'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide

Just a quick note.

As in the near future (tomorrow!), right after the Lisbon referendum (I command you to vote YES this time!), the recently new elected Power-Germany and the best France since Johnny Hallyday will rule Europe - and especially your little rainy, greenish, moist, damp island - with an iron hand, you might think about booking flights now to escape to other, nicer countries.

To support you in doing do, I want to give you some advice.

I am not sure if you have heard of this, but I came across this airline yesterday and think their value can't be beaten, it is called Ryanair, and basically all you have to do is go to their website www.ryanair.ie and book a one-way flight online. It is a so called low-cost airline, where you can save a lot of money. Their CEO, yur man Michael O'Leary, seems to be a sly and very likeable person. I think they are offering a great service for small money and if I got it right, it is even an Irish airline, ironically enough that the only good thing you ever came up with, serves you pixies to leave your country and never come back. I'll stay here for another while, enjoying the silence and improved air quality when you'se are gone, checking if you left the pot of gold somewhere. I am sure you can't bring it with you, cause the weight restrictions on Ryanair flights are very tight, so happy days.
Anyways, I thought I would just let you know pixies.
I don't expect to see you here anymore by the end of the week.
Take it easy.

And if you come, when all the flowers are dying

And I am dead, as dead I well may be

You'll come and find the place where I am lying

And kneel and say an "Ave" there for me.

Lisbon 2 is the "new" Lisbon 1

Pixies,

I would like to remind you to go and vote YES to Lisbon at the second of October for:


- a better life

- more jobs

- cleaner water


Right, that is what you should made believe, so do so. Done that, we, the mighty Germans, will finally gain power over you again and can do what we want to do with you: taking back our pot of gold!
We filled it up with our precious money for too long now, so you could invest it in your broken economy, streets and railroad stations. We gave you all and you returned nothing. Enough is enough, so vote YES for:


- a better Europe

- the future of Ireland

- a peaceful world

- the sake of Jesus Christ

- the benefits of a greener nature

- peace on earth and even Africa


Please have a look at the following very convincing banners to make it even easier for you to vote YES:

I count on you pixies. Vote YES.

CSI: Superior German

Dear Pixies,

I went to the CSI: The Experience yesterday in town as I am a huge fan of Horatio Caine.
You probably don't know what the exhibition is about, I better explain it to you so at least you have the chance to understand:

The Experience is a museum exhibit providing visitors with a hands-on, exploratory, multi-sensory experience in the world of crime scene investigation.
It is designed to educate the public about forensic processes, procedures and technologies. At the exhibit, visitors will investigate a “real” crime scene and
interact via video with favorite characters from the hit television show as well as real-life forensic experts.

David Caruso and David Hasselhoff have been my favourite actors for years now, so I thought it might be a good possibility to meet my hero and offer him my help with his job.
I always was the best in school and especially in maths and chemistry, as it is just so logical. Very excited I entered the venue, got my ticket and looked around. Strangely enough, Horatio wasn't there.
I must say I was so gutted about it that I was thinking about going home. But as I had paid money already to get in I thought "Why should I donate the money, I was working for so hard, to you greedy leprechauns? Just so you have even more in your stinky pot of gold? Surely not!". Having that in mind, a quick flash of anger pulsed through me.
I wanted to kick asses like "H" usually does in CSI:Miami. So I followed the crowd and joined one of the three staged crime scenes.
After only 29 minutes (!) I already completed my crime scene investigation and compared my clues with those of a real crime scene investigator (not "H" ! He must have been from Germany, I didn't like his stupid accent at all, my picked up Irish accent is surely a lot better than his, even the taxi drivers are asking me all the time, from what quarter of the town I'm from) and determined
which clues needed further analysis. All the other idiots were still pondering, but I think their IQs weren't very high but what would you expect as they were Irish.
After finishing that crime scene, I was even more angry; I paid so much money and now I was done after 29 minutes, they said at the entrance it would take at least 60 to 90 minutes.
To get at least a bit out of my money, I joined the other two crime scenes as well and after 37 more minutes I was done with them too. It was ridiculous, all
the others didn't even solved one scenario, where I was done with all of them. I couldn't believe what nutcases these people are. Seriously, it's no surprise that your police with that funny name (Gardai, is it?) is a joke.
Very dissapointed and furious I left "The Ambassador" and went home to watch my favourite episode of CSI:Miami and to calm down.
It was the right decicion to do that, I knew Horatio wouldn't let me down, he kicked asses and said at the end of the episode:

"Tomorrow is ............... (taking his sunglasses from his eyes) what you make of it."

I smiled and had to think again about all these gobshites - unable to finish one of the the crime scene scenarios. Tomorrow will be mine,  you pixies, tomorrow will be mine.

Acoustical Delight

Autumn.
Days are getting shorter, the nights colder.
Red-nosed people,
dragging themselves to work.
Swine flu jokes revival.
Joy.

Snuff.
Hearty, mucous snuff.
Schni-schna-schnuffy-protest,
insistent, remarkable protest
against the tissue industry.
Mucous snuff, mucous sleeve.
Repulsion.

Gargle.
Ahh... Abnormal noises,
Ahh.. never ending, nerve killing gargle.
Ahh.. rouragraallaaa...
Chronic, everywhere, no escape.
arougraalural.
Psychiatrist needed?
Ahh... arougraalural... Ahh
PANIC.

Pixiemania

My dear pixies,

in this post I would like to thank you.


Thank you for robbing my sleep.

Thank you for causing me another dreamless night.

Thank you again.


Listen up! I don't have a problem in general with you securing your pixie-homes, cars, motorbikes, boats, shops and probably your pot of gold with more expensive alarm systems than the whole thing is worth but you might want to consider that:

• These yokes go off every time a passing by cat sneezes, a squirrel throws nuts on it, the wind of change gently blows over it, a typical mid-thirty, high-pitched Irish woman pretends to be delighted about her friend's new shoes, a Liverpool fan shouts out his anger about Rafael Benitez, a bridge collapses just five days after being inspected (well done my Irish friends, well done), Mary Harney farts, skangers turn up Roxette's "sleeping in my car" techno remix on their mobile phones, Pat Kenny laughs his head off while counting his millions paid by taxpayers money, wanna-be recessionistas are sighing about their miserey of only having 5 instead of the usual 6 (in words: s i x) holidays a year or a lonely butterfly somewhere in the Chinese back-country flutters its wings.
  
• Given the above, why would anyone think these days: Oh, holy christ, there is an alarm, I should go and have a look or even better call the police? Children in Germany are being told only to shout for help if really needed, because otherwise people might think: Not again, shut up, would you?! and ignore it.
  No one gives a damn about your alarms. It's burglars paradise, they only have to put in some earplugs to ignore the noise but apart from that it has never been easier to clear out a house. The only ones that really feel a pain about it are people like me, waking up exhausted night after night.
  

I am seriously wondering how many days a man can survive without sleep.
I am suffering from insomnia, I am desperate, if that doesn't stop soon I need to go to see your infamous medicine man, Dr Pixie McKenna (let's not start with your crap health system at this stage).

If she won't be able to help me, there is only one thing left to do: get some old, smelly clove rock jars, put you pixies in there
and throw them in the Liffey, happily singing :

Mush-a ring dum-a do dum-a da
Whack for my daddy-o. Whack for my daddy-o
There's a pixie in the jar.

Thank you very much.

The Pursuit of Happyness

Last weekend I made a visit to your little neighbours. I would like to call them "the happy northern pixies".
A very friendly crowd that couldn't stop making jokes and laughing about you, talking about how stupid you are being ripped off and fooled by your own government, shops, pubs, restaurants and program directors, whilst themselves are living in their little paradise. I was so touched I had to wipe a tear from my eyes. Their honesty just makes them so likeable, no one would dare to fool them as they are so much cleverer, more brave and better drinkers than you are.

So after a few lovely days up there I went home from Belfast by bus. Full of non-northern pixies that would like to have a small piece of that paradisiacal, yummy cake by putting their money in the "happy northern pixies" economy while destroying their own one, which in the long term inevitable will result in an even bigger rip off, higher taxes and worse, as their own economy is going downhill. That's exactly the short term thinking I would expect from you, little pixies. The dark passenger and devoted dexter could tell you a thing or two about that.
But anyways, back to the overcrowded pixie waggon. Earlier on that day I did a Belfast bus tour and I still had the line in my head the red-haired girl on the tour told us after she was heaping praises on the city and country. She said it that little bit too much, where you start asking yourself: If it's that great, why does she have to say it so often - shouldn't it be even more obvious then? But suddenly I realised she didn't sound like a "happy northern-pixie", she was one of you'se, emigrated, a foreigner like me.
This happy pixie told us that Bill Clinton once visited Belfast and left a line on the peace wall:

"you can not win if you want your neighbours to lose."

Having that line in my head I started smiling: although I was sitting there on my way back to unloved pixie-land - sandwiched between Mary Harney look-alikes eating smelly egg-sandwiches with their mouths wide opened, having their shoes taken off to spread a sweet, stinging odour in the 50 year old, rotten and creeping with groaning axles bus, farting loudly away, embracing my nose with their hairy, sweaty arm pits - I was thinking back of the emigrated pixie, how happy she was and what she said.
I realised I only have to change my tactics slightly on my pursuit of happyness. I am going to stop my inner fighting, I'll become one of yours and as a result I will get my hand on the pot of gold. AND THEN, I will run away with it and turn my back on you, so I never have to see you idiots again. A warm shower of hope came over me and intoxicated by all the smelly feet around me, I fell asleep having a deep, soothing dream of seing myself walking on an open road, facing the beautiful sundown, finally on my way back home.

Have you seen that guy?