Fare Thee Well, John Wayne – There’s Nothing Left to Say


John Wayne was Irish, by the way. He was an Irishman. Clint Eastwood is only like a quarter, but John Wayne is confirmed majority Irish, with Irish identity and behavior and a strikingly handsome potato-like visage.

This is filler, because as I told you when I canceled AI week yesterday, I have things to do in “real life.”

“Real life” is a complete misnomer, by the way – the internet is real life, while meat space is some kind of sickening nightmare like you’re having a bad acid trip. No I mean, yeah, we all should be getting some sunshine, not just sitting in dark rooms on computers all the time, but while the sunshine is nice, the problem is that there are other people out there.

The solution is to move to the woods. Then you can experience physical reality, and the wonders of nature, without having to interact with the pigs.

No one wants to deal with the pigs. It’s like being on acid. They do not act normal. They act like creatures act in my nightmares.

You understand, my dear friend, [INSERT YOUR NAME]. You’ve been out there, dealing with the pigs, and seeing their actions, and expecting that their faces should start melting, because someone must have dosed your bourbon with LSD, because that’s the only possible reason you would see people acting like this.

So, where are we going here… lemme check the title and try to remember…


Saying farewell to John Wayne (Bobby Beaver is supposed to be checking his watch while Our Hero and Mr. Wayne engage in a long goodbye, but you try to make that happen. The best I could get is Wayne checking his watch on his third arm while shaking hands. In this one, Bobby appears to have a pocket watch attached to his vest.)

Right, so, we’re back to the Irish thing, what with the AI BLITZ having been canceled as a result of circumstances (and also I wasn’t really feeling it, so there’s a procrastination factor here).

I’ve used the Pogues in many of my Irish articles, but I never included the best song, which includes Shane McGowan’s love and understanding towards the diaspora (many field Irish don’t understand the diaspora, but Shane did, probably because he spent part of his childhood in captivity among the godless English dogs).

However, I didn’t include the best song yet. I’ve been listening to the discography, and it’s really all good (except that shit with Joe Strummer – what the literal fuck?), but the best album is “Rum, Sodomy, and The Lash.” It’s their second album, released in 1985 (before Shane really started to lose control). The album’s name is from an alleged Churchill quote: “Don’t talk to me about naval tradition. It’s nothing but rum, sodomy, and the lash.”

The best song from the album, at least to me, is called “Body of an American.” I think this really speaks to the diaspora as well as our inexplicable relationship to the motherland.

The song is best listened to after several or many whiskeys.

That’s a lyrics video, which is nice, because who the fuck can understand this accent – the field Irish talk (and sing) like they’ve got a mouth full of mashed potatoes. But I will paste the lyrics below, as that’s probably more comfortable. It’s about a diaspora Irish going home to the motherland.

I love “fare thee well John Wayne, there’s nothing left to say.” It speaks to my own experience of exile from the United States. I think that’s really the key line, summing it all up. (Note: the lyrics read “gone away,” but Shane is clearly saying “John Wayne.” Even if it’s by accident, which I don’t think it is, that is what he is saying. It makes perfect sense in context, as Wayne was both a symbol of everything Americana, as well as a proud drunken Irishman.)

Further, forever at the center of my being will be the phrase: “I’m a free born man of the USA.” Wherever I am, those words are in the front of my brain, and define my relationship to the entire world and the universe.

Also, all the stuff about drinking and fighting and frisky women and the calling of the rosary.

Here are the lyrics:

The Cadillac stood by the house
And the yanks, they were within
And the tinker boys, they hissed advice
“Hot-wire her with a pin”

When we turned and shook as we had a look
In the room where the dead men lay
So big Jim Dwyer made his last trip
To the shores where his father’s laid

15 minutes later we had our first taste of whiskey
There was uncles giving lectures on ancient Irish history
The men all started telling jokes and the women, they got frisky
By five o’clock in the evening every bastard there was piskey

Fare thee well, going away, there’s nothing left to say
Farewell to New York City, boys, to Boston and PA
He took them out with a well-aimed clout, we often heard him say
“I’m a free born man of the USA”

He fought the champ in Pittsburgh and he slashed him to the ground
He took on Tiny Tartanella and it only went one round
He never had no time for reds, for drink or dice or whores
But he never threw a fight when the fight was right
So they sent him to the war

Fare the well, gone away, there’s nothing left to say
With a slainte Joe and Erin go my love’s in Amerikay
The calling of the rosary, Spanish wine from far away
I’m a free born man of the USA, yeah

This morning on the harbour, when I said goodbye to you
I remember how I swore that I’d come back to you one day
And as the sunset came to meet, the evening on the hill
I told you I’d always love you, I always did, I always will

Fare thee well, gone away, there’s nothing left to say
But to say adieu to your eyes as blue as the water in the bay
To big Jim Dwyer, the man of wire who was often heard to say
“I’m a free born man of the USA”

I’m a free born man of the USA
I’m a free born man of the USA

We’re listening to Om now, as we prepare to get weird.

But this is my favorite song.


By the way, Shane even has a song about Summer in Siam.

“Siam” is the traditional word for Thailand. In case anyone didn’t know that.

It’s a really good place for Irishmen to get blackout drunk without any consequences beyond waking up in jail and having to pay a reasonable fine to be let out in time for breakfast.

There’s also one for my blood brothers down under suffering from the curse of The Eire. We shouldn’t forget we have a large number of master race Irishmen down there. In fact, I may have to annex Australia or parts of it for Greater Ireland.

Best music.

I prefer to listen to live performances generally, since we have that option because of YouTube, but in most of those Shane is too drunk. There are a couple of good ones.

One of the covers of one of their lesser albums honors the last Irish king.

Their last one before me, I mean.

Jack, unfortunately, is dead, and so is his heir.

I’m the king of the Irish now.