Peter Robinson condemns race attacks in Northern Ireland

Funny story written by matwil

Friday, 19 June 2009

image for Peter Robinson condemns race attacks in Northern Ireland

Northern Ireland's First Minister, Peter Robinson of the Democratic Undemocratic Party (DUP), today condemned the spate of race-related attacks on newly-arrived Romanian refugees.

'The people of Northern Ireland are a tolerant and Christian people', he said from his house in East Belfast, 'and there is absolutely no place here for such disgraceful behaviour. We utterly condemn - Oi!, You! [spotting a teenage boy spraying 'IRA RULE' on his fence], ya Fenian bastard, wait til I get hold of youse!', and he raced out of his door into his garden, while the youth fled.

'Come on, boys!', he shouted to some of his neighbours, who were busy painting a mural at the street end's house with 'No Pope, No United Ireland, No Surrender!' on it, 'that wee Pape just vandalised my house!'

'After him!', came the cry from the painters, and soon they were giving chase with Robinson, and one painter filled his empty lemonade bottle with some petrol he happened to siphon out of a passing car's tank, stuffed a handkerchief into it, lit the cloth, and threw the petrol bomb at the fleeing youth, but hit a nearby house instead.

'Ya big fat Orange eejit!', came the cry from a woman at the house's broken window, 'you've set my house on fire! Ye'll pay for this, ya bams!', and pulling out an AK47 assault rifle from beneath the window, the 87-year old grandmother of seven began taking shots at Robinson and his friends, causing them to scatter and take cover behind a hedge.

'Should we call the army in?', one painter asked, but Robinson replied 'the day we can't take care of our own country is the day we, er, can't take care of our own country, and need the army's help here. No, lads, get on the phone and get the boys from the Shankill round here', and soon a huge Orange marching band was marching up towards the street towards the grandmother's house.

'Come out with your hands up now!', Robinson shouted at the granny's house, 'ya dirty Fenian pig!', and 'Get tae f***, ya shites!' came the reply, followed by a blast of bullets from the AK47, and some of the grandmother's relations had joined her in the house, armed to the teeth, while the Orange marchers were all busy loading their pistols and making more petrol bombs, and soon the whole street was involved in a massive battle of guns and bombs, with dead and wounded lying all around, and the house burning away merrily.

'Excuse me', a Romanian refugee suddenly said, walking down the street in the middle of all the fighting, 'I have come from Budapest -' 'Bucharest', Peter Robinson corrected him, while firing his revolver at the house - 'Bucharest, and I came here to find your British freedom and fair play of cricket, no? This is very bad, this fighting and guns.'

'Listen, pal', Robinson said, 'if you choose to move to one of the most violent and bigoted parts of the planet, what do you expect? Me and Gerry Adams walking around with flowers in our hair, giving peace signs, and helping old ladies across the road?' 'This old lady'll help you intae an early grave!', came a shout from the house, as bullets and even hand grenades came towards the road, and 'Retreat!' came from Robinson, and he and his friends all went behind a wall.

'But I wish to complain about this bad treatment of us Romas, we come here for -' 'If ye can't look after your own houses and people, then bugger off somewhere else. We're too busy fighting the Provisionals right now to give a flying falafel about you or your relations. Attack!', and the Romanian wandered away, wondering who could take pity on him and his family, and the discrimination they had recently received.

'I know', he suddenly thought, 'the BBC will make us in their news, they believes anything! Why, they even put those two clowns Barack Omaha and Sir Gerry Brown on their news all this time. Then with the money I get we can all move to a better areas, like Glasgow!', and he was promptly shot dead by a British Army sniper, who mistook him for an unarmed Bloody Sunday demonstrator.

Ulster is today two thirds British, one third Irish, Northern Ireland is British but not in Britain and in Ireland, its people aren't British but are Scottish, who came from Scotland where most people came from Ulster, in Ireland, and the area has hosted the world's worst urban war in modern human history.

A few broken windows may not be too serious a problem in such a part of the world. Though not according to BBC journalists.

The funny story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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