Great Golf-Crashing Gales

Isn't the weather wonderful? We've just had the calmest, warmest, driest, sunniest summer that Ireland has known since 1995. So the montonous droning bores that think golf is fun have been planning to host the Ryder Cup tournament in Ireland for years. Years and Years. Padraig Harrington himself has spent so many countless nights lying in bed in his jim-jams (the one with the golf clubs and love hearts on it) dreaming of the day when all the rectal, whooping, overfed fuckwit American golfers would come over to Europe to join their equally lobotomal European counterparts for a mind-numbingly overwhelmingly boring bore-fest.

But all that intricate planning can't account for the weather, for which there's no accounting for. I laughed like an evil maniac this morning when i saw some golfing "fan" squinting and softly lamenting at the state of the weather which prevented him from going out on the course to see his heroes sigh deeply and whack a small white ball. Squinting and softly lamenting is what golfers and golfing fans do, whether a hurricane destroys the club house and lays waste all the unfortunate "players" caught in the storm, or whether they've just missed a put by a centimetre. Playing golf and watching it on tv (which the plain people of Ireland will not be able to to do, as they've sold it all to that Sky pack of cunts) does dull the brain, as is evidenced by the sloth-like demeanour of any of these fuckwits that you see either in conversation or on the television.

So, with a bit of luck, these warm storms will continue and the whole stupid uber-bore will be cancelled. Personally, I find it all excellent weather for skinny dipping: the water's fine, there's no-one else at the strand, and the warm gales dry your body in no time.