Query Boy’s Questionable Post

How many times have I told him that I am not going to write a guest post for him? It wouldn’t be fair for me to show him up on his home pitch with my superior wit and more accurate heading ability, would it? Does anyone know any lawyers? [They usually stay in their own company – Ed.] Because is this, what is happening right now, namely him writing a blog in my voice but without my permission, not a flagrant breach of my intellectual property rights? [If you can get your head around that, you are a better man than me, Gunga Din – Ed.] Surely, even as a fictitious character based loosely on a real person, I have rights, and those rights are defensible in a court of law, and compensatable, if that is even a word? [It is now – Ed.]

Why do I even hang about with him anymore? Sure, at the start, it was a bit of fun to have a wrinkly acquaintance to show off to my contemporaries, but now, is it not getting a bit old? [Ho ho – Ed.] And is there one of my actual friends that he has not annoyed with his arrogant, condescending attitude? Will I answer that rhetorical question, just for the laugh, and to annoy his semantic sensibilities? No, and if you need to know why not, will the lyrics of this song help?

Ná déan nós is ná bris nós – isn’t that the most valuable piece of advice in the whole of the Irish language? So, while I am pretty sure that I have already gleaned off him everything he knows about the Irish language, what if he is hiding some more esoteric nuggets up the sleeves of his disgusting dressing gown? Can I forego the possibility of gaining access to them? And when is McDonald’s going to open again? [Do some research, kid, would ya? – Ed.] Does that happen to you, too? Any time the word ‘nugget’ appears in a sentence, can you stop yourself salivating and thinking about Chicken McNuggets? Are you a better man than Gunga Din if you can?

An bhfuil sé fíor, fiú, go gcuirim a lán ceisteanna? An gcuirim níos mó ceisteanna ná an gnáthdhuine? Cad is gnáthdhuine ann, cibé ar bith? Nach amhlaidh go bhfuil achan mac máthar againn uathúil eisceachtúil, agus, dá bharr, nach bhfuil a leithéid de neach ann agus gnáthdhuine? Cá bhfios? Cad chuige nach bpléitear ceisteanna mar seo ag an bhunscoil? Nach bhfuil sé i bhfad rómhall tabhairt fúthu ag an ollscoil, agus achan iníon athar dearfa cinnte faoin am sin nach bhfuil eolas ar bith fiúntach ag duine ar bith eile? An leor seo mar bhlaist Ghaeilge, nó an bhfuil tuilleadh uaibh?

Where will it end? Toome, probably, (pun included free of charge) but when? Not soon enough is the only honest answer, don’t you think? And do you think? Ever? If you do, isn’t it about time you stopped? Has it ever got you anywhere? Why do Mexicans think the past participle of the verb ‘get’ is ‘gotten’? Do they actually believe they live in America and so must follow the linguistics norms of that country while following the sporting teams of the island to their immediate right?

Will the end of all our questioning be to return to where we came from but to know it for the first time? I doubt it, don’t you? Are the true paradises the paradises that have been lost? Who knows? Not me, certainly, and if yer Man knows, will he impart the knowledge before he croaks it? How many cigarettes can one man smoke in one day without dying? [42 – Ed.] Will I miss him when he is gone, and only then realise the privilege of having had access to a fine mind as it was in the process of crumbling?

No.