John Waters - A Gombeen Goebbels

Back in the simple day there was John Healy.
Penning nostalgie de la bog boue.
Then along came John Waters.
Grabbed a pen and started to lash out shrieked up, dumbed down John.
John Snr though was a worthy foe.
And not devoid of some literary talent.
Although also enthralled by the rural shyster soul,  Healy would never have penned bilge like some of John's gems:
"Katy French was a personification of our fantasies, of our sense of what we were becoming, of how we might unfold ourselves. She was ...perhaps the most spectacular light on the skyline, a meteorite of desire plummeting through the Irish zeitgeist."

John proclaimed that the above was typed through his "tears!"
In the unlikely event of Healy succumbing to such suckerdom, he would have had the
wit to shut the fuck up about it.


But John Junior is a tosser.

                                                                'spelling smug'

Waters is a contradictory, hysterical, attention-seeking personification of all that he noisily derides.
His very existence contradicts all his Barry's Tea Bag conspiracies about the D4 monopoly of the media
He is an elitist.
He is a snob.
Accidents such as place of birth are serious issues to John Boy.
Like most snobs, he is also a boot licker.
An apologist for corruption.
(Provided it comes with the right accent)
He is an idle contrarian - unlike Vincent who is an active and interesting one.
Like most bitter and twisted people he has a big chip on his shoulder.
(Remember one of first big forays into the limelight was his attack on U2. And what was the substance of his attack - who did U2 with Rattle and Hum think they were acting as if they were  global rock stars?
Sure John knew them back in the day; grasshoppers rant knees bitterness etc.

This is from a previous occasion when John's antics came up for discussion.

Quote:

Waters was always an idiot, a Khmer Rouge like culchie who dismissed the supposed pretensions of Dublin 4 and the moral flaws of media land while lauding the duplicity and guile of the peasant as some form of native charm. In his dumb divisive vision, he was blind to the fact that the victims of those he praised for "pulling one over" were ourselves. His 80s In Dublin attack on U2 first revealed his limited inner begrudger. His Dancing at the Crossroads was John Healy for slow learners. Waters made a total fool of himself with his tear stained eulogy to Kathy French as if she was a present day Oscar Wilde.

See the current debate here on John as our national "bean caoineadh"



Back in the day Waters was the monkey to Sean Doherty's organ grinder.

Today he's dancing to Quinn's plaintive tune.

Quinn is not to blame.  He's a visionary and yet he's a dupe.

A victim of vulture finance.  A world where no-one actually makes anything. 

And sure the Quinns were mere small "small fry"
Easily gobbled up by Anglo.

Big bad Anglo. Little boy Quinn.

Sound likes a PR trope.

But we all partied.

Yet the Quinns are the best of the best.

The Kennedys of Cavan.

Sean may have gambled billions. But he only played cards with a tenner.

Great employer too.

And this despite the fact that it is now perfectly clear that Sean ran his sound insurance business, reaping the same potential of Ponzi that Walters takes issue with elsewhere.

Logic? An unnecessary Dublin 4 trifle. A media amuse bouche.

Could you imagine the dung smeared crap we would be subject to if Fitzpatrick wielded a hurl instead of a club and Drumm banged on in thick Corkonian not finest Malahide.

Tea-Baggery is the only system that allows you present arguments riddled with so many holes

Here's Johny with his Barry's Tea Bag Thought.

No logic, no consistency,  no sense.

Just the incoherent cries of culchie court jester seeking attention.

Waters is a Class A fool.

Like that tool Lowry, he is a constant source of national embarrassment.

At least Myers laces his pieces with erudition.

The best John can rise to is "cute out."

A Gombeen Goebbels.

A blight on the intellectual landscape.

A Bungalow Ditz.

Go on John!

You show em up in Dublin.

Celebrity Banisteoir.

Go dance on their ice.

Oh.

One last thing.

All this twirling on ice rinks.

All this Eurovision fawning.

Jesus.

Better be a big big phobe.

Or the boys might call you homo.

Long haired faggot.

'Mammy'

Imagine the horror of that.