The Stages of Irish Logic (The Benefit of Niall Noggliach)

At our lowest and most simplest level, we have the Noahim, centuries of sailors in the swamps of the Black Sea during the Ice Age. Their belief, is that you’re a bigot if you don’t think someone can serve any country they choose, making you an enemy. It isn’t blood that unites you, it is financial interest, what a Rabbi calls a ‘license to kill’, a reason (license) to commit revenge (the act of killing).

Next with have the level of recognition in the tongue of Gaelic. There is a nomadic horsemanship culture, Scythia, from the Caucausus, in our culture, with villages holding signs of recognition, legends, that your family fits into, and with deed defending village, your merged family history places into the village, for a nomadic horsemanship movement signal. This is the source of Irish art, the Caucasian standard.

Next layer up, is Pharaoh Narmer, our breeding with Africa. This is the concept of an altered movement of rules in stages of science to teach, with roles of profession held opposite belief, for the division of labor within society, the uniquely Irish form. Instead of specialization to perfect a trade, we place ourselves into a delusion of denial, where we are not performing the trade, however we perform it constantly, the misappropriation of name you find in a line of study at a cathedral, monastery, parochial school, public school, charter school, college, university, or graduate’s program.

A layer up, is Prince Coccus, who we removed the left testicle of, for raping a little girl, after she refused to give him a poppet, her instrument for sewing her own clothes, and that of her husband’s. Prince Coccus was our hostage, to rule the kingdom of Breton, whom had betrayed the King, Niall Noggliach, for not sending hunting parties to locate his mother, enslaved by the King of Ireland and his wife, Mong Fiann, mother of the Fergusons, the Scottish, our sworn enemy as bladesmen. He came back as St. Patrick, and we adapted the hierarchy of Rome, to abate riots, swifting bringing the riots to quell by placing the Irish into a system of egalitarianism, the concept that the highest standard is the standard for all to be allowed to rise to, the King’s throne, and that anyone not able to meet this standard, be given a special tutor, and that none be lowered, Irish Catholicism, called Paganism in some tongues of Jesuit or Catechism.

Later, we betrayed Ireland, to the Church of England, as O’Neills. Then we adapted the Baronies and Counties. Now, we have a Barony of origin, our ancestor that commanded a war while drinking alcohol, otherwise you’re Scottish, you’ve been kicked out, and we have a County for jurisdiction, culling any law enforcement that crosses through their zone of responsibility. This is the system where if one attempts a duel with the Irish, we are challenged to quit alcohol, or otherwise face our own deaths. If we refuse to quit drinking alcohol and seek Barony, we have achieved a County, a zone of command for us to protect, with the most savage blows and gestures granted, to the downfall of any witnessing jurisdiction as falsehood, our regard as a homosexual, someone who does not grasp the theory of government; a gang, a mob, and no Irish be they, but those that seek to make us Scots, having failed once, and at the second time, a sword necessary to break our will.

The final stage, come to this day and perhaps no longer the final given another twilight, is the Fenian. The defender of the city, the courts, and the politics of high, each Irish is given the responsibility of being a Prince, choosing what they imbibe in thought, and revolt against in weapon held. The city is now our place, this Place of Thieves, the Ghetto, and we are Jews again, and now with cigarettes, matches, powder, beer, liquor, lager, and our most important tool, our family. We ask nothing of them, but their own treachery, and in repayment, they have our soul, our literary bird carried about the city, for as long as we can hold in, and if all has failed, then it shall be a handsome corpse we make, to be carried by the negro pallbearer across the stones and waters, back to Christ, in Jerusalem.

Published by cheater120

Consider me an expert in information munitions. I practice Zazen meditation, Yakuza Trappist form (a Yakuza, games cheat, and Trappist, a counter-agent), as a Bonafuda, a mercantile salesmen of information through philosophy, literature, fiction, and academics, distributed as munitions technique deployed for the purpose apparent to you, unless of course you have violated the ethics of my piece, in which case you will be trapped inside a theft of the piece and an action within the boundaries of the violation you have committed in Benedictine culture, the Jewish affiliate within Catholic culture. Buyer beware, and these poems, are free.

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