An Ode to WOL

Here sits WOL. A flimsy papier-mache shell of what it used to be. Wollies, woollies, woolly wollies! Come back from whence you came. Holes have been perforated in its sides By the constant Drip-drip-drip Of petty grievances and whinging. Favours, favours, pink or blue? I don’t care – Do you? Ah poo. Do not misconstrue My comments, you foo –l. I disagree with what you said- “I think your bridesmaids should wear red. The trend for fuschia is long dead.” But we cannot put our differences to bed. So we snipe at you instead. Ha ha ha... You cow. I might be twenty five-years old But I cannot handle being told The joys of platinum versus white gold. To question me is very bold Proper conversation, I cannot hold. ...do you think if I translated it into Irish the government would give me a house?

GF, The Legend.

You like it then? I think it really captures the post-modern angst of WOL life as it is today, yanno...

I certinaly do. Dunno about the free gaff though. You might have to start your own illegal family planning clinic, or Scientology Church or something for that. The First Church of GraceFace, The Appointed. Sounds pretty good, to me!

Class Gracie. You have a talent!

I likes the way you think we can hand out flyers on the streets of Dublin, and appoint the Spire as our chief meeting-place. I will convince the laypeople that the only way to spiritual fulfillment is to give away all of your worldly possessions into my capable hands... I am only holding on to them for the next life, then when you die you can collect them from me on your way. Like a safety deposit bank, really. Just like TSB, only existential.

Ooooh gf what a talent you have. I take my hat off to you (if i was wearing one!!)