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“DO you know why we pulled you over there?” asked the people of Ireland, addressing a very sheepish and uncomfortable-looking Garda force early this morning at a checkpoint.

Very aware of the fact that there were a multitude of reasons as to why they were being questioned, but not wanting to give too much away, the approximately 12,000 or so Gardaí risked a timid ‘brake light?’ answer, before being asked to move to the safety of the hard shoulder and step out of their vehicle.

“We’re kind of against it, time-wise this morning,” stuttered every guard in Ireland, from Commissioner Noirin O’Sullivan right down to rank-and-file traffic cops.

“If you want to just stick a fine in the post there, or get us to call into the station tomorrow then we can do that, but we have to…”

The Gardaí, sweating now, were hushed with a single raised-hand from the people of Ireland, and told again in a sterner tone; pull over into the hard shoulder, there.

Nervously, each and every member of the Garda Síochána moved over to the side of the road, wondering just how much trouble they were in. Was it the penalty points things? Was this about the way whistleblowers got their lives destroyed after voicing concerns about corruption?

“Oh fuck,” said one Guard in the back seat.

“Is it the way we’ve been just entering whatever figure we felt like into the breathalyzer statistics? Or how we sorta magically appear in force anytime a government interest is being protested against, while simultaneously being ‘short of numbers’ when it comes to tackling the drugs and crime ravaging towns and cities?”

The guards watched as the nation of Ireland walked methodically around them saying nothing, but taking notes in a small black jotter.

“It’s that we’re pricks”, said one Garda Sergeant, head in hands.

“We’re pricks and bullies and self-serving, arrogant bastards. I’m telling you, we were grand all the way up the road until we just got too fucking smart, that’s when they pulled us over. Noirin, what’ll we do? Ah Jesus Noirin, they’re at the window, what are you going to tell them?”

Sitting in the driver seat, the beleaguered snapped at her passengers.

“Would youse shut up for a minute? I’m trying to think” said O’Sullivan, as the public rapped on the drivers window with one knuckle and made a wind-down motion.

“Ah how’re ye”, said O’Sullivan, winding down the window and trying to decide what the fuck she was going to say next.

“Listen, is it about the scandals? Yeah, look, I know they’re piling up at the minute but I swear, I was going to get them sorted at the weekend. If you want, I can get them done straight away, I’ve just been up against it, sure you know yourself ha ha ha ha”.

Not buying it for a second, the public repeated itself again; Get. Out. Of the vehicle.

Calmly and without hesitation, Garda Commissioner Noirin O’Sullivan floored the boot and tore away from the hard shoulder with the entire Garda force in the back seat screaming at her.

“What the fuck are you at Noirin?” they screamed.

“They’re after us now! We could have talked our way out of it, like we always do! What have you done?”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” said O’Sullivan, glancing periodically in the rear view mirror as the Irish public closed in on her and her organisation.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up”.