Anyone wanting to turn my boy into a coolie will get my stick shoved down their throat horizontally.
And anyone wanting to put a gun in his hand, this sort of shite's inevitable next step, will have to put one to my head first. Don't like being direct about these things, but that's the way it is.
Thank you, Prime Minister. You might just have given me that perfect excuse I've been looking for - to emigrate to Donegal.
Doesn't he look like a bloody Dalek in that picture?
Labels: Minds On Fire And Hearts Of Ice