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Hundreds of thousands of No voters awoke on Saturday morning to find themselves catapulted 35 years into the future. Thousands of microtears in the space-time continuum have been localised to the polling stations dotted throughout the country. It is speculated that every X marked opposite the Yes option on Friday’s referendum may have contributed to the situation.
“I don’t understand it,” said David Quinn. “When I went to sleep last night, it was 1983; Ireland was an upstanding Catholic country where women knew their place.” The founder of the Iona Institute looked a bit shook to be honest. “But now? There are young women wearing Repeal jumpers drinking and dancing in the streets. Dancing!”
Maria Steen, also of the Iona Institute, frankly frightened this reporter so much with her stare that I didn’t talk to her. I just sort of slinked away with a strange burning sensation in my testicles like she’d been trying to incinerate any chance I might have at reproducing. Pro-life indeed. All the while, a smoky voice in my head whispered to get out, lest she take her true and terrible form, the ancient demon Astaroth, enslaver of women’s bodies.
I did, however, manage to reach one Cathal Ashbourne-Loftus by phone. After saying a decade of the rosary for my soul, he commenced to shout the word “obstreperous” over and over again until this reporter was forced to hang up. It remains to be seen if this kind of twitch whereby No voters yell certain words on a loop – like “murderer” – is a result of the time travel.
John McGuirk, when I visited him, could be heard sobbing and retching through the bathroom door. Unfortunately, I was unable to make out the majority of what he said over the sound of my own laughter, though I think I caught something along the lines of, “I’m a loser, a fucking failure, I’ve never been on the right side of anything,” and a vomity vow that next time would be different.
This reporter gave one John Waters a wide berth, averse and all as I am to having people roar that I’m a bollox and to fuck off for merely saying hello. (Una Mullally is in flying form, John, thanks for asking.) It has been rumoured that Mr. Waters has remained cloistered in his home since the time leap and has been cutting off the remaining hairs on his head one by one with a rusty scissors and burning them individually. “We think each one he does represents an ‘aborted angel’, whatever that means,” a source close to the man said.
Rónán Mullen claimed that the temporal leap had made him feel odd, like “a thousand leeches poured into a suit.” He also said his head felt slimy and slithery, whereupon I endeavoured to console him with, “Not to worry, Mr. Mullen, there’s a lack of evidence that mental health is even health at all.” Incidentally, a mass of leeches poured into a suit is how most of the nation views the senator, which in turn leads this reporter to conclude that the time jump has done wonders for aligning divergent realities.
Cora Sherlock could not be reached for comment.
Meanwhile, people who aren’t like the above woke up Saturday to a wonderful world full of light and hope wherein their dream of an Irish state entirely dissociated from the Catholic Church is now one step closer. The feeling was described by one jiving young woman wearing a Repeal jumper laden down with colourful badges as “Waking up after a night on the batter without a hint of a hangover. Almost too good to be true.” This reporter, who was on the batter last night, can’t but concur.
There will be a party in Ireland this weekend, kicking off ah sure whenever, and taking place literally everywhere, and everyone who isn’t upset by the time travel is expected to attend. You’re cordially invited to whatever you’re having yourself – and sure go on I’ll have one as well – and there’s a distinct possibility that something special will happen during the night again. It is being whispered that another time leap is possible, whereby we will wake up next week to find ourselves yet further in the future, with every building previously owned by the Catholic Church having been converted into a homeless shelter.