Leo seems to believe that there is not enough bullshit in his life, that he could always accommodate a bit more. Leo thrives on bullshit to the point that wandering the halls of Leinster House all day every day is not exposing him to quite enough of the stuff.
Leo says this is all fine and well but take me to the source, the fountain, the spiritual home of this thing we call bullshit. Take me to the place that all other bullshit regimens around the world call Daddy. Take me to, take me to……… the gaeltacht. That's right, the gaeltacht.
The gaeltacht is where he is headed next summer to put his tolerance to the most severe of tests. Someone like Leo might think there is no level of bullshit that he cannot withstand but I don’t think he is aware of how much the gaeltacht ups the ante in this area.
This is a place whose sole raison d’être is the production of bullshit. It’s a vocation, a calling; these people are professionals. Leo may think Dáil Éireann gives him the edge but he is really stepping into the lion’s den here.
You haven’t seen bullshit until you’ve attempted to discuss European fishing quotas as gaeilge standing on a rocky outcrop in Mayo with a fella who insists upon being addressed as Aodhránichaneann mic Breathnachainnaidhgohiontach.
To which we say to Leo, good luck with that shit.
I on the other hand am doing all I can to have the Irish in my head removed in order to make room for something useful like Canadian recruitment agency phone numbers and last weekend’s Premiership results.
There is a gap in the market here for a hypnotherapist or some such similar practitioner, to remove all the remnants of an Gaeilge and the attendant bad memories and trauma from our collective consciousness. To clear the way for a full life, free from bullshit. Free at last.
Or as free as any man, whose name is not Leo Varadkar, can be.
Leo says this is all fine and well but take me to the source, the fountain, the spiritual home of this thing we call bullshit. Take me to the place that all other bullshit regimens around the world call Daddy. Take me to, take me to……… the gaeltacht. That's right, the gaeltacht.
The gaeltacht is where he is headed next summer to put his tolerance to the most severe of tests. Someone like Leo might think there is no level of bullshit that he cannot withstand but I don’t think he is aware of how much the gaeltacht ups the ante in this area.
This is a place whose sole raison d’être is the production of bullshit. It’s a vocation, a calling; these people are professionals. Leo may think Dáil Éireann gives him the edge but he is really stepping into the lion’s den here.
You haven’t seen bullshit until you’ve attempted to discuss European fishing quotas as gaeilge standing on a rocky outcrop in Mayo with a fella who insists upon being addressed as Aodhránichaneann mic Breathnachainnaidhgohiontach.
To which we say to Leo, good luck with that shit.
I on the other hand am doing all I can to have the Irish in my head removed in order to make room for something useful like Canadian recruitment agency phone numbers and last weekend’s Premiership results.
There is a gap in the market here for a hypnotherapist or some such similar practitioner, to remove all the remnants of an Gaeilge and the attendant bad memories and trauma from our collective consciousness. To clear the way for a full life, free from bullshit. Free at last.
Or as free as any man, whose name is not Leo Varadkar, can be.
