about Ireland at the moment.”

In order to showcase Ireland’s innovation as well as its tradition, the taxpayer has funded two naked women to perform modern dance.

“Nothing shouts ‘avant-garde’ like public nudity,” said Emma Fitzgerald of the postmodern dance troupe Fitzgerald and Stapleton, as she rehearsed for her performance by doing a handstand naked. “People may be wondering if there’s anything new and exciting and creative going on in Irish arts – a couple of women standing naked on a stage ought to convince them of our radical new ideas.”

“That ought to have them imagining all sorts of things about Ireland.”

Minister Hanafin said that by demonstrating Ireland’s youth, creativity, innovative spirit, and naked young women, Imagine Ireland would reap returns, for example in tourism and investment, far greater than the €4 million which the Government invested in the programme.

Emma Fitgerald and Aine Stapleton demonstrate Ireland's creativity.

“I’m prepared to strip as well if it’ll convince ye to send some cash our way,” she said, as she pole danced around the microphone and threw her skirt into the crowd.

New Yorkers said they were impressed by the launch.

“Gee, it sure is exciting to see some of the great works of Irish drama performed here in Manhattan,” said Laverne van Dykeman (52). “I went to see the famous Abbey Theatre perform Henrik Ibsen’s John Gabriel Borkman and thought Ibsen’s use of language was amazing.”

“Only the Irish can write drama like that,” she said appreciatively. “But I didn’t really like that thing by, what’s his name, Samuel Beckett? He called it The End and believe me the end couldn’t come soon enough.”

“I’ve no idea what that was supposed to be about,” she added.

Survey: 32% of Men Say Sharon Ní Bheoláin Primary Reason to Go On

Dublin – As Ireland heads into the darkness of an economic storm, there is at least one shining light left for many despairing Irishmen, for whom the gloom would be unrelieved were it not for the luminous presence on our nation’s screens of newsreader Sharon Ní Bheoláin.

Sharon Ní Bheoláin said she was surprised and disturbed by the findings.

A recent survey by on Irish attitudes found that depression was rising alarmingly, particularly among young unemployed men facing increasingly bleak futures. However, Ireland has avoided a spike in suicides due to the daily tonic given by the Six-One News, and in particular co-anchor Sharon Ní Bheoláin.

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far now!” said Andrew Hayes (34) with a laugh as he continued to wash cutlery at his local Burger King. “I know I said it on the survey, but that was just for a laugh. I didn’t know so many other lads would use the same joke.”

Hayes was previously a graphic designer, but since November 2009 has been working part-time as a dishwasher to make ends meet and help him get out of the house and meet interesting new people.

“It was just hard to think of any other answer,” he said, his voice trailing off suddenly as he examined a steak knife closely. “I mean, I’m 34 years old, and I’ve been working part-time at Burger King for over a year now. My fiancée left me and emigrated to Canada six months ago. I had to move into my parents’ attic to save rent.”

He stopped and through the deathly silence stared intently at the glowing steel blade of the razor-sharp steak knife with mounting intensity before closing his eyes tight. “I wonder if she’ll be wearing the low cut black outfit tonight,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “She does look great in that.”

The survey reported that the low-cut black outfit had saved thousands of lives.

Hayes’ case is by no means unusual. A new support group has emerged to help those for whom Sharon Ní Bheoláin is the only reason to live.

“To be honest, we were just surprised that it was only one-in-three men,” said Frank Molloy (42), an unemployed former lorry driver, at a meeting of the group in the packed ballroom of the Merrion Hotel.

“Maybe some lads who have wives and kids can’t openly admit it. They have to keep up a good show about loving their families and all that. Sure, I’d run out on the lot of them tomorrow if it wasn’t for Sharon every day on the Six One,” declared Molloy, to shouts of agreement from those around him.

“But then we started wondering what we’d do if anything happened to Sharon,” continued Molloy. “I mean, what if some RTE executive decided he needed to shake things up, maybe get someone younger? Or the BBC or CNN tried to poach her? Who would be there to firebomb these people’s houses and persuade them to leave her where she belongs?”

The group threatened action against co-anchor Bryan Dobson if he doesn't get his ugly face off the screen.

“That’s why we’re working in teams to follow Sharon everywhere,” he said. “Wherever you go, Sharon, you’ll see you’re surrounded by Irishmen, maybe looking like they’re just out walking the dog or driving to the shop or stepping out for a cigarette. None of them are there by chance.”

“Rest assured, Sharon, we’re not just watching you, we’re watching out for you,” added Molloy in a statement bound to reassure Miss Ní Bheoláin of her safety.

Also present was the former head of Ireland’s National Psychiatric Council, Dr. Maurice Gallagher (58), who said RTE needed to reconsider its wardrobe policy with regard to Miss Ní Bheoláin.

“Our research indicates that if she just opened her blouse another couple of buttons, thereby revealing some more tantalising glimpses of her firm, bountiful cleavage, or perhaps stood away from the desk in a skirt rising two inches above the knee with a high split, we might be able to cut the suicide rate in Ireland by about 30%,” said Dr. Gallagher, who was forced into early retirement by public service cuts.

This rare picture of Sharon with husband led to "Lemming Sunday" in 2009.

“Please, Sharon, we’re begging you!” added Dr. Gallagher, his voice suddenly breaking in long-suppressed emotion.

Hayes said information provided by the support group had really helped him. “Do you know she’s married?” he asked in surprise. “And to some Irish lad as well. Can you imagine coming home every day to Sharon Ní Bheoláin? ‘Can you pass the salt, please, thou golden-haired goddess of Beauty?’ It’s comforting to know there’s at least one Irishman who knows what it’s like to be happy.”

“Now I just have to find the bastard,” he said, thrusting the steak knife into his backpack.

Irish American Wonders Why He Can’t Blend In

Killarney – For big Ciaran McDonnell (37), coming back to his ancestral roots in Ireland was to be a joyous homecoming to the land of his forefathers, but for some reason he can’t fathom every single Irish person he meets can peg him right away as a foreigner.

McDonnell can't understand why he doesn't blend in with the local Irish.

Said McDonnell, the owner of a truck repair depot in the Bronx, New York, “I felt for sure that I could escape all the joshing about my red hair and freckles, the presents of Lucky Charms for my birthday, all the ragging that goes with being an Irish American in a multicultural city.”

“Not that I don’t enjoy playing it up with my homeboys,” he added, eager to clear up any potential questions about his manly ability to withstand barbed comments. “But I thought it would be nice to be somewhere where I could just blend in, where everyone is just like me.”

“For some reason, it’s not really working out like that,” he said disappointedly.

McDonnell’s great-grandfather originally came to the USA in the 1920s, after realising that the stubborn desire to beat the English was the only thing that had been keeping him in Ireland, one of Europe’s most backward and poverty-stricken nations.

Since then, the McDonnell clan has exploded across the USA, breeding like Viagra-dosed rabbits to the disgust of their reserved Protestant peers, for whom sex is a sin that everyone – especially the President – must always abstain from. McDonnell is the first member of the family to return to Ireland.

“Yeah, my great-grandfather had a village somewhere down near Killarney,” said McDonnell, standing on the street with a large map of Ireland, wearing an Aran sweater and a fanny-pack, looking around for signposts that had mysteriously disappeared.

“Hey, buddy, can you tell me where ‘Anne-Day-Engine’ is?” he asked a puzzled local man.

“Where?” said the man, looking at the map. “Oh, you mean An Daingean? Just head towards the west and if you get lost ask people for Dingle. Welcome to Ireland!” he said cheerfully, before hurrying on to the one job interview in Kerry.

An Daingean is actually the least difficult road sign in Kerry for Irish Americans to pronounce.

“I just don’t get it,” said McDonnell in confusion. “I’ve got just as much Irish blood as anyone here. How the hell does everyone know I’m an American?”

“Just the other day I was in a bar here, or a pub, or whatever you call it, and Kerry were playing Gay-Lick Football,” said McDonnell, before stopping to wonder about that name for a bit.

“Anyway, I asked, and everyone said Kerry were probably the favourites. I said, ‘Hey, that’s great! It’s good to be favourites, right? Gives you a big confidence boost to know that everyone thinks you’re the best.’ They just looked at me like I was from a different planet,” he said in confusion.

“I mean, what’s wrong with everyone thinking you’re the best?” he went on, his perplexity growing. “Don’t they want to be champions?”

McDonnell said he found Irish attitudes difficult to fathom sometimes. “The other day, I was standing at a traffic light when a local senator or DT or whatever you call them here came by in a big fancy Mercedes. I said to a local kid, ‘See that, kid? One day, if you work hard, you could be that guy.’”

"Gay-Lick Football? That's another Irish tradition I don't want no part of," avowed McDonnell.

“He just looked at me blankly and said, ‘But he’s a cunt.’ I mean, what kind of attitude is that for a young kid?”

“The funniest thing is that everyone around agreed with him, and told him not to listen to the Yank.”

McDonnell said the only thing more disturbing was how people resented him for not spending enough money. “They kept trying to sell me tacky souvenirs, like their houses, and got all pissy with me when I said no,” said a frustrated McDonnell. “They’d say, ‘You’re a Yank, you can afford it!’ All the estate agents following me and begging me to buy a small cottage for €200,000 on the Anne-Day-Engine peninsula got really irritating.”

As he waited in Shannon for the flight back to America, McDonnell said his trip hadn’t worked out like he thought, but it had awakened a new sense of belonging.

“I can’t wait to get back to New York,” he said with relief.