By Jack Nathaniel O’Toole
Special to YNOT

BELFAST, Northern Ireland – Leave it to an Englishman to want to watch Yanks having a wank.

Didn’t we Irish try to tell you, America? Those English can’t be trusted.

One day they’re on your side, keeping watchful eye on the Germans, baking scones or helping you to invade some quite sandy Arab country; the next, they’re looking over your shoulder whilst you masturbate to internet porn.

If you thought taxation without representation was bad, how does it feel to know some fluthered English spy has been tallying all your manky video views in a spreadsheet, trying to figure out if you’re a terrorist or just some bogger rubbing his flute through his Y-fronts?

I’d imagine it feels a bit like you’ve been kicked in your stinker’s bridge, but you Americans never cease to amaze me with your tolerance for the English, so who knows? Maybe you like the idea! For that matter, maybe you’d even like the sound of these “Karma Police” sods in London comparing notes with the wankers at your NSA.

After all, based on what I’ve seen of those loosebit Kardashians, you Yanks do seem to love to be the center of attention — even if you have to lop off your bollocks and walk around in a dress to get it.

What do you suppose those tans were looking for when they spied on all those blokes having a wank, anyway? Is there such a thing as radical Islamic sperm? Maybe they thought all those punters were communicating with ISIS by Morse code using the slap of their clackers against their inner thigh?

Who knows? Maybe it was your relationship with us Irish the Toms didn’t trust.

After all, we’re kind of like the one chancer of a Muslim kid with his digital suitcase clock. If an Englishman sees one of us carrying around a box of anything other than lunch from Supermac’s, they’re liable to cordon off the whole bleeding block and systematically strip search every last Jackeen and Mary Hick in the fucking province, just in case any of us have just walked out of out the 1980s courtesy a top secret IRA time machine, carrying a molotov cocktail mixed in with our shopping.

Or maybe the spying wasn’t about national security at all, but some kind of corporate espionage?

The English make porn that’s not worth a shite, after all, filled with knobby tooth geebags about whom it’s a bit difficult to get too horned up, so they could definitely use a little guidance when it comes to sorting out the giblets from the growlers, so to speak.

If it’s any consolation, these English spooks weren’t just watching you Yanks slap your skagdicks. They were watching people fondle their plums all over the world. On the bright side, I suppose this means they probably had to watch more than their share of Brazilians eating shite (not to mention Germans eating other Germans), but it still makes me feel like a mongo sap to think of some mucksavage going through me browser history and working out what kind of wans and slappers I’d like to knock the hole off.

Some people think the English will back off a bit now that the jig is up and we all know about their proclivity for peeping, but we Irish know better. We’ve had their noses up our collective arse for centuries now, and believe me, the only thing which backs them off is releasing the fartstrings right as they inhale.

Personally, I think it’s time we really give all these Agent 0069s of the “Karma Police” something to talk about, by declaring Thursday, October 1 International Goatse Image Search Day.

Can you imagine?

In my mind’s eye, what I see is hundreds of battleship grey cubicles with pale, horrified James-Bond-wannabes spilling out of them, all in a mad rush to puke in the nearest bin.

It’s a fucking brilliant image … albeit one for which we’d probably have to wait another 10 years just to receive confirmation.

Jack Nathaniel O’Toole is an avid porn fan and professor of political science at the University of Dirty Limerick at Castletroy County.