The Uncommon Man

Ireland’s economy has spiked dramatically today, in what economists worldwide are hailing as an unprecedented miracle. Economist and broadcaster David McWilliams told us that “The entirety of our financial fortunes have taken a u-turn, not unlike the curvature of a beautiful woman’s breast.” He warned us, however, not to be misled by such a u-turn. “The graph actually makes a V shape, so, although it is a u-turn, we would be wise to compare it to the shape made by the frontal part of a sun-drenched woman’s thong.” Exports are up, and new businesses have opened in the past 24 hours. 100, 000 people will return to the workforce over the next two weeks, according to the most conservative predictions. Within the next six months, it is expected that those seeking jobs seeker’s benefits will be negligible. Immigration is set to rocket over the next year, as thousands of ex-pats and foreigners are expected to join the snowballing economic growth.

The public are already calling for honours and accolades for taxi driver Jimmy Nugent, the catalyst of our economic explosion. Universally hailed as the Moses of Ireland, there is fiery enthusiasm for Jimmy to enter the political arena. Queuing for hours outside Mr Nugent’s house, well wishers spoke excitedly about ‘the endless horizon of possibility unlocked by Jimmy’s words.’ Speaking on the Joe Duffy Show yesterday morning, Mr Nugent gave an impassioned speech that has inspired a nation. “Let me tell you, Joe,” he told the jaded presenter with his permission, “the government are a shower of wankers.” Uncharacteristically stunned into silence, Joe forwent his usual elongated ‘yeah’ and allowed Mr Nugent to continue with his illuminating and inspiring oration. “Them bollixes up in Kildare Street are making a balls of it.”, he informed a nation, with a surgeon’s precision, before carpet bombing the entirety of our rotten political system. “It’s not just the government. They’re all the same. All the fuckers in the Dáil.” “I wouldn’t vote for any of them,” he bravely announced. And turning radical, like a wind sweeping the nation, he told an enchanted audience that they should all be removed from office or – in his eloquent parlance – “booted out.” The regime dismantled by his words, he reconstructed the country in an awesome vision, unveiling a blinding kaleidoscope of practical and exciting ideas. “Reduce the TDs’ pay to minimum wage,” he instructed, offering a clear path to recovery. “Reduce the wages of the bankers, too.” In a moment of striking insight, he justified the wage reduction for bankers, telling millions of captivated ears “They’re as bad as the politicians.” Epic emotions running through the audience’s veins, he relaxed us again with masterful wit. “Bankers? More like wankers.” Tickled as we were by the impromptu gag, we were more stimulated by the feeling that things had suddenly changed. The key to all our problems was turned, and although the solutions have yet to be enacted, the shock waves of Mr Nugent’s speech have rejuvenated the country’s spirit, and we are quickly headed for better fortune.

When asked about Mr Nugent on his way to Leinster House this morning, Taoiseach Brian Cowen said he had no comment. Further questions were greeted with grunts from a man who was clearly irritated and distracted. In a full Dáil chamber later on, Mr Cowen began a speech in response to the recent developments. “As I have said before, we must tackle the problems that face us. There are a myriad of reasons we are here, and, as I’ve said before, our…” Breaking from his speech, the Taoiseach made an outpouring of emotion. “Fuck it. We’ve fucked up. I’ve been too proud to admit it. We need to change the way we do business here. We need to take care of each other.” Turning around to his backbenchers, the Taoiseach implored his fellow party members to take no more donations from interest groups and to leave government. “We need to reform and fight for the Irish people, regardless of our position.” Sniffs and coughs filled the silence after Mr Cowen’s speech, as TDs from all parties struggled to hold back streams of tears. Eventually opposition leader Enda Kenny stood up to reply. “I appreciate the Taoiseach’s words.” He started, finding it difficult to continue with involuntary waves of sobbing. “We were all acting the bollix, as James Nugent said. When I’m Taoiseach, I swear that things will be different. We’ll never play politics with the future of this country, I swear.”

Meanwhile, emergency services have been busy today with a shocking and bizarre number of suicides. Dozens of banking executives and property developers have been ending their lives in a variety of dramatic methods. “Some people see it as a statement. An apology for wrong doing.” a bystander told us, while watching the authorities clean up a mess left by banking CEO who threw himself off the Heineken building. Referring to the millions of euros voluntarily handed over to the Revenue Commissioner today, another bystander told us that “some people decided to apologise with money, but for others theirs sins were too great.” The unpaid taxes that have been returned to the Revenue will be used to fund public projects, and it seems the public would strongly favour a statue of Jimmy Nugent, “perhaps one of him on Kildare Street, giving the finger to Leinster House,” as artist Robert Ballagh suggested.

Listen Here, Bucko!

I know you don’t want to hear this, but it has to be said: I wish Jeff Buckley was still alive so I could tell him to get over himself. He actually emits a sigh before singing Halleluiah. It’s not something accidentally caught on mic before the song, it’s deliberately put there. That’s unforgivable. He may as well have told us that we needed to take the song seriously. ‘Treat it with gravitas;’ the sigh tells us, ‘my emotions are important.’ I wish that was the only blemish of maudlin self-indulgence, but the whole Grace album is full of it. It’s hard to imagine a faggier or more pretentious line than, “My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder.” ‘Oh, you’re so literary and tender, Jeff.’ says the college student who listens naively to his whiney voice. To her, he’s not dead; he’s more alive than ever. His spirit wanders sorrowfully forever, as it laments the heartbreak caused by some temporary lover, or some other minor problem that would just cease to trouble him if he preoccupied himself with a real job. She longs to find such a man, but the stirring melodies and poignant sentiments of Grace have misinformed her expectations, and she doesn’t realise that she’s already met such a person. He’s her clinging friend, desperate to be inside her naked body, and trying in vain to bed her through the long and futile friendship route. He wards off all new males, and sweats pure jealousy when she’s out without him. He stains his pillow with thoughts of other men making love to her; he stains elsewhere when he imagines himself with her. She doesn’t want him. She can’t hear his inner turmoil, and he can’t fully express the urgency and power of his emotionally entangled libido. He longs to cry in her arms, to be redeemed in her eyes. This is the sort of man that she wants, but can’t see. If she could, she would realise that she has longed for a complete wiener man. The disgust would hurt for a while, as it would be difficult to delude herself with impossible ideals of men. She would pursue a cad in an attempt to deny her poisoned dreams. Her cynicism would be somewhat diluted by the realisation of how much better sex is with men who aren’t dependent wet blankets (who sleep in wet blankets, funnily enough). He would be better off with his heart smashed. And not for the last time. He would toughen and become world-wise, stowing away his powerful, radiant fantasy romance. Perhaps in years to come, he would experience other women and grow in confidence. No longer pining for her love and attention, he would become fun and attractive Having exorcised his demons with positive experiences, he would swagger confidently down the street. And perhaps – just perhaps – she would be walking the other way, meandering through her disappointing life. Life would bring us together again. Both free, we’d agree to sit down in a café and talk about the years since we last saw each other. She would see me for the first time. The old lyrics would play upon her heart. She’d see a man full of tenderness and an emotional capacity for a true passion. Excitement would tingle within her, as she began to see the twist in the plot. I’d bravely seize the transient opportunity and hold her hand tentatively, before she reassured me with her grip. Walking out together, we wouldn’t be entirely sure what direction we were taking, but we’d know it was leading to a bright, golden destiny…