ONE in 20 British schoolkids thinks war-mongering dictator Adolf Hitler was a German football coach, a shock survey has revealed.

It’s not that shocking. Most football coaches are genocidal dictators bent on world domination and fascism.

Frankly, if you asked me to choose between having a pint with Hitler or Sam Allardyce I’d go with the Nazi who at least doesn’t look as if he suffers from body odour problems. That said, Hitler never shuts up about his favoured formation, 4-4-Jew.

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“What do you mean ‘Why am I talking like that?’”, he said.

“That’s not your voice”.

“We all talk like this now, Twenty”.

“No. It can’t be”.

“It is. And you know it is”.

“Fuck you”.

“It’s your turn next”.

“Never. I’d kill myself before I let that happen”.

He laughed.

“Have you noticed the subtle change?”, he asked. “From insistent and hectoring, to friendly and enticing”.

“Fuck you”.

“You can’t escape. There’s no escape. And soon you will be one of us”.

I turned and ran. Ran like Logan who ran so much they named a film after his running. Ran from the land where everybody spoke with Ben Dunne’s voice. I got away. I escaped. By the skin of my teeth.

I woke shortly afterwards. I know what happened. This was not just a dream. It was a message. A vision.

He’s got to be stopped. Before it’s too late.

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Maybe it’s because the more people you have in your country the more likely you are to have mentalists like that. Or maybe it’s because the size of the country means it’s easier to operate in a kind of isolation. I don’t know. We’ve never had a serial killer, have we?

That said the numbers of women who have gone missing in Ireland, especially in Leinster, over the last few years would strike you as not particularly random. I think it’s slowed down a bit now but there was a time when women were disappearing much more regularly. Did we have a serial killer? Was he caught and put away for something else?

They have them in the US, Russia, the UK, I’m sure in other countries with larger populations. Surely it’s just a matter of time before we have one here.

It’d be good if we got one a bit different though. One who serially killed politicans or shit celebrities. Or one who killed from a list I provided to him. It’d be one long list, let me tell you.

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When Mary Harney wants me to do something I’ll do the opposite. And I’m still to be convinced that Swine Flu® isn’t just a huge scam of a conspiracy of a machination to bump up profits of drug companies and to allow them to inject us with a ‘vaccine’ that is probably some kind of mind-control thing or which inserts a permanent tracking device so we can be monitored from on high.

I’ll stick with hot whiskey and the sweats.

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• April 30, 2009 — It’s here, it’s here! (37)
• April 28, 2009 — Swine flu (42)

Every time he got on a flight his luggage was first out when he got to his destination. He would tell me this every time I saw him and I had to admit a certain amount of jealousy as my luggage was never first, or second, or even in the top 10. I’d say my bags came out somewhere between 93rd and 145th. Always.

Not Malcolm though. He’d position himself somewhere in the middle of the carousel and when the bags started coming he would wait patiently. People would stand and think ‘I wonder which jammy fucker’s bag this is coming out ahead of mine’, and when it came close he would step forward with a flourish, causing flakes of skin to drop to the floor like falling feathers, and off he’d go, smiling to himself.

In other areas he wasn’t so lucky though. Traffic, for example, was his nemesis. Whichever way he went traffic was heaviest. One day, when going to visit his elderly parents, he got stuck in a jam which had terrible consequences. A chip pan left on the cooker went on fire, burning the house down, agonisingly killing the poor couple who were found clutched together in charred death after 52 years of flame-free marriage.

Consumed with guilt at his late arrival, which cost his dear folks their lives, he decided to take a holiday to Northern Italy to clear his head. When he got there his bags were first to appear, as usual.

It’s funny how these things balance themselves out.

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Joe Coleman’s online predictions.

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• November 2, 2009 — Joe Coleman – the fraud (94)

Quite where it has gone is the kind of mystery that only Scooby-Doo could solve but the fact remains that my house is paperless. So off I went to the local shop to purchase some.

I went in, paid my extortionate €4.99 for a ream of low quality paper (stupid local shop), and at the same time purchased a stamp for I had a letter to post. After buying the paper I put it down on top of the ice-cream freezer, discovered that you no longer need to lick the back of stamps as they are now adhesive, walked out and posted the letter before I went home.

A short time later I decided to do my printing. But where had I left the paper? I couldn’t remember bringing it into the house. Arse. I had left it on top of the freezer in the shop. So back I went.

“Excuse me”, I said to the chap behind the counter, “I was in here earlier and I purchased some paper. However, I left it behind”.

“No”.

“What?”

“N0″.

“It was actually you who served me. I bought a stamp too, remember?”

“No”.

“I left the printer on top of the ice-cream freezer over there”.

“No”.

“Look, fair’s fair. That paper was horribly overpriced. I just left it behind me. You must have seen it. Can I have it?”

“Do you have receipt?”

“No”.

“Then no”.

“You served me”.

“Not me”.

“You are the only bloke in here today. Give me my paper”.

“No”.

“I want to see the manager”.

“I am manager”.

“Are you really?”

“No”.

“Then get me the manager”.

“Manager not here. I am manager when he not here”.

“I want to speak to the owner then”.

“No”.

“No?!”

“Owner not here. I am owner when he not here”.

“Are you going to give me my paper?”

“You have receipt?”

“I told you I don’t”.

“Then no”.

“I see. It’s like that, is it?”

“Yes”.

“Oh, now it’s yes?”

“No”.

I left with a flourish, sweeping dozens of magazines off the shelf and on to the floor. One old lady tutting at my behaviour but she didn’t know the full story. If she had she’d have given me a medal for not kicking the cunt right in his cunt.

But now it’s on. The magazines are just the start. I’m going to shoplift the ever loving shit out of that place. And if they ask me if I paid for that, I’m going to say “No”.

Then leg it.

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Then, just to counter-act the good stuff we do, you get stuff like this. Click for big.

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Nobody has just said ‘Look you, you’re a fucking liar and the claims you make are so obviously false. You’re using this to drum up business for your clinic where, amongst other things, you claim to be able to cure cancer over the phone. Fuck off’.

I realise they can’t quite use that language, but still. It’s maddening that such superstitious mumbo-jumbo has been given so much coverage without anyone disputing it.

What’s to stop anyone claiming to be able to predict the appearance of a made up deity? I could predict that I will see a vision of Zebedee in the snug in Ned’s of Townsend Street and I’m assuming I will get the same column inches and radio interviews as Joe Coleman. I’m sure when a bunch of knackers turn up and claim to see a miracle when the sun comes out from behind the clouds I can hand out business cards to ‘Twenty’s Instant Healing Clinic’ where I can cure anyone of anything they’d like once the small matter of my consultancy fee is paid. I can probably make contact with your dead dog too, if you’d like.

But Fatmammycat is right. The fact that the Irish media has given so much time to an obvious fraud is nothing short of appalling. It’s moving statues again. And we all know there’s no such thing as moving statues. We can look back on the craze, as it was, and laugh. So why didn’t we just laugh at this? Why didn’t we point the finger straight away and denounce him? Of course people can believe what they want to believe but that doesn’t mean we should just accept it or that we should provide a platform for frauds like Joe Coleman to cheat people out of their money.

Anyway, step forward Miriam Lord, whose Dail reports are always fantastic to read. In today’s Irish Times she reports from Knock where the ‘Blessed Virgin’ was due to make an appearance at 3pm on Saturday. Funnily enough she didn’t show up – apart from a secret flash of her holy knickers to Coleman.

It’s not as funny as Lord’s report though, which is bang on the money.

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• November 3, 2009 — Joe Coleman – online predictions (43)

It’s a tough decision.

I do wonder why people choose to get dressed up. Apparently it’s ‘fun’ but I’m not sure I understand what’s so fun about it. As a small boy I remember having to go to a fancy dress thing and I went as a cowboy with my rifle which went ‘bbbkkkeeeeeewwwww’ when you pulled the trigger. It was an awesome rifle but I did not enjoy the costume side of things.

And the idea of hiring a costume makes me want to barf out of my anus. Costume hire is like bowling shoes x 10000000. Disgusting.

Some other idiot has been secreting their goo and ooze, their goooze if you will, all over the inside. I’m sure they claim to clean them after each hire but I am dubious about that. Maybe they get a young Chinese girl to give them a bit of a dust-out but repeated washing of such clothing would render it useless in no short space of time and when you need to maximise profits by getting the most hires as possible out of one outfit then I’d say they err on the side of not cleaning.

So this weekend, when you’re dressed as a womble, you’ve got Ciaran from Ballybrack’s gooch dandruff nesting in your pubes.

Lovely.

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