Back In Our Reality, Unfortunately For Bradley

Today we are back in our own reality, though it might not be yours. Hard to tell sometimes, especially when the similarities between timelines line up like a pile of used nappies behind a culchie nightclub.

Local fascist Bradley MacOrf, after months of whinging online that he was going to the police, finally did it. Big day for the lad. He waddled into the garda station with 13.976 kilos of printed screenshots from various social media pages, waving them around like the Dead Sea Scrolls of Gobshittery, claiming it was all defamatory.

The gards, who were not busy at the time, decided to flick through the stack to help poor Bradley, the challenged local fasch known to every breathing creature within a ten mile radius.

They had a grand laugh, especially when they reached the Shitehawk articles. Nothing was even about Bradley. Not a single line. Not even a pity reference.

But they were kind enough to warn him that the crimes mentioned online as being “known to him” could actually land him in a world of trouble if they were true.

“You definitely need to report any potential crime you are aware of. Child molestation, possession or consumption of drugs, this is exactly what the gardaí are here for. Is there anything you’re not telling us, Bradley?”

Bradley said nothing and went home, because Bradley thinks he is a good Irish citizen. He just doesn’t know how justice works in this country.

Fate, as uncooperative as Bradley’s parents, placed that bowl of congealed spit right in front of us as he left the station. We took the opportunity to give him a small piece of advice, which we will now repeat.

Bradley, you should file a complaint against your parents. They gave you the physique of a fermented herring, the IQ of a heroin-soaked sea snail dragged through fifteen reincarnations, and the general head shape of a fascist’s bollock-paddle. No wonder you feel compelled to live your life as an Eva Braun cosplay. Sucking off fascists is your drug.

And yes, we know your idol Elon Musk announced that drug is the secret to political success. But if drugs really made people successful, your kids and your in-laws would be living in fancy hotels rather than whatever damp corridor you call home.

To be fair, I can understand why your whole family is off their heads. When you have a vomit-soaked sponge crossed with a pus-filled pouch as a relative, staying sober must be a serious challenge.

Your other idol Donald Trump once advised thick lads like you to drink bleach to cure Covid. I finally understand why the local shops ran out of the stuff for three years. You clearly went heavy on the dosage.

Once you have pursued justice against your parents and against nature itself, stop wasting your money on conspiracy podcasts. Go to the local sex shop.

For the same amount of cash you can find toys far more interesting to get yourself railed with, especially if you ask your wife to dress up as an Anunaki.