DUBLIN, IRELAND—After centuries of suffering, the people of the world will finally have some much-needed relief from the offending filth of the ubiquitous Irish. The remedy: a new, freshly scented deodorant soap designed specifically with malodorous Irish riff-raff in mind.
The soap, an exciting, logo-embossed consumer product featuring rich lather, an outdoorsy spring-fresh scent and a revolutionary two-deodorant composition, will come in an enticing marbled, green-white color motif deliberately designed to attract persons of Irish descent by appealing subconsciously to deeply rooted Gaelic cultural signifiers.
Said Rodger Watkins, co-chair of the soap development team: "In addition to being doubly powerful in fighting odor-causing Irishness, the soap possesses a specially patented, whimsical image intended to evoke memories of a long-lost mythical Irish arcadia where the Irish gripped blades of grass in their clenched teeth and bathed in the icy waterfalls of dew-dappled woodland ponds, and everything smelled wonderful—so unlike the Ireland of today."
"At last," Watkins said, "decent folk will be able to go outside without having to hold scarves to their noses every time a swarthy, drunken, potato-gorged bricklayer ambles past. Now the Irish will have a tolerable—perhaps even pleasant—scent issuing forth from their pasty, sweaty persons."
Under a new mandate just passed by the U.N. General Assembly, tubs of water and bars of soap will be delivered to all Irish households with clear instructions on appropriate bathing habits. The instructions will be in pictogram form to ensure comprehension on the part of the ignorant, illiterate Irish.
"Although many forms of soap have been developed over the centuries, none were ever powerful enough to cleanse the citizens of the Emerald Isle," Watkins said. "But once they wash themselves fully with this new soap, their abominable stench will be virtually gone."
The turtleneck-clad Watkins said the breakthrough soap leaves all who use it, even the Irish, "fresh and clean as a whistle."
The soap's revolutionary secret, he said, is its "two deodorants."
Watkins demonstrated by displaying a bar of the soap and cutting off a sliver with a knife. A look at a cross-section of the bar's interior revealed clearly defined streaks of green and white, the colors serving as a visual representation of the two odor-fighters.
Since the inside of the bar looked exactly like its exterior, it was unclear what this demonstration was intended to accomplish. Witnesses agreed, however, that the use of the knife conveyed a spirit of manly, outdoorsy virility.
"After that display, I almost want to buy the product myself—and I'm neither filthy nor Irish," said observer Sharon Lowenstein.
The Irish-cleansing plan has met with some resistance, particularly from members of the Irish community. "Begorrah," Belfast native Seamus Singleton said. "Oi would sooner snuggy up ter a bumblebee dan dunk me hoide in dat dere bathwash. Noo, surr. Th' best perfoom fer old Seamus be da Earth wot God done made His own self."
In accordance with the new U.N. statute, Singleton was forcibly dunked in a vat of hot water by police and scrubbed until pink. Singleton was then issued new, clean clothing, and his grimy, sweat-stained outfit consisting of a shirt, breeches and tiny green bowler with a shamrock tucked into the band was confiscated. He was permitted to keep his clay pipe.
"The rebellious and confrontational nature of the Irish will be a problem," said Chicago police spokesman Jonathan Franck, whose city is home to more than a million Irish. "But that's what billy clubs are for."
Chicago mayor Richard Daley is tremendously excited about the new soap as well. "We've got a lot of Irish here, that's for sure," he said. "And hooo-wheee, on a hot day, they can smell 'em in Decatur."