Me and Henry Rollins

Henry came down till mate me in Newton Hamilton one of the towns that republicans has done there dammdest til destroy and the furst thing I says is to go for a wee down drive round bandit country to see the lawlessness there. The wife had the Saracen for the day so we took the jeep and headed for Cross, a right roges gallery along the way I can tell youse, there was Dominic Mcglinchey putting a load of horses onto one of slabs lorries for to take them to the slautterhouse, we seen that butcher Dessie O’Hare driving a load of diesel and yer man who blew up Lord Mountbatten selling smugelled cigars right outside the police station and where was the PSNI in all this but checking my tax and insurance. I tried to explain all this to yer man Henry, how McGlinchey faked his own death and the free State government covered it up so he cud carry on mordoorin Protestants, but he had this punk music turned up so loud I cudn’t even hear myself think strait, let alone remember to dump all my empties on the pitch at the rangers club. 

Finally I says til Henry, if you don’t knock that shite aff youll be walking back til your car. That seemed til have done the trick for he nocked it aff and toul it was my turn anyways. I starts playing him some real Ulster band tunes and I can tell youse one thing, the rebels down in Cross didn’t like it one bit for the durty looks them tinkers was giving us was something else, not that it bothers me anyway as youse know. Well Henry’s band was called Black flag and he wasn’t long showing his true republican colours for after bearly five or six of the best loyalist tunes he jumps out and says he wud walk back til his car anyways and he wudn’t even give me so much as the two hundred dollars I was looking for diesel . You wud wonder how these these Noraid wannabes come to have so much hatred and intolerants for are culture here in Ulster, I do think it is just pure jeloussy. After all we have give them about twenty presidents and the best they can do is thon tramp JFK whos picture i use for target practice if I have run out of popes.

I hope by the time youse read this Peter Robinson has got the balls to do the right thing and tell the Shinners where to go, just like is after happening in the Ukrain but seriously I doubt it, all he is after is keeping other men away from his money grabbing wife. We need strong leaders in this country, ones who know who to drive tanks and shoot sniper rifles, men who wont be bullied or bought off, even if it means loosing any chance I ever had of winning Time magazine Man of the Year compostition.

No surrender as always.

Wm Frazer.

Belfast Telegraph,  17 August 2014

News Letter,  22 August 2010

I was down one day, a brave few years back it wud of been, helping the wife to get her toes nails clipped when we stopped aff in Culloville to fill up the Saracen. And who should be over working the pumps for the summer but your man Jamie Carragher and a big Champions League medal round his neck, the only medal he ever won two. I was shooting the breeze with him about the whole football thing while the wife went in til buy some vodka. The next thing yon hallion McConville and a rake of boys pulled up in a souped up tractor and started giving young Jamie dog abuse. Take your foreign games back over the water, you turncoat. We’ve more medals than you, Up the Provies and the like. First aff I thought they were shouting at me for right enough I only ever won the won medal with Whitecross. Then yer man Carragher bust out crying like a big scouse baby and I caught on them ignorant hoors were totally blanking me for til shout at this nobody. Next thing Jamie begs me and the wife to give him a lift up to George Best international. I thought he was only going up to pay his respects to our Geordie but it turns out he wanted to get out of this God sorefuken country once and for all, before his cousins forced him in til driving tankers.

Jamie Carragher, pictured in Culloville

Well hop in I says, this is no place for an Englishman even one with contminanated rebel blood. We cracked open the vodka on the way up to the bus station in Newry and the conversation gets round til the disappeered. Next thing yer man Jamie just opens up til me and says Wille, I know your a good man and a true Ulster loyalist, so hear’s my tail. One of the dissapeered a smelly tinker called they call the captain whose an Englishman like myself, is alive and well and living up in my uncles barn where he’s washing diesel and mixing explosives round the clock. This boy went to some posh school over the water and he’s always mocking me about my silly winey accent. Another thing Willie, he’s forever bragging about the time he stiffed ten Prods at Kingsmill just to prove his loyalty to the jesuit cause. I was going to ask Jamie more about this but then the wife drove over a motorbike in the bus station carpark so we’d to get shot of Jamie right and quick before someone writ down our license plate. I never seen him again apart from when he was playing for Liverpool on the TV but I’m convinced his story is a load of IRA properganda, which is why I told it to the HET and then the News Letter. It’s a quare strange world we live in I can tell you, and theres no one who get its quarer than us victims, which is why I’m accepting checks on their behalf.

Good night, god bless and Quis Seperabit.

Wm Frazer.