Although the annual St Patrick’s Day parade has long been the main staple of the Irish social calendar, it is quickly being supplanted by an endless litany of LGBT Pride parades, which feature obese women leading leather-clad men in dog masks along on leads and women carrying placards declaring that people of all genders need abortions.
As a male, who cannot get pregnant, and therefore cannot ever need an abortion, I find all of that just as bewildering as when I see the need for these human parade floats to endlessly prance about, all while being heavily sponsored and subsidised to display their genitals to the world at large. It is not that they have done anything particularly noteworthy, such as winning the World Cup or liberating Paris from the Nazis. All they have done is to preen themselves and not do any reflective thinking on their rampant narcissism.
When I asked AI to explain why these strange people hold these strange marches, I was told it was to remember their past battles against Jim Crowe style oppression, and to ensure that they never again suffer the ignomy of being ignored by people like me who just want to get on with our lives, without having jumbo sized freaks attired in leather thongs and dog masks waddling by.
When I next asked AI who attends these strange marches, it tells me it is generally the vacuous hipster lot, who regard themselves as the centre of the universe. Whether it is Queers for Gaza, Queers for a United Ireland or any other reconfiguration, it seems these middle class narcissists must continually reaffirm their own fetishes, irrespective of whatever other greater cause they may purport to serve from one fleeting moment to the next. It is always about them. Period.
Not that it is entirely the middle class hipsters, who like to dress up as circus clowns, as the Provisional IRA’s West Belfast stronghold, where I happened to be for their annual Pride Day, is heavily into this chicanery as well. Instead of blowing up or extorting local businesses, today’s heirs to the IRA’s notorious D Company have turned it into a theme park and a Mecca for tourists, who want to safely smell their cordite, which perfumes the murals that blight the Falls Rad from one end to to the other and, for those like me, who remember D Company’s war crimes, are further testimony to their duplicity, chicanery and treachery.
Just as their LGBT parade floats were waddling through central Belfast to testify how open, diverse, inclusive and all the rest D Company’s political heirs are, the radical crackpots who run their state subsidised Féile an Phobail (Festival of the People) propaganda festival declared that women without penises were not welcome to hold meetings as they were not inclusive of ‘women with penises’ who have campaigned long and hard for open and easy access to wherever girls and women without penises congregate.
Although this blanket ban on Women’s Rights Network NI, the women without penises group in question, is merely a continuation of Sinn Féin’s war on women without penises, Women’s Rights Network NI and J.K. Rowling, who has promised to bankroll whatever legal case they may care to take, are very brave to go against these dangerous people in their West Belfast lair.
It can be argued that, as a male who neither wants or needs an abortion and who does not even claim to be a hipster woman with a penis, I am only part of a disgruntled minority, however, the question is a minority of what. Just as with the United States a few decades ago, people like me are not only a minority in the Irish public arena but, as these wannnabe D Company bullies yet again show, we are being actively hunted out of it for even daring to question their consensus that men need abortions, that women without penises should most definitely know their Jim Crowe place, and that the best form of summer entertainment is to watch a gang of freaks perform their penguin parade impersonations down Belfast’s Royal Avenue.
Not that these freaks are alone. All of Ireland’s mainstream political leaders, from the Prime Minister down, make a point of being photographed with these thong-clad hipsters so that they can capture some of the vacuous youth hipster vote. But, even as these marchers befoul Ireland’s boulevards, there are far more well-balanced men and women (without penises) who are engaging in sports and other proletarian leisure activities that get nowhere near the attention or public subsidies these middle-class freaks do.
The Pink Pound, the spending power of the LGBT lobby, has a lot to do with this. Not only can these hipsters spend small fortunes on sex toys, sex cruises, and their sex partners in dog masks but they can even buy enough publicity to hijack the public space and make D Company politicians shuffle supinely along behind their posteriors as they display their bulging jock straps to the world.
Unlike sporting or military victories, LGBT Pride marches are nothing to be particularly proud about, not least because they celebrate nothing in particular but are just an excuse for the sexually deviant to affirm their control of the public space and of the no less deviant politicians to milk those parades and placate their organisers. All while marginalising and intimidating women without pensies, who would prefer that more life-enhancing pursuits were instead the recipients of the government’s largesse.
Though the lascivious Romans famously called this mayhem bread and circuses, abortion for all genders and free holidays afterwards was not part of the Roman deal, even though they now top the Irish political agenda.
The evolution of Ireland’s abortion climate, from the 7 September 1983 passing of the Eighth Amendment to the Irish Constitution to its removal on 25 May 2018 and onwards to today, where politicians are campaigning for me to have abortions I neither want nor need, is a revealing one. Particularly because the same 2018 politicians who lied that the amendment was not needed to stop abortions have now given us one of the world’s most liberal abortion climates. They have also given us obese women leading leather-clad men in dog masks along on leads and women carrying placards declaring that people of all genders need abortions. No wonder Asians and Africans think we are hopeless head cases, who are good for little more besides intimidating women and waddling like penguins down our streets and side streets on these endless LGBT duck walks.
Women Without Penises Not Welcome in the Irish LGBT Asylum
Statue of Lenin above the entrance to the Kremlin LGBT nightclub in Donegall Street, Belfast, Northern Ireland
By Ross, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=13040443
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Although the annual St Patrick’s Day parade has long been the main staple of the Irish social calendar, it is quickly being supplanted by an endless litany of LGBT Pride parades, which feature obese women leading leather-clad men in dog masks along on leads and women carrying placards declaring that people of all genders need abortions.
As a male, who cannot get pregnant, and therefore cannot ever need an abortion, I find all of that just as bewildering as when I see the need for these human parade floats to endlessly prance about, all while being heavily sponsored and subsidised to display their genitals to the world at large. It is not that they have done anything particularly noteworthy, such as winning the World Cup or liberating Paris from the Nazis. All they have done is to preen themselves and not do any reflective thinking on their rampant narcissism.
When I asked AI to explain why these strange people hold these strange marches, I was told it was to remember their past battles against Jim Crowe style oppression, and to ensure that they never again suffer the ignomy of being ignored by people like me who just want to get on with our lives, without having jumbo sized freaks attired in leather thongs and dog masks waddling by.
When I next asked AI who attends these strange marches, it tells me it is generally the vacuous hipster lot, who regard themselves as the centre of the universe. Whether it is Queers for Gaza, Queers for a United Ireland or any other reconfiguration, it seems these middle class narcissists must continually reaffirm their own fetishes, irrespective of whatever other greater cause they may purport to serve from one fleeting moment to the next. It is always about them. Period.
Not that it is entirely the middle class hipsters, who like to dress up as circus clowns, as the Provisional IRA’s West Belfast stronghold, where I happened to be for their annual Pride Day, is heavily into this chicanery as well. Instead of blowing up or extorting local businesses, today’s heirs to the IRA’s notorious D Company have turned it into a theme park and a Mecca for tourists, who want to safely smell their cordite, which perfumes the murals that blight the Falls Rad from one end to to the other and, for those like me, who remember D Company’s war crimes, are further testimony to their duplicity, chicanery and treachery.
Just as their LGBT parade floats were waddling through central Belfast to testify how open, diverse, inclusive and all the rest D Company’s political heirs are, the radical crackpots who run their state subsidised Féile an Phobail (Festival of the People) propaganda festival declared that women without penises were not welcome to hold meetings as they were not inclusive of ‘women with penises’ who have campaigned long and hard for open and easy access to wherever girls and women without penises congregate.
Although this blanket ban on Women’s Rights Network NI, the women without penises group in question, is merely a continuation of Sinn Féin’s war on women without penises, Women’s Rights Network NI and J.K. Rowling, who has promised to bankroll whatever legal case they may care to take, are very brave to go against these dangerous people in their West Belfast lair.
It can be argued that, as a male who neither wants or needs an abortion and who does not even claim to be a hipster woman with a penis, I am only part of a disgruntled minority, however, the question is a minority of what. Just as with the United States a few decades ago, people like me are not only a minority in the Irish public arena but, as these wannnabe D Company bullies yet again show, we are being actively hunted out of it for even daring to question their consensus that men need abortions, that women without penises should most definitely know their Jim Crowe place, and that the best form of summer entertainment is to watch a gang of freaks perform their penguin parade impersonations down Belfast’s Royal Avenue.
Not that these freaks are alone. All of Ireland’s mainstream political leaders, from the Prime Minister down, make a point of being photographed with these thong-clad hipsters so that they can capture some of the vacuous youth hipster vote. But, even as these marchers befoul Ireland’s boulevards, there are far more well-balanced men and women (without penises) who are engaging in sports and other proletarian leisure activities that get nowhere near the attention or public subsidies these middle-class freaks do.
The Pink Pound, the spending power of the LGBT lobby, has a lot to do with this. Not only can these hipsters spend small fortunes on sex toys, sex cruises, and their sex partners in dog masks but they can even buy enough publicity to hijack the public space and make D Company politicians shuffle supinely along behind their posteriors as they display their bulging jock straps to the world.
Unlike sporting or military victories, LGBT Pride marches are nothing to be particularly proud about, not least because they celebrate nothing in particular but are just an excuse for the sexually deviant to affirm their control of the public space and of the no less deviant politicians to milk those parades and placate their organisers. All while marginalising and intimidating women without pensies, who would prefer that more life-enhancing pursuits were instead the recipients of the government’s largesse.
Though the lascivious Romans famously called this mayhem bread and circuses, abortion for all genders and free holidays afterwards was not part of the Roman deal, even though they now top the Irish political agenda.
The evolution of Ireland’s abortion climate, from the 7 September 1983 passing of the Eighth Amendment to the Irish Constitution to its removal on 25 May 2018 and onwards to today, where politicians are campaigning for me to have abortions I neither want nor need, is a revealing one. Particularly because the same 2018 politicians who lied that the amendment was not needed to stop abortions have now given us one of the world’s most liberal abortion climates. They have also given us obese women leading leather-clad men in dog masks along on leads and women carrying placards declaring that people of all genders need abortions. No wonder Asians and Africans think we are hopeless head cases, who are good for little more besides intimidating women and waddling like penguins down our streets and side streets on these endless LGBT duck walks.
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