As the noisy Indy crowd in Ireland fell silent, his final sentence boomed across the room "I'm not an oil painting but I've got a big cock and I know how to use it." Initially causing consternation with the Irish astrosurfing crowd, the Brit undercover cop's words, soon became part of astrosurfing folklore and his popularity soared with the Indy crowd in Ireland.
Astroturfing bhoys went through a similar change of attitude as did the ghirls, because many of the Indy Irish bhoys like jam on both sides.. At first, they feared the mighty Brit brontosaurus at their love ins and astroturfing projects, such as keeping Dublin's swimming pools open but soon, as their micey ear evolved inexorably into the eco-clown's pockets, their over stretched minges, tingled with uncontrollable craving for undercover monster-cock.
Quite and evolution since the time, Christine and Mandy were on her Majesty's service in the Profumo affair, when the undercover cop promised, "They will sit on your face." They settled on 100 quid each, which at the time was steep but the minister was happy. "Thank you Mr. Dick. You very good man" he said at the time , "Why don't you come stay in my place in Galway?"
Another undercover cop called Allister, picked up an Irish street whore called Vivien, who worked part-time as a moderator, because he needed directions to his Irish crib (Try telling that to the Gardai, Allister). He grew quite fond of her and actually taught her some good manners and a few undercover tricks, which she duly passed on to her Indy friends.
Times have changed though, as angry Irish women now slam the whoremongers of British secret service MI-5, who left them in the lurch, as they are now forced to attend to the plight of weary travellers at Galway airport, who want to get blown-off, as they wait for connecting flights to England. They are so angry in fact that sensible Irishmen don't want these Indy men and women anywhere near their private parts, because, instead of offering you a friendly gobble, given half an angry chance, they would bite off an orange-sized chunk of flesh. Despite the Astroturfing scandal with the the Brit undercover cops, you'll still hear spooky conversations with Brit accents in Irish bogs, along the lines of;
{"I say, Alister, old chap, we really must get together for a dump one of these nights."
"Splendid idea, old boy; how about Wednesday, say, seven-ish?"
"Excellent. Shall I give Fred a call - see if he can join us?"}
One night at an Indy orgy, a rather unusual moderator caught the English spook's eye. While the other dancers had either a neat little wisp or a cute shaven haven, this young lady was sporting a big hairy minge that would have done a clout lady proud. In his home town in the North of England, a woman's genital region is often referred to as her clout. On lazy Sunday morning lie-ins, as they don't go to Mass, he would coo affectionately in her ear "Pull your fingers out of your clout, Love, and make us a nice cup of tea." So he couldn't resist having a giggle at the hairy Indy's expense and sure enough, ten minutes minutes later she plonked herself down on his lap.
Before he could shoo the Indy strumpet away, the hairy little minge managed to win him over with an engaging combination of wit, cheekiness and a proposition that was a million miles away from the normal. "What is your name ?, I'm Lily from Ballymena and I like big ones very much, you can come in my mouth if you want or even piss on me. Sometimes I have a shit on a table of glass and you can look up. I dont think many English ladies would do same as me. I do everything, even your dog or goat if you want."
Later spooky smiled as the yo-yo knickered Ballymena nymph, was reassuring him, that he was the only man in her life, while the sex session continued uninterrupted. After listening to her "love Englishman too much" shite for half an hour, his patience finally ran out, so he slipped it up the wrong'un, she flashed him a dirty look like, "out, out," Maggie but her sweet-talking Ballymena blarney didn't even waver .
We cannot independently confirm all of the above details precisely but we do know that for more than seven years in the Irish Indy community, just one British agent alone, left a trail of Indy Irish people feeling confused and betrayed.
One woman came forward accusing the Brit agent, while undercover having sexual relationships with women and men in Indy circles, raising important questions about police handlers operating undercover in Ireland. Giving details about him screwing her many times. Lily says she feels "violated" by the the police officer. Now questions arise about British police using a string of undercover agents who use sex orgies as a "tactic" to astro-turf and gain infiltrate Indy Ireland.
Lily said, "This movement is a small clique, so it is not difficult to run into the same people in various different situations.I knew he was seeing other people at the same time and there was never any type of romance involved." His spying operation, spanned 21 other countries besides Ireland.
British secret service agencies that he was seconded to have refused to discuss the matter.
"Did the Met know that this was going on, or even encouraged it?" Lily asked. "If he was keeping it a secret from the police then that is different. But I think he had so many friends and relationships with people in the movement that I'm questioning whether this was a tactic or part of his task to become more trusted or respected within the scene."
Lily said there had always been something that "did not add up" about him. "He always had money. He obviously had an income that he never really explained. He told me once that him and his brother made beds out of scaffolding to sell and that is how he made so much money. At the time it seemed like a bit of a strange thing to me."
'It's all reminiscent of the story about Irishman Boy George, who liked a hamster in the arse or was that Freddie Starr? Maybe I'm getting confused now... while apparently most people never fully grasp the attraction of pushing a live hamster up their arse, Indy Ireland's bhoys and ghirls are different. Some of them prefer slippery haddock or a snapper. Although they have dorsal rearward pointing spines which make retrieval a delicate affair. But then "pet shop boys" liked to insert small rodents into their rectum only after they have covered the furry colon cosmonauts, with a protective and lubricated surgical rubber tubing devices. But still, it doesn't sound like something any right-thinking person would try, no matter how rainy the Sunday Irish afternoon are.
And I can't imagine our furry friends enjoying it much, either. Poor little guy. Apparently though the Irish Indy guys had oodles of fun inserting large British rodents into their arseholes, so often in fact that to make their spooky stay up there as pleasant as possible, they installed a little exercise wheel and some wood shavings for their Brit lovers. It all takes Pog Mo Shon to a whole new Indy level.
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