Waterford Whispers is a tool of Putin.

Yes, Steff. I fucking do. A weekly interactive event cud be made of it. And is being made of it. Please, Steff, i thought better of you. My bad. I don't even wanna tawk ti ye right now laaargh, you have deeply upset me. I was trying to limit my eructions here and get off Kim's page so as to let the vibe evolve without any oppressive asshole here like meself making unpleasant scenes, but you just forced me into a very fucking theatrical bit of drama kween shite now. Hope you are proud of yerself, Steff, for making me lose it and shout obscenities at ye.

But that's just me. I am so fucking caring. I always do it, get taken advantage of by people I think better of than this.

This has ruined my early evening this has. Why me? All the fucking time. All i will say is that if you continue to read Waterford Whispers please defriend me now. Go on, do it, de fucking friend me, like the last of the armchair dudemanbrosistaz i do not cannot and will not have anything whatsoever to do with at all in any capacity because shit happens when you have ten thousand social media friends that are sent to try us and make us better people. Anyone that reads or worse, enjoys reading the excrement from these hateful people in Waterford that helped Putin get clown-face into office ... nah, nah, sorry, you are either with us in the Resistance or you are against the good people of the mega Resistance.

They are not real satirists, them jealous bastards in Waterford, not like me, who spent sixteen years studying the ancient texts before being able to understand and name the poetic precepts found in the definitive texts. One of which is the authoritative satire text on the matter in the Book of Ballymote, that begins with a question obviously meant to be asked out loud, and then answered, out loud, crooning: Cis lir fodla aíre? ‘How many types of satire are there?'

Ní hansa. A trí .i. aisnés ocus ail ocus aircetal.

Not difficult, three i.e. declaration, insult, incantation’.

'Aisnés: declaration; a declaration in prose, reproach without rhyme.

Ail: Insult; verbal injury or derrogatory nickname which sticks, rhymed or not.

Aircetal: Incantation/verse. Divided into 10 varieties with several sub-varieties.

1. Mac Bronn; son of the womb, son of sorrow. This satire is told to only one person. (gossip)

2. dallbach: (blindness) An Inuendo. In this satire, the victim remains anonymous while the deeds done or not done are explained in detail. Further subdivided into three subtypes:

a: firmly established. Done when there is sufficient evidence for the poet to be able to prove the contention.

b: lightly established. Somewhat questionable evidence exists.

c: Heresay or rumor.

3. Focal i frithshuidiu: word in opposition. "A quatrain of praise and therein is found a word on the verge of satire" That which looks like praise but is actually derrogatory.

4. tar n-aire: outrage of satire. A reproach made through negative comparisons about the subject.

5. tar molta: outrage of praise.' Praise soooo overblown as it is ridiculous or ironic. The praising of qualities that the subject actually lacks.

6.tamall aire: touch of praise.' Similar to tar n-aire but not as flamboyant.

7 tamal molta: Satire which praises the subject faintly. Merecer states that this could be a praise poem that praises the subject about the shine of his shoes.

8. Lanair. full satire. The name, family and residence of the victim are detailed in a very public way.

9. ainmedh: full blown sarcasm.

10. glam dicind: a religio magical ritual using public satire and incantation against an unjust king.' It involved 30 clergy, 30 poets and 30 warriors and the spell being spoken just before dawn, by all seven grades of bard, circling a thorn-bush on top of a hill that divided territories, facing north, speaking their part of the satire into their left hand, in which was held a rock and thorn, keeping the legs straight and bending their back perpendicular up and down. Honest. Search online and discover the truth of it.

Thanks very much

This PhD, Satirical Narrative in Early Irish Literature, by Ailís Ní Mhaoldomhnaigh, is very informative on satire in the filidh tradition.


 These assholes in Waterford haven't even read it and do not know it exists and yet they claim to write satire, Steff? Really, Steff?

I didn't quit my job in teaching Geography to underprivileged kids in the Hamptons to go read the Waterford fucking Whispers, Steff.

Nor did I stop working at Cantor FitzGerald two days a week advising hedge fund managers, to become friends with or have anything to do with anyone at all on the planet that does read this fake news that is just a lot of self-indulgent overlong wanky trash masquerading as satire when it is most definitely - you have my word as the foremost expert on it - not.

Only the qualified Satirist can judge. If I want to know about how to steal and write meaningless and incredibly shit poetry under the banner of conceptual performance art I'd go ask Kenny G. If I wanted to know about occult practices that summon dangerous evil spirits I'd call Nance and Hitlary. If i wanted the opinion of a trusted social-media friend I would go to my private account and ask one of my family. And if I wanted to know how to write fake news I wud go to WW and their boss Vladimir Putin. .

Not just anyone can decide what Satire is and isn't. Waterford Whispers is not, in my authoritative opinion as Eireland's most beloved and professionally qualified English language fucking satirist slash praise luvvie slash fucking slash fucking slash fucking fill in the fucking blanks, Steff, and jus do az ye aaargh fucking told laaargh!!!

Or that's it. There's no more 'we', no more 'us', no more kewl beloved fucking warm kind understanding Mwoh the cleverest most boastful most arrogant and most unpopular of Kim's social-media friends, that came first in my Satire class, Steff, first in my praise Class, Steff, first in my Love Language class and first in every fucking thing at the online university whilst training for this very important role of being here for you lot. Teaching all you lot,  Steff, just what is and what is fucking not Satire.

You are one fucking evil Dark Shadow-loving bad vibes vampire with terrible taste in literature. Whatever the fuck are you reading WW for? I thought better of you. You are skating on very thin fucking ice here Steff.

Post a selfie of you holding a card saying 'Very Sorry, I Am Not Worthy', please, Steff. Thank you. And with a suitably contrite expression.

Don't care if you have to fake it, Steff, but obviously prefer it if you are genuinely sorry because that means you are starting to learn, understand what you have done wrong and are beginning to recognize just what's at stake in the coming months and how important it is we in the Resistance refute with every breath in our bodies them horribly untalented bastards in Waterford publishing this evil W.W. fake news that is totally out of control and you and everyone else in the US just need to know that we do have to stop them and Putin, Steff, we have to because there is no alternative to stopping this fucking oppressive tyrant and his evil fake news minions doing the work of a divisive ugly scary fearful world-ending dark side undermining US democracy.

We are the world's last best hope, and as a lover of language and caring individual I just need people like you and all the rest on the list here to do exactly as you are told without any fucking dramas or any fucking theatrics and certainly, no disloyalty whatsoever to the Resistance. Or, as I used to tell the Hampton crowd, ye can just fuck right off. Gottit?

Now get out of my site and do as I say because we need to stop this tyrant, and we need every hand on deck, every mind with mine, or the world ends on 5th April 2020. 

Do you want the world to end, Steff? Do you want little whatever the fuck wotsisname is to have no future, no life, fuck all, just because you were too fucking lazy and stupid to do as ye aargh fucking told?

Awh, WW Fake news. The ice caps are melting and the world is going to end on 5th April 2020. That I know because I played with the tatwas in the House of the Dead on Ushers fucking Quay, and burned some rose petals at a Spirit Dreaming event in Washington fucking DC, and I asked the Great Yétaz, aka Yétaz the Mighty, when was the end date of the End Time and this is the fucking answer I got.

To prepare for it I am starting a cult, with very reasonable joining fees and annual rates for a daily update about the end of the world.

Yétaz the Mighty also told me directly by telepathy that we may be able to shift this date years down the road, if I get enough gold and platinum star membership packages sold in the first year of opening this sacred opportunity to join the cult and sect of the favored ones that will be spared and ascend in the VIP package Orb of Light Salvation Vehicle, shud Yétaz not change His mind and decide that the only human beings being spared are me, someone else, our mates, and paying members with the intelligence to purchase a gold star plus or platinum package, with a special opening one time offer of 20% off if you can answer this question correctly. What is Yétaz the Mighty's favorite color?

What is Yétaz the Mighty's favorite fucking color, Steff, hey, hey, c'mon, why don't ye ask ye new mates at WW see if they can fucking tell ye all this shit when they are not tossing theselvs off just so a deluded few hundred thousand can laff at their sick jokes done in service of a Russian dictator. Proud of yerself now are ye, hey, now you are a dictator loving tool of Vladimir Putin?