PAWING desperately at the lock on the closed gates at the edge of the Dublin/Kildare border, one fleeing culchie has been pleading with her fellow non-Dublin natives not to leave her behind and forsake her as Dublin enters new restrictions.
Racing out of Dublin City centre earlier today, in a scene reminiscent of a zombie movie apocalypse, only this time with more gaunt flesh-eating corpses, Mary Hartigan (33) made a bid for safer pastures only to find she was the last culchie left behind amid the mass clandestine culchie evacuation from Dublin.
“No, no, no this isn’t happening, don’t leave me in here with… them,” Hartigan shrieked as she realised she’d be left alone with coleslaw agnostic West Brits for at least three weeks.
Since the foundation of the state, Dublin dwelling culchies had forewarned their peers of the need to prepare an emergency ‘go bag’ filled with a flask of tea, ham sandwiches and a train ticket or full tank of petrol in the event that ‘Dublin was compromised’ by something like a pandemic or simply by the grating sound of Americanised south Dublin accents.
“God damn it, we tried everything but we’re too late,” observed sorrowful culchies on the other side of the wall erected alongside the M50, who told Hartigan to try and blend in for her own safety by acting more ‘Dublin’.
“Never shut up about 5-in-a-row, condescend to any non-Dublin person like they’ve a severe brain injury and act like your tax is the only reason rural Ireland is still alive. Sit tight, and in three weeks’ time, hopefully we can see you again,” contained the culchies to Hartigan as she was engulfed in a crowd of feral Dubliners.