Is It That Time Again Already?
Keeping up a poisonous tradition, no good Protestant Northern Irishmen marched through predominantly Catholic neighborhoods in Belfast. As night follows day, the no good Prods were promptly set up by no good Papists hurling bricks, rocks and empty bottles.
‘Puter’s always thought there’s nothing quite like Marching Day. What’s a little ethnic/religious hatred among friends? If folks can’t celebrate their history by rubbing their neighbors’ noses in it, thereby predictably inciting riots, then how can they celebrate?
Look, you dirty Irishmen. ‘Puter’s sick and tired of “The Troubles” and all the whining. Yes, Protestants treated Catholics horribly under the occupying British’s apartheid system. Yes, Catholics carried out a campaign of terrorism against Protestants, killing and maiming hundreds (if not thousands) of innocents over the years. But it’s been 400 years. Get over it. Stop killing each other. Heck, even the moronic Boston Irish Catholics have given up supporting the IRA.
Here’s ‘Puter’s peace plan. Stop tormenting each other. Do the Irish thing. Sit down together, have a crappy meal of rancid boiling meat and rotted vegetables, drink yourselves into a stupor, find yourselves a cute sheep, then pass out while singing songs of the old days. Don’t worry, the dirt you burn to heat your ramshackle houses will keep smoldering until you regain consciousness.
Always right, unless he isn’t, the infallible Ghettoputer F. X. Gormogons claims to be an in-law of the Volgi, although no one really believes this.
’Puter carefully follows economic and financial trends, legal affairs, and serves as the Gormogons’ financial and legal advisor. He successfully defended us against a lawsuit from a liquor distributor worth hundreds of thousands of dollars in unpaid deliveries of bootleg shandies.
The Geep has an IQ so high it is untestable and attempts to measure it have resulted in dangerously unstable results as well as injuries to researchers. Coincidentally, he publishes intelligence tests as a side gig.
His sarcasm is so highly developed it borders on the psychic, and he is often able to insult a person even before meeting them. ’Puter enjoys hunting small game with 000 slugs and punt guns, correcting homilies in real time at Mass, and undermining unions. ’Puter likes to wear a hockey mask and carry an axe into public campgrounds, where he bursts into people’s tents and screams. As you might expect, he has been shot several times but remains completely undeterred.
He assures us that his obsessive fawning over news stories involving women teachers sleeping with young students is not Freudian in any way, although he admits something similar once happened to him. Uniquely, ’Puter is unable to speak, read, or write Russian, but he is able to sing it fluently.
Geep joined the order in the mid-1980s. He arrived at the Castle door with dozens of steamer trunks and an inarticulate hissing creature of astonishingly low intelligence he calls “Sleestak.” Ghettoputer appears to make his wishes known to Sleestak, although no one is sure whether this is the result of complex sign language, expert body posture reading, or simply beating Sleestak with a rubber mallet.
‘Puter suggests the Czar suck it.