Physical violence sullied the rustic idyll of Termonfeckin this morning after a disagreement between volunteers from FF and FG over whose election poster got to higher up a pole.
There was confusion over who had dibs on the telegraph pole. Seamus from Fianna Fáil arrived first to guard the pole while a ladder arrived from Clogherhead. A Fine Gael team then arrived a few minutes later with a ladder and proceeded to mount it.
Frantic phonecalls were made by the FF team.
“Will ye hurry up to fuck Frank! We can’t hold this pole, we’re outnumbered by Blueshirts!”
The Fine Gael boys at first tried to reason with their FF counterparts in a spirit of brotherly love. “Lookit. Who was in charge when these poles were put up in 1927? Cumann na nGaedheal that’s who. That was us basically. And who was in charge when the electrification of rural Ireland actually began in 1955? We were. So fuck off or there’ll be trouble.”
“Yeah, put up with Brit money after youse signed away the country!”
“DID FUCKEN TOO YE LITTLE CUNT! COME ‘ERE’TL I SLAP YE YA SHAM!”
A grappling match began, not unlike the homoerotic clenches prevalent in MMA. It was during this love/hate set-to that a northern reg car pulled up making that gravelly sound you do hear in the filims.
Two handlers got out and stared down at the tangle of limbs. Another opened the rear door and a man carrying a fold up chair got out. The man placed the chair in the centre of the road.
A second car pulled up. A man got out and sat on the chair. That man was Gerry Adams.
[TO BE READ IN GERRY ADAMS’ ACCENT]
“This here pole is our pole. Has anyone got a problem with that? …Good.
“It’s awful quiet around here isn’t it? Deserted even.”
The boys from FF and FG held hands.
“No problem Gerry. No problem at all. That’s your pole so it is. We were only minding it for ye.”
“Making shoe-ur it wasn’t robbed on ye Gerry hai.”
“No problem lads. I reward loyalty so I’ll tell ye what. You can put your pictures up on every fourth pole. But if I hear of any of them above mine…Well…up to yee.”
After Sinn Féin had left, the FF and FG boys were still holding hands. Before the spell was broken a single unifying thought permeated their consciousness and rushed through their atoms as though each one had come independently to the same conclusion.
“We need to unite!” They both said, finishing each others sentence. “Otherwise we’re fucked.”