The Michelin Man Goes to Jail

Posted on 12. Feb, 2011 by in beyond LatAm

UPDATE: The Mick’s memoir is published. See madouttamehead.com.

The Mick was born and raised in Dublin, Ireland. He endeavored in criminal activities early and became a Dublin underworld figure.

On the day of Halloween 1983 The Mick ran into his second cousin Eamon, who was also among the Dublin underworld. The Mick said he had to find a costume (or “fancy dress” as he calls it). Eamon told him it was his lucky day. He had a brand new costume – a Michelin Man outfit. It had a comfortable nylon mask that wouldn’t make it hard for The Mick to drink.

The Michelin Man goes to jail.

The Mick would be the Michelin Man. Instead of having to find a costume and pay the store, he could just stand a few pints at the pub for his second cousin, Eamon. That’s exactly what they did.

Later The Mick wore his costume to the Halloween ball at the Lansdowne Road rugby stadium. The Mick got “steamin’ drunk” and a good time was being had by all.

Then all of a sudden the lights were turned off and the music stopped. The police stormed the party looking for the Michelin Man. They immediately cuffed The Mick, in costume, and escorted him out.

The Michelin Man costume had been stolen from the Dublin Docks, where it had arrived from France for a promotional tour of Ireland. The Mick and Eamon grew up in the Dublin Docklands area. The Mick told the police he’d bought the costume on the street from a guy he’d never met. He didn’t name Eamon.

Given his reputation and criminal record, the police didn’t believe him. They charged him with Receiving Stolen Property. The judge didn’t believe or like The Mick, so he threw the book at him. The Mick was sentenced to six months in Mountjoy (‘The Joy’).

The Mick had served a few weeks when he was moved to Loughan House, which was being transformed from a juvenile detention center to a lower security prison for adults. This new facility was like heaven compared to Mountjoy. The food was better. There was fresh air and large fields. There were only a few other prisoners, no concrete prison yard, etc.

Despite being in heaven, The Mick found something to complain about – the amount of butter that came with the bread. He didn’t convince them to give him more butter, but they did send him right back to Mountjoy for being “unsuitable.”

The Mick passed a couple days back at The Joy, sad to be back. Just a day or two after his return a prison riot broke out. He’d just closed the door of his cell and he heard the first loud noises. “Riot noise” would be the sounds of violence, men yelling, things breaking. It raged for hours before the guards put it down.

After things were quelled, there was a period of lockdown where everybody sat in their cells almost the whole day. They left three times a day for food, fetching their food and returning to the cell, and once to walk in the yard for an hour. The few times they came out they had to walk a guantlet of prison guards giving them tough looks, tightly gripping their batons.

Like this? See The Mick’s Prison Murder, or all The Mick’s stories.

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Years ago, The Mick sobered up enough to write all his stories down in Word documents. Just for fun, here’s the unreadable drivel he pecked out on an ancient computer. He hit enter at the end of every line, as if he were working on a typewriter.

So , there I am zoomin` along down the road, mindin` me own business,
headin`up to St. Stephen`s Greeen, wasn`t I, Halloween it was, midday.
I was thinkin` to myself, what am i gonna wear to the fancy dress
party tonight? I had a relatively new girl friend, a few months, ye
know yourself. We had decided to surprise each other with what we
would wear to the fancy dress ball tonight in The Landsdown Road Rugby
Club`s anual fling. According to what I had heard `n` with my vast
experience of prievious years, all the cream of Dublin society would
be there. The year before I attended as a pimple. I wore a long black
robe `n` painted my face jet black. I brought with me on that occasion
little plastic containers filled with custard, easilly hidable `n`
suckable. At the do I would then suck the custard into my mouth,
inflating my cheeks with the most precious liquid `n` when the people

Jesus have you been? Around the place was the answer. Great to see ye,
I hope ye haven`t changed or anything like that. Ye haven`t joined a
monestary or anything like that, have ye? Not at all, come on `n`
let`s go `n` have a little gargle for ourselves. Come on, let`s go,
you cunt. Two pints `n` two small ones if ye wouldn`t be mindin` he
says to the barman. Yourè an awful man I says to him. We`ll be all
right once we get these chaps into our uncle Neds. Fancy a smoke? he
says, that`ll be grand I says. The 20 packet of Major is pulled out,
smokin` `n` drinkin` of a Halloween mornin` with the long lost cousin,
couldn`t be better, could it? Jet black stout with a snow white head.
Listen I says to him, I`m off to a fancy dress party tonight, he says,
shut up I have the solution to that, do ye know what I have? I have a
Mister Mitchelin Man`s suit, ye know the ones I`m on about, big rubber
bouncy one, I have. It`s a fuckin` beaut, exactly the same as the one
ye see on the TV. Hold on a sec, he says `n` darts out `n` like a
light he`s back with a big yellow canvas carry-all `n` there ye go, a
brand spankin` new Mr. Mitchelin Man`s tin a` fruit inside. Give us a
look at that I says `n` it`s perfect. Oh man. I couldn`t believe it.
Ye see because the mask of the suit didn`t have to be lifted to get
the gargle down ye `n` that`s a major advantage when ye drink the way
I drink. The face of the costume was made out of an elastic white
cotton afair, Ha Ha. Away with the biscuit, so to speak, liftin`up the
mask to get the gargle into ye at a Halloween party is a terrible pain
in the boollocks, I can tell ye. What a relief? It`s all yours, you
cunt, he says `n` yourè a horror thick man, I says as I ordered a
couple more pints `n` small ones to go along with the cigarette we had
just lit up. We had a few more gargles `n` then headed off in our opposite
directions, me with my prize `n` him with the proud feelin` that he
had just helped his favorite cousin for Halloween.I was well chuffed
with myself, it was the nicest rubber I had ever felt, all smooth `n` soft
`n` bouncy, it was like something off of the television or outta` the movies
`n` inside it had these rubber tentacles like an octopus, it was lovely. I put
it on in the house but I couldn`t get out the door so I had to take it off again,
which I didn`t mind in the least, the sensual feel, the floppyness,
differant world,. Anyway if I had been able to get out the door I
wouldn`t have been able to get into a taxi. So I went to the ball with
my Mr. Mitchelin Man stuffed into the boot. The relatively new
girlfriend was dressed-up as a rubber plant from somewhere along the
Amazon river, Brazil or some other exotic place like that. I remember
mentioning the rubber plantation fights or rather wars when there was
no such thing as syntetic rubber `n` when the rubber was exttracted by
cutting spiral groves in the rubber trees `n` waiting for days `n`
days for the rubber to wind it`s way down into the expectant
containers. There I was dressed in the very latest of syntetic rubber
technology.How ironic? The dancing, the lights, the drinks, the drugs,
I had some wonderful Charles, yet again, from somewhere near the
Amazon river. The only draw-back was that it was utterly impossible to
have sex with the Mr, Mitchelin Man on, what a shame? However, with
all these thoughts in my head `n` the party heatin`-up `n` me
heatin`-up even more inside the Mr. Mitchelin Man, sweatin` me
bollocks off, I was. But I didn`t mind `cos everybody was in awe of my
uniform, I knew I had woken the envy of the multidutes (there`s a
saying in Spanish that says, it`s better to wake envy than to feel it)
that`s the way it was, Ha, Ha. Just after 2 O`clock in the morning, ye
must remember, this little ball was sceduled to go on until 6O`clock,
all the way through till dawn, not so common in good Catholic Ireland,
usually 2 was the latest but in this case, private club `n` all that
stuff, everybody`s partying along to their hearts content when all off
a sudden, the music stops `n` the lights go on `n` in marches like 4
uniformed police men, lookin` all serious, bump, straight over to me.
Can you accompany us outside, please? `n` take off that mask, I knew
who they were by name but they didn`t know me yet, until they forced
me to take off the mask. Would you just take a look at who it is. The
bould Christy ………. Of course me being a little enibriated
decided to put up a bit of a battle, it was gas, me rollin` around in
the muck in me Mr. Mitchelin Man` suit, like a big rollypolly `n` them
hittin` me with their battons with absolutly no effect, between the
suit `n` the gargle, sure they couldn`t do a thing to me. Next
morning, me with a blanket around me, in front of justice O`
Huighaigh, me favorite judge `n` me being his favorite convict, having
being convicting me since the children`s court. The Cunt. What did the
article do this time? he sprouted. Fuck you, ye fuckin` bollocks.He
used to refer to me as the article, he had absolutly no right to call
me that, but he did, The Double Cunt. Will the arresting officer
please take the stand? I swear by almightty God that the evidenceI I
shall give to the court shall be the truth, the whole truth and
nothing but the truth, so help me God. The dirty liar of a cop
proceeded to give his version of the previous nights fiasco, the usual
carry-on, receiving stolen property,drunk `n`disorderly `n` refusin`
to fight, resisting arrest, all the same stuff that they always came
out with, water off of a duck`s back to me. I didn`t know what they
were talkin` about, I hadn`t a clue. Then it dawned on me, the Mr
Mitchelin man`s tin a` fruit, the suit. The long lost cousin, oh shit.
The suit. I couldn`t believe my ears. Will the defendant take the
stand. How do you plead? Not guilty, your hohour. What can one say in
a case like this with a mad hang-over? not guily. The bail is set at 5
thousand pounds and the defendant will appear here on the twenty
second of this month at 10 A M , mind the steps as you go down into
the bowels of the Bridewell. I signed the bail bond and was duely
released. On the 22nd of the same month I was sentenced to 6 months in
the Joy, well I could hardly pin-point the cousin, could I? Anyway
with my previous convictions there was very very little could be done,
except of course the time on the 2nd floor of B wing where the oul`
triangle goes jingle jangle along the banks of the where?

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6 Responses to “The Michelin Man Goes to Jail”

  1. Freddy

    12. Feb, 2011

    Thanks for translation, Colin. Good stuff!

  2. John

    13. Feb, 2011

    dear god i got to meet this guy i bet i would laugh my ass off the entire time

  3. Dave

    14. Feb, 2011

    Thanks for filling in the holes.

  4. Jimmy Huero

    25. Feb, 2011

    The Celtic Diaspora is going to destroy the world.

  5. James

    04. Aug, 2014

    This is all fake

Trackbacks/Pingbacks

  1. The Michelin Man Goes to Jail | Mad Outta Me Head - June 6, 2015

    […] This story originally appeared on the Expat Chronicles blog here. […]

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