Yes! It's the second in my series of You're A Cunt rants! I know you had to wait a while since the last one, but Ireland's so full of cunts I get overwhelmed sometimes. I bury my head in the Dutch-Gold-can-ridden sand. There's only so much online screaming I'm able for.
Here's Joe Duffy.
He's a cunt.
Now, I know it's Joe Duffy's job to be a cunt. He's the voice of a dying Ireland. Cantankerous, Fianna-Fail-voting, hand-wringing, confused, shrivelled-up Ireland. Don't get me wrong: the man's entitled to make a living. And that there, dearfucks folks, is the crux of the matter. Making a living.
The Swearing Gentleman pointed me towards yesterday's Liveline programme, like a man with a bow held tight on a poisoned arrow. "Fly," said he. "Fly, my little venomous crusader!" He wanted me to hear the story of the Irishus Mammius who sent her convict son's dealers money so that they could continue to sort him on the inside. And fair play to TSG, it sounded like the perfect fodder for Arse End. The typical Irish Mammy with a severe case of Sun-Shining-Out-Of-Son's-Arse syndrome. My own Mammy has it. Us girls she would have gladly sent up the chimney or knitting shilleleghs in a sweat shop, but the boys could do no wrong. And they, like overgrown Mammy-smothered pussycats, repaid her by dragging all sorts of putrid shenanigans home to rest on her doorstep. Anyway.
So I found the radio show archived here, got a glass of perfectly legal ethanol-based poison, and sat down to listen.
Sean, a Wheatfield prisoner, on hearing of an earlier show of Joe's, phoned in to tell him the Truth about drug use and abuse in prison (and yes, I think there's a difference). The prisoner, who had pushed his way through cold turkey and had used his time inside to come off heroin, told Joe that he'd been sentenced to six years for intent to supply.
"You were a nasty person!" orgasms Joe.
"Hold on..." says our prisoner. "You don't have to be a nasty person to sell drugs. That's just a myth..."
"What were you selling?"
"Cocaine, yeah?"
"You were supplying and selling cocaine... You're in for six years, which in Ireland is a long sentence... so what you were up to was quite nasty."
Yer man goes on to try to explain that he got six years for not co-operating with the guards, for not revealing where he got his stuff. Which, I'm obliged to point out, is how drug-related sentencing works in Ireland. The big doods don't get caught.
"You have to understand," says yer man, "that when you get into the game, that if you get caught you take the rap and you keep your mouth shut."
"I'm saying what the listeners are thinking," drones Joe. "If you're supplying cocaine, if you're selling cocaine, you're killing kids."
...
Holy
Sweet
FuckingrapethatbastardJoeDuffy.
How many fucking kids does he know who've died from cocaine misuse? How many? Let him fucking name them! Let him roll out their corpses one by one and weep salty tears of woe for a nation gone awry. Killing kids? KILLING FUCKING KIDS? JESUS CUNTING CHRIST! Whatever happened to researching a topic and trying to gain a level of reporter's detachment from its emotional implications, trying to get to the truth of the matter by examining all sides of the stories and weighing them against the facts? Cocaine is killing kids? YES, JOE. It's killing 20 year olds in gangland Ireland where you and your Beemer never dare to roll, you fucking prick.
But the voice of reason belonged to yer man in Wheatfield, who said,
"Killing kids? I wasn't selling to kids. Anybody I sold to was a grown man or a grown woman, and I'll be honest with you, Joe, a lot of my customers were from upper-class areas of Dublin."
Joe's response to this potential can of worms?
A sigh and a dismissive "Ok."
Then, "When you get out will you go back selling again?"
Yer man inside hesitates for a good... oh, three seconds.
"That's a yes," interrupts our fearless Joe, just as yer man was beginning to speak.
"No," says yer man.
"That's a yes!" trumpets Joe.
"I'm about to answer your question," attempts yer man.
"THAT'S A YES!" ejaculates the hairy one.
"No, it's not a yes," says our exasperated inside man.
"It IS a yes," nods Joe.
"I was ABOUT to say to you..." tries yer man.
"You hesitated," says Madame Joe of the mysical mystics. "You were thinking about it." He then goes on to holler over the guy trying to speak, until Mr. Inside Voice Of Reason 2006 shuts up and lets him get on with his hole-ier than thou analysis, which as far as I could work out was mostly to do with what they ate at lunchtime and how they charged their contrabrand mobile phones.
Anyone with a passing interest in what I've been blethering about recently (dhrugs in Oirland) should listen to that show. Joe Duffy tries using the confessions of a brave and very honest drug dealer (not an oxymoron, fuck off) as Isn't It Awful entertainment, yet even his hysterics can't smother the impression that Sean, the Wheatfield prisoner, is a very real person and one that can tell us more about the Irish drugs problem than any middle-aged, cotton-wooled nimrod with a microphone. Joe Duffy came across as the one out of touch. What's fucking awful is knowing he's out of touch because he caters to the sizeable out-of-touch portion of Irish society, those whose ill-informed politics and arseways votes are blocking the way forward.
One last point. Anyone who does listen to the show and the accents of those on the "front line" can't help but notice the strong working-class Northside flavour to the articulate and thought-provoking discussions. Try telling me, then, that this isn't a problem shackled to social divide in Ireland. Celtic Tiger, you and your disintegrating septum can fuck right off.
(I'm away tomorrow. I'm off to Limerick. Yup. Laugh amongst yourselves.)
Here's Joe Duffy.
He's a cunt.
Now, I know it's Joe Duffy's job to be a cunt. He's the voice of a dying Ireland. Cantankerous, Fianna-Fail-voting, hand-wringing, confused, shrivelled-up Ireland. Don't get me wrong: the man's entitled to make a living. And that there, dear
The Swearing Gentleman pointed me towards yesterday's Liveline programme, like a man with a bow held tight on a poisoned arrow. "Fly," said he. "Fly, my little venomous crusader!" He wanted me to hear the story of the Irishus Mammius who sent her convict son's dealers money so that they could continue to sort him on the inside. And fair play to TSG, it sounded like the perfect fodder for Arse End. The typical Irish Mammy with a severe case of Sun-Shining-Out-Of-Son's-Arse syndrome. My own Mammy has it. Us girls she would have gladly sent up the chimney or knitting shilleleghs in a sweat shop, but the boys could do no wrong. And they, like overgrown Mammy-smothered pussycats, repaid her by dragging all sorts of putrid shenanigans home to rest on her doorstep. Anyway.
So I found the radio show archived here, got a glass of perfectly legal ethanol-based poison, and sat down to listen.
Sean, a Wheatfield prisoner, on hearing of an earlier show of Joe's, phoned in to tell him the Truth about drug use and abuse in prison (and yes, I think there's a difference). The prisoner, who had pushed his way through cold turkey and had used his time inside to come off heroin, told Joe that he'd been sentenced to six years for intent to supply.
"You were a nasty person!" orgasms Joe.
"Hold on..." says our prisoner. "You don't have to be a nasty person to sell drugs. That's just a myth..."
"What were you selling?"
"Cocaine, yeah?"
"You were supplying and selling cocaine... You're in for six years, which in Ireland is a long sentence... so what you were up to was quite nasty."
Yer man goes on to try to explain that he got six years for not co-operating with the guards, for not revealing where he got his stuff. Which, I'm obliged to point out, is how drug-related sentencing works in Ireland. The big doods don't get caught.
"You have to understand," says yer man, "that when you get into the game, that if you get caught you take the rap and you keep your mouth shut."
"I'm saying what the listeners are thinking," drones Joe. "If you're supplying cocaine, if you're selling cocaine, you're killing kids."
...
Holy
Sweet
FuckingrapethatbastardJoeDuffy.
How many fucking kids does he know who've died from cocaine misuse? How many? Let him fucking name them! Let him roll out their corpses one by one and weep salty tears of woe for a nation gone awry. Killing kids? KILLING FUCKING KIDS? JESUS CUNTING CHRIST! Whatever happened to researching a topic and trying to gain a level of reporter's detachment from its emotional implications, trying to get to the truth of the matter by examining all sides of the stories and weighing them against the facts? Cocaine is killing kids? YES, JOE. It's killing 20 year olds in gangland Ireland where you and your Beemer never dare to roll, you fucking prick.
But the voice of reason belonged to yer man in Wheatfield, who said,
"Killing kids? I wasn't selling to kids. Anybody I sold to was a grown man or a grown woman, and I'll be honest with you, Joe, a lot of my customers were from upper-class areas of Dublin."
Joe's response to this potential can of worms?
A sigh and a dismissive "Ok."
Then, "When you get out will you go back selling again?"
Yer man inside hesitates for a good... oh, three seconds.
"That's a yes," interrupts our fearless Joe, just as yer man was beginning to speak.
"No," says yer man.
"That's a yes!" trumpets Joe.
"I'm about to answer your question," attempts yer man.
"THAT'S A YES!" ejaculates the hairy one.
"No, it's not a yes," says our exasperated inside man.
"It IS a yes," nods Joe.
"I was ABOUT to say to you..." tries yer man.
"You hesitated," says Madame Joe of the mysical mystics. "You were thinking about it." He then goes on to holler over the guy trying to speak, until Mr. Inside Voice Of Reason 2006 shuts up and lets him get on with his hole-ier than thou analysis, which as far as I could work out was mostly to do with what they ate at lunchtime and how they charged their contrabrand mobile phones.
Anyone with a passing interest in what I've been blethering about recently (dhrugs in Oirland) should listen to that show. Joe Duffy tries using the confessions of a brave and very honest drug dealer (not an oxymoron, fuck off) as Isn't It Awful entertainment, yet even his hysterics can't smother the impression that Sean, the Wheatfield prisoner, is a very real person and one that can tell us more about the Irish drugs problem than any middle-aged, cotton-wooled nimrod with a microphone. Joe Duffy came across as the one out of touch. What's fucking awful is knowing he's out of touch because he caters to the sizeable out-of-touch portion of Irish society, those whose ill-informed politics and arseways votes are blocking the way forward.
One last point. Anyone who does listen to the show and the accents of those on the "front line" can't help but notice the strong working-class Northside flavour to the articulate and thought-provoking discussions. Try telling me, then, that this isn't a problem shackled to social divide in Ireland. Celtic Tiger, you and your disintegrating septum can fuck right off.
(I'm away tomorrow. I'm off to Limerick. Yup. Laugh amongst yourselves.)
16 comments:
This is you at your best. I'm off to listen to Joe "suresuresureyeahyeahyeahyablaydinmurdherer" Duffy while I study.
God almighty, that was laughable. Any of the more interesting or controversial points the lads made, his response was a muted "Okay", yet he goes off on one about yer man hesitating for half a second (that's all it was) before he answers a difficult question. Fuckin spastic.
I'd love to force feed Joe a balloon full of coke then burst in his stomach then watch him die in front of me.
I hate that cunt so, so much. Sadly I hate him so much I can't listen to him to get inspired to write great pieces like that. Good work.
He's a fucking wanker.
He's the worst fucking wanker ever thrown up by that self-satisfied, incestuous, incompetent, talentless wasteland we call RTE-world.
He's a bully. He's a bombast. He's a boorish cunt.
He's a fucking loudmouthed overbearing bore.
If you met him at a party, or a football match, or a satanic ritual, you'd run a mile, unless you were tied up and couldn't.
The jerk.
Like the rest of the incompetent muppets, poor old Joe doesn't realise he's a muppet.
Being a sports fan (no sh!t), my favourite "Joe Moment" was when welcoming back the Irish soccer team from the World Cup in Japan, Joe sang along with the crowd at full volume. Except he was the only fuckin' idiot with a microphone. Nothing like Joe singing to 60,000 people to welcome you home, eh?
Sweary, this is so good that I have no need to go and listen. Excellent stuff!
I've just realised that Gift Grub is a fly on the wall documentary.
When I was younger I would never listen to Radio 1 cos it was the station my parents listened to. Every lunchtime that godawful radio soap set in a hotel, every evening the farming programme. I still don't know what a store heifer is.
Even in college I knew a guy who listened to Morning Ireland and I thought he should go buy a pipe and a tweed jacket.
Now here I am at 38, and I still won't bleedin listen to it since I'd be admitting I'm well into middle age. Even ignoring that, I can't abide Kenny, Duffy, Finucane, the nature bloke, the fat nordy who used do afternoon tv, even the nice gardening guy my sis listens to, any of em. Thank christ for podcasts.
And if you're from the 11th hour and you're reading this, it isn't me I swear, it's an imposter.
I don't listen to Joe Man of the PEOPLE RIGHT! Duffy because I like the new radio I have for the kitchen and I will not break another one using my foot to kick/turn it off when his smug wrong sanctimonious twaddle fills the airwaves.- I broke it not long after the Hunky Dory advert crisis.
These days I just listen to Newstalk 106, it's less stroke inducing.
And I hate that disbelieveing 'ok' he does, hate it like a fox.
MUSHA, TA TU AN OCRAS, shit no, whats the irish for angry again? But yes, you are ocras, you gonna eat Joe Duffy? Theres a lotta eating to be done there so, sure, if ya need a hand, give me a fax, you know I'm always hungry too.
Tá fearg aicí, a flutt, nach ea?
Oh ceart go leor, Kav! Go hiontach, ar fheabhas! Rinne me dearmad! :)
The dream team for any radio station with balls...
Swearing Lady and George Hook...!!!
Any takers?
what about people getting arrested for growing their own drugs ? are they supporting the mafia ?
what is it with this killjoy protestantism ?
Why do so many cunts have to be using teh name "Joe"? Tarnishing a perfectly goodname, that's what he's doin'.
As Chris Rock said, "drug dealers don't SELL drugs...drug dealers OFFER drugs."
The worst of it is Joe was a probation officer, he knows what goes on, ie how complex it is, but flagantly avoided the complexity in order to whip up his right-thinking listeners. Shame on RTE for letting him do so, day in and day out.
What he knows full well is that drugs, of various kinds, are a crucial part of control in the Irish prison system. Given the chronic over-crowding there is no way regular riots could be avoided without the drugs.
If Joe Duffy were to work responsibly at his job he would give us chapter and verse of the drugs that are legally prescribed in Irish prisons. Tell us about the valium and anti-depressants, Joe? And the doctors who prescribe them? And the bil to the Irish tax-payer? And Mickey Mac's happiness presiding over a drug-dependent prison system?
As for yer man on the mobile in the cell in Wheatfield... well he's a smart cookie and no mistake, and a tough nut too if he voluntarily went cold turkey and sweated it out. I recall hearing his cellmate cheerfully chime in with "I would" or was it "I bleeding would!" when friend caller said he wasn't the kind to cut someone up over a two hundred quid drug debt.
As a subsequent caller may have pointed out, perhaps our friend with the handy mobile is still supplying nose candy to his upper-class customers on the outside.
Joe Duffy is an 'exploitation' broadcaster. He uses his position, he uses his 'callers' (notice there're not always inward callers these days), he uses his audience's anxieties, and he uses the public airwaves to do all this using. Who gave him the right?
God, I wish I could sum all of these comments up eloquently. You've made a lot of fucking brilliant points. The most important point being that Joe's a cunt.
D'you reckon he's reading, eh?
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