Humour Hungary Poland

“I just don’t like you no more”, Poland tells Hungary over pint of Guinness in Inisherin pub

Because humour is a fitting tool to discuss a world gone topsy-turvy, Kafkadesk is happy to present its new Satire column.

Inisherin – Two friends falling out is never a pretty sight, but the suddenness of the latest break-up took everyone, protagonists included, by complete surprise.

“I just don’t like you no more”, Poland told Hungary as the two long-time friends were sharing their daily pint of warm Guinness in a dark and dusty Inisherin pub.

Explaining that he lately realised “how fickle our life is” and admitting to having “this tremendous sense of time slipping away”, Polm told Húngráic (as the two are known locally) that “I simply can’t afford to waste what time I have left by being friends with you”.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t go on listening to any more of the dull things you have to say for yourself”, Poland matter-of-factly announced before calmly getting up and going about his business, leaving a stunned and speechless Hungary reeling with incomprehension and despair.

Later in the evening, well past closing time, eyewitnesses silently stood on as an obviously inebriated Hungary awkwardly tottered away into the dark towards the nearby cliffs – with many bystanders fearing the worst for their feeble-minded but endearing neighbour.

Contacted by our team a few days after the exchange, some locals expressed their joy at the change that had taken place in Polm, while others condemned the way he had abruptly cut ties with Húngráic.

“Polm and Húngráic used to spend every evening drinking in a corner complaining and cursing the world for their misfortunes, real or imaginary,” the local bartender tells us. “It really wasn’t going anywhere, but we all kind of got used to it, and considered it quite harmless in the end.”

In stark contrast with his former behaviour, Poland was now seen happily mixing and mingling with the local populace and took a leading part in the townhall meeting where islanders gather once a month to discuss topics of common interests and address individual grievances.

Alone and alienated, Húngráic became the ghost of his former self. He was seen aimlessly wandering the woods with his pet donkey, and now spent most of his days and nights in company of the village pariah, a reclusive and bitter former landowner living in a basement who, in an old age-induced delusion, still fancied himself as the rightful proprietor of about half of the island.

But the feud took a turn for the worse last Thursday night, when Húngráic eloquently confronted Polm, accusing him of being “a selfish, high-minded hypocrite who only thinks about what he’d like to leave behind” and who sacrifices “niceness and decency on the altar of legacy”.

One week after the start of the dispute, islanders remain divided. Some have condemned Polm’s stubbornness and mulishness, going so far as to threaten to commit self-harm should his former friend continue to talk to him. Bemused at the unexpected consequences of the rivalry, others have startlingly watched Húngráic growing what preliminary reports suggest might be a spine.

Where this feud will take our dear protagonists, no one yet knows. Kafkadesk will be closely monitoring any new development.

Reminder: all the events, quotes and situations mentioned in this article are fictitious. Check out our Humour section for more.