Pamela O’Sullivan, Boots the Chemist and An Garda Síochána, Anglesea St, Cork.

No matter what happens in Cork don’t make complaint to the United Kingdom; doing so will be considered treasonous, it will result in a spell in the stocks

Richard Bradley, Managing Director of Boots Ireland, will allow crap in Ireland that wouldn’t be tolerated in the UK.

Ireland’s rottenness and backwardness will never be off your radar if you spend time in Cork city. The conduct and actions of a Boots the Chemist manager in Cork city, Pamela O’Sullivan, is a perfect example of the degenerate state that all sections of Irish society has descended to.

O’Sullivan’s conduct was beyond disgusting, and, as if she viewed her own Oirish vulgarity as not being pernicious enough, you also had to contend with her coterie of half-educated and ignoramus hermaphroditic staff. It was as if O’Sullivan wanted to ensure no customer left without encountering a fire-spitting humanoid of indefinable sex1.

How a large European company like Boots the Chemist could sink so low as employing such a backward Irish bitch as O’Sullivan is a question that only a psychologist could answer.

And then there’s Richard Bradley, the Managing Director of this pharmaceutical company’s Irish subdivision. This man has years of experience working in the pharmaceutical sector in the United Kingdom where insane mongrels – like the urine reeking O’Sullivan – wouldn’t have a hope of getting employment. Bradley would in no way countenance a subnormal pissy-knickered Irish bitch in a UK pharmacy, but yet is willing to have one managing an outlet of Boots the Chemist in Merchant’s Quay, Cork city.

Anne O’Brien, Boots, Halfmoon St, Cork city

Pamela O’Sullivan, Merchant’s Quay, Cork city

Pharmaceutical Society of Ireland,

Being concerned that this mongrelised Oirish bitch, and her coterie of ingrates, might dispense a prescription wrongly2 and poison a patient I informed Boots’ Customer Care in the UK. From their reply I sensed that they had a deep-seated frustration because of the backwardness and stupidity that its Irish staff are forever involved in. From it I realised that perhaps Richard Bradley simply couldn’t do anything about the atrocious mongrelism that saturates Boots’ Cork workforce – basically, his thoughts might be: “it’s south-west Ireland, and if you want to do business there you’ll simply have to hire aggressive inbred morons”.

The Irish police can do stupidity
like no one else.

My experience with Pamela O’Sullivan didn’t end with me informing her superiors about her vile conduct. She was upset that her stupidity had been related to her betters and, in attempt to get revenge, made a false complaint about me to the Garda Síochána (Oirish police). I think it’s only in Ireland where a pharmacy manager, after being complained about in writing, would make a complaint to the police about the complainer.

About two days after I had received a written response from Boots concerning my complaint, three (yes, 3) Gardai (Oirish policemen) knocked on my door. They wanted to know if I “had a problem with Pamela O’Sullivan and Boots the Chemist, Merchant’s Quay, Cork city”.

They were probably expecting to meet the usual slackjawed cowardly Cork native, the type who’d kowtow to them, and were taken aback when this wasn’t the case.

I asked them to elaborate, to define more clearly what they meant by “problem”, and to be more circumspect in explaining why they stopped by. I was unsure at this stage if O’Sullivan had falsely accused me of a crime or if the three Gardai were compliantly and knowingly just simply doing her dirty work, trying to cower me into dropping my complaint3.

If you’re not intelligent to pass exams the gombeen Paddies will sort it out; grade-inflation
fixes a lot for the Irish.

I also enquired of them if it was common for them to be sticking their noses into a situation where a customer had made a complaint about a pharmacist; this seemed to ruffle their feathers.

Of this trio of Gardai two were in their late twenties and the other in his forties; the two younger ones realised that I wasn’t going to be cowed but the older fellow, having a very obvious mental disability, made further attempts to dominate me.

The older Garda was ( I kid you not) borderline mentally retarded. He, in attempt to throw his authority around, proceeded to ask me my date of birth; I answered by loudly and sarcastically telling him that I might be getting near my mid-life point. And this inbred, fucking, Irish Garda replied by informing me that I was more near the end than the middle4.

Even the two younger Gardai (inbred Oirish pricks) got a little disgusted at this statement and, knowing I’d not be cowed, immediately walked away. I, with my voice well above the normal decibel range, responded to his veiled threat and insult by asking him, “can a halfwitted arsehole like you actually get accepted into the Garda Síochána”.

Josephine Byrne, Profit Protection Manager, Boots

Dr Chris Luke, University Hospital, Cork

St. Brigid’s Mental Hospital, Ballinasloe

While shouting this I was rapidly moving towards him which made him squint behind in hope of seeing his colleagues moving in to back him up (the halfwitted bastard hadn’t noticed they’d already left). When he saw that his mates were gone he gave a little squeal, turned, and bolted after them. (The squeal he emitted was very similar to that of a puppy dog who’d just had his tail accidentally trodden on – this fellow was an unbelievable fucking moron.)

The Garda who tried to cow me into remaining silent was of the same type as this arsehole.

I followed him down the path to the garden gate to see him catching up with his partners, and then watched as they walked away like a trio of sink-estate halfwits.

I’ll repeat what I’ve said earlier: This Garda hadn’t his full mental facilities, he had a mental retardation and isn’t fit to be in any police force. Furthermore, there’s no way that this semi-insane idiot passed a Garda entrance exam: I’d bet my right arm that if it could be checked-out you’d find he got massive percentages of grade-inflation.

It’d be one thing if an unintelligent arsehole (by cheating at exams or something) slipped through the net and got accepted into a police force but there’s no excuse whatsoever for someone who’s borderline insane.

The alarming thing about Ireland, and the Irish, is that he’s far from the only mentally defective that’s to be found in the Garda Síochána. And if you were to check-out Irish hospitals you’ll find no end of special needs people who have somehow qualified as nurses – again, either through grade-inflation or cheating5.

After a few years in Ireland you’ll realise that the name the Irish have for stupidity, which clings to them like proverbial shit sticks to a blanket, is actually euphemistic. The backward inane Irish are far more stupider and fatuous than ever the written or spoken word could relay. ____________________

1 The high levels of inbreeding in Cork not only gives rise to an ugly populace who are squat with ape-like features and insanely aggressive. Their consanguinity also produces large numbers of volatile bastards who appear to be neither male or female. Elaine Looney, who teaches in Cork College of Commerce, is rumoured to be one of them; she packs a virgina and a pair to testicles as well. You’d get the impression that a Dr Frankenstein-type mad scientist is manufacturing these bastards in a Gothic dungeon in or around Cork city.

2Pharmacy patients have been poisoned in Ireland by unqualified pharmaceutical staff. Margaret Swaine was killed by an unqualified Oirish pharmacist, as was Donal Kelleher.

3It turned out she hadn’t accused me of any crime. She simply phoned the Garda and told them I was causing her problems, i.e., that’d I’d made a complaint about her. She was sure, because of her perceived hierarchical relationship with the Garda Síochána, that the Oirish police would cower any complainer into silence. Cork city is very similar to that type of hicktown displayed in a particular movie genre: the one where the city folk, on a cross country trip, get lost and end up in some nefarious inbred backwoods town.

4I used to legally own a winchester rifle. It was a .22 with a seventeen shot magazine and was semi-automatic. I used to use it mainly for target practice, shooting rats,vermin, tin cans and bottles. I sold it many years before this incident. If I’d still had it at this point I think I’d have definitely relieved tension by finding some vermin and sh…

5The typical Oirish invigilator is as slow and thick as a piece of 4 by 2. A dumb bastard who’ll probably sit there looking at the young Paddy exam takers with his hand in his pocket wanking himself.