What ho, chaps! As a gentleman of standing in the upper echelons of society I often come into, shall we say, tender morsels of information that, should they be released, would cause ructions, old trout. Ructions!
Just today, for example, I came into the possession of two stunning morsels of salubrious information. The first?
Ivor Callely’s Phone Invoice Scandal!
The first envelope this morning contained one of the most sought after scraps of paper in the State. Suck on that, Fintan. Old Harper bests you again – I have it right here. Look upon this scanned JPEG and dispair, old trout. As the lower classes would say – suck it, bitches.
What's all the fuss about? Looks perfectly legit to me old boy.
My mole in the Seanaid provided me with this – Ivor’s notorious phone expense invoice. Cards on the table here chaps – I’m a stout Soldier of Destiny. However even the most biased of observers could not but remark how badly done by Mr. Callely has been in this whole affair! Look! The evidence is there for all to see! It’s even stamped!
I shall expect retractions by the gallon on the front pages by the morrow, chaps. Fair’s fair and all that.
Ian O’ Doherty Scandal!
I’ve always held a soft spot in my third favourite sheeps skin jacket for good old Ian O’Doherty. Witless boor he may very well be, but he holds a banner to every untalented word butcher out there that says “Get Paid For This Rubbish? Yes We Can!” in red crayon writ large.
Still though, sentimentality for his “Little Engine With No Talent, Less Work Ethic That Could For Some Reason” story aside – the man is an almighty witless boor. In fact, were an election to ever be held in The Democratic Republic of Witless Boors, Ian O’Doherty would surely … come second after a botched recount, but still take power after the victor, Neil Delamare, choked to death on his own spit while looking a perdy burdy.
In fact, so witless is O’ Doherty that I’ve long suspected that someone in Independent News and Media has been ghosting (poorly) his unreadable pigscrawl of a column (it’s somewhere near the back – you may not have spotted it due to some primal, lizard part of your brain that tends to ignore useless twaddle). And lo, this morning proof arrived! The poor oik subbing his rubbish finally cracked!
My Gmail inbox (thanks for setting that up for me Mulley – €300 well spent, old trout) crackled to life this morning with the above. The aforementioned poor oik was so flustered with his lot that he accidentally uploaded the raw transciptions of the audio tapes O’Doherty provides him with each morning! These audio tapes (covered in jam, always) are filled to the brim with, and I quote the poor oik here, “the world’s stupidest shit”. In fact, I’ll just cut and paste his email in here and let his words speak for themselves. (How do I do this again, Mulley? €230? No problem, old stick, just do it. Ctrl C and then Ctrl V? Bloody hell man, you’re good at what you do.)
My Dearest Randall,
I attach the above screengrab as a cry to the world that I exist! Each morning I dread the arrival of the post boy and his damned trolley because on that trolley will be a brown, creased envelope that smells of gone off Wispa. In the envelope will be the mornings tape from O’Doherty – smeared in jam, always with jam – and laden down with his thoughts and opinions for the days column.
With trembling hands I push it into the tape deck and press play. What emanates from the speakers can only be described as “fart tongue”. Imagine if a drunken vagrants dirty arse could speak, but only through the medium of farts. That’s how it sounds. It is, truly, the worlds stupidest shit.
I’m going to get the sack for this, once you reveal this Randall. Of that I am sure. But the cold breeze of the dole queue beats this shit hands down. Please see the attached, so I know I exist.
Best,
[name redacted]
Derp derp innit derp
Worry not about the sack! You can always come and work for me, dear boy! The Beamer can never be too clean, what?
Yours etc,
Randall Harper
The Gentlemen's Room 