Peter Hitchens writes:
We are forced to say that we think homosexuality is a good thing, that homosexual couples are equal in all ways to heterosexual married couples. Most emphatically, we are compelled to agree that homosexual couples are just as good at bringing up children as the children’s own grandparents. Better, in fact.
Many people who believe nothing of the kind now know that their careers in politics, the media, the Armed Services, the police or schools will be ruined if they ever let their true opinions show. I am sure that many of them regularly lie about their views, to avoid such trouble.
We cringe to the new Thought Police, like the subjects of some insane, sex-obsessed Stalinist state, compelled to wave our little rainbow flags as the ‘Gay Pride’ parade passes by.
Meanwhile, a (yes, Irish) Friend in the Media (who must remain anonymous — see above) writes in about that “stupid dyke” I slagged earlier (and makes me think of Sid Ryan, another troublemaking foreigner. Also, is that “woman” an ex-nun? Because she sure has that look about her…):
I’d like to point out that said professional dyke activist on HNIC – Helen Kennedy – had a very pronounced Irish accent.
Jeeesh.
If I read one more damned book about how the Irish saved civilization or anything, I’ll be forced to counter it with another one pointing out that, in the last generation or more, the Irish have been on the forefront of every bitchy, pewling, miserable assault on decency and common sense.
Thanks to the unique victim status they feel has been accorded to them by being the most abject conquered nation in the English-speaking world, they feel they’ve been given a mission to agitate against everything they consider emblematic of the British who dragged them out of sod huts and Gaelic gibberish and kicked them into the mainstream of the 18th century.
I’m never surprised to find an Irishman or woman appointing themselves the representative of the underprivileged, the underclass, the marginal, the oppressed or the simply irritating.
From that little gnome who writes the TV column for the Globe to those IRA assholes who trained PLO terrorists, the Irish have internalized their self-loathing and become a cancerous agent, camouflaging their evil agenda with big nubbly sweaters, Riverdance and that tuneless warbling set to pennywhistles they call Celtic music.
And yeah, that means fuck Bono, while I’m at it. The last half decent band the Irish produced was Thin Lizzy [Ed’s note: Here I’m obliged to dissent and utter three little words: Stiff Little Fingers…] and even then Phil Lynott felt obliged to commit slow suicide. I would, too, if my family hadn’t had the foresight to pack up and head across the Irish Sea during the Potato famine, and then run away from Scotland and Northern England at the turn of the century, before the 20th century turned the Irish into the hemmorhoids of global culture, and the interminable stupid conflict in Northern Ireland somehow became a badge of political wisdom. (Just take a good look at it – far from wisdom, it proves that the mean Irish IQ hovers roughly around the low double digits.)
Damn.
