Bonjour! Ola! Guten tag! Voulez vous couchez avec moi ce soir?

On the day that’s in it, je pense que I would talk to you a little bit about Europe and explain why Sam Snort - the man avec le tool magnifique - is the most fervent Europhile in Ireland.

Not that it should need much explaining since all good rockin’ dudes will readily agree that ‘The Final Countdown’ is one of the great power anthems of our time, a poundin’, foot-stompin’, hell raisin’ metal mutha that makes you feel fit to burst right out of your spandex trews and ejaculate all over tout le monde with the sheer life affirming horniness of it all. Or was that ‘Hocus Pocus’ by Focus? Fuck, there are so few bands in Europe that it’s easy to mix up the cheeky little mullet tops.

But not to worry; the point is that it’s a veritable soup de jour and leagues better than anything that was ever produced in the whole history of music Stateside.

Woah! Sweeping statement, Sam, I hear you say. Run that little baby by us again, will ya? Okay, you want definitive proof? Here it is: Europe – ‘The Final Countdown’. America – ‘Horse With No Name’. Face it kiddoes, which would you rather be doing – blasting off for Venus in big shiny rocket or plodding through sand dunes on a fucking pony? Whose name you don’t even know. Case closed. Fin, as they say in Finland.

Prominent Mazoomas

Of course, an ability to rock like a merefucker is not the only thing that the continent of Europe has going for it. Here are just a few more reasons why Samuel J. Snort Esq always looks east for inspiration.

Amsterdam. Do I need to spell it out, mon petits dingbats? Where else can you walk down a single street and encounter dope, porn and babes with prominent mazoomas giving you the glad eye and the old crooked finger? No, hang on, that’s Milltown Malbay during Willie Clancy week. Okay, but the ‘dam has some cool canals, aussi – as they say down under.

The Alps. Great big fuckin’ snowy mountains. Love ‘em.

Sweden. The most liberal country in the world and, following in the footsteps of my man Bob – who had more than his head blown there back in the sixties – the place Sam always goes to check out some cool blonde on blonde action. Fact: 73 per cent of Swedes are lesbians. And an astonishing seven per cent of them are men. Wicked.

The Nice Treaty. Why all the controversy? The clue is in the name. If this was bad for us, it would be called The Nasty Treaty. But it’s not, it’s… nice. The main issue here is one that’s very close to moi – enlargement. Le plus grand fromage says oui. Plus, anything that allows for freer movement of foxy East European babes is okay by me. As for the Irish going to war, what are we gonna do? Send the FCA to the Balkans? I don’t think so. If we don’t want ‘em, why the fuck would they?

The Algarve. Splendid golfing facilities. Truly top notch. (Memo to Raul: send a copy of this bit to the fuckers at the Portuguese Tourism Board and see if we can’t blag a coupla weeks in the sun).

The Euro. Excellent. Some waterbrains are frightened of change but Sam and his business associates have been dealing in metric measures since the time of the Opium Wars. Unifying the currency will only makes things simpler and eliminate such unsavoury incidents as the time the Brothers Hernandez were checking their accounts and discovered that, when converted from its multiple lire total, their nine tons of marching powder moved through Sicily had yielded a net profit of £37.50p (inc. postage and packing). Not nice.

Amsterdam… no, hang on, we’ve already done that.

Freshly Buttered

Okay, that appears to be just about everything good about Europe – a formidably impressive list, I’m sure you’ll agree. As for those – like the beardy shinners – who worry that increased unification will weaken regional identity, well, I mean, c’mon, that’s like saying that a United Ireland would threaten the identity of Ulster Loyalists, ha ha.

Nope, you won’t find a stronger pro-Europe supporter than Sam Snort, unless you count Lance Turnpike of Foghat who thought the b-side of ‘The Final Countdown’ was pretty darn good too.

In the final analysis, does it really matter where we live or what we call ourselves? Surely, it’s the person inside the man that counts. Right now, in the case of Sam Snort, that person happens to be Raul, my freshly buttered Filipino houseboy, so perhaps now would be a good time to say au revoir, bon chance, bon voyage and bon jovi.

Votre ever lovin’ Samuel J. Snort Esq