 |
|
 |
|
 |
|
 |
|
 |
|
 |
|
|
|
Issue Eleven - 28/07/05 |
 |
|
|
|
Dear Jesus,
I'm a solicitor who is hanging on to the last vestiges of respectability as my practice crumbles around me. Allegations of embezzlement and some seriously suspicious cash transactions will probably insure that I do some jail time in the near future. At the very least my wife and kids are guaranteed to be homeless. I have some, legally acquired, money left which could probably be put towards preventing my family from ending up on the street. However, it is Race Week and I was thinking of just heading to Galway and boozing it up with the lads one last time before the old ball and chain finds out about what I've been up to. What should I do? Anon in Tullamore, Dear Anon, Hey - it's the Galway Races, it's the best racing festival this country has. Fuck the wife and kids. It's your duty as an Irish man to get your ass to Galway, puke all down your over-priced suit, grope some girl young enough to be your daughter and then catch something nasty that you can be ashamed of. Consequences be damned. If you're going out, you might as well do it in style. Yours, Christ. P.S - There's shelters a-plenty for abandoned families these days. So don't worry, I'm sure herself and the sprogs will be fine. |
 "I'm never drinking again."
|