Somewhere In The Multiverse, Ballybollocks Hosts A Festival Of Weaponised Stupidity

Somewhere in the multiverse, in the Ballybollocks Carrickmorons Municipal District, Brad O Nark has decided to prove once and for all to the so called loony lefties that the far right is definitely superior. How Is he doing that?

With the Misery Outdoor Festival.

The Misery Events in our universe are already a sight. A rally of lads who give the impression their saliva is more solid than their brain matter, a great parade of white fellas delighted with their foetal alcohol syndrome and their ability to pick their teeth with a power tool.

And in the other universe, what is it?

A rally of lads who give the impression their saliva is more solid than their brain matter, a great parade of white fellas delighted with their foetal alcohol syndrome and their ability to pick their teeth with a power tool.

The only upgrade is the venue. Here, they do it in shite luxury hotels decorated by a rural bourgeoise who genuinely believes that vomiting through your eyes is classy. Over there, it takes place in a rural hotel decorated by a culchie bourgeoise who genuinely believes that vomiting through your eyes is classy. And because this is the parallel universe version, the whole thing spills into the village park, where extra activities have been prepared for the children.

Their parents are not bright. Ask them about their favourite book and they proudly hold up the bath time picture book their youngest received to celebrate the end of his formal education. Their children are not only dim, they are violent. Brad knows his audience, so he has planned the finest entertainment. There will be a competition to draw the most impressive penis inside the park changing rooms. A local priest has agreed to judge the entries and pick the winner. Another contest will award a prize to whoever can swallow their own weight in gravel. And to close this wholesome family moment, there will be a pogrom against the village foreigners for the toddlers. Great craic.

For adults, the line up is impressive. Five lads with the elegance of an anchovy in oil, the intelligence of a dish sponge and the confidence of a surgeon. They will explain that women must stop having abortions, that if you do not eat pork you might turn Muslim overnight, that climate change is a conspiracy cooked up by extraterrestrials and the junior infants teacher, that teaching consent to kids is dangerous, and that you are not virile unless you down thirty two raw eggs and two kilos of steak before breakfast.

Medical staff will be everywhere. Not for safety, but because at every Misery Event there is at least one participant who tries to swallow their own tongue or sticks their fingers so deep in their ears they manage to poke the other side. Public health hazard, the lot of them.

And finally, the day ends with a giant barbecue. Brad will stand there and share every rumour he heard about the awful left wingers of the area.

Be warned though. When it comes to sources, Brad is like Irish tap water. Ninety nine percent chance of finding shite and poison in it.