On the Plight of Ireland

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Clothes are a materialist distraction.

In my perfect world, everyone will frolic nude, protected from my sight by strategic black rectangles.

For some people, the rectangles will need to obscure their whole body; for others, they can be more tactical. But this is a price I am willing to pay.

Eventually, I shall allow the people to use other geometric shapes, and lo, they shall celebrate my beneficence.

Black rectangles! Golden stars! Purple circles! It’ll be like lucky charms for censorship!

Ireland is a troubled country.

Torn by religious warfare between those who respect the leprechaun and those who only seek the marshmallow bounty.

So many people have died at the hands of Count Chocula’s bombs.

It’s a national tragedy.

When will the gentle law of Captain Crunch prevail?

He seeks only to integrate the nation, preaching understanding and a unified Ireland where everyone’s special flavor is simply another kind of crunchberry.

Yet he is considered the terrorist!

He’s not. He’s just a man of firm convictions.

*patriotic music plays*

That isn’t blood on his hands. It’s raspberry syrup.

The people who compare him to Blackbeard are just propagandists.

I mean, yes, he does keep lit cigarettes in his beard in pursuit of voodoo rituals. It does let him be possessed by the colorful marshmallow spirits.

It does make him immortal. But is that so wrong?

It’s not like his zombie rice puffs are enforcing a reign of terror—they’re just yummy undead treats!

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