And who wouldn't, eh, guys and gals?
Yesterday my interest was drawn to recent postings upon the cyberstrand of the Irish lady "singer-songwriter", Ms. Sinead O'Connor. The person who drew my attention to her musings did so as she seems to be advertising herself to engage in sexual activity, particularly the act of buggery, to seemingly all-comers, if you will pardon the unfortunate and rather clumsy pun.
It seems that your chances of smashing Ms. O'Connor's back doors in are enhanced if you are over 44 years old, are not named Brian or Nigel (though she later recanted on this latter stipulation), wear leather trousers, be of a hirsute demeanour, be a Gardai, or a fireman, or a rugby-player, or Mr. Robert Downey Junior. Personally, I should think that a middle-aged leather-trousered hairy flatfoot would be an unholy amalgam of all that is twatty in humanity, but I suppose there is no accounting for personal taste.
And as for Mr. Robert Downey Junior; I am aware that he is not a homosexual, but I should wager that he would not climb over me to get to her. But I digress.
She also states that the would-be dinner masher should be "blind enough to think I'm gorgeous". I feel that not even Mr. Stevie Wonder should be so inclined.
Having made her position quite clear, and reiterated it on several subsequent occasions using such twee, tender terminology as "doing anal", "the difficult brown", "bark up the wrong tree" and "let him in the tradesman's entrance", she was due to appear on the Raidió Teilifís Éireann "Late Late Show" televisual strand in order to discuss her cyberquest with a Mr. Ryan Turbridy, who it seems makes Ms. O'Connor's minge foam like Bottled Bass. However, after a chat with a researcher on said televisual strand, undertaken to pave the way for her appearance, she flounced; a small amount of verbal (rather than anal) probing had her issue the following statement (reproduced with original spelling and grammar):
This friday I was supposed to appear on ireland's Late Late show. Sadly I have had to pull out as, during the course of the conversation with the(male) researcher I was asked a number of questions which I found rude, patronising, insulting and disrespectful and which wounded me enormously and showed me it would not be either a safe or respectful environment in which to place my precious self. I value myself too much to allow myself to be so disrespected, patronised, and treated like a 'crazy' person.
I'm sure the show will claim they weren't disrespectful, rude, insulting and patronising, and will do the usual 'oh she's a crazy woman imagining slights which weren't there. They were there and I can honestly say that I have now as a result of that conversation an enormous physical pain in my heart. It is sickening to have it suggested by anyone that I am 'insane' for talking openly about sex. The researcher said to me that since I suffer from depression do I not think its insane behaviour to be talking publicly about sex.
While it may be called rude, inappropriate, naughty, silly, adolescent etc to talk rudely about sex, it is outrageous to call it 'insane'. THAT is insane.
It is extremely chauvinist and patronising to ask me, a woman of 44, what does my brother, the author Joseph O'Connor think of my 'behaviour'.
I will never as long as I live, consider appearing on the late late show again. And I might add that no apology or act of respect has been issued by either the presenter of the show, nor any one in a leading position on the show. I am tired of all this 'sinead is crazy' crap. Its a disgrace. It has caused me enormous pain in my life as an artist and has many times led me to consider ending my life. Thankfully I have four beautiful reasons not to. Those are my precious children. But no woman should have to walk around feeling like someone has driven a tree through her heart.
I can honestly say that is how I felt since my conversation with the Late Late researcher.
If anyone connected with the Late Late show had even the remotest thought that my having fun and talking about sex was a symptom of a mental illness then it would have been very exploitative of them to have me on the show as some crazy performing monkey.
We are still the same old squinting windows Ireland, the type which had women like me in industrial schools. When u start to feel good about ur self, sure enough someone will come and stomp all over your heart with their steel-toed docs, and tell u u deserved it. We are a country which should be spelled without the letter 'O'.
Oh, dear. Who would have possibly thought that a middle-aged mother of four, offering herself to all and sundry for a spot of what she terms "buttfuckery", would get so upset about somebody gently questioning her mental state? Well, evidently she managed to get over her deep, heartfelt trauma quite quickly, as the very next day she stated that her appearance on the televisual strand was back on. Perhaps Mr. Turbridy has, indeed, offered to pack her fudge, live on air, whilst Podge and Rodge indulge her in a spot of bukkake fun. It seems that she also wants to engage in sexual congress with Mr. Bob Dylan. I should think he would rather wipe his rectum with a broken bottle, given that hers almost certainly resembles a prop-forward's ear.
So, what are we to make of all this bizarreness? It would be easy to dismiss Ms. O'Connor as something of a crank, as many others have. However, I am of the belief that she is in fact studiously "shouty crackers", in the manner of that other Irish iconoclast, Mr. Alan "Greeny" Green, saying things simply for the sake of being controversial in order to draw attention to her high-maintenance, self-possessed self. I should imagine that anybody who were indeed in the unfortunate position of wedging their tumesence up her fundament would actually be subjected to several verses of the catechism during the act, and all manner of random, bizarre vitrolic curses for ever after.
And, to return to the original point raised by the person who steered me in the direction of Ms. O'Connor's ramblings; would I submit myself as a candidate to smash one up her "Tex Ritter"?
Feisigh do thoin fein, Sinead...
Do others concur?
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