Post by An Mac TÃre BÃ¡n Post by MichilÃn Post by An Mac TÃre BÃ¡n Post by MichilÃn
On Sat, 12 Feb 2005 16:22:48 GMT, "GoldenArse"
Post by GoldenArse Post by max.it
Send them a big bag of your best Idaho spuds for a pressie.
Sayin' as it's not costing you any tax.
max.it (the orange cage)
The nicest spuds here come from Canada - Yukon Golds - jaysus they're
I keep telling you you should live in Canada - why you'd want to live
among the Nazis completely baffles me.
I'll forward your post to Senator Kerry and Kennedy in Mass. I'm sure they
would just love to be called "nazis" by a completely ignorent shite like
I called to ask them what they thought about it, using your name and a
phony Stab City accent. Neither would come to the phone. Kennedyh's
aide said, "Don't call again, Cantillon; the Senator isn't interested
in hearing from you." Sounds like your connections are not what you
led us to believe - they're more accurately "disconnections".
BYW, that's "ignorant", Ray. Of course it's the sort of word
"ignorent" people wouldn't know how to spell.
How about more of those stirring tales of your battles as an IRA
terrorist squad leader fighting the British Army? I wonder what Slab
Murphy would do if he ever heard those stories. Pray God for your
survival that he never does.
Feck off you third rate troll!
How touching to see all those centuries of Irish scholarship pay off!
HEAD OF THE IRA !
Ray Cantillon's our Leader, boy,
'Tis him yez want ta see!
For in his heart he knows the joy
of setting Ireland free.
If you've a skill to maim or kill
Then you're the lad for Ray
For he's the one, ould Ireland's son!
Dat runs the IRA !
Now Ray's a master of disguise,
He travels light - a pack -
and skin dyed dark 'gainst Nordern spies
Who think he's just some black...
When he goes forth; the south; up north;
The ones who know him say,
"That fella looks familiar... Christ...
He looks like bloody Ray!"
But far up north in Crossmaglen
Our story took a twist,
Ray met some British plainclothes men
And soon got desprit pissed.
"Bring out more beer, yes, over here!
Give aal dese mates a jar!"
The barman said, Yes sir, at once!"
And thought, "he's gone too far..."
But Ray's no fool, no Brit cop's tool
Though he was well away,
he know that that drinking with those men
made him the wolf pack's prey!
He tried to rise, to their surprise
And said, "Ah boys, no more!"
And staggered towards the gents and then
sped out the kitchen door!
"Come back and pay the bill!" they cried,
But Ray was long since gone.
He crossed the border and soon
Passed ould Dublin close to dawn
And then he steered for Limerick
And made it home for supper.
"I been up Nort," he told his Mam,
"And damn near come a cropper!"
The next few days the story spread
That Ray had come back home.
That Ray had shot his way down south
And swore no more to roam.
They said he'd killed a dozen men
wore out his tommy gun!
But when they asked "what was it like?"
Ray said. "Blood - bullets - FUN!"
The bottles tipped, the whisky flowed,
Ray was Stab City's toast!
"Please tell us more!" his friends implored,
Sure, he's not one to boast...
Slab Murphy came and said, "Dis game
has made me ould and grey,
So it's wid pleasure dat Oi make yez
Mister I R A !
And dat's how Ray became the boss
of Ireland's noble fight.
But getting out of Crossmaglen
gave him an awful fright.
"I need to rest, a year or two,
That's why the IRA HQ's
now based in San Jose!
Wid apologies to no one!
Post by An Mac TÃre BÃ¡n
"Everyone, Republican or otherwise has their own
particular part to play. No part is too great or too
small, no one is too old or too young to do something."
Bobby Sands (1954-1981), on hunger strike in 1981