More Posh Irish Chicks in NYC Than Dublin

Dublin, where the posh chicks moved from. 

According to the results of a recent survey, carried out jointly by a number of Irish and American institutions, there are more 'posh' Irish women in New York than there are in Dublin. The study, compiled by Harvard Business School, Yale's Political Science Department and East Limerick's College of Plumbing and Drainage Maintenance, found that there are currently an estimated 862 Dublin-born women 'of affluence and influence' between the ages of 18-45 living, either permanently or temporarily, in New York's five boroughs (There are only nine currently living in Dublin).

Of those, 853 live in Manhattan, 8 live in (the same apartment) in Brooklyn, and one, Yvonne Clifton-Somerville, originally from Ballsbridge, Dublin 4, who asked not to be named, lives in The Bronx, but only, she tells us, because her father is a part-owner of Woodlawn.

With emigration the norm in Ireland, New York City has witnessed thousands of Irish people, and in particular, upwardly mobile young women from Dublin's more affluent suburbs, arrive on its shores. This has brought to New York a new generation of skills, talents, designer handbags and their oul' fellahs credit cards, not to mention fabulous hair and extraordinarily shiny teeth.

We caught up with one young woman, Tara 'Bernie' Simpkins-Doyle, who moved to Manhattan from Dublin, in March of this year. We asked her why she was making a face like a semi-conscious baboon into her phone. 'It's my selfie pout, darling. It's for the girls at home, to make them well-jel, and wish they were here spending, rather than there, em, not spending'.

While Manhattan's reputation as a shopping mecca is certainly advantageous to a young Irish lady with money and time to spend, it has its drawbacks too. Said Jess 'Jessica' Hamilton, a one-time runner-up in the Young Beautiful Daughters of Southwest Dublin and The Nicer Parts of North Wicklow Beauty Pageant; 'I mean ya, it like totally, OMG, is, like, whatever, but, at home I worked for my dad's engineering firm, I co-managed like, 812 people, and only had to work,  six hours a week, here I'm expected to touch dirty plates, that someone actually like, ate from, for, like, three days a week?! I mean, come on, I thought like, the olden days were like, in the past or whatever'.

Not everyone however, is enamored with this influx of well-to-do young Dublin ladies in New York City. When we asked Mary Cotter, a 52-year-old Donegal woman working as a waitress in Queens, whether she found them annoying, she said; 'Aye'.

With a new program of 90-Day visas currently being offered to Irish people from the south Dublin area with fabulous hair and interesting accents, there will be more young ladies who shop and the young men who seldom call them back after spending a fortune on drink then not even gettin' an oul' feel off them, arriving in Manhattan in the coming weeks. Watch this space. Darlings.

Words by Bosco Coppell. Picture courtesy of the estate of Warren 'Whacker' Heffington-Smythe.

Hipster Plans Boycott of All Non Craft Beer Bars

Coffee and an 'ironic' hipster musical instrument.

A self-proclaimed 'hipster' has announced that he and his two friends will be boycotting every drinking establishment which stocks anything other than craft beers in the coming weeks. Davie 'Nicholas' Dwyer, originally from Sligo but now based in Brooklyn, claims that bars and restaurants that stock the likes of Heineken, Bud and Guinness were merely; 'Capitalist buzzkillers out to harsh the mellow vibe of the downtrodden cool daddies'. The Heraldy Press had no interpreter on hand, so we didn't know what he meant, but we think it may have been something about ice pops, drainage systems or Chile's attacking formation in the recent World Cup.

Dwyer, who relocated from Sligo, northwest Ireland, after realizing nobody in his hometown had an Arcade Fire ('You've probably never heard of them', he added) album he could borrow, arrived in Williamsburg, County Brooklyn, in 2013, where he swiftly became immersed in the so-called 'hipster' lifestyle. Buying a Jack Kerouac ('You've probably never heard of him' he again added) book to have sticking out of his back pocket to impress the 'hipstettes' and having his dad buy him an antique Fender Stratocaster guitar that he could strum outside the Starbucks on north 9th street, a year later, the by-now semi-bearded Dwyer claims to have noticed a disturbing trend in local bars. Most of them sold alcohol products that people outside his inner circle of two pals had heard of.

Said Dwyer, as he bummed a cigarette from a nearby homeless man, before putting it in his pocket ('For later'); 'If a distillery or like, pints factory or whatever, employ like, I don't know, um, hundreds of people to make their government-approved product, then what's the point, the chemicals man, it's killing the industry, this isn't how great warriors of literature and music are made. Dostoyevsky, Tolstoy,  or the dudes from, um, Boards of Canada, you'll not have heard of them, didn't develop their genius drinking Budweiser, they did it with Tommy Ferret's Blueberry Stout or Pineapple Froth from The Greenpoint Brewhouse'. Incidentally, when talking, he misspelled 'Dostoyevsky', we had to correct him..

From September 2nd onwards, Dwyer and his pals, notable local bongo-player Arthur 'Philip' Sweeney and Clifford 'Jimmy' McMonagle, will begin their picketing outside the bars of Brooklyn to support the idea of more craft beer bars. They'd have started on the 1st, but a nearby tavern has $2 mugs of Budweiser and free wings all night. They'll not be protesting on Thursdays either, most likely because Heineken have promotions in the neighborhood, where if you buy three $11 bottles you get a free keyring.

Leaving his 2,400 square foot condo in Williamsburg bright and early each afternoon with his hand-painted placard, the seemingly unkempt Dwyer, so stressed he even forgot to remove the Banana Republic tags from his tweed jacket, said; 'You'll thank me man, with more craft beers in the hood, there'll be more choice, and with more choice comes better jobs, so I'll not have to keep buying my friends drinks, my dad's not made of money, you know'.

With 817 craft beer bars springing up in Brooklyn alone last week, and fourteen bookstores which only serve $9 decaf herbal non-foam lattes (not books though) and a thrift store where locals pretend to buy their clothes, things are looking up for the hipster community in Brooklyn. The pack of bastards.

Words by Bosco Coppell, Picture by Dorothy's Antique Bridal Gowns. 

Ireland's 33rd County Found by Divers

Ireland as it looks from a hot-air balloon or a very tall ladder.

Ireland's archaeologists, divers, historians and scientists are in a state of excitement, following the discovery last week of a major land mass several hundred meters below the water's surface off the coast of County Wexford. Upon first inspection, locals felt that it was merely an extraordinarily large sand bar, but upon further investigation, it appears that the find could well be the long-lost city of 'Atlondis', or Ireland's unofficial 33rd county, which is believed to have sank without trace hundreds of years ago.

The discovery was made when Cavan man Peter Chestnut had a scuba-diving unit called to the area, after dropping his wallet overboard when out fishing. The Heraldy Press asked Mr. Chestnut how it felt to be at the root of what could well be one of the most incredible archaeological finds of all time: 'I couldn't give a shite about that, I just want me wallet back. There's 23 Euro and the phone number of a young one from Tipperary who's father owns a pub in the zip pocket, I'm just hoping that I closed the zip, sometimes I do forget and me coins do fall out. I lost me comb too. Incidentally, I meant that the phone number was in the zip pocket, not the pub. Archaeologists? More like ask me bollixes if you ask me', he replied, with a surprising level of wit for a Cavan man who'd just lost his wallet.

'Atlondis', according to local legend, was a large town on the outskirts of County Wexford, ruled by the handsome Prince Fiachra and his personal assistant, Clive for almost a week, after the death of Fiachra's father, the High King Dermot. When the English invaded the area in 1647, at around lunchtime on Saint Valentine's Day, destroying most of the region's vineyards and playing havoc with the good Prince's antique shoehorn collection, the local residents revolted. Subsequently, under Fiachra and Clive's instructions, the town's citizens began hammering and digging ditches along the border of Atlondis and Wexford, eventually cutting a line the entire length of the town's westernmost border, and in effect, setting it free from Ireland. It then sailed for several feet, before sinking without trace, until, it seems, last week.

Fortunately however, the local residents, exhausted from all their digging activities, are rumored to have taken a rest when the job was done, and could only watch as 'Atlondis', with Fiachra and Clive still 'on board' sailed off and capsized.

Ever since, there have been many expeditions, well, two, to determine the exact location of 'Atlondis', or indeed, whether the region even stood at all. Now however, with the discovery of such a substantial land mass at the exact location that it was to have once been located, there could finally be proof that this once luscious land, with its sprawling vegetation, thriving economy and sluttish women, sorry, adventurous citizens, did indeed exist. A nation, as if it were in possession of a suitcase full of elderly milk, holds its breath. Probably.

Words by Bosco Coppell. Picture by Dorothy's Antique Toys from Olden Days and Live Bait.

Cork Man Admits Dublin Is Ireland's Capital

Side by side on their sideboard, oh lord, why can't we?

An elderly man from Cork has, for the first time in his life, acknowledged Dublin as the real capital city of Ireland. To the disgust of his neighbors, family, friends, former cellmates and at least one mistress, Seanie 'Dave' O'Driscoll (87) last week said that the people of his beloved Cork should move on with the times and accept Dublin, for so long Cork's bitter rival in the 'We're The Best Place in Ireland' game, as the nation's capital. A game County Leitrim was never, incidentally, invited to partake in.

Seanie, a sprightly pensioner with, according to his former friends, the mind of a 20-year-old, and the table manners of a baboon, is fiercely proud of his Cork heritage, and has, over the years, had twenty-three mostly Cork-related tattoos inked on to his skin, though one of them, a map of Limerick covering the entire left side of his face, was done as a joke by drunken friends on the night before his wedding to his ninth wife, Barbara. Sadly, nobody has since told Seanie that crayon tattoos such as that one, wash off rather easily.

Micilin Beag 'Jim' O'Conaire, a long-time friend of Seanie from 1941 until 1976, then again in the mid '80s, and twice more after the millenium, when questioned by The Heraldy Press on Seanie's decision to push the idea of Dublin as the nation's number one city, said; 'He what?' When we explained the circumstances to him, he continued; 'The dirty langer'.

Dublin and Cork have enjoyed a healthy rivalry for many decades, be it in Gaelic Games (Barney Rock vs Jimmy Barry Murphy), literature (Brendan Behan vs Sean O'Faolain), stout (Guinness vs Murphys) and music (U2 vs The Cork and Surrounding Counties Tin Whistle All-Stars), with neither county either gaining, or giving, an inch.

The last time someone from either city paid a compliment to the other, was in 1973, when Phil 'Howya' Humphreys, of Finglas, north Dublin, said that the Cork hurling team of the previous season; 'Weren't as shite as their footballers'. The same year, a woman from Bantry, County Cork, purchased a  tape by The Cranberries, thinking they were from Dublin, but returned it when she realized Sinead O'Connor wasn't in that band.

Seanie maintains that he will continue to; 'Love Cork as my wife, though not my first wife, she was an oul' hag, but treat Dublin like the prodigal son returning from the wars. As long as he hasn't turned into some sort of langer on his travels'.

Words by Bosco Coppell, Picture by Daisy's Chainsaws and Ribbons. 

Marching Season's All About The Hats Says Top Unionist

A bowler hat, pictured without Orangeman underneath.

Hughie 'Hugh' Monaghan, a high-ranking member of the Lovelier Unionists Movement, has claimed that despite developing a reputation of bullying, beatings and bigotry over the years, the real reason Orangemen continue with their marches throughout Ireland is down to another 'B-word', bowler hats.

Mr. Monaghan, a Lieutenant Cardinal with the organization, a splinter group which developed following a split within the ranks of the Unionists Against Green Things Like Apples and Fenians, itself an offshoot of the Anti-Brady Bunch-The Movie Unionists, says that if it weren't for the hats and the lovely shiny sashes, he'd not be an Orangeman at all.

We called to Mr. Monaghan's home, a gorgeous split-level treehouse in a field on the outskirts of Ulster, where, through a window (he didn't want our dirty Free State footprints all over his rugs) we witnessed his mammy, Colin, ironing his sash and slow-dancing with a papier mache model of the reasonably late Rev. Ian Paisley, while humming the popular Orangeman's ballad, 'Burn In Green Hell You Dirty Shamrock  Bastards', a minor hit in 1975 for The Loyal Nephews of Darling King Billy.

When asked whether he still believed in the Unionist ideals that made Orangemen tick, Mr. Monaghan dressed in orange socks and a pirate's hat, said; 'What?' We repeated the question, but he still didn't hear us as some lad beside him was banging a drum and saying mean things about people who didn't have bowler hats. His reply, we think, was; 'Unionism as an ideal, is alive and well throughout Ulster. We also have nicer hats, and shinier sashes than other such organizations, and our marching is very orderly and pretty, with our clenched fists and perfectly-formed knees moving together at a rhythm most ballerinas would marvel at'. He either said that, or 'All Taigs are bastards'. It was hard to tell with all the beating of drums, blowing of fifes, and the standing outside in the lashing rain while not even being offered a cup of tea.

So far this year, there have been eleven July 12th parades celebrating something that Unionist lads are really into, with just 819 incidents of violence being reported, including the savage beating of one bowler hat, a man arrested for the inappropriate fondling of an Orange sash and another individual taken in for questioning for having a cousin who once said something nice Glasgow Celtic.

Words by Bosco Coppell, Picture provided by Daisy's Return of the Jedi Memorabilia Store.

Man To Be Deported for Not Liking 'Mrs Brown's Boys'.

A telly, which 'Mrs. Brown's Boys' was probably on.

A 47-year-old hedge fund manager faces being deported from Ireland, due, he claims, to the fact that he doesn't enjoy the popular television show, 'Mrs. Brown's Boys'. Pablo Dominguez-Burke (he'd an 'aunt' from Bolivia) from Finglas, north Dublin (so he claims), says that it was an off-the-cuff remark in an elevator at work that subsequently set off a chain of events, which led to a letter from the Irish immigration services, requesting that he call to their offices for an urgent meeting regarding his Irish citizenship, or as Pablo worded it; 'About gettin' f***ed out of the country again'.

Speaking with The Heraldy Press just now, seriously, it was just before you got to this sentence that we hung up the phone, Pablo said; 'I was in the lift at work, when one of the cleaners, said to his colleague, and, I can't do the accent, but sure, yiz'll be writin' this anyway, so you won't be able to tell the accent so it doesn't matter, but he said; "Ah Jayziz, did yeh see 'Mrs. Brown's Boys' last night? Wasn't it brilliant the way she was carryin' on and doing things that were really funny?' I then merely tutted and rolled my eyes, though that was in relation to the lift's doors not closing quickly enough, not a reflection on the cleaner's choice in wonderful Irish comedy".

A former cat-burglar with 112 previous convictions, the Dublin native mended his ways to go on to study chartered accountancy at 'some college down in the countryside' (his words), before developing his interest in international banking and the funding of hedges. He has denied not being a lover of the show and not having a sense of humor, claiming that he was a massive comedy fan, enjoying legends of fun like British '80s stars Little and Large and Cannon and Ball, 'all the funny ads off the telly', and especially 'them redneck lads what do say funny things about lawnmowers and having long hair at the back'.

'Mrs. Brown's Boys', a comedy created in 1970 and shown twice on the hour on all 83 Irish channels ever since, was recently reported to have a global audience of 109 billion, and is particularly popular with people who don't like other stuff, and lads in jail for doing mad things.

Sean Driscoll, a representative for the Irish Immigration Services, when asked by The Heraldy Press about the allegations regarding Mr. Dominguez-Burke's status in the country said; 'What?' When we repeated the question, he replied; 'Ah here, would you stop'.

Incidentally, Pablo's attempts at taking off the 'working class' accent of the lad in the elevator was atrocious.

Words (and numbers) by Bosco Coppell, Picture courtesy of Wacker Grogan's Bridal Bouquets.

Garth Brooks Fans Accused of Being Awful Eejits

A guitar, with some Jaffa Cakes.

A country music superstar, or to describe him more accurately, a bloke who sings in a cowboy hat, is alleged to be disappointed and a little amused with the fact that many of his fans, both in Ireland and other countries, have difficulty spelling his (two syllable) name. Garth Brooks, due to perform a number of high-profile shows this summer in Dublin, is the topic of conversation across the breadth of Ireland, or at least, in parts of the country where people don't have other things to talk about, due to the fact that the Government of Ireland will not allow him to play a number of his scheduled shows in the capitol city.  It appears that those in power are concerned with the thoughts of so many boggers arriving into Dublin without greencards or other necessary paperwork, resulting in an extraordinary influx of culchies overstaying their visas and according to one city-based councilor with a foreign-sounding name; 'Stinkin' up the joint and robbin' our women'.

Despite the continuing problems with Mr. Brooks's concerts, or lack thereof, much of the pre-gig chatter concerns the inability of most of his fans to spell his name correctly. A quick investigation on Facebook, resulted in his name being spelled eleven different ways. The most common one, Gareth Brooks (there's no 'E' in 'Garth') appeared on 149 different fan pages, while Garreth, Garret, Gary and Dave also showed up upon further searches. According to Dr. Peter Buachaill-Dana, a research scientist at the Tullamore Institute of Spellings, the mistakes are continuing to occur as; 'His fans are gobshites'. The Heraldy Press asked Dr. Peter to elaborate on this, but he informed us that he didn't know what 'elaborate' meant, then told us to go and shite.

Concert organizers fear that the shows, which will go ahead on July 18th, 21st, 8th, 32nd, once more on the 18th, and back for a final encore on the January 3rd, will be a washout, as many fans may wind up going to see Gary Brookes, a jazz pianist, playing at Luscious Lawrence's Lounge and Gazebo, due to their ongoing problems with spelling the singer's name. When asked his opinion on whether the spelling of a name was a non-issue, or something we should be concerned with, Oliver McGoldrick (Mrs), a die-hard fan of the country superstar since earlier this month, said; 'What?' When we repeated the question, she said; 'I haven't a clue what yis are on about'.

With as many as 39 country music fans descending upon Dublin from fields, forests, campsites, mountains and the skyscrapers of Edenderry to watch Mr. Brookleigh, whose albums include '9 to 5 (What a Way to Make a Livin'), 'Achy Breaky Heart', 'Kenny Rogers Greatest Hits' and 'The Best of Dolly Parton', it's a fun time to be a country music fan in Ireland, at least on those dates it is, because we hear it's shite most of the rest of the time, what with the brutal weather and not being able to spell and all.
Story by Bosco Coppell Picture by Badger Grogan's Bridal Wear. 

Mass is No Craic Anymore Says Priest

A broom, earlier today.

A reasonably popular priest from Ireland, now based in the US, has claimed that mass, unlike days gone by, is no longer any craic. Father Seth Goldstein, a 44-year-old cousin of nine based in Wisconsin, said that due mainly to a few hundred bad eggs on the tree, that mass was no fun, forcing people to stay away in droves. He failed to elaborate by telling us what 'droves' were though.

Goldstein, who graduated from the seminary in County Monaghan in 1961, when he was just nineteen, worked for several years in a small parish in Leitrim, before emigrating to the United States, where he worked first as a taxi-driver in New York City, before touring the country as a backing singer for Celine Dion. He returned to the priesthood part-time in the early 1980s, rising to the rank of Lieutenant Cardinal, in a small parish on the outskirts of the Virgin Islands, which is several thousands miles west of County Monaghan.

"Back then, we'd have a good oul' laugh, making the altar boys, or altar boyos, as we called them, laugh when they were supposed to be working. One time I switched the altar bells that they had to ring, with an elderly barn cat in a paper bag, ah it was a great oul' laugh", said Father Seth, over the phone from his lakeside retreat in Havana. "It's different now though, sure now we do have to learn hymns and prayers and that, and the altar boys have no senses of humour. A while back I put a 'kick me' sticker on one young lad's back, and kept kicking him up the arse during mass, he was bawlin' cryin', it was hilarious, but sure his oul' fellah came round to the sacristy afterwards and kicked seven shades of sh*te out of me. Sure that's no craic", he said.

Attendances at mass have dropped in the US and Ireland, with nine churches and two cathedrals having had to close down in the past hour and a half due to poor sales and leaky roofs. Terry McNee, a former Protestant now working as a sales rep for the church in County Wicklow, has recently introduced schemes to win the punters back, including a giveaway of bobblehead dolls of Pope Gregory IV, Pope Steve the 6th and Ireland's very own, Father Luigi Gomez (the 'Hula Hoop King of Wexford'). The plans have so far failed however, with nobody showing up for mass, possibly due to the Iran vs Nigeria World Cup game on the same day, or, indeed, because the mass dolls were, as one child described them, 'shite'.
Words by Bosco Coppell, Pictures by Dervla's Knick Knacks and Root Canals.