THE QUEER FELLA !

Terrorist Kingpin In Gay Romps Shock!

Evil Irish murder boss, Michael Collins, has been exposed as a secret homo who likes nothing better than a frenzied frolic with his fellow “freedom” fighters.

The pervy poofter, known to his followers as The Big Fella, enjoys bizarre horseplay romps with other men. He uses these wild groping sessions with the guys as a smokescreen for his true vile intentions. The sick Mick is also an ear fetishist and often rolls around on the floor with his male buddies while trying to thrust his throbbing tongue into their lugholes.

Underworld Godfather Collins (30) has ordered the killing of dozens of our brave lads in his wretched fight for an Irish republic. A former jailbird, the bloodthirsty warlord has served several years in the nick for his miserable crimes during the revolting 1916 disturbances. Cruel Collins’ alleged mattress-biting tendencies add yet another layer of wickedness to his warped personality.

In a tell-all book written by hunky historian, Tim Pat Coogan, it is revealed that Collins, Bum Bandit-in-Chief of the first Irish National Army, has a fondness for rough physical contact and pillow fights, but only with burly butch blokes. Tempting Tim Pat (55) tells how the fondling father of the Republic:

• SLEEPS in small single beds with his men friends while “on the run” from HM’s brave boys in blue and his other enemies.

• PULLS hairs out of his pals’ legs or pours jugs of cold water over them while they sleep in order to start bouts of vigorous wrestling.

• SMASHES furniture and crockery during drunken orgies of slap and tickle with the chaps.

• LEAPS on unsuspecting delivery boys or messengers and then nibbles their ears sometimes until they bleed.

And Michael Collins isn’t the only randy republican who gets a hard-on for a little active service with his rabble-rousing crew. This anarchic mob of porking Paddies is a seething hotbed of fruits and fairies.

Rampant mutton-muncher Roger Casement had a huge appetite for rent boys, screaming queens and gay suckers of all kinds. Padraig Pearse was another fudge-packing patriot. He was also a poncey poet.

Emmet Dalton, one of Michael Collins closest subversive allies, said recently of the man he serves under: "I love him. I use no other word. I love him as a man loves another man, with pure love."

POO TRAIT OF AN ARTIST

Botty-mad Author Watches As Gals Use Lav!

Randy writer James Joyce admitted last night that NUMBER TWOS are his number one. The loo-ny author of banned novel Ulysses gets turned on by the SIGHT, SMELL and TASTE of ladies’ doo doo. He even likes to SPY on the birds while they do their business in the WC.

Pervy Joyce (39) has told how he involved his saucy missus, shapely Nora Barnacle (36), in his sicko fantasies. The barmy boffin would often ask her not to flush the lav after she had taken a dump. Then, he’d use her FILTH in a bizarre masturbation ritual.

By day, the dirty weirdo would carry around pairs of naughty Nora’s stained undies and sniff them in public. A regular client of call girls, love cheat Joyce also enjoyed regular romps with sizzlin’ Swiss cracker, Marthe Fleischmann (34), who the highbrow scribbler met after he had been nabbed peeping through her toilet window.

In raunchy lurve letters to fun-lovin’ Nora, four-eyed egghead Joyce wrote about his kinky fetish for female bottoms. The horny rear admiral of the Irish art world also fantasised about having no-holds-barred spanking sessions

In his steamy bum notes, potty Joyce reveals that:

• He likes to put the RUMP into rumpy-pumpy by using the tradesman’s entrance when bonking.

• He LOVES his wife’s wobbly bot but wishes that flat-chested Nora had a pair of 36DD WHOPPERS so that he could snuggle in between them.

• He hates soap and water but goes ga-ga for bodily pongs. They make him want to to pull his LOVE-PUD.

ARCHBISHOP JOHN CHARLES MCQUAID ATE MY HAMSTER

(See Centre Pages)

MY BARKING ROSALEEN!

James Clarence ‘Madman’ Is Booze And Drugs Fiend

Poetry ace James Clarence Mangan (29) has sensationally confessed to being a crazed laudanum and poitín addict.

The shock revelations are bound to disturb his many devoted fans and to gobsmack the toffee-nosed bigwigs who regard his biggest hit, ‘My Dark Rosaleen’, as an unofficial national anthem.

The Meath-born words-wizard admitted last night that he has been smoking opium since he was a tot and that he was hooked on the evil drug by the age of seventeen. He has also told how he regularly dabbled with other narcotics and would often get zonked on a lethal cocktail of wacky powders, potions and preparations.

In his early twenties, maniac Mangan discovered the illegal and highly dangerous brew, poitín, and his life took another turn for the worse. He quickly ended up on Skid Row, homeless, penniless and permanently in need of a fix.

The pill-popping, boozy hellraiser would wander around the streets of Dublin completely out of his tree, totally unaware of either who or where he was. It was in this disgusting state that he wrote many of the clever couplets that are swotted over in classrooms today

Despite his wild lifestyle, juiced-up James claims to have had steamy flings with several sizzlin’ stunnas. So much so, in fact, that the barmy bar-room bard eventually contracted the dreaded sexual disease, VD.

MUTTON DRESSED AS LAMB

Horny Senator Has Sheep Dip Op To Pep Up His Pecker.

Pervy pensioner, politician and poet, William Butler Yeats, has gone baa baa barmy. The randy old goat has had SHEEP GLANDS surgically inserted into his body to boost his flagging sex drive. Shameless Senator Yeats (67) is one of the most highly respected figures in the country. Many of his poems are compulsory reading for our kids in school. He’s also the brains behind the “Celtic Revival” movement which has become such a fave rave in the book biz. And, he’s a high profile politico who regularly sounds off about the big issues in The Seanad.

But behind the snooty egghead image, the man is a bonk-mad love cheat with a keen eye for the stunnas. In some of his muckier poems, Mr. W(ham) B(am) Yeats writes explicitly about his steamy fantasies and his lurve for another bloke’s missus, dishy Maud Gonne MacBride.

And, now that he’s entered his Celtic Twilight years, frisky, sin Sen. Yeats desperately wants to get on up like a sex machine all over again. That’s why he decided to have the surgery that would make him a sheepish shagger.

The madcap procedure, called The Steinach glandular operation, is said to “increase vitality and energy and rejuvenate sex drive.” Among the other RAMbos who have undergone this wacky leg-over lamb swap-op are Pope Pius VI, who presumably hasn’t been all that pious ever since.

After having had his mutton injection back in early 1934, geriatric Romeo Yeats quickly began wielding his new turbo-charged pork sword with wild abandon. While his wife (whose name is George!) was away on hols in sunny Majorca, wild Willie bedded top toff crumpet, Lady Gerald Wellsley.

He even flaunted the affair by writing saucy stanzas about their secret romps.