With authorities seizing a large quantity of cocaine in the region this week (estimated street value 24 trillion), publicans have reported an immediate drop in the size of cubicle toilet queues. Though many idiots have suggested these congregations at 2am on a Sunday morning could be attributed to nothing more than a dodgy pint of Guinness or two exiting the rear exhaust, local pub landlord Ber Mulrooney is in doubt about the reasoning behind such a dramatic demise.
“Like before you would typically have seen smaller queues for the funeral of Queen Elizabeth the Second than for my cubicle door, some even stretching out the front door and joining up with the toilet queue in the next pub up the street, but ever since the supply cut of that beautiful Colombian marching powder nobody seems to be even taking the odd shite in the Jax. I never minded it myself once the cunts kept drinkin, when they were on the stuff I found it put an unquenchable thirst on them to drink even more which didn’t harm me profits at all, at all, but it’s hard to see how this one will play out now with no snarl to get them back in the door even. The government put a ban on drinks promotions a while back but that didn’t include Class A drugs so I don’t see why Mulrooney’s Pub can’t offer a cheeky line or two with every pint bought. I know a lad in the haulage industry that can help me out there if needs be, primo shit.
It’s not all doom and gloom for the town though with Father File hopeful the drug seizure will lead to a “rebirth of the town’s traditional Catholic values.”
“When I came here first, back in the late 70’s the evil serpent of drugs had not yet taken a foothold in the town. Not only were the back, front and side doors of houses left permanently unlocked, people often didn’t even bother with them at all, instead using them as firewood for the Winter months. The children would also stand in the doorway to keep the cold and rain out, they respected their elders and The Church™ more back then. More importantly, this allowed me easy access to God’s children without alerting any adults in the house. I could roam the estates as I pleased, coming more than going if you know what I mean. In later years, many of my bogus ‘accusors’ and my fellow accused neighbours, relatives and friends that I gave character references to in court overdosed on the very drugs this town is now awash with, in a way my very presence and actions hastening the rampant scourge of drugs. Always one for a shite analogy, you could say I was a bit like a perverse personification of the butterfly effect with both the winged insect and the man of the cloth being equally unaccountable.
With the drugs finally gone forever and ever now from our streets, and nobody ever replacing the suppliers, I am already looking forward to full pews this Sunday and three masses a day, every day, just like the good old days. As a friend of the church, Karl Marx once said, “Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions. It is the opium of the people” and now we are back to being the only drug in town again to alleviate the meaningless nihilist death spiral of existence. A parishioner once suggested to me that young people often take to the drugs out of a sense of despair with life, with many seeing no point in saving to own their own home anyway or gaining employment that could pay enough to have hope in the first place. My message to them is to come back to The Church™-just don’t come anywhere near my big fuck off house- and we will forgive and welcome you all like Fred and Rose West would an escaped lodger. Myself and the marketing team have even coined a catchy slogan “Swap Satan’s white powder for our Saviour’s white bread.”
