Patriot Realm

Over the last few weeks I have noticed that people are losing their sense of humor. So I decided to write something to remind people that if you can't laugh, you may as well fook off and be done with it. 

That is the problem with moslems. They never developed a sense of humor. Like the priests of old who were so full of hell and damnation that they forgot to look at the power of the good and the benefits of a belly laugh.

I mean, how could I ever post the joke about the two moslem mothers looking down at their kids and lamenting " Kids! They blow up so fast these days. "

It's like my old Gran used to say, if all you've got is lemons, eat the fookin things because they could be all you get today.

Lemonade? Fook. We would dream of lemonade only we were too weak to squeeze the juice and Father McGee would have whipped us stupid for daring to say such filthy things as " squeezing the juice. "

He was like that.

That's what we Irish call funny. Maybe it's because we grew up in times when we would've rather enjoyed a spud ( potato for you heathens out there ) and made light of things like hunger, war, slavery, eviction, homelessness and being shot at. It's an Irish thing.

But isn't it funny how that is now an Irish thing again and an Australian thing and a Canadian thing and an all around the world thing? Ever since climate change was invented and Covid became trendy, it is now something the whole world gets to enjoy. The WEF and the UN have done a fookin amazing job of spreading the misery of the Irish around the world. 

And the moslems seem to have been great at making the whole movement explode and bring back memories from the past when bombs were so popular. My wife thinks that bombs must be on special somewhere in the world because every time you go shopping you keep waiting for prophets to go through the roof and shoppers to go down down. 

I have lived in Australia since the 1970's. So I suppose it is a bit of a stretch to call myself Irish. But I do have that blood and that childhood memory of tough times.

I married an Australian woman who tamed me a bit but I am still an Irishman at heart. But I have so much in common with my Australian mates. 

Australians have a history of descending from convicts and free settlers seeking a better life. They came, like me, to a country full of man eating spiders, ship eating sharks and snakes that would make Adam and Eve wonder why God only left them an apple and a couple of fig leaves to defend themselves with. Australians make light of drought, floods, bushfires and distances traveled. A  quick drive down to the shops can take 6 hours or more. It's an Aussie thing. 

We laugh at things that are not funny. We have centuries of experience. Again, as my Gran said, " make light of the heavy and the load will not break your back. "

You either get it or you don't. If you don't - then fook off - it's not my problem.

It's your problem.

For myself, I blame the Blarney Stone.

Blarney humor is a style of humor associated with the Irish, and more specifically, with the famous "Blarney Stone" and the gift of the gab it's said to bestow upon those who kiss it. ( The Blarney Stone is a block of limestone built into the battlements of Blarney Castle in County Cork, Ireland. Kissing the stone is thought to give a person the "gift of gab," or the ability to speak persuasively and with great wit.)

I think my late Gran must have baptised me there because have been blessed. 

For now, picture a cozy pub, a pint of Guinness in hand, surrounded by mates and music and a laugh or two. 

 Fun times and friendship. All around a pint and a good song and good mates.  

We share a sense of humor. Australians used to laugh. A lot. Even the Prime Minister knew how to laugh. 

Former PM Bob Hawke shares a joke with 1983 America's Cup winning skipper John Bertrand and syndicate owner Alan Bond on the 30th anniversary of Australia II's historic victory.

Picture a pub full of boozey Aussies or a backyard BBQ , eskies full of beer and a bunch of happy blokes spinning tales of bullshit, bad taste and slapping each other on the shoulder and saying " That was a cracker mate! " 

Laughter is the best medicine.

We Irish have a knack for finding humor in ourselves and our lives. And we have seen enough of life to know it is sink or swim when the chips are down.

What a shame our politicians, moslems, lefties and self appointed guardians of misinformation can't find it in their hearts to dig deep and find that lost thing called a fookin laugh.

Father Ted ( one of my favorite TV shows ) was great at taking the mickey.

But there's more to the success of the Irish joke than meets the eye. 

It's rooted in the deep-seated mateship and friendship and the shared experience of a nation that has weathered its fair share of storms.  

We Irish have mastered the art of using humor as a coping mechanism, a way to find light in the darkest of times. Through centuries of hardship, we have been able to sharpen our wits and our ability to find a laugh in misery, to turn a tragedy into a funny story, and to use laughter as a way to get through hard times.

Just like the Australians. 

But as Mrs Paddy says, there's something about the accent. I sometimes think that I could speak complete rubbish and some leftie girlie would say " I just love your Irish accent! "

So maybe next time there is a referendum or an election, you should just wheel Paddy out and get me to say, in a lilted voice with a silver thread

" Just vote for whoever Paddy says to vote for. "

You never know, we might just win something because, after this Voice fiasco, I don't think anyone listened to the words.

I think they just listened to the voice.

Fook, I could become Prime Minister. Think about that.