Catching the Brain Dead

I visited the pile of shite they call Tralee over the past few days.  The place is bad enough in the light – had a chance to view my friend from the south’s footpath parking morons in action.  If you’re disabled, have had a recent pregnancy or are are in any fashion a pedestrian Tralee is not the place to visit.  Pity the poor folk who need to live there.But at night the town is taken over by the brain dead.  The shaven headed dwarves -with no wedding tackle  - screaming around the town in their old Civics, Almeras and Corollas getting the thrills no respectable female would offer them by blasting their ex-silencers as loud as possible, trying hand brake turns as if they invented them and generally being as anti-social as their small sized heads and willies would lead you to expect. And the Gardai.  What Gardai?  The noise lasted from 11pm to 3am.  I reckon 4 hours is just not long enough to mobilise.  And sure is there not a shift change in the meantime.  You need to be snuggly back at base for the shift change – not out enforcing the law or anything. 

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