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Breaking Mad-igan Josepha Madigan must wake up to real national issues after Kerryman debate

"Lecturing to the little people comes as naturally to this TD - it stands for Tone Deaf, in case you were wondering - as finding ever more irritatingly woke ways to thrust herself onto centre stage."

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Josepha Madigan.

Josepha Madigan.

Josepha Madigan.

We interrupt the Dustin Hoffperson movie, All the President's People of Indeterminate Gender, for an urgent statement from Josepha Mad Again.

Cut to a feline figure perched, amid a bonfire of local newspapers, on the high horse that is her natural terrain.

Riding crop uncoiled, Mad Again is, well, mad again and she ain't going to take it no more.

Lecturing to the little people comes as naturally to this TD - it stands for Tone Deaf, in case you were wondering - as finding ever more irritatingly woke ways to thrust herself onto centre stage.

So, here she comes again, the Minister with her Finger Several Constituencies from the Pulse.

Perhaps, like the rest of us, Mad Again is apoplectic that a government of which she is a vocal component vaccinated just 301 people last Sunday, while the UK, racing to a freedom of which we can but dream, inoculates 620,000 per day?

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Josepha Madigan

Josepha Madigan

Josepha Madigan

Or maybe the volcano of her fury erupted upon reading the HSE's latest target: To inject a Pfizer vial into everybody over the age of 137 within a decade of Mayo winning five All-Irelands in a row.

The nation will certainly stand behind her if she regards it as an affront to decency that the boss of that secretive, unfit-for-purpose monolith is remunerated to the tune of €420,000-per-annum - dwarfing his NHS equivalent's £195,000.

Surely Mad Again's entire focus is on urgently ending a lockdown as lengthy as a politician's pension entitlements, one that is smashing the economy, destroying livelihoods, crushing mental health and sapping our will to live?

Could it be that she finally flipped when Nphet's Ronan Glynn - like a 1950s' parish priest chastising a destitute congregation for failing to contribute money they didn't have to the weekly church collection - demanded that people who have nothing left to give "do a little more"?

It would be understandable if she flipped after watching one more doomsday proclamation from the cabal of attention-seeking scientists and medics whose addiction to the spotlight is matched only by their power-crazed urge to control every microscopic facet of your life.

Or was she incredulous that her colleague Patrick O'Donovan, in a condescending rush of prohibitionist zeal that would do Eliot Ness proud, sought to thrust a pioneer pin into all our lapels.

"Steer away" from alcohol over the St Patrick's Day festivities scolded O'Donovan, a witless busybody who seems to believe he was elected on a Taliban manifesto.

Nope. Mad Again has bigger fish to fry.

The Minister for Taking Offence won't sleep until a 117-year-old newspaper changes its name, one her forever vexed sensibilities alone seem to find grotesquely insulting.

And the name of the publication in question: The Kerryman.

Apparently Mad Again deems such a vicious and odious title as an existential threat to the female population.

To which the only sane response is Jesus, Mary and Josepha…

My straw poll of six independent-minded ladies listed The Kerryman non-issue outside their top one million priorities - below the mating habits of the Naked Mole Rat - at this despairing moment in time.

As one pithily remarked: "Maybe, while we she's at it, Josepha should invade the Isle of Man."

Their conclusion was that no matter what attention-seeking, PC high-horse Mad Again mounts, she'll never come within 100 furlongs of Rachel Blackmore - colossus of the equine world and composer of an inspiring Cheltenham hymn.

To be fair, Mad Again has achieved the impossible: Placing the entire country on Michael Healy-Rae's side as he destroyed her "balderdash" argument with one killer line about whether she would also like to rename the manholes.

But, in the spirit of fair play, we now go over to Government Buildings for a national address from the Minister for Picking Daft Arguments while Ignoring the Crisis she's Paid to Address.

"Bomber Liston, Fungie, Daniel O'Connell, Tom Crean, John B Keane, Dáithí Ó Sé, Con Houlihan, Gooch, every flat-cap wearing Healy-Rae…don't make me angry, you wouldn't like me when I'm angry.

"I'm Mad Again, the Minister for Picking Pointless Fights and I love the smell of burning, misogynistic journals in the morning.

"It's no wonder Peig Sayers went a couple of Blaskets short of a full archipelago living in such a forsaken bastion of self-satisfied male chauvinism.

"Was it for this my friend Maria Bailey fell from her swing?

"As Minister for the National Mood, I have a sixth sense which empowers me to see through the fog of media deflection.

"All this talk about petty irrelevances like lockdown, job losses, a mental health crisis and housing rollout is not for one moment fooling this 21st century Lady Godiva.

"I'll spell 'Michéal Ó Muircheartaigh' backwards while standing on my head sipping a Sex on the Beach before falling for the propaganda that the big issue in Kerry is how to knock Dessie Farrell's Dublin off their f***ing perch.

"Living as I do in leafy south Dublin, I am uniquely equipped to condescend to the people of Cahirsiveen, Annascaul and Ballyferriter.

"I know that you want organic kale- infused breakfast shakes, you want vegetarian sausages and crushed avocado, you want the arena where you play that uncouth bogball thingy to which you pleb-types seem to be addicted renamed Fitzgeraldine Stadium.

"You want me, the Meghan Markle of the Dáil, to take on The Firm and not to rest until every Healy-Rae flat cap is impaled on my avenging sword.

"And at last, Kerry is re-imagined as the Queendom, with I Princess Mad Again as your beloved monarch."

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