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.

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.

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.

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.

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