McManus

In My Defense

2007-07-14T17:14:00.001+10:00

I'm sleeping rough. I was hungry.

Beach, Bum, Belly

2007-07-07T00:27:00.000+10:00

I have to confess that the life of a beach bum isn't as exotic or as relaxing as I'd anticipated, particularly not for a 53-year-old bloke with a hairy beer belly, bald patch and verrucas. And I don't know what I'd been drinking when I decided that shaving the belly would be a good idea and make me look younger. It was a rust-colored liquor offered me by my new amigo Raoul, a retarded poolboy from the local Hesperia hotel who has taken it upon himself to integrate me into the community: the retarded poolboy community. The liquor was meant to be a painkiller and mild sedative while Raoul went to work with his shears: I'm not as hirsute as most of the islanders here (because of my high testosterone count, obviously), but what hairs I have are like wire, and using an ordinary cutthroat razor would have just ripped open my belly like Caligula's sister's, only without the accompanying nutritious meal.

That's all by the by. The pink belly hasn't stopped the women from staring at me, which is all to the good, but when they find out I'm American they turn away and spit on the floor in disgust. Even the ones carrying babies. Actually, the babies spit too.

I shall try telling them I'm Australian. That's more in keeping with the beach bum/surfer dude image, and if this disgust with Americans is all about Iraq, well, the Aussies have a shit-stain army that couldn't invade Tazzie without Pampers and baby oil.

I don't think I'll bother with the accent. Nobody'll know the difference, anyway. Look at Mel Gibson. Plus, pretending to be Australian has the added advantage of allowing me to get pissed in the open air without any stigma being attached to my behavior. Only yesterday morning I was strolling along the promenade with a pint glass in my hand, minding my own business, and this wizened old Spanish bat walking past said to her companion something along the lines of "Fucking Brits. Makes you sick." Babies spitting, I can live with. Being called a Brit: No one should have to live with the shame.

Don't Give Hillary Ideas!

2007-04-27T21:00:00.000+10:00

María Dolores Jiménez, Partido Popular councillor in the Huelva village of Lepe, knows there's an election coming up. Here she is on the cover of Interviú magazine, which caught my eye as I was strolling along the promenade enjoying the breasts.

Jiménez says she has discovered an "erotica of power," something I vaguely remember Kissinger going on about, but he never showed me his tits, so I never voted for him.

As for Hillary . . . I don't think tits will be enough. At the very least she'll have to pose in leather boots and a whip. Bent over, looking backwards over her shoulder.

Peanut butter. There will have to be peanut butter too.

Virginia Tech: Teachers Failed to Spot Early Warning Signs

2007-04-18T23:55:00.000+10:00

Stitched Up

2007-03-13T00:00:00.000+11:00

Israel is replacing its ambassador in El Salvador after the envoy was found outside the embassy, drunk, wearing only bondage gear, officials said.

He was inebriated, his hands were tied and he was gagged with a rubber ball in his mouth.

Easily done.

It's All Gone Very Quiet

2007-03-07T04:43:00.000+11:00

Look at what I've been reduced to wearing while I stroll around town in my efforts to avoid being recognized by Estimulo again. I feel a complete and utter prick.

That said, I haven't seen the greasy fishfucker since I bumped into him the other day, so maybe he's tied up somewhere. With a bit of luck, he was just here on his holidays and he's buggered off back to the Auld Sod to carry on annoying the shit out of the Fearghals. God knows they've got no use for him here.

I, on the other hand, need to establish some kind of cover story for myself so that I can blend in with the natives. But first, I think, a small drink.

Holy Fucking Shit!!

2007-02-28T21:13:00.000+11:00

I was just doing a bit of shopping, minding my own business, and who should I run into but that moron Estimulo!

That can't be a coincidence. And yet they wouldn't send an incompetent cocklob like him to keep an eye on me. He can't even manage Surveillance 101.

Maybe they're trying to scare me. Well, bring it on, fuckers. I'm not running any more. I'll eat it all up.

Still Fucking Hot

2007-02-09T04:45:00.000+11:00

I'm out now, but this place is roasting, and they all talk funny.

Wherever it is, it's a big fucking improvement on Dublin.

I particularly like the scenery.

Is It Safe?

2007-02-02T22:26:00.000+11:00

I'm roasting in here.

I Always Knew Shooting Kennedy Was a Mistake

2006-10-03T00:27:00.000+10:00

They've tracked me down. I'm outta here. Laters.

Chavez Comes Clean

2006-09-28T18:49:00.000+10:00

Identifies main political influence for benefit of UN. Owns up to book club membership alongside Fidel, Osama, Saddam, Ahmadinejad, Kim.

Define "Psychopath."

2006-09-25T21:26:00.001+10:00

Ulysses Handy III

Where Are the Irish Entries?

2006-09-22T23:48:00.000+10:00

The nominees and winners of the World Stupidity Awards have been announced for this year. I can't believe there's not a single entry from Ireland amongst this lot; the Feargals should have been able to manage one, surely, even if they'd have had to incorporate foreigners. No sign either of Estimulo's archnemesis, Pope Bendedinck, who must surely rate up alongside the best for his capacity to make bad situations worse: I always love those, "I'm sorry my statement upset you"-type apologies, which actually mean, "I'm not retracting what I said, it still holds true, I'm just sorry it hurts your feelings, get over it, asswipe."

No mention either of the decision to hold the Ryder Cup in Ireland at ANY TIME OF THE YEAR, not just friggin' September during a hurricane, or stupidest fucking dance show entitled Lord of the Dance, or best example of collective stupidity.

Maybe it's because the whole thing was decided by Internet vote, and no fucker in this country has yet figured out how to work the damn thing. That sort of backward barbarism would explain a lot.

You want to fuck me using a dead man's penis?

2006-09-19T21:36:00.000+10:00

Although the first ever penis transplant, carried out in China, was a success, surgeons had to remove the organ two weeks later: "Because of a severe psychological problem of the recipient and his wife, the transplanted penis regretfully had to be cut off," said Dr Weilie Hu, a surgeon at Guangzhou General Hospital.

Can't imagine what the problem might have been.

Covers Fire, Theft, Kidnapping and Torture.

2006-09-11T20:00:00.000+10:00

"CIA counterterrorism officers have signed up in growing numbers for a government-reimbursed, private insurance plan that would pay their civil judgments and legal expenses if they are sued or charged with criminal wrongdoing, according to current and former intelligence officials and others with knowledge of the program."

The rest is here.

Porn and the CIA: My Chest Swells with Pride

2006-08-30T20:23:00.000+10:00

"Mickey Z" recounts how the Company made a porn film in the late 1950s featuring an actor disguised as Indonesian president Sukarno fucking a Russian chick. They even developed a realistic face mask for the stud to wear during filming.

"The resulting movie and some still photographs from it were passed around influential circles in Indonesia," explains Barry Hillenbrand in Time magazine. "But the CIA miscalculated. Rather than express surprise and outrage at their leader's apparent peccadilloes, Indonesians shrugged."

They shrugged because he was fucking a Soviet broad. Jesus. How would that arouse your interest? I'd sooner be sucked off by a walrus. Besides, that's Indonesia we're talking about. Their pre-election ad campaigns ARE porn movies. You won't get elected unless the country's approved your schlong, trust me.

God is an Atheist

2006-08-24T20:50:00.000+10:00

DUBLIN, Ireland (AP) - Irish atheists are celebrating as a "natural miracle" the discovery of a pomegranate which, when cut open, revealed the phrase "There Is No God" in multicoloured seeds. The pomegranate was bought by local resident Aoife O'Sullivan from a greengrocers in Rathmines, South Dublin.

Andrew Cox of the Irish Association of Atheists commented that, "It only tells us what we've known for a long time, but while we discount divine intervention in the physical universe as an explanation for material phenomena, it's comforting to know that Nature is even-handed in the arbitrary messages She conveys."

Leaders of the country's Muslim community are less impressed. A spokesman said, "The pomegranate is a fruit through which Allah has traditionally spoken to Muslims. I have no doubt that this discovery is part of a series, the other members of which will complete the phrase with the words '...but Allah, and Mohammed is his prophet.'"

Followers have been instructed to buy up all available stocks of pomegranates in Ireland in order to locate the missing items. They can expect stiff competition, however, from the Irish Nietzsche Society, who anticipate finding the entire text of Thus Spake Zarathustra in pomegranate form.

Spotted here.

Hillary Clinton: A Nice Pair of CIA Assets

2006-08-16T19:58:00.000+10:00

A bust, yes, bust, of Hillary Clinton, bearing ample cleavage, was unveiled this week at the Museum of Sex in Manhattan. Artist Daniel Edwards said that

"Her cleavage is on display, prominently portraying sexual power which some people still consider too threatening."

Edwards is the same sculptor responsible for the piece depicting Britney Spears on her knees giving birth on a bearskin rug.

Clinton has not commented on the bust, but I am reliably informed that she spent yesterday morning at CIA HQ, asking everyone what they thought of her baps.

Bomb Plot Foiled: No Coincidence

2006-08-11T21:34:00.000+10:00

How cynical of me to suggest that the announcement of the discovery of a plot to blow up planes flying between the U.K. and U.S. could be timed to coincide with, erm, I dunno, a speech by the Home Secretary warning of the need to further curtail civil liberties, or erm, the defeat of a hawkish Democrat to a peacemong or, maybe, to deflect doubts about U.S. support for continued Israeli aggression in Lebanon, or, erm, to take attention away from the publication of books about Iraq entitled "Fiasco: The American Military Adventure in Iraq" and "The End of Iraq: How American Incompetence Created a War Without End."

No, not cynical at all. Because all of the above-named events, or events similar, are regular occurrences, and it isn't difficult to find something, anything, that can be painted in a sinister light so as to lend an air of conspiracy to the authorities' actions. Of course, it's complete and utter nonsense to imagine that the state bothers to try to cover up business as usual, but such conspiracythink is typical of the usual shite one gets from an antiwar left that spends all its time anthropomorhpizing government or crediting dumbfuck politicians and army brass with the very same duplicity, treachery, and general all-around scummy lack of character that is inherently required to get anywhere in the incestuous world of revolutionary politics. It's ironic, yes, but cynical? No. Just ignorant.

In my view, this whole farrago has really been conjured up to distract the British public from the truth that their vote counts for nothing. Yes. Truly.

Is that cynical? No. Even the government watchdog agrees with me.

Castro: Still Alive

2006-08-08T20:45:00.000+10:00

Conclusive proof.

Ho hum

2006-07-26T02:19:00.000+10:00

The case for military tribunals just got a little bit stronger.

And tell me this. What kind of weirdos carry "photographs of distressed children" around with them?

I Shall Ask to be Buried Next to Stevie Nicks*

2006-07-21T00:03:00.000+10:00

According to the New York Times, funeral directors are having to turn themselves into party planners as boomers start dropping off their perch.

Actually, I quite like the idea of levity at funerals, although my mom still isn't speaking to me since I turned up to my dad's funeral in handcuffs and accompanied by two of my cronies dressed as prison guards. She didn't see the funny side at all.

I shall definitely have ice cream and balloons at my funeral. Black ice cream. Black balloons. And maybe see if I can arrange for Pere Ubu or Beefheart to perform selected passages from Stockhausen's greatest hits as the pallbearers lower the transparent coffin containing my feculent form, hands gnarled and deformed by years of self-abuse, face in the permanent rictus of the Jap smile, into the welcoming embrace of a tank of Glenmorangie. Paradise eternal.

Next week's good for me. Anyone else?

*Assuming she's still alive.

I Hope You're Satisfied

2006-07-17T21:42:00.000+10:00

Because if you aren't, it's too late now.

Waving Meat Cleaver Around in the Street "Not Mental."

2006-07-14T20:58:00.000+10:00

Man goes mental with machete, says the Kilkenny People. Only in passing is it mentioned that the gentleman in question was also wielding a meat cleaver. Is this the result of some sort of bye-law to protect rampaging butchers, or is it, more likely, the result of this country's tawdry racial prejudice against gurkhas, Indonesian forest dwellers, Amazonian tree-cutters, and the like?

I haven't been down to Kilkenny for a few months now, but I always thought the hurley was the only acceptable weapon one could brandish in the city's tourist-congested alleyways. Taking out random American passers-by with well-aimed strikes to the temple is regarded not just as useful training for the local kids but also encouraged by the Gardai as a way of keeping them off the crack, smack, and horse hooves and the Americans in the pubs and shops, where they belong. Meat cleavers seem, I dunno, a little excessive, and not entirely sporting. Not the Kilkenny way.

Maybe the guy's from Tipp.

Exercise in Futility

2006-07-11T21:35:00.000+10:00

I don't understand this. I've got more than enough for everyone.

That "Dissident" Faction in the CIA Identified

2006-07-11T00:09:00.000+10:00

Responsible for "intentionally undermining" the policies of the Bush administration.

I Don't Trust Any Diet That Won't Let You Eat Crackers

2006-07-03T23:01:00.000+10:00

Or One Really Fat Latvian with Constipation

2006-06-29T23:11:00.000+10:00

Demonising Latvians

(To the Editor, Southern Star)

SIR – With regard to Archon’s rant about demonising Latvians “and the absence of scientific proof, his comments can be interpreted as xenophobic”.

Well, I don’t think there is any scientific proof but the fact is 98% of crimes committed in this jurisdiction go unreported, undetected or unsolved. So we don’t know. In order to estimate how much contraband drug substances are being imported and traded in this state the Irish sheriffs take the amount seized by them and multiply it by 15 to estimate the full amount imported and traded.

This is a rudimentary mathematical formula which says whatever we detect there is a 15 times more of it undetected. So if we catch one Latvian with £40,000 of quality cocaine hidden in his anal passage we can conclude that there are 14 more Latvians each with §40,000 of cocaine waiting for their bowels to move.

I think it would be a waste of public funds to carry out proper sociological research by competent experts just to tell us what we already know.

(a) Albanians enjoy investing in pyramid schemes and trafficking their women. (b) Kosovans enjoy smuggling heroin and arms. (c) Latvians are involved in more criminal activity for their population size than any other ethnic group in Ireland.

Latvians 0.28% of population and 4.6% of crime is committed by them. A study like this could cost millions of taxpayer’s pounds. I could commission a leaflet on it for the government.

Xenophobia is a terrible and debilitating medical psychological condition similar to other phobias. This illness can be dibilitating like claustrophia, agoraphobia, aerophobia, anglophobia, acrophobia, pyrophobia, frigophobia, pogonophobia, autophobia, zoophobia, thanatophobia to name but a few.

Fortunately it is highly treatable and there are many therapies to cure sufferers. When you accused Dermot Ahern,T.D., of being a xenophobe, it mirrored the chief rabbi in the UK accusing the leader of the Anglican church of being anti-semetic because he was reviewing whether it was ethical for his church to have shares in a bulldozer manufacturer. I don’t remember the outcome but I do know that like your accusation it was unfounded, unfair and unwarranted.

Another worrying statistic is that now 25% of prisoners in the state’s penitentiaries are foreign nationals. For 6% of the population this is a very high number. Is this a global trend, confined to Western Europe or isolated to Ireland?

An interesting fact is that Catholics are more inclined to commit larceny than Protestants. Studies have been done. It’s scientifically proven.

May I commend you on a fine publication.

Yours faithfully,

Count Arthur Strum,

Reenrour East, Bantry,

(Formerly Zimbabwe)

Dieu et mon Droit.

And Pigs Will Fly

2006-06-21T19:48:00.000+10:00

Still keeping a low profile. Ever since Charlie Haughey moved to warmer climes, I've been expecting revelations about CIA monitoring of Aeroflot flights in and out of Shannon Airport to hit the fan. Given his nickname, the Teflon Taoiseach, we don't expect any of the shit to stick, only to be deflected in our direction, hence the recent small absences that might have left you thinking I was mildly epileptic. Not so. I've just been squaring up a few acquaintances in the press in preparation for a deluge that may not yet arise, but knowing this country, best be ready for the worst possible scenario.

Abnormal Service Will Be Resumed As Soon As Possible

2006-06-13T19:36:00.000+10:00

Something big´s about to blow. Keep watching CNN. Or, failing that, TV3 News and Weather.

Newfound Joy. Newfound JOV

2006-05-29T19:58:00.000+10:00

So, imagine a sexier version of Catherine Zeta-Jones, by which I mean one without the unemployed truck driver accent and that corpse she drags around with her everywhere out of obligation for having married the fucker, and you have my new J.O.V., Mercedes O'Leary. After the tribological investigations of the last two days, my cock is now just a pink mist floating around my crotch area purely out of habit.

I've had her every way imaginable: From behind, upside down, in her mouth, drinking Glenmorangie through a hosepipe while frotting her ass through muslin. All in my head. And still I know that none of them are as good as the real thing, which is surprising, since my experience has always been that the real thing is such a disappointment when compared with fantasy. After all, isn't that why porn is so much fun? You only have to talk to it if you want to, and you don't have to listen at all.

A woman who's better than porn. Christ, this could revolutionize my entire worldview.

And save me a shitload of cash. MasterCard WILL be upset.

Out of Their Tiny Minds

2006-05-24T19:15:00.000+10:00

Following the recent recruitment drive, Langley, in its ineffable wisdom, has decided to send me a trainee. Me, Fer fuck's sake! Like I don't have enough problems keeping it together in this shithole without having to supervise some nose-picking retard with an iPod glued to its head and a familiarity with the world beyond MTV and ESPN thanks only to Richard Curtis and Martin McDonagh.

The poor fucker is coming with the decidedly spurious name of Mercedes O'Leary. Who the fuck chooses the pseudonyms for these people? I mean, I don't even know if that means it's a boy or a girl. For all I know it could be a transvestite neo-Nazi into shape-shifting. And I'm supposed to teach it how to write reports, cultivate agents, use disguises, and fit in with the Feargals. Fuck. I can barely bring myself to do all those things without wanting to puke.

I'll start them at the bottom. Introduce them to my contacts in the media.

Fucking Holiday Inns. They Never Give You Enough Blankets

2006-05-17T23:31:00.000+10:00

Plausible Deniability

2006-05-17T19:22:00.000+10:00

This has absolutely nothing to do with me. I've been in bed all week with a hangover.

Heh Heh Heh

2006-05-16T07:25:00.000+10:00

Mischief Afoot.

I Fucking Knew It.

2006-05-13T01:43:00.000+10:00

You Belong in Dublin

Friendly and down to earth, you want to enjoy Europe without snobbery or pretensions.
You're the perfect person to go wild on a pub crawl... or enjoy a quiet bike ride through the old part of town.

What European City Do You Belong In?

Destined to rot here forever.

At least I have decent company.

Coming Over Here, Taking Jobs from Irish Criminals . . .

2006-05-11T19:49:00.000+10:00

A letter in the Southern Star newspaper of Skibbereen, County Cork:

A CHARA—There has been recent controversy and calls for Charles Clarke, the Home Secretary, to resign due to the release of one thousand dangerous criminals comprising paedophiles, rapists, murderers, drug dealers, kidnappers, armed robbers and arsonists into the community, instead of being deported as was recommended by the judicial system.

At present, the authorities have no idea where these people are. The point of view has been expressed that the Government failed by putting the public in danger.

As Ireland is a common travel area and shares an open border with the United Kingdom, isn’t there a reasonable likelihood that some or all of these persons are now in Ireland, possibly residing in Skibbereen? With uproar in Westminster and across the UK from this blunder, and a crime spree occurring in Ireland at the moment, is anyone looking into this issue in this jurisdiction, or is my concern unwarranted?

As we know, your newspaper treats crime by foreign nationals gingerly and will not print anything that’s not ultra politically correct. That is your discretion. In the Reith lectures 2006, Daniel Barronboine has stated that political correctness is a cop-out.

Mise le meas,

Wentworth Wilberforce,

Llamodos House,

Ballylickey,

West Cork.

DANGER! Oxymoron at Work

2006-05-09T20:53:00.000+10:00

Military Intelligence.

You Know, These Executive Toys Really Aren't All They're Cracked Up to Be

2006-05-04T20:36:00.000+10:00

I Don't Want Sex. I Just Want to Talk

2006-05-03T22:15:00.000+10:00

Hookers in Cologne's red-light district are complaining about the area being flooded by foreign journalists after reports in the British media raised global interest in their drive-in brothels.

Surely it's chance to rest their aching feet.

Delusions of Adequacy

2006-04-28T00:52:00.000+10:00

Well I'm sure you're laughing your fucking pants off. Look at that stupid old fool McManus falling head over heels for a girl 30 years his junior just because she could give him multiple orgasms by means of judicious peristaltic rectal waves. What kind of an idiot could he be to have got to that age and not been able to distinguish between love and infatuation? He's a married man, for fuck's sake, albeit barely. Surely he knows the difference between a mature, healthy relationship between consenting adults and a brief fling: Only one of them features cock-sucking.

You're all scum and I hate you. What's unhealthy about a middle-aged man in the prime of his life hooking up with a nubile young sweetie for a symbiotic life-affirming exchange of cultures and bodily fluids? Even if it doesn't last and one of them dehydrates to the point of dessication, isn't the main thing that they grew in the process?

Laugh all you fucking want. I'll be back bigger, stronger and wiser, after I've had a few drinks. Then you'd better watch out.

Twist the Knife

2006-04-26T19:07:00.000+10:00

Tenderly

Please take my breath from me

Into the fountain

And up from the graves

Tearfully

Joyfully

Burn what is left of me

I don’t want these burdens

I’ve handsomely gained.

You’ll be my guest

And I’ll let you stay

Leave me the check

I’ll pay with the rest of my life

Twist the knife.

Carefully

Quietly

You took what's young from me

I didn't deserve it

I gave it away.

Cowardly

Thoughtlessly

You walk away from me

And I'll tear my heart out

To save you the day

You'll be my guest

And I’ll let you stay

Leave me the check

I’ll pay with the rest of my life

Twist the knife

Tenderly

Please take my breath from me

Into the fountain

And up from the graves.

Lyrics by Neko Case.

Don't listen to country music, folks. It's bad for your heart.

Well, Everybody Leaks Sometime

2006-04-24T19:29:00.000+10:00

CIA fires senior officer over leak.

I'm leaking even as I write. And I'm surprised there are any fluids left in me.

I'm Not Going Soft. I'm Getting Hard.

2006-04-20T19:08:00.000+10:00

So I met this woman at the weekend. More of a girl, really. A student. I can't tell you where, except it involved a hotel lobby.

And I haven't left the bedroom since, except to ablute and call Estimulo a whore.

And I have cramps in my stomach, there are lesions on my scrotum, and I have bedsores. I think I've fallen in love.

I've been out of the loop for so long, I hadn't realized that sexual techniques evolve in the same way as every other form of etiquette. Young girls today don't even kiss the same way as I was taught to. I've learned all about spuffing, how to do the half-natural, and the amount of licking involved in order to elicit a mazda. It's an utter delight. My worldview is being transformed.

She has this one trick, called "The Donegal Catch" that has to be experienced to be believed, although I advise plastic sheeting and a fondness for seafood. She can only do it once every 24 hours but it's well worth it.

I have to go. She's calling me now from the other room, holding a denim belt aloft with a rubber Yoda dangling from the end of it. I wonder what she's going to do with that.

Manuel Is So a Whore!!

2006-04-18T05:42:00.000+10:00

That asswipe Manuel Estímulo has been nominated for a "Blog of the Week" award at the esteemed Mischief of Magpies, but he's protesting once again that by being associated with comedy blogs it makes it look as though his blog isn't serious either. Consequently, he's asking his fans not to vote for him so that he doesn't risk the humiliation of public ridicule.

Come on, readers, you know what to do. Pop over to that competition now and start the bandwagon rolling. I want to see that Dago dimwit on stage before the year is out, protesting the integrity and gravity of his blog while the masses are rolling in the aisles.

I Know Where I'll Be on Sunday, Then

2006-04-13T00:15:00.000+10:00

Sat by the fire in the Sorrento Lounge with a large Black Bush inside me and looking for a large black bush to get inside.

Of All the Nerve

2006-04-10T19:44:00.000+10:00

Both current and former Company employees have been sent a "reminder" from the Publications Review Board that any writings--even blogs--must have agency approval.

Former CIA employee Larry Johnson, who blogs here, received a note that specifically referred to his online writings. According to U.S. News & World Report, Johnson, who has been critical of the Company's failure to defend Valerie Plame, regards the "reminder" as being "very selective" and smacking of censorship.

Couldn't agree more. There was no mention in my reminder of anything written on this blog, which only goes to show, I suppose, that Langley really couldn't give a shit about what happens in Ireland or who knows about it. Either that, or they can see things from my point of view: It's just a harmless bit of fun that might even help to recruit a few new employees attracted by the prospects of sitting on their ass all day reading the papers, surfing the web, masturbating, and drinking Scotch.

If there are any women out there, by the way, who find such activities alluring, please apply to me in writing at the U.S. Embassy, Elgin Road, Dublin 4.

CIA Employee of the Month

2006-04-07T01:27:00.000+10:00

The third in a new series.

Ex-Company Contractor David Passaro

News 14 Carolina tells us:

"Former CIA contractor David Passaro, who's awaiting trial on charges that he assaulted an Afghan man who later died, was back behind bars Wednesday, authorities said.

Passaro, released from jail last month and placed on house arrest, was allowed to leave only for work, church and other preapproved activities.

But he was a passenger in a 2003 Nissan driven by a Samantha Brooke Robertson, 26, of Raleigh when the wreck occurred about 10:15 a.m. Friday. The wreck occurred in Harnett County on a rural road about 14 miles south of Lillington where Passaro lives.

David Passaro turned himself in to authorities and was booked into the Wake County Jail without bail at 5 p.m. Wednesday.

A state Highway Patrol trooper detected alcohol on Robertson's breath but not enough to arrest her, said state Highway Patrol Lt. Everett Clendenin.

Passaro was uninjured, but Robertson suffered serious injuries, Clendenin said. Their vehicle flipped and rolled several times after going through a curve at 80 mph, he said.

Passaro turned himself into authorities and was booked into the Wake County Jail without bail at 5 p.m. Wednesday.

Passaro, 39, a former Green Beret, is charged with assaulting Abdul Wali with a flashlight and punching and kicking him during an interrogation. Wali was in custody for three days before he died in June 2003."

Queen to Honor CIA Torturer

2006-04-05T20:21:00.000+10:00

That heading should get me a few hits. In fact, it was just my first response to reading the sentence "Electrocutionist set for a royal assignment." Transpires it refers to this.

Shame. I thought we were getting some recognition at last, and it would have been a fine opportunity to pick up a few tips from Phil the Greek. Don't tell me he doesn't know a few things about discipline.

You Get What You Pay For

2006-04-04T01:21:00.000+10:00

Why on earth would the CIA outsource torture? It doesn't make sense. You only end up with a bunch of half-educated illiterates who can't speak English being paid peanuts to do an inferior job. They don't have the same motivation, they don't have the experience, the knowledge, the resources, or the infrastructural support and backup, and the information they generate is unreliable, fragmented, and liable to undermine the company's reputation for professionalism and expertise.

You can't trust your core business interests to a potential rival. They should always be looked after inhouse. But if those antiwar nutjobs want to stand in the pissing rain and wind outside the perimeter fence at Shannon taking plane numbers 24 hours a day, who am I to stop them? It's a free country, after all, and plane spotters are held in just as high esteem here as they are everywhere else in the world. Like, say, Greece.

Fuck a Greek, Get a Desk Job

2006-04-01T01:27:00.000+11:00

Yeah, because I always wanted to spend the rest of my career surrounded by morons, paper pushers, psychopaths, sociopaths, obsessive-compulsives, and the imaginatively subnormal.

The entire week has been devoted to writing reports, generating annual reviews of my agents and trying to produce enough evidence that they are being cost-effective. This hasn't been so much of a problem: Informers inside the antiwar movement require little more than their monthly supply of Old Holborn and Rizlas, corrupt TDs are happy with cheap Russian hookers, and journalists go into paroxyms of delight if you say you'll be their friend. No, what's frustrating is having to come up with the neologisms that make the same old shite sound fresh. And because nothing ever happens in this shithole and isn't likely to happen until Michael McDowell gets his greasy hand on the tiller and shows what he can really do to the country (something that isn't going to happen this side of an avian flu epidemic wiping out every town west of Lucan), I have to pretend that spilling out onto Dawson Street at 9 in the evening after a libatious lunch with needy and obsequious hacks from the tabloids amounts to an in-depth debriefing on the policy developments in the Republican movement in response to some new British government duplicity. At least the Brits can be relied on for that.

What a fucking pain in the hole. If I was meant to be a writer, surely I'd have been given stronger wrists. As it is, three minutes is as long as they can keep going before I need a rest.

It's usually long enough.

Who Superglued the Trees in Herbert Park Again?

2006-03-29T00:02:00.000+11:00

Small Mercies

2006-03-24T01:04:00.000+11:00

So I was over in London last week on a well-deserved break from the Feargals, which gave me a chance to look up one or two old acquaintances from my days as an international relations student at the London School of Economics. What are you laughing at? I realize it's difficult to picture this contemporary paragon of sophistication as a spotty student, but every magnificent, proud, upstanding oak starts off as a feeble, insignificant, Euro-weenie acorn.

Eddie Mahon, who I went through preliminary training with at Langley, is now working undercover at London Zoo while keeping tabs on the illegal endangered species market. I had a chance to catch up with him and have a few bevvies in the Globe pub by Baker Street station. Of course, I couldn't tell him too much about what I was up to these days, although he'd heard about the Athens fiasco and had assumed I'd been "Maxwelled." I was able to disabuse of him such notions:

"The Company always looks after its own, Eddie, you should know that," I told him. "They've just moved me even deeper so that I can't be tracked by Al Qaeda or, worse, the Chicago Tribune."

He nodded and spat on the ground at the mention of that piece-of-shit rag.

"You don't have to tell me," he said. "They gave me this number after I was photographed skiing with five members of the Liberal Democrat party."

"Really? Just for going on holiday with third-party politicians?"

He gave me a look of incredulity.

"No, you stupid fuck. Skiing." This last word he emphasized with a mime that words alone cannot do justice to. Suffice to say I won't be watching the Winter Olympics in the same light ever again.

The trip also gave me the chance to catch up with a couple of old flames, sweethearts from my old LSE days who'd made careers and lives for themselves in London, having, I imagined, by this stage gotten over the trauma of being deflowered by my humoungous organ. They had indeed, but it didn't make them any more willing to reminisce or revisit the highlights of our days together (and, to be fair, my highlights did not coincide with theirs.)

My conversation with Gina had sounded promising enough. "I've been waiting for this moment for years," she said. But when I arrived round at her place in Ladbroke Grove, my expectations proved misplaced.

Helena, on the other hand, was more explicit and direct as regards her feelings about our relationship. And it had nothing to do with the 21st birthday present I bought her all those years ago.

Nevermind. Upon returning to Dublin, I found a package on the hall dresser with my name on, courtesy of that waster Estimulo. Transpires he'd made himself useful while on holiday in Lanzarote and had come up trumps with a nice litre bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label. Got it cheap, too, which suggests Lanzarote as a potential holiday destination, so long as the pussy there's hot and speaka da English.

Actually, speaka da English doesn't matter much.

And I Thought Dublin Was Expensive

2006-03-21T00:52:00.000+11:00

Thirty quid for a handjob up the West End!

Thieving bloody winos.

My Kind of Country Singer

2006-03-10T22:19:00.000+11:00

The magnificent Neko Case.

I can't claim to be a huge fan of her music, but you should see that woman move around the stage. I'm getting wood just thinking about it.

A Man After My Own Drugs

2006-03-09T23:43:00.000+11:00

It isn't often I discuss music hereabouts. I guess that's just because of my overt philistinism and belief that the last good, authentic misogynistic C&W artist in the old style died when Jimmy Martin hoyked the big one last year. All the country artists these days are sissyfied pantywaists in touch with their feminine side (see Big & Rich, Toby Keith) or else have betrayed the ironic parochialism of Nashville by crossing over to the mainstream (fucking Garth Brooks, for instance). Ryan Adams, Dwight Yoakam, and Steve Earle have brought us all to a pretty pass, apotheosized by a couple of sodomizing cowpokes making it into the movies, fer christ's sake. Even the Man in Black hasn't escaped. The minute he's dead, the Cash Machine plunders his past in search of a redemptive fairytale to make you feel good about the absence of squalor and rage in your own mediocre existence.

Not that I'm advocating traditional down-home homophobia here: I'm just pointing out that you can't listen to a good C&W song any more without being taken to be a little bit "sensitive." It irritates like an obstetric fistula on crack.

So I'm pleased to have discovered East River Pipe, a guy who sings about stuff I understand: The importance of drugs to keeping a stable mindset. There's a site, here, that tells his full biographical sob story, but the point is that he can write poignant songs that all of us who live scummy lives of isolated misery leavened only by Zoloft, Viagra, and copious amounts of distilled grain can identify with.

I'll be down to my nearest "edgy" music store this lunchtime to lift the new album and see if I can't rub up against some young wans with rings through their lips and gentle, undulating curves on their person anywhere from the neck down. Failing that, I'll frot the clientele in Boots.

CIA Employee of the Month

2006-03-09T00:53:00.000+11:00

The second in a new series.

Executive Director Karl "Dusty" Foggo

"A stunning investigation of bribery and corruption in Congress has spread to the CIA, ABC News has learned.

The CIA inspector general has opened an investigation into the spy agency's executive director, Kyle "Dusty" Foggo, and his connections to two defense contractors accused of bribing a member of Congress and Pentagon officials."

The rest is here.

No indication as yet that he likes to break into work colleagues' homes to steal women's underwear, however.

I'll keep you posted on that one.

Correction

2006-03-07T21:30:00.000+11:00

It has been pointed out to me by several readers that the image accompanying yesterday's posting was quite clearly not that of Minister for Arts, Sport and Tourism Mr John O’Donoghue, but of the Minister for Justice, Equality & Law Reform, Michael McDowell. My profoundest apologies for this obvious error.

A portrait of Minister O'Donoghue can be found here.

Should Have Flown CIA

2006-03-07T02:34:00.000+11:00

Minister for Arts, Sport and Tourism, Mr John O’Donoghue, TD

These modern carriers can be so fussy sometimes. You can be sure that we wouldn't have been so demanding. All the minister needed to do was be in the wrong place at the right time and we'd have picked him up free of charge. No questions asked.

Well, okay, lots of questions asked, but in the nicest way possible.

CIA Airlines—You'll Never Want to Land

My Personal Anchor

2006-02-28T22:02:00.000+11:00

Besides Scotch, that is.

The main problem with having multiple identities (not in the clinical sense, like Frank, but as a hazard of the job) is having to keep track of your separate lives, compartmentalizing friends and acquaintances, enemies and work colleagues. In my safe back home at Herbert Place I keep a folder that contains the details of the backstories of each character.

Here, however, is a glimpse of the real me, the Joe McManus who hides inside my wallet. You are sworn to secrecy.

I always carry with me:

A picture of the wife and kids,

My driver's license,

A picture of my first sweetheart,

Contraception and

Lubrication,

My shrunken head keyring (My first posting was in Surabaya. This was my boss after he got caught by rebels),

A photo of the house I grew up in,

And proof of my educational qualifications: I studied at the University of Real Life, only I got kicked out, so now I practice at the Bar.

And in case I'm incapable of speech of an evening, a picture I can show to people to direct me to the nearest bed.

Nothing here comes as a surprise to you, though, does it?

History in the Making

2006-02-27T21:08:00.000+11:00

At lunchtime today, the distillers at Bruichladdich are attempting a Quadruple Distillation!! I'm salivating at the very thought.

What's more, you can watch this 92% proof nectar being made on the distillery's very own Web cam.

It's better than being present at the birth of your kids.

Okay, the birth of my kids.

Which wasn't all bad, I suppose, since I had a couple of Cohiba Robustos to hand.

Alfred McCoy's CIA Fetish

2006-02-24T23:36:00.000+11:00

It's almost enough to give one a persecution complex.

Alfred McCoy, professor of history at the University of Wisconsin, has another book out about the CIA, somebody else jumping on the torture bandwagon. It's called A Question of Torture: C.I.A. Interrogation, from the Cold War to the War on Terror. He's also the author of The Politics of Heroin: C.I.A. Complicity in the Global Drug Trade. There's an interview with him by Amy Goodman on Democracy Now! here.

A sample:

"Look at the most famous of photographs from Abu Ghraib, of the Iraqi standing on the box, arms extended with a hood over his head and the fake electrical wires from his arms, OK? In that photograph you can see the entire 50-year history of C.I.A. torture. It's very simple. He's hooded for sensory disorientation, and his arms are extended for self-inflicted pain. And those are the two very simple fundamental C.I.A. techniques, developed at enormous cost."

Puh-lease! Enormous cost to the KGB and MI5, maybe. These techniques have been well-known for decades and didn't cost a penny. MI5 were experimenting with sensory deprivation and self-inflicted pain back in the early 70s: Making hooded Feargals lean against a wall while they pumped white noise into the room. You should know better than to assign to the CIA that level of sophistication.

"From 1950 to 1962, the C.I.A. ran a massive research project, a veritable Manhattan Project of the mind, spending over $1 billion a year to crack the code of human consciousness, from both mass persuasion and the use of coercion in individual interrogation. They tried LSD, mescaline, all kinds of drugs. They tried electroshock, truth serum, sodium pentathol. None of it worked. What worked was very simple behavioral findings, outsourced to our leading universities -- Harvard, Princeton, Yale and McGill -- and the first breakthrough came at McGill. It's in the book."

Yeah, Alf, I'm sure it is, only those research projects weren't about torture, they were about brainwashing. It was a way of avoiding ever having to torture anyone. A brainwashed populace supervises itself.

I don't want to sound too cynical, but it amazes me that people are still surprised that the military engages in this sort of thing. It's what all militaries do, Silly! And the research that has been going on down the years has been research into methods of interrogation that LEAVE NO MARKS. Self-inflicted pain, psychological torture, that's what hooding and standing for hours is about. It doesn't look like torture because there are no thumbscrews, no rack, no wheel. It's acceptable torture.

The beatings, the humiliations, the deaths in Abu Ghraib, that's just "the gloves coming off." If anything, that was when the research became a waste of money.

Not a Day Goes By That I Don't Fantasize About Eating Out Some Woman's Ass

2006-02-23T21:26:00.000+11:00

The opening lines of my autobiography.

Do you have a secret? If so, why not post it here?

Alternatively, you could send it to me, at mcmanus53@gmail.com. I promise not to tell anyone. It'll just be between ourselves.

Jesus, the office gets boring sometimes.

Define "Educator"

2006-02-22T22:54:00.000+11:00

From today's Irish Independent:

"A poster campaign for TG4 reality programme 'Paisean Faisean' which features young men buying clothes for women, was found to be unduly sexual and catering to sex stereotypes in its depiction of a young female teacher dressed more like a prostitute than an educator."

Just So Long as They Don't Cancel My Japanese Hustler

2006-02-22T22:40:00.000+11:00

The CIA has spent the last seven years covertly sifting through millions of pages of decades-old public archives and removing documents that the agency deems sensitive or embarrassing.

Documents taken off open shelves included a complaint by a CIA director about the bad publicity the agency had received for failing to predict anti-American riots in Colombia in 1948, and a record of which foreign magazines the state department had ordered on behalf of US intelligence agencies in the same year.

Miracle Cure!

2006-02-20T23:09:00.000+11:00

The love of my life made an unsolicited call over the weekend, bringing solace and rejuvenation. My good friend Delia, who supplies me with knock-off Glenmorangie, turned up on my doorstep with the above-pictured bottle in his hand, gift wrapped and with a label on it reading "Holy Water from Knock." "Just in case the Gards stop me and get nosey," he explained.

Turned out to be no such thing, but an authentic and suprisingly palatable bottle of Cooley Mountain poteen, distilled by some of Delia's "good friends in the North" and guaranteed to result only in temporary blindness. "Had the Soviets ever invaded, this would have been the national drink," he said. "Proper Irish vodka. You'll just love it."

He'd read about my predicament on the dog disease front and was in the fortunate position of having a solution to hand.

"Don't drink it neat, mind, Joe. You can rub it into your knob without diluting it, and that'll send it numb for a couple of days while it kills the virus, but if you swallowed it, both ends of your intestine would attempt to escape from the nearest available orifice. I've seen it happen. You have to cut it with something."

And thus it was that last night we sat together, me with my dick soaking in a glass of neat poteen, sipping Potetinis (poteen and Martini) , Feckin Marys (poteen and tomato juice), and Orla's Orgasms (poteen and Bailey's), while chomping on Doritos and watching the Baftas. Interestingly, there's none of the maudlin sentimentality you get from whiskey and which I'd always thought was a national trait of the Irish. It seems you just get the giggles and then pass out.

I felt like a new man this morning, with only a small amount of throbbing between the legs and a sore ass. And the vision came back after a couple of hours, as Delia had promised, but I can't for the life of me find the remote. I'm sure it'll turn up somewhere.

(P.S. A quick hi to CB, a fellow giggler and cheap vodka drinker. I drank a toast to you last night, my dear. Hope to keep you giggling.)

The Leinster House Cafeteria: That White Powder Gets Everywhere

2006-02-17T23:47:00.000+11:00

Nasal Warfare

2006-02-16T21:51:00.000+11:00

Traces of cocaine have been found in the toilets at Leinster House, just meters from the main Dáil chamber. What can this possibly mean?

Well, only that the cleaners aren't doing their job properly. I mean, Traces?! Come on. The last time I was in the toilets in Leinster House, there was a flunky dressed up as a butler who proferred you a towel and the choice of "Mirror or syringe, sir?"

I don't get the feigned horror. You only have to spend half an hour in the main chamber listening to the TDs to realize that half of them are on acid and the other half are on speed just to stay awake.

And it isn't like those fuckers need coke to give them megalomania, so I reckon it was probably some lobbyist or wanker in PR who's to blame. And that's only understandable. Those jobs come with low self-esteem written into the contract.

According to the Gráinne Kenny of Europe Against Drugs, "Drugs are destroying this country. This can't be swept under the carpet."

See, that's the problem right there. They need new carpets in the toilets.

The Ugly Truth

2006-02-14T21:29:00.000+11:00

For educational purposes more than anything else, and because I've bought a new digital camera, I thought it would be worthwhile letting my readers see what a male member stricken with canine herpes virus looks like. It isn't pretty, but if you've got a strong enough stomach, here's a diseased grown man's cock.

Why Does It Hurt When You Pee?

2006-02-13T21:06:00.000+11:00

Because you've been fucking my wife.

Well, that's one possible reason. It's certainly why I've been getting fire down below, although I wasn't able to confirm it until I was rushed into the Blackrock Clinic last night and quarantined until I could be diagnosed.

It happened like this: Every Sunday afternoon I have a pleasant set or two of tennis on one of the indoor courts at Fitzwilliam, a friendly doubles with two doctor acquaintances of mine and another colleague at the embassy who's new to the country and just finding his feet. The last thing he needs is membership at Fitzwilliam, of course, but that's another story.

So we're in the showers afterwards and I mention to one of the chaps that I've been suffering over the past few days with some burning when I take a piss and, for good measure, that my shit seems to have turned into a yellowish green stream not unlike the Liffey on an August bank holiday.

"Any trouble eating, any loss of appetite?" he asks.

"A little," I admit. "And a gnawing pain in my back. My kidneys, I imagine."

So the pair of them confer and agree I should head over to the clinic for a consultation toute suite; not that they wanted to panic me or anything. So over I go to Blackrock and meet with this consultant they know, a baboon-headed ex-rugby player who fiddles with my dick for a couple of minute, says "How long as it been like this?" presses my kidneys to elicit shrieks of agony, much to his amusement, and tells me he has no idea what the problem is, at which point into the office comes his sister, who's giving him a lift down to Wicklow. She takes one look at my dick and says I should be locked up right away.

At which I experienced an uncanny sense of déjà vu. That's another story.

But it turns out that sister is a vet, and after they'd put me inquarantine, taken blood, urine, and stool samples, they were able to confirm that that mysymptosm were all the result of me contracting something known as CHV. And that's how I know I got it from Ellie the other week.

Canine Herpes Virus.

The minute the vet asked me if I'd been sucking off any dogs in the past few months, I knew who was to blame.

I think the divorce is back on.

CIA Employee of the Month*

2006-02-10T22:26:00.000+11:00

George Dalmas III

I have it framed and on my wall.

*This award will be rescinded if it turns out he was innocent or if he was authorized by his superiors to engage in this illegal activity.

Don't Punish a Guy for His Enthusiasm

2006-02-10T02:13:00.000+11:00

CIA employee George C. Dalmas III has been arrested and charged with 17 burglaries in and around McLean, Virginia. In a search of his Falls Church home, police said, they found a stunning trove of cash, jewelry, antiques, license plates—and bags filled with more than 1,000 women's undergarments.

Let's get some perspective here. The guy was clearly frustrated at not getting a chance to put his expensively acquired tradecraft to some use, and the fact that he targeted fellow Company staff suggests that he was going out of his way not to involve civilians: My suspicion is that he was simply trying to prove to them how skilled he was in his job. I can relate to that frustration.

As for the possession of women's underwear, well, who amongst us has not fantasized about their female work colleagues or else about their male work colleagues' wives? Come on, be honest. Even the rough ones. You know you would.

For my own part, I frequently find myself forced, in the middle of the afternoon, to beat a hasty retreat to the Gents if Maggie's been hanging around the office in that black pencil skirt and the blouse that doesn't button up right. And though I usually avoid dinner parties at Frank's place because of the wall-punching and the slanging matches, that meal I attended there the week before last was attended by such luscious, curvaceous, moist MILFs that half way through dessert I had to pop upstairs and pull myself off in their bedroom because I couldn't wait in the queue for the john.

And what if I did rifle through his wife's underwear drawer while I was up there? I needed something to wipe myself off with, didn't I? It was all perfectly innocent.

Never mind arresting Dalmas: They should give the man a raise.

Free Drugs? See Me After School

2006-02-08T21:14:00.000+11:00

People are forever saying to me, "Joe, you're in the CIA, you must have immediate access to Class A drugs." And I say, "If you think you're getting your hands on any, you'd better don the kneepads and put ice in your mouth right now." But the truth of the matter is that there simply aren't enough Class A's in this country to go round. I've always been one for the gargle myself, as you know, and, once you appreciate what a craven, insipid, tedious, greasy bunch of dirtballs make up the various TDs, journalists, civil servants, trade unionists, and party sycophants I have to deal with on a day-to-day basis, you'll understand why the majority of them prefer to be paid in Viagra. Because there's not a man among them capable of sustaining a woodie without chemical assistance and a pony in the room.

Frankly, this suits me. I'd sooner be dealing with Pfizer than get embroiled in some turf war with the loyalist gangs and Eastern European mercenaries who appear to control the flow of hard drugs into this sceptic isle, and happily it isn't my concern that homegrown, indigenous Irish gangsters are being pushed out the market and not given a chance to show what they can do. That's for Micheál Martin to sort out.

Vote, Vote Estimulo!

2006-02-06T22:31:00.000+11:00

The Irish Blog Award nominations are out and the public vote has begun. Yours truly is up there in the best blogger category, but, more important, Manuel Estimulo has been nominated in the Most Humourous Post category. Excellent. I nearly wet myself when I saw that!

Given that Estimulo's blog is written in all seriousness and without a trace of irony, I think it would be marvelous if he won. I am therefore encouraging all my readers to vote Estimulo in the Most Humourous Post category (needless to say, vote McManus in best blogger, that should be a no-brainer). It would undoubtedly be a fitting and appropriate award for the Spanish Intelligence Services.

Of course, if you can't bring yourself to vote for the yellow-bellied Eurocreampuff, you can vote for my description of our meeting at the Celtic Whiskey Store in the same category, thereby registering your contempt for the "pobre fascista" and striking a blow for freedom, democracy, and Glenmorangie drinkers everywhere.

Not to be Confused with Mia Farrow*

2006-02-02T23:18:00.000+11:00

If you've ever bothered to consult my profile and read past postings, you'll know that one of the reasons I'm in this pitiful place is because of that faux pas that involved an ambassador's wife, a tub of Greek yogurt, a few retsinas, and her dodgy ticker. That indiscretion was, in part, also responsible for my estrangement from my wife of 13 years, the incomparable Ellie (incomparable in the way that, say, the execution of Damiens was incomparable), although it's also worth mentioning, on her part, all that stuff with the Wiccans at Fort Hood and the ram fellating.

Seems, however, that there may be some spring-like softening in the air, since Ellie and I enjoyed a reunion and, though I hesitate to suggest it, a degree of reconciliation last night in the Berkeley Court hotel, where she was staying, over here for a conference of bulletproof vest salesmen. After a decent enough meal at the Malaysian place on Baggot Street, I walked her back to the residents' bar for a couple of Midletons, whereupon she intimated that it might be worth my while hanging around for the night, she having apparently lost the taste for ram jizz and desirous of reacquainting herself with the real thing (approximate size).

Now, Ellie is the mother of My Farrow*, our triplets, Lee, Harvey, and Oswald, and I am well acquainted with what the birth of even one child can do to a woman. Immediately after the birth, Ellie was in a particularly bad way, even though we elected for Cesarean, and the distance that developed between us was undoubtedly related to the decline in frequency of relations between us at that time, but since we separated she has been on a course of HRT and regular intensive exercise, all of which has contributed to her current svelte but slightly more hirsute than normal appearance.

I've never been one to be squeamish, however, and I find the "au naturelle" style favoured by our continental friends to be a pleasant break from the norm, the norm being whacking off into Mansize tissues on a bench in Herbert Park. Thus, I was more than content to chow down on some old-fashioned hair pie, garnishing it with a spritzer of spittle, vaginal juices, prostate fluid, and Bacardi: Let's call it a "Berkeley Court" and see if we can't win a few cocktail awards.

The lads, she tells me, are as inseparable as ever. It's good to know they're watching one another's backs. That's particularly important in a state penitentiary.

*For what it's worth, Mia Farrow continues to be one of my J.O.V.'s, though I can never get the image of her blowing Sinatra out of my head. It's also sad to see how much she's let herself go in recent years, don't you think?

My Name Is Joe and I'm Addicted to Oil

2006-02-01T22:16:00.000+11:00

I couldn't do without it. It sustains my entire lifestyle.

One of the World's Thinnest Books

2006-01-31T03:38:00.000+11:00

Thomas Sileo's CIA Humor: A Few True Stories from a 31-Year Career.

Thirty-one years in the business and he just about manages 100 pages. That's pitiful.

I bet there's no mention of the time we shot Reagan by mistake, or that meeting in the Kremlin when Brezhnev said he wanted to defecate and we all thought he'd said "defect," or how the Shah of Iran spent all his country's money on penis extensions.

And what about Robert Maxwell? Put up your hands if you honestly didn't think he'd float.

Cocksucking Pussy Fungus

2006-01-27T02:49:00.000+11:00

The wonderful Noreen hit me with one of those blog memes, and I figured it would enable me to look busy at my PC while smacking my dick against the underside of the desk. The meme requires answers made up of 7 items, but I thought of 8 phrases I use regularly, hence the title of this post. Anyway, here goes:

Seven things I must do before I die:

1: Get a handjob off the nurse
2: Wipe the hard drive
3: Give that two-way dildo back to Bono
4: Own up to Salman Rushdie
5: Eat an Ortolan
6: Eat Naomi Wolf
7: Shoot the Hostages

Seven things I cannot do:

1: Ejaculate without weeping
2: Dance the Foxtrot
3: Poison journalists without giggling
4: Be polite to nuns
5: Remember which side of the road to drive on
6: Resist offers from hookers
7: Resist trying to get a discount from hookers

Seven things that attract me to a city:

1: Its licensing laws
2: The reputation of its red-light district
3: Its proximity to the beach
4: The perkiness of its residents' nipples
5: The presence of a university campus or women's prison
6: Strict antivagrancy laws
7: Lenient penalties for sodomy.

Seven things I say:

1: How much for anal?
2: Ice? Are you fucking mad?
3: But it was the police who told me I should call you.
4: If they ask, you’re 16.
5: It isn’t small, it’s deformed.
6: This won’t hurt.
7: I don’t care how you pronounce it, Fritz, you're not putting it there.

Seven books I like:

1: The Vagina Monologues, by that woman.
2: Pornography: Men Possessing Women, by Andrea Dworkin
3: Gilead, by Marilynne Robinson
4: Care for Your Hamster (RSPCA Pet Guides)
5: Advanced Master Handgunning: Secrets and Surefire Techniques to Make You a Winner, by Charles Stephens
6: The Sociopath Next Door, by Martha Stout
7: The Encyclopedia of Unusual Sex Practices, by Brenda Love (yeah, right)

Seven movies that I’ve loved:

1: A Scent of the Jung Frau
2: The Dicksie Chix Do Dallas
3: Brownian Motions
4: Fists of Filth
5: Freddie Got Felched
6: Labial Warriors IV
7: Salo, or the 120 Days of Sodom

Seven people to tag:

I'll pick seven at random from my sidebar; Mrs Tilton, Rull, Reidski, Jimmny, Gavin, Fagmeister, and that shower of shut-ins in the Community.

Because the CIA is Family-Friendly

2006-01-25T02:22:00.000+11:00

Next Week: Ginger's Big Adventure in Romania

(Can you spell "Rendition"?)

British Intelligence: Still in the Stone Age

2006-01-25T01:08:00.000+11:00

4 British spies and their up-to-date stone-like transmitter detected in Moscow.

An Apology

2006-01-23T23:58:00.000+11:00

A couple of weeks ago, I mentioned the samizdat “outtake” movie that DIA and CIA put together every Christmas and circulate around the embassies. I also happened to comment on Frank’s contribution to the tape which featured,

“a married member of the Dail for a constituency a fair way from Dublin engaged in a threesome with what are ostensibly two blond Lithuanian tourists but who were in actuality a pair of Estonian hookers who Frank regularly calls upon to “make friendly” with visiting VIPs.”

Since mentioning that tape, I have been inundated by letters from TDs from all around the country insisting that I confirm that they were NOT the individual in question. Included amongst these letters was one from the featured performer himself.

I wish to make it clear that there was no intention to cause any distress to innocent members of the Dail or their families in drawing attention to this compilation and to stress that the video in question was accurately titled the “Best of 2005.” All those letter writers concerned that previous compilations were being recirculated in a new guise can rest assured that indiscretions committed in prior years are now in storage and will not be accessed for the purpose of general entertainment.

Thank you.

Conspiracy Confirmed

2006-01-20T22:34:00.000+11:00

Armagnac Glazed Human Pituitary Glands Sautéed and Wrapped in Bacon

An anonymous benefactor has e-mailed me this photo evidence (taken using the camera on her mobile phone) from a recent banquet at the Mansion House, at which she was appalled to be served this delicacy as an hors d'oeuvres. Needless to say, she was able to feign the need for a toilet break and escaped through a fire exit.

God alone knows what debaucheries the political reptiles who are running this country engaged in subsequently. As we all know, the Mansion House has sound-proofed private cells in the basement, where no one can hear you . . . .

Well, fill in the blanks yourself.

A Gland Day Out

2006-01-19T23:41:00.000+11:00

According to the Madden Report cover-up, the pituitary glands of hundreds of dead children were removed without their parents’ consent for manufacturing human growth hormones during the 1970s and 1980s.

Between 1976 and 1988, almost 14,000 glands were removed – around 10% of which were from children – by staff at 26 hospitals in Ireland.

The report by Dr Deidre Madden into organ retention said hospitals were paid a nominal amount to remove the glands which were used by two international pharmaceutical companies, but she said she found there was no commercial motive on the part of any hospital or its staff in supplying the glands to Kabi Vitrum (now Pharmacia Ireland) and Nordisk Gentofte (now Nova Nordisk).

Disregarding the fact that money changed hands and the pharmaceutical companies undoubtedly profited from the purchase of glands, what happened to the several thousand OTHER glands taken from children and not mentioned by the Madden Report? One hospital reported that it alone had removed around 7,500 glands from dead children.

There is undoubtedly a conspiracy at work, and it wouldn't surprise me if the shape-shifting lizards in the Progressive Democrats aren't behind it. I suspect that, far from being used for experimentation, these glands are being served up at state banquets to fellow shape-shifters, who derive much of their energy and psychic power from cannibalism.

It's only a matter of time before the elite of Irish society are exposed for what they really are. It wouldn't surprise me if David Icke wasn't already on the case.

Chomsky: Irish Government Bends Rules to Facilitate American Interests*

2006-01-18T21:32:00.000+11:00

Bostonian MIT anarchist Noam Chomsky lashed out last night at the Irish government for allowing him into the country to fulfill a number of speaking engagements even though his passport was out of date. "This is typical of the craven attitude adopted by the Irish government since the war in Iraq began," he said. "There seems to be nothing the Taoiseach and his ass-licking cronies aren't prepared to do to make it easier for U.S. economic and cultural domination of the planet. Not only will the neoliberal agenda of the Bush administration be advanced by the government's cowardly and mercenary policies, but continued American domination of the antiglobalization and antiwar movements is guaranteed as an additional, correlative effect of such actions."

The Irish Times reports that the absent-minded Chomsky was allowed to enter the country only after Ireland's Minister for Foreign Affairs, Dermot Ahern, intervened on his behalf.

''While Dr. Chomsky and the Irish government might not see eye-to-eye on a number of matters involving world affairs, it is important that his views and his voice would be heard as scheduled," said Ahern's spokesman.

Experts on Chomsky's theories said, however, that such a statement was a worthless attempt to conceal the real consequences of Chomsky's entry into the country, namely, the accelerated Americanization of all forms of "resistance" to the New World Order.

*Please note: Some aspects of this item are about as accurate as articles you'll find in the mainstream, totalitarian media.

If You Look Close Enough, Every American Is Suspect

2006-01-17T23:08:00.000+11:00

From today's New York Times:

"In the anxious months after the Sept. 11 attacks, the National Security Agency began sending a steady stream of telephone numbers, e-mail addresses and names to the F.B.I. in search of terrorists. The stream soon became a flood, requiring hundreds of agents to check out thousands of tips a month.

But virtually all of them, current and former officials say, led to dead ends or innocent Americans.

F.B.I. officials repeatedly complained to the spy agency that the unfiltered information was swamping investigators. The spy agency was collecting much of the data by eavesdropping on some Americans' international communications and conducting computer searches of phone and Internet traffic. Some F.B.I. officials and prosecutors also thought the checks, which sometimes involved interviews by agents, were pointless intrusions on Americans' privacy.

As the bureau was running down those leads, its director, Robert S. Mueller III, raised concerns about the legal rationale for a program of eavesdropping without warrants, one government official said. Mr. Mueller asked senior administration officials about "whether the program had a proper legal foundation," but deferred to Justice Department legal opinions, the official said.

President Bush has characterized the eavesdropping program as a "vital tool" against terrorism; Vice President Dick Cheney has said it has saved "thousands of lives."

But the results of the program look very different to some officials charged with tracking terrorism in the United States. More than a dozen current and former law enforcement and counterterrorism officials, including some in the small circle who knew of the secret program and how it played out at the F.B.I., said the torrent of tips led them to few potential terrorists inside the country they did not know of from other sources and diverted agents from counterterrorism work they viewed as more productive.

"We'd chase a number, find it's a schoolteacher with no indication they've ever been involved in international terrorism - case closed," said one former F.B.I. official, who was aware of the program and the data it generated for the bureau. "After you get a thousand numbers and not one is turning up anything, you get some frustration."

Intelligence officials disagree with any characterization of the program's results as modest, said Judith A. Emmel, a spokeswoman for the office of the director of national intelligence. Ms. Emmel cited a statement at a briefing last month by Gen. Michael V. Hayden, the country's second-ranking intelligence official and the director of the N.S.A. when the program was started.

"I can say unequivocally that we have gotten information through this program that would not otherwise have been available," General Hayden said. The White House and the F.B.I. declined to comment on the program or its results."

Indeed. How else are we to rule out an American citizen's involvement in terrorism unless we know everything there is to know about them? Until then, every American citizen must remain under a cloud of suspicion.

To this day, everyone I know can remember where they were when they heard Reagan was shot. The reason? They ALL thought they might need an alibi.

Zhirinovsky Explodes With Lust for Rice

2006-01-13T03:31:00.000+11:00

All that remains of Russia's leading fascist.

Condoleezza Needs a Shag

2006-01-13T01:25:00.000+11:00

That's not my opinion. That's the view of Russian fascist Vladimir Zhirinovsky, interviewed in Pravda today.

This is the standard response of fascists when they have to take stick from women, of course. The truth of the matter is that most of them are repressed submissives, or, to quote myself, "misogynistic wife beaters, perverts, and anal obsessives." The misogyny is really little more than cover for their desire to be penetrated by a statuesque, dildo-wearing black goddess, hence Zhirinovsky's frothing rage at Rice's comments. In fact, I know exactly how he conducted himself during the interview, sat at his desk dictating his response, trousers round his ankles, a thin wire cord wrapped several times around the base of his puny, fetus-like cock, spume from his gnarled lips forming an arc across the carpet in a constellation of bacteria-laden bubbles, his forehead folding into ever tighter ridges of purple as he fantasized about Condi forcing apart his buttocks and thrusting her manhood deep into his rectum.

Fascism is just the adolescent's way of getting his love object to notice him. Expect Zhirinovsky to be proposing marriage next.

Putting the XXX into Xmas

2006-01-11T22:51:00.000+11:00

Workmates are not typically regarded as a reliable source of information in this game, but they can at least be depended upon to provide salacious gossip, incriminating hotel receipts, and pornographic videos that they’ve made in order to twist the arms of recalcitrant public figures or foreign dignitaries. As you no doubt know, every year, staff at the BBC produce a compilation of outtakes too filthy or slanderous to air to the general public, and as you’d expect, both the CIA and Defense Intelligence Agencies have a samizdat “Best of 2005” video, copies of which came into Frank’s possession just before the yuletide festivities got under way.

Frank had private showings with his immediate colleagues, staff, and friends in G2, and I only got my hands on them last week: They’re a bit worn from excessive viewing and film stretch where the tape has been paused over and over again for some audience member’s vinegar strokes, but otherwise both provide a solid 90 minutes of compromising erotica featuring hookers, transvestites, transsexuals, furry and feathered friends, and members of various lengths and standing, including Frank’s own contribution, which features a married member of the Dail for a constituency a fair way from Dublin engaged in a threesome with what are ostensibly two blond Lithuanian tourists but who were in actuality a pair of Estonian hookers who Frank regularly calls upon to “make friendly” with visiting VIPs. Given that the Feargal in question is a rotund, hairy-arsed, purple-nosed Paddy-swiller, the viewing isn’t necessarily that pretty (You can place one hand on the screen to conceal his shitty asshole while you focus on the chicks and let your other hand pump away, but it isn’t an ideal position and you don’t want to shoot jizz down the back of the VCR, do you?)

Anyway, I mention it only because Gordon, who used to work at our place, has gone into the porn video distribution business on his own, having been sacked from the Embassy as a result of his sideline in flogging ass-fetish videos from the CCTV system. He offered me 5 grand a piece for these videos, on the understanding that the celebrities’ faces would be pixellated out, so that he can sell them online at http://www.gordonsworldofporn.com.

It was an offer I couldn’t refuse. Look out for copies in your local Blockbuster soon.

Ladyboys in Flushing

2006-01-10T02:48:00.000+11:00

Sorry to disappoint the visitor to this site who Googled for the above and was directed to this posting.

What can I say? I suppose Stevie Nicks is KIND OF like a ladyboy. An ageing fat castrated ladyboy.

The Road to Mosney

2006-01-05T23:42:00.000+11:00

Human Rights Watch says it suspects the CIA had a secret prison in a third European country.

Close to Gormanston Army Base, with a nearby airstrip, and well off the main road and away from population centers. This might be how they want you to remember Mosney, but the truth is much closer to this.

Figures.

2005-12-22T21:15:00.000+11:00

I thought it was too good to be true.

From reading the various reviews of Tuesday night's get-together, it transpires I was in the wrong bar altogether. Makes sense now, of course. All those foxy ladies with long legs and flaxen hair and firm breasts exhibited no discomfort whatsoever at being out in public. They undoubtedly had proper jobs and boyfriends and tennis outfits. Hell, maybe even horses stabled in Kildare or Meath. But they wouldn't have known what a blogger was if it had crawled from under the table, stuck its head up their skirts, and inspected their software.

Still, let's not regard it as a night wasted. It provided me with a few J.O.V.'s for subsequent bathnights.

Irish Bloggers: A Decent Sort

2005-12-21T21:12:00.000+11:00

Went along to Keogh's pub last night, in disguise, natch, for the Irish bloggers Christmas get-together. Of course, I'd assumed I'd be mingling with their spouses or proxies, bloggers generally being overweight shut-ins with skin disorders capable of little more than waddling from bed to console to "pen" 1,500 words on open source software code or collectible porcelain cats. And that's just the women. The men come with the additional baggage of right-wing libertarian politics and a sci-fi machismo that facilitates their fantasies of destroying all their able-bodied enemies (i.e. everybody able-bodied).

To my surprise and delight, I was able to anonymously squeeze past, rub up against, and otherwise frotternize with several remarkably foxy ladies, albeit Irish ones. Firm breasted, flaxen haired, long legged, and just the right side of smart. I had to take myself outside a couple of times, ostensibly for a smoke but in reality to soften the woodie, before plowing back in there.

Really, if this is what bloggers' meetings are like, I shall be organizing a few more myself.

Spanish Poetry, My White Cracker Ass

2005-12-21T04:42:00.000+11:00

Estimulo is trying to pass off a poem I sent him as one of his own. As a joke, I told him it was about a Spanish mountain climber cheating on his girlfriend, but in fact it's an old piece of CIA propaganda, a tribute to Ramon Mercader, the guy who assassinated Trotsky.

This is what happens when everyone winds down for Christmas. I suppose I should really be trying to remember who the CIA agent in Sinn Fein is.

Hope Springs Eternal

2005-12-20T00:53:00.000+11:00

From the personal columns in last week's New York magazine:

Idaho farmer, 300 lb., divorced nonsmoker, gsoh. Into Harley-Davidsons, animal husbandry, ballroom dancing. Seeks similar. No timewasters.

One Rule for Us and . . .

2005-12-15T21:06:00.000+11:00

From the Monday edition of the Metro freesheet:

“The age of consent for girls will be cut from 17 to 15 under plans being considered yesterday by justice minister Michael McDowell.

The move follows a case in Co. Galway in which a 19-year-old man who had sex with his 15-year-old girlfriend was convicted of statutory rape.

At present, the age of consent for heterosexual boys is 15, but for heterosexual girls and homosexuals it is 17.

This means that if a boy and a girl, both aged 16, have consensual sex the boy could be convicted of rape.

Mr. McDowell described that as “a very strange situation” and vowed to discuss changing the age at which girls can legally have intercourse with the gardai and the Director of Public Prosecutions.”

Should put them off sex for the rest of their lives.

Irish Blog Party

2005-12-13T22:49:00.000+11:00

There's a Christmas get-together for Irish bloggers being organized here. I'm planning to turn up (albeit in disguise) because otherwise I shan't get to any parties this year.

The embassy has an office party but I'm persona non grata because my presence in this country is not officially acknowledged (also because of that incident a couple of years ago featuring a donkey in a blouse).

No one else is going to invite me, and Frank's Christmas party at home is a fucking nightmare that always ends up with him punching a hole in the wall, screaming at his kids, and having make-up sex with the wife while forcing me to watch. Well, not just me, all the guests, but I'd sooner not be there, no matter how close our working relationship has gotten. In addition, Maggie tends to fly home to her folks, so it's not like I'm going to get her under the mistletoe any time soon for a game of "hide the pinkie."

I'll have to decide now what to wear. Suave East Coast Sophisticate or West Coast rebel. What do you think?

How about Midwest Ivy League?

Bored

2005-12-08T23:33:00.000+11:00

Nothing to do at work today. Have to think of something to wind up Estimulo. How did Real Madrid do last night?

Those Secret Flights into Shannon: All Above Board

2005-12-07T01:38:00.000+11:00

They were carried in diplomatic pouches.

Tickled

2005-12-06T03:04:00.000+11:00

Last Friday afternoon, I had the pleasure of escorting a number of Polish journalists around the offices of a well-known American software firm out in the wilds of Sandyford, a monstrous, Speer-like business park in the Dublin suburbs. The weather was dismal for most of the day, but there happened to be a gap in the clouds about ten minutes before we arrived, as a consequence of which all the geek smokers working in the adjoining office blocks took advantage of the sunshine to pile outside. I thought nothing of the sight of the huddled groups desperately drawing on crafty fags around the fire escapes and emergency exits, and my Polish guests said nothing either, until I had completed the tour of the offices and was driving them back to their hotel. While they were impressed with the interiors of the offices, the informality of the work environment, and the convenient location for the motorway, they said, “You appear to have the same problem as us in Poland with all the prostitutes hanging around the back of the buildings.”

Which tickled me, I must confess, because it was Casual Friday. Feargal and Nuala were dressed as they would be for the weekend. Just like Polish hookers.

And I don't get tickled often.

How to Suck Cock

2005-12-01T21:07:00.000+11:00

Probably 90 percent of the hits on this site are from morons googling "How to eat pussy." I figured it's time I evened things up for the ladies. So, here's how it's done, folks.

And here's how NOT to do it (Warning: Graphic image).