One of the great challenges facing the government during the votes on Nice, Lisbon 1 and Lisbon 2 was how to get Irish people to recognise or identify with being European. What they needed was the World Cup, and the Living Room on Cathal Brugha Street. This Sunday, look no further as Spain and Holland vie for the best prize left on earth.

The warm, fuzzy glow of victory will be yours to bask in regardless of the winner, but pray for Spics: when they beat the Krauts on Wednesday, the vast, communal smoking area behind the Living Room, the Murray hotel and Fibber Magee’s became a bombastic little corner of Spain. Further down O’Connell Street, they took over the monument and cheered at the honking traffic. This is as close as we’ll ever get to winning the World Cup.

It will be a new experience for the winning nation too, a fact that makes South Africa 2010 memorable in its own right. With the exception of France in 1998, the last country to win the World Cup that wasn’t Germany, Italy, Brazil or Argentina, was England. Those of us who grew up on Euro 88 and Italia 90 are too quick to forget that England, under Bobby Robson, just missed out on a place in the Final in 1990. What an achievement that looks now, some 20 years later.

But forget the statistics, and the punditry too. There’s no Irish manager or set-up to bait and no English team to dissect. You can always get Aprés Match on the web in work on Monday. Instead share this moment of greatness in the lawless forum behind the Living Room. Here, within a glorified yard of red-brick, soot-brown, filthy walls, heave thousands of bra-less Spanish teenagers, and neat, gurning North-Europeans, all in a marvellous absence of oversight.

The crowd stands on seats, tables, crates, anything to catch a glimpse of the big screen, which runs a good six seconds behind the peripheral flat-screen TVs, thereby ensuring all major events in the game are well telegraphed. Tables, chairs and kegs are dragged together to create an uneven terrace, from which everyone can not quite see everything and where no angry neanderthals with headsets tell you to get down.

And, within reason, you can get a drink. Certainly the Spanish lack the local appetite for booze, so the bars are manageable and, happily, the crowd lacks that sulphuric essence of menace that is synonymous with un-policed drinking in Ireland. This kind of atmosphere in Dublin is as rare as the eight weeks of balmy 16-21 degrees we have enjoyed this summer, and it ends this Sunday.

After that, the World Cup is over and proprietorship of the Living Room returns to the mirthless Polish and East Europeans. Being European isn’t all Kinder Bueno and driving on the right, so take the bad with the good and see you for kick off. I recommend the chick-sausage hotdog for a snack, though it’s not for the faint-hearted.

Political anoraks all over the nation can’t stop talking about the innovative approach under consideration at cabinet level. Sources say that Taoiseach Brian Cowen and his merry band of feckless heads on sticks are going to ‘take a stand’. The Fianna Fáil party, universally renowned for its ability to avoid the stand, has spotted the public appetite for principles:

“The market research is incontrovertible – in tough times people want leaders with ideals.”

But it remains to be seen what the Government will take a stand about.

“That depends,” said one party insider. “What the data tells us is that it is important to be seen to be willing to stick to your guns – but it’s still unclear which guns people want us to stick to and who they want us to shoot.”

Sinn Fein have responded to the news by reaffirming their intention to stand on the testicles of local heroin dealers in something of a socialist ‘protection for votes’ racket, while opposition leader Enda Kenny is just going to stand around while the rest of his party fucks up making him stand down.

Daniel Radcliffe: "Harry Potter 8 has started filming"

Elsewhere, there are hopes that Minister for being a big fucking prick, John Gormley will stand at the epicentre of a nuclear weapons testing facility so that every atom associated with his accursed existence is erased from this dimension. Indeed things are so bad in Government and in Irish politics that the electorate appears to be considering the Labour party as a potential leader in the next government.

Analysts believe it almost doesn’t matter who gets the job as long as we get rid of the current government and John Gormley is publicly executed in the fully operational Poolbeg incinerator.

In what commentators are calling an act of God, the M50 Northbound at Ballymount will be closed due to a volcanic eruption in the area. The volcano, named ‘askmebollix’, has led to 750 metric tons of nonsense being spewed into the airwaves every second as gobshites around the country add their tuppence.

Literally hundreds of people are expected to have to stay on the M50 and exit at the N7 and divert from Newland’s Cross. Drivers who endure this horror are invited to a BYOB barbecue at the Mullingar home of Ryanair boss, Michael O’Leary. Beer and wine will be levied at 2,000-3,000% of cost price.

O’Leary made the invitation following a meeting with Department of Transport officials which he described as, ‘calm, measured and very useful’.

“We quickly solved the issues and got onto talking about where our kids are in school and what the impact would be of the Connacht match last night on Leinster’s Heineken Cup ambitions.”

O'Leary has revolutionised customer relationship management

O’Leary came under fire this week for wearing a shirt and tie for his appearance on Sky News last Monday. Media commentators were outraged that the kingpin of ‘fuck you’ flying had dolled himself up for the Brits, when his MO for the Irish media has been a big red jacket, polo shirt and stubble

There is also surprise at the level of public support for O’Leary’s decision to ignore the law and screw travellers for compensation over the furore surrounding the other volcano. Apparently there are a great number of people out there who WOULD piss on O’Leary if he was burning.

Billions of earthlings had their loads lightened this morning with news that global warming is entirely attributable to ‘good weather’. Dr. Rajendra Pachauri, head of the UN Panel for Unsubstantiated Claims explains:

“When the weather is good the planet gets warmer. Luckily this melts the polar ice-caps in line with our increasing need for water. The end.”

Pachauri recently came in for criticism when it emerged that instead of substantiating claims about ‘good weather’ and ‘climate improvement’, he was instead publishing steamy novels with the financial backing of oil companies. His detractors insist that the steam from his romantic fiction constituted a hazardous greenhouse gas and that his novels were hurting the planet.

A spokesman for Pachauri’s publisher said:

“The reason for rebranding ‘good weather’is that ‘good weather’ sceptics lack wide market appeal. People do not want to identify with frumpy, bespectacled protestors and flax-wearing vegans – such people are turds. Look at electric cars. They look like complete shit. What was to stop them designing an electric car that looks like a Lamborghini? Nothing. Nothing but a lack of vision, a diet of soy products and being a pussy.”

In Ireland the ‘good weather’ issue will be spearheaded by the Department of the Environment with the blunting presence of Minister John Gormless. The Minister says he is not opposed to incineration, it’s just that he won’t get re-elected if they build one in his constituency so, in line with the core principles of Irish politics, the national interest will take a back seat to the short-term political future of a publicly elected representative.

Speaking to the Dail this afternoon, Tánaiste Mary Coughlan, tried to clear up the confusion surrounding state training agency FÁS after the cabinet reshuffle.

Mary Coughlan made her feelings clear in the Dail today

Critics suggested that the Taoiseach had deliberately made the issue bewildering so it would be more difficult for any futher corruption to be unconvered, but Coughlan denied that was the case.

“At the moment FÁS is what it is, we all know that. And as long as FÁS is FÁS it will remain FÁS but who is responsible for it? Well, that’s simple. It is currently under the auspices of the people who have a duty of care for it and that will indeed be the case going forward. One might ask if Batt O’Keefe is the man through which all Fás related queries should be made and I can confirm this is the case.

However, to make sure that nobody is left in any doubt about what the next step might be, were there to be a next step, then Eamon O’Cuiv will be taking on board the goings-on at FÁS and will liaise on a regular basis with Batt O’Keefe and myself with regard to the agency’s future endeavours”.

When asked why there were so many chiefs Coughlan replied “Are you really suggesting we don’t need the chiefs? It’s all well and good saying you need more Indians but if Indians are so great then how come they live on reservations and got their arses kicked by European interlopers? Perhaps if the Indians had more chiefs then there’d be more Indians now and in this time of great financial hardship and increasing unemployment I think the one thing we can agree on is that more Indians are exactly what we need … in the long term. For now we have chiefs”.

Coughlan was heckled from the far side of the house by Fine Gael TD Leo Varadkar who said “The deputy is no Jodie Foster. She’s no Alyssa Milano or Drew Barrymore. She’s like the girl from Diff’rent Strokes and we’ll all read her boring articles in the Irish Times after she’s resorted to soft porn and died of a heroin overdose”.

Meanwhile Fianna Fail sources say that Junior Minister Conor Lenihan “threw a mighty strop” after he was overlooked by Brian Cowen. Lenihan had booked the upstairs of the Morgue in Templeogue for a huge celebration party with cuisine to be shipped in from as far abroad as Silvio’s next door.

“He cut a lonely sight stomping the ‘Well done, Conor’ balloons, let me tell you”, laughed the insider until you got that feeling you get when somebody’s putting on a laugh so long it becomes horribly uncomfortable.

Residents of affluent seaside suburb Clontarf have demonstrated to the rest of the country what needs to be done about the most pressing issues of the day, according to renowned social commentator, raconteur and Ron Watters.

As residents took up their cheaply made signs and Farrah slacks to protest at the opening of a new ‘head shop’ in the area, Watters believes the rest of the country should follow their lead.

Next stop - people who chew gum too loudly!

“For too long the people of Ireland have remained silent over matters which would lead to full scale rioting in other countries. It’s about time we set down the yoke of laziness and put aside the cudgels of inaction. These brave people, these historic citizens, have stood up to say enough is enough. They have peacefully and successfully protested outside a shop not one of them ever had any intention of going into.

If that’s not the mark of the true revolutionary then I don’t know what is. Che Guevara lives and breathes and drinks Chilean cabernet in The Yacht”.

As the concerned Clontarf parents send their children off to schools run by the catholic church and read their newspapers full of stories about a broken health service and a vast fraud in the banking system which goes right to the very heart of the government which has bankrupted the entire country, Watters has urged them not to stop.

“They must keep going until everybody does this as a matter of course. There are so many things they could protest about. Those new shops on Grafton Street with the temporary signs out front. How can we allow this kind of crime to be perpetrated on our society? What about the plague of Spanish students that has once again descended on our fair city? Are they to be allowed speak at such high volume all the time and then sit in vast groups … on the ground? On the ground! This is Ireland, not some parched land full of bodegas and donkeys.

And think about what a good Clontarfy protest might do to solve the problem of cars who park in cycle lanes. We either take the bull by the horns and make good this momentum or we resign ourselves to being a nation who simply won’t address the important issues”.

A spokesperson for the Clontarf residents, Emma Constance-Cox, issued a statement last night saying they were very pleased with the reaction to their protest and promised they would not stop until a legitimate business was forced to close and people were put on the dole, adding that a coffee and bridge morning to raise funds for new placards would be held on March 30th at 11.30am in her 7 bedroomed estate.

via NewsArse

Hull midfielder Jimmy Bullard has suddenly begun appearing more easy on the eye following the press conference to announce the arrival of new manager, Iain Dowie. Bullard, who has consistently been referred to by the opposite sex as having an ‘excellent personality’, is said to be baffled by the sudden attention he is now getting.

Rocky Dennis and Sloth from the Goonies agree

He told the club’s website, “I was at the new gaffer’s press conference, minding my own business and waiting for an opportunity to do something funny, when these two female journalists started giving me the glad eye.”

“Then, when I took the gaffer out for dinner to show him the local area, the waitress couldn’t keep her eyes off me every time she came to the table.  She was almost glaring at me to be honest.”

“Is this what it’s like to be John Terry or Ashley Cole? Because I’ve got to admit, I kinda like it.”

A Hull City spokesman explained that they had no intention of explaining to their star midfielder the true reason behind his new found popularity among the ladies.

“Look, he thinks it’s because he’s been in an England squad, or because they’ve seen that funny thing he did on Soccer AM – no, not that, the other thing.”

“What could possibly be gained by explaining how much better he looks when he’s stood next to Iain Dowie?”

“Now, can I interest you in one of our new Iain Dowie fridge-magnet appetite suppressants?  One you put it on your fridge you’ll want to eat a lot less, we guarantee it.”

Two of Ireland’s top models will fight to the death in an exclusive live bout on TV3 this weekend.

Rosanna Davison, son of nanny shagging crooner Chris de Burgh, and Glenda Gilson, of no esteemed parentage whatsoever, will battle it out in a caged arena at Dublin’s O2. The pair have been at loggerheads since one of them went off somewhere with the other one’s elderly property developer and extremely wealthy man friend.

Rosanna Davison practices her menacing stare

The drama has been built up by the Irish Independent in a series of increasly mawkish articles in which both ladies weep as they are being interviewed, trying to elicit sympathy from the general public who seem blind to the fact the whole thing is a ridiculous publicity stunt to keep two vapid, Z-list celebrities in the limelight.

Head of Sport at TV3, Ashley Grimes, told the Irish Sentinel this morning that they were expecting record viewing figures. “This might seem like something spur of the moment but we’ve done our research. Polls show that 87% of people would enjoy seeing Rosanna having her head caved in by a spiked mace while nearly 98% of people had no idea who Brenda Gilson was but would quite happily watch her being eviscerated by a razor sharp cutlass or have her legs blown off by a blunderbuss.

So, that’s what we’ll do. A selection of medieval weapons will be available to each combatant and the last girl standing wins the prize of a cover shoot for U Magazine, a post dedicated to them on Showbiz Ireland and a complimentary bottle of the finest Aspi Spumanti from Krystle Nightclub”.

Already bookies are making Gilson the clear favourite, suggesting her extra wide shoulders will inflict more damage on her opponent but insiders suggest Davison’s patented eyebrow waggle followed by a crunching headbutt move could make the difference.

The show begins at 10.30pm on Saturday night, hosted by Martin King and DJ Spiral, with an undercard of Nell McCafferty vs Tom Dunne’s Producer and Andrea Roche vs a mirror.

The Internet was last night preparing itself for an epic battle of halfwits as two of the web’s biggest sites went to war. Tech analysts are suggesting the scrap between YouTube’s comments and Chatroulette could be the most ‘depraved and utterly cretinous’ in history.

For years YouTube comments have held the honorary title of ‘Most retarded shit’ on the internet. Commentators on the site, whose usernames are usually followed by a series of random numbers, have been renowned for their cruelty, stupidity and crassness.

YouTube versus a bloody cock, the internet at its greatest

“YouTube comments are the special olympics of the internet”, said Lance iPad III, web guru with TechnoCrunch. “It’s like they assembled all the kids who sit at the back of the bus licking windows, gave them a keyboard and said ‘Go!’. Quite honestly the stuff you read on there is beyond reprehensible. Until now nobody thought things could get any worse. Then along came Chatroulette”.

The new site connects users via their webcams where they can enjoy a video or text chat. However, users have quickly ensured that Chatroulette is a place not so much NSFW as Not Safe For Life. Statistics show that for every one ‘normal’ chat you are connected to, there are seven in which you will be greeted with an image of somebody’s genitals, anus, breasts or another diseased area of a person’s body.

“Nobody expected anything quite like it”, continued iPad III. “It was thought that YouTube comments would remain the web’s sinkhole forever. Things are going to get ugly”.

And already the war of words has started. “OMFG!! Ur gay!!!”, said YouTube user clertin85665. He was backed up by jonny7566456a who said “Fuckin’ jews on chatroulette shud be put in concertation clumps” and margo8756 who advised Chatroulette users that “I hope ur dad rapes u and u get pragnent and ur baby is a lizard who ates ur cunt. ROLFCOPETER!!!!!!”.

Mark_impish on Chatroulette responded by appearing on screen with his semi-erect, spunk glistening penis in his hand while Jimbo18Dallas held up a picture of Blue Waffle photoshopped onto Goatse’s red bit.

As Tim Berners-Lee holds his head in his hands and once again moans out loud “What have I done? What in the name of Jesus have I done?”, we can only hope that the ongoing warfare between these sites does not claim too many innocent victims.

Dun Laoghaire Harbour. The boulevard of broken dreams. A lonely Tayto packet whistles across the rain-spattered jetty, near where the group of Irish mammies are huddled in the cold, waving goodbye to their sons. One of them crushes a fag butt beneath her sodden Louboutins and turns away. She can’t look any more. On the gangplank, one of the boys turns with tears in his eyes and waves back. He’s only a boy, just turned 32, with nothing in his pocket but an old Blackberry and a law degree from UCC. Not worth the paper it’s printed on. Forced across the water to hated Blighty like millions of Irishmen before them, the lads trump onwards to an uncertain future.

Life is tough for those forced to leave the Emerald Isle

At Collinstown Airport, a similar tale tugs on the heartstrings. Jack Kennedy-Cruikshank is slumped in the Departure Lounge, waiting for the next flight to Heathrow. He’s been in construction all his working life – six months as an architect’s assistant with Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy and Kennedy-Cruikshank, followed by almost a year as chief architect on the Dunnes Stores anchor store at the new CityWest Retail Park – yet now he must turn to the building sites of London, like billions of lonely Paddies in centuries gone by.

“There’s just no work in Ireland, like,” he says. “People are saying it’s like the coffin ships all over again and to honest I don’t think there’s too much difference between then and now. It’s whole communities broken up. Sure I can see young Aubrey Johnson over there in O’Neills Sandwiches, he was in Clongowes with me. I’d go over to him only I nobbed his bird after the Leaving and we haven’t really got on since. And my best mate, Ryan, he’d be here too, both of us together on the emigration road. He’s in New York though, his old man’s the ambassador to Singapore so it was no bother getting the visa, d’ya know what I’m saying? I know a guy who was in St Mark’s the same time as me and he got his MBA two years ago – he’s only had six weeks work since then. He was going round the pubs in South William Street giving out shots of Aftershock. Sure it’s a job, but it’s not a life.”

We leave this shattered city, with the bedraggled Celtic Tiger cowering behind the furniture, to Swinging London. In Waxy O’Connors in Soho, a couple of young Micks off the boats stare into their Carling shandies. Too embarrassed to ask for a pint of the black stuff, too ashamed to call themselves Young Irishmen. One of these sad creatures reflects on the hard times ahead.

“I literally have come over here with six grand in me pocket. And that’s it. That’s all I have in the world. I was out in Krystle before I left and I lost me banklink card, so the old man had to give to me in cash,” says Shaun Kilduff, another of Ireland’s spurned generation. “Me? I have a trade, I have two pairs of hands, I’m here to do an honest day’s work. If you’re a corporate accountant in Dublin these days, you haven’t got a pot to piss in. It’s just like the Famine all over again.”

They head off to try their luck with a couple of Essex bints in the corner, leaving the Irish Sentinel to ruminate on these desperate times. Oh, Charles Stewart Parnell, Theobald Wolfe Tone, Hans Christian Andersen … if you could see these young men now, forced from the crossroads and byroads of County Wicklow, of Old Foxrock, of Blackrock College and the UCD bar.

The Wild Geese have flown, and a nation weeps to see them go.