Exit Polls for Ireland's General Election GE16
Polling man George Brisk here with the numbers AS THEY HAPPEN:
9.45 a.m. Here is the brisk Breakfast Exit poll or the BREXIT* poll for Ireland's General Election 2016.
9 a.m. There's a quick swing to the left and a brisk shift to the right and a bit-dibby-doo and a skip-to-the-loo.
An bhfuil cead agam dul go dtí an leithreas?
No. Just keep fecken counting those fecken things!
8.27 a.m. Is there a possibility that a vast coalition of lefties could be formed, like a sort of massive Power Rangers machine with common-sensical social policies and an insistence that the bundhulders are finally burned? Not really, no.
8 a.m. It is starkly clear that those blueshirt bastards might just have to form a government with the soldiers of destiny, emerging from the mists of the Ackalancktic, and the Vicar of Christ him very self standing alongside the lot of them, the self same Papaya Franchesco who studied the Ang-al-azee here in the 70s, as a sea shanty town wails in bewildered pain at the ongoing homelessness.
7 a.m. Inda visits the wrong president to explain to him: "A lot done. More to-do with this election than the last one, and we're up the creek. The outboard moher is kaput! Where's my paddle?"
11pm last night: Polling station Masters- and Mistresses-General around the country count their boxes, zip them up, and put the seals on them for the counting next Tuesday and put them into the Eddie Shto-barrrt lurries.
Why next Tuesday? Coz of the Council matters and, like, you know, the weekend and the Sunday is for the Mass, and Monday you can't really - you can't really start counting things on a Monday. It's bad karma.
10.38pm last night: On a farm near Clones, Kinety Monaghan, a forlorn man stands outside a large shed with a blinking neon sign above it displaying the words LAUGHING STOCK. Inside are hundreds of computer terminals. On the screen of each machine is the face of former Taoiseach Bertie Ahern, smiling and unchanged since 2005.
The farmer flips a switch, and the screens and the neon sign fade to black.
He despondently but briskly closes up the shed, sniffling into his silk handkerchief.
9pm last night: Voters like visits to polling stations like they like their weather: Brisk.
ALL DAY FRIDAY: And coming in on the Twitter machine, about sixty percent of everyone was voting yesterday except Richard Boyd-Barrett, who briskly put his vote - in protest - into the washing machine in an effort to clean up the political system:
*BREXIT is a cool word invented for breakfast exit polls. Nobody is allowed to use it in any other context.
9.45 a.m. Here is the brisk Breakfast Exit poll or the BREXIT* poll for Ireland's General Election 2016.
9 a.m. There's a quick swing to the left and a brisk shift to the right and a bit-dibby-doo and a skip-to-the-loo.
An bhfuil cead agam dul go dtí an leithreas?
No. Just keep fecken counting those fecken things!
8.27 a.m. Is there a possibility that a vast coalition of lefties could be formed, like a sort of massive Power Rangers machine with common-sensical social policies and an insistence that the bundhulders are finally burned? Not really, no.
8 a.m. It is starkly clear that those blueshirt bastards might just have to form a government with the soldiers of destiny, emerging from the mists of the Ackalancktic, and the Vicar of Christ him very self standing alongside the lot of them, the self same Papaya Franchesco who studied the Ang-al-azee here in the 70s, as a sea shanty town wails in bewildered pain at the ongoing homelessness.
7 a.m. Inda visits the wrong president to explain to him: "A lot done. More to-do with this election than the last one, and we're up the creek. The outboard moher is kaput! Where's my paddle?"
 |
| Inda with God, being awarded his certificate to say "You're outta here, Tee-shock!" |
Why next Tuesday? Coz of the Council matters and, like, you know, the weekend and the Sunday is for the Mass, and Monday you can't really - you can't really start counting things on a Monday. It's bad karma.
10.38pm last night: On a farm near Clones, Kinety Monaghan, a forlorn man stands outside a large shed with a blinking neon sign above it displaying the words LAUGHING STOCK. Inside are hundreds of computer terminals. On the screen of each machine is the face of former Taoiseach Bertie Ahern, smiling and unchanged since 2005.
 |
| It's all on the record! |
He despondently but briskly closes up the shed, sniffling into his silk handkerchief.
9pm last night: Voters like visits to polling stations like they like their weather: Brisk.
ALL DAY FRIDAY: And coming in on the Twitter machine, about sixty percent of everyone was voting yesterday except Richard Boyd-Barrett, who briskly put his vote - in protest - into the washing machine in an effort to clean up the political system:
Casting my vote in #ge16 today. All the best to @pb4p and #AAAPBP candidates. Still time to cast YOUR Vote! #dunl pic.twitter.com/Mf6GxhFUGw— Richard Boyd Barrett (@RBoydBarrett) February 26, 2016
*BREXIT is a cool word invented for breakfast exit polls. Nobody is allowed to use it in any other context.
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