Bertie the Bollocks
Popped into Easons earlier on, and was bemused by the sheer amount of silver haired women scurrying around with glee. There hadn’t been that many of them together in one place since Daniel O’Donnell unveiled his new death metal group, Curried Scutter and the Fremulons.
It took me about a minute to realise what was going on, but I soon saw the cause of all the commotion. Bertie Ahern’s big pink head was sending forth guff rays into the atmosphere the likes of which had never been seen before. He was there to sign his new book, which I’m guessing doesn’t touch on his corruption or criminality. Or indeed his regular habit of sticking his penis into tubs of butter and getting Mary Harney to lick it clean. I sincerely wish that some unstable young man or woman would take a bread knife to his throat.
The slimy oozings from Bertie’s sweaty, grubby cock were responsible for the creation of Cecelia Ahern. He should be jailed for that alone.