Guard the House!

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# F***in' posers

# Yeah

# F***in' posers

# It's almost over now,

it's almost over now

# For you f***in' posers

# Yeah

# It's almost over now,

it's almost over now

# You think the way you live's OK

# You think posing will save the day

# You think we don't see

that you're running

# Better call your boys

cos I'm coming... #

I don't think your mammy'd be

too pleased about that now.

What a beautiful f***in' day.

- Who the f*** are you?

- Aidan McBride, Sergeant.

- Don't know you.

- Just transferred from Dublin.

Big city boy, huh?

And me just a lowly country nobody.

- Lonely?

- Huh?

- Lonely country nobody?

- Lowly. Lowly.

Lowly. I thought you said "lonely".

Not too sharp on the uptake, are you?

You'll go far in this outfit.

F***in' latte's my drink.

They told me cappuccino.

What the f*** is he doing here?

- He's the scene-of-crime photographer.

- Are you soft in the head or what?

Get out, Mick,

or I'll tell your mammy about you.

I got what I need anyways, Gerry.

It's all good clean fun, huh?

I'm worried about that young lad.

He's an interest in the photographic arts

I can only describe as unhealthy.

He looks like Brendan Foley.

I knew his father.

He ran off with me second cousin.

When I say "ran off", he was

in a wheelchair, the old fella.

He was a what, er,

what do you call it?

- Er, paraplegic?

- Spastic, yeah.

Wheeled off.

Brendan Foley. I'll get onto this.

I said he looked like Brendan Foley.

I didn't say he was Brendan Foley.

Should you, er,

should you be removing those?

From the Bible, looks like. I knew

there'd be a f***in' religious angle.

Aye, he was a good-looking lad.

Lovely lips.

The significance of the pot plant

has me somewhat perplexed.

- Maybe its genus is a clue.

- Oh, genus, huh? Fancy.

- What the hell are you doing?

- I have the gift. Nobody tell you?

Clairvoyant, like.

Never interfered with a corpse before,

no? It's great gas.

- I don't think you should...

- I'm only messing.

- Lighten up!

- I don't think it was appropriate.

F*** off to America with your

"appropriate" f***in' Barack Obama.

I was just saying.

- Is there any money in the house?

- What? No.

I mean, I haven't checked.

You haven't checked

if there's any money?

What sort of a f***ing guard are you,

anyways?

Five and a half...

Five and a half.

Now what the f*** would that mean?

There's a film called "8".

Fellini.

There's another film called "Se 7 en".

Are you going to list

a load of film titles with numbers?

I can do that.

That's your idea of police work?

Maybe this is the killer's

five and a half... halfth victim.

Go on.

Maybe he's killed four people before

now, and he's maimed another lad.

Cut off his legs maybe,

which'd be the half.

So this'd be victim number

five and a half.

Interesting theory.

So what you're saying is, we may well

have a serial killer on our hands.

It's a distinct possibility.

Well, that'd be a first for Galway.

Rabbit.

Sergeant Gerry Boyle. Cop shop.

Hi, little piggy. I've got information

about that murder last night.

What murder?

How many f***ing murders

have you had in the last 24 hours?

That's for us to know

and you to find out.

That doesn't make any sense.

Have you any information or are you

sitting there playing with yourself?

What's your name? Boyle?

Sergeant Gerry Boyle,

the last of the independents.

The murder in Lettermore.

The one with... occult overtones.

Occult overtones, yeah.

Do you know what I mean

when I say "occult"?

Aleister Crowley.

Anton La Vey.

- Simon Magus, that kind of thing.

- Well done.

Round of applause.

Red roses for the blue meanie.

Anyways, it was Billy Devaney

did for him.

He's into all that black magic.

That's "magik" with a K.

Yeah, he told me last night

when he was locked.

Little Billy Devaney

wouldn't hurt a fly.

He didn't hurt a fly.

He put a bullet in your man's brain.

Good point. Could I have your name?

Yeah, Bozo the f***ing clown!

Bozo... the... f***ing... clown.

I didn't know the circus was in town.

Little Billy Devaney a serial killer?

Sure, he's a lovely little lad.

F***in' Andy Murray.

You won't be playing tennis again

for a long time, boy.

I was playing squash.

No squash courts where you're

headed, Ted Bundy of the West.

- Now...

- What are you, Italian?

No, I am not f***in' Italian! Why does

everybody keep saying that?

- Cos you look Italian.

- I f***in' don't.

Yes, you do.

Doesn't he look Italian?

You've been cautioned

under the Bestiality Act.

Man, that was f***in' years ago.

I thought that had been

forgotten about.

Same thing happened to Polanski.

What was it?

A sheep or something?

It was a llama.

I didn't know it was illegal

to interfere with a llama. Did you?

I would have assumed so, Billy.

I mean, what would its parents think?

William Montmorency Devaney,

where were you at approximately nine

in the pm last night? Thereabouts.

I was approximately in Hanley's

battering Joey Brennan about the head

until he lapsed into unconsciousness.

Why were you bat...?

- Why were you battering him?

- I was provoked, like.

Look, we're having a few jars, right,

when he brings up yet a-f***ing-gain

this 200 euros I owe him.

He's had me computer

that I lent him for a year.

I says, "Give me my f***in' computer,

I'll give you your euros."

Then suddenly, right out of nowhere,

he rears up at me

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