Oh Donny Boy, we take it all back - please come and visit...and please don't nuke us

The Trump Inn,

Trump Street,

Listowel,

County Kerry,

Ireland

Date: The Eve of Destruction

Dear President-Erect,

Top of the morning to you, Donald, my lovely boy, you certainly showed them all who has the biggest manhood.

Fair play to you, big fella. Your plan worked. 'Every man shall have more than the next' was brilliant, even though it made no sense at all.

You won it because you were a man and a half or, as we call you here in Ireland, "a broth of a boy". And, sure, you're only just gone the 70. Barely run in, you are.

It's no wonder dem horny wans were only dyin' to get groped by you and you sittin' next to dem on planes and things. A woman sitting next to a fine, well-hung man like you is travellin' first class.

Your plan to take the vote off the wimmin is top class, too. Sure aren't they all oul' wagons, except Mom.

And if the mood hits you, well then go on and blow the livin' s*** out of anywhere you want. What's the point in having a nuclear arsenal unless you use it? Toys for big boys, and all that.

Countries where anyone wears a towel on their head is fair game. North Korea needs a good bombin'. California voted Clinton. Boston is askin' for it. But if you're nukin' anywhere near Ireland, like say the Isle of Man or Wales, can you do it on a calm day, so the wind won't blow in our direction?

Don't go bombin' us with friendly fire now. A lot of Irish people wears a towel on their head comin' out of the oul' shower, if you know what I mean like.

We has real Muslims too, but only for makin' kebabs and things. We'll force dem Mexicans to build a wall around their taco shops and we will ban sombreros and burkas. Is burkas some kind of water boiler? We'll drink our tea cold if we have to. Whatever you want, we will do. When Trump says 'Jump', we will say 'How high?'

We know well you won't blow us up, my lovely, decent boy. As long as you own the hotel in Clare any way.

And may you be in heaven an hour before the devil knows you're dead. And may your missiles never fail to hit the target.

Provided that target isn't the Emerald Isle.

One of the lads was only sayin' to me the other day: "If President-Erect Trump ever sells that hotel he has here, I'm getting the f*** out of Ireland fast."

We are all with you on abolishing free health care. It's a great way of freeing up hospital beds. We all have to die sometime.

Fair play to you, Don, but you managed to get free health care done away for the poor and the same people who voted for you.

Sickness is a weakness and it will make for a stronger America, what with the purification of the gene pool. Sure, wouldn't the unemployed die on the cross for you?

The silent majority in Ireland are stone mad about you but because they're silent you can't hear them. That's the thing about silent majorities.

We adore the ground you walk upon and we will have dancin' colleens there to meet you off the oul' plane in Shannon. Feel free to have a free feel, Don, in the duty free, if that oul' libido gets the better of you. Sure, if the most powerful man in the world can't grope whoever he likes, what hope is there for democracy?

Don't we all know dem oul' hormones are whirling all around and up through that Wavin pipe of yours and you can't help it. And all the oul' liberals with their periwinkles were jealous.

As for climate change, who gives a f*** about a few oul' bandy-legged penguins? You can't ate walruses. As for killer whales, well they're killers. That's what I always say.

And if we lose the Netherlands and a few other low-lying countries, well what harm? It's good enough for dem, living in places with no mountains.

If New York gets flooded, it's good enough for dem too. Dey never voted for you anyway. I know Trump Tower will go from 90 floors to 80 but you'll have a sea view over Central Park.

I'm desperate sorry for criticising you and so are all of Ireland. It was me what went and called you Trumpenstein. I don't know what came over me. I caught a desperate dose of Stockholm syndrome off the Obamas over in the White House at the St Patrick's Day party. I was brainwashed. It was all the free drink.

I hate myself now, Don. How could I have done such a thing to such a lovely, decent man with a heart the size of a turnip? I will understand if you don't invite us back for the St Patrick's Day party, but I'm ready to travel if you decide I am worthy.

It is one of the signs of greatness to forgive lesser mortals. In fact, Donald, if you ran for God, you'd get in, no bother at all.

To make it up to you, I got a new arrangement of an oul' song made up for you. It will be sung in the White House when the Taoiseach hands you over the ceremonial bowl of shamrock.

The song is called 'Oh Donny Boy' and we'd love for you to come and visit your ancestral home. The pipes, the pipes are callin'.

If you can't find an ancestral home, we can make one up like we done for Reagan. I remember the grandmother sayin' long ago that there were Trumps around these parts, from a place what used to be known as Trump's Bridge, or I'd swear it was from a hilly townland on the Cork border called Tower. Fine, decent people they were too, the Trumps of Tower. Or was it Ballymun Towers? Either one will do. Welcome home, Donny Boy. Sure aren't you one of our own?

If it's no trouble, President-Erect, could you leave the American companies living in Ireland alone? We'd be done without dem. Dey keep us going.

And we'd all have to leave home for America, which would leave you with even more immigrants to throw out. You have enough on your plate, what with getting rid of all dem Mexicans and Muslims.

I will have to sign off now, President-Erect. We are busy here getting the loan of a lorry for speechifyin' when you come to Listowel. There's the harpist to be organised and manholes to be checked.

Happy Thanksgiving, Donny Boy.

Your most apologetic admirer,

Billy