For Michael

🚓 Michael Reforms An Garda Síochána “It’s not law enforcement. It’s energy realignment through uniformed breathwork.” 📣 The Announcement Michael holds a press conference outside Store Street Garda station wearing: A hi-vis vest he painted with spirals A clipboard titled “Policing the Self: Yield Through Obedience” A smug smile and absolutely no mandate He declares: “Ireland needs a trauma-informed Gardaí. Less batons, more boundaries. I propose Community Yield Enforcement .” 📋 The Reforms Michael unveils a 12-point plan: Replace pepper spray with aromatherapy mist. Mandatory journaling for all officers before arrests. All Garda cars fitted with chakra lights instead of sirens. Introduce the role of Constable of Conscious Conflict Resolution. Replace riot gear with “emotionally absorbent robes” in calming earth tones. He calls for a Garda yoga division named “G-Force (Stillness Through Presence)” and offers to personally lead breathwork drills outside Crok...

Michael, never one to let an opportunity for public display pass, announced that he would be paying tribute to Dolores O’Riordan “in the grand manner she deserves.” He hired the local concert hall, draped it in Cranberries album covers, and positioned himself centre-stage in a white suit “to reflect the purity of the occasion.” He was mysteriously surrounded by young men who he referred to as his 'backing group'. The event began with Michael attempting to sing Linger , backed by a string quartet who clearly hadn’t been told they’d be following his lead. Halfway through, he stopped to lecture the audience on how “Dolores once passed me in Shannon Airport, and there was a clear mutual respect.” When he unveiled a bronze bust of Dolores—commissioned in a rush from a man who usually made garden gnomes—the crowd went politely quiet. The likeness was… interpretive. Anna, seated in the third row, sipped her tea from a travel mug and muttered, “She deserved better than this.” A ...

Michael’s new business venture was, as he told The Irish Times , “a daring agency—think matchmaking, but for those who need an extra push.” The idea, in his mind, was simple: help people “take bold steps” in life, whether that was skydiving, opening a café, or—in Anna’s case—getting married off so she would, as he privately admitted, “pose less of an existential challenge to my personal empire.” The agency operated from a hastily rented office above a hardware shop, decorated with motivational posters and a reception desk manned by a retired nun named Sister Bernadette, who handled all the awkward questions with a calm smile. For Anna, Michael drew up what he called a “prospectus of romantic potential,” listing her attributes with all the subtlety of a livestock auctioneer. “She has grit,” he announced to a room of potential suitors, “knows how to stretch a euro further than an Irish motorway budget, and can identify safe sleeping spots in under 90 seconds.” Anna, of course, wasn’...

Of course Michael has 5,000 contacts in his phone. He doesn’t have friends, colleagues, or even enemies—he has “aligned touchpoints on the karmic grid.” 📱 Michael G. Tierney’s Phone Contacts “Everyone I’ve ever met, felt, or channeled is here. Also two crows.” 📖 The Categories Michael doesn’t use normal names. He labels people according to “vibrational function.” Some highlights: “Elder of Broadband” – a former Vodafone rep who told him to stop screaming into the router. “Fiscal Healer (Blocked)” – his accountant, who ghosted him after the third time Michael paid in uncut rose quartz. “Yield Priestess #3” – no one knows what happened to 1 and 2. “Liam (possibly legal?)” – a man he met once at a beach yoga workshop who might be a solicitor or a DJ. “Moss guy (soft energy)” – they exchanged two sentences and a piece of bark in Glendalough. 📌 Locations His contacts are saved with where they met , often in code: “Róisín – Sacred Aldi (Ballyfermot)” “Garda (Conf...

🌆 The Encounter: Michael G. Tierney Meets Anna on Nassau Street A spiritual collision. A tactical error. A redirection of fate. 🕰️ The Scene: It’s early afternoon. Nassau Street buzzes with overpriced salads and people pretending not to hate their earbuds. Michael, dressed in full “urban nomad chic” (linen tunic, barefoot-adjacent shoes, crystal necklace the size of a mandarin), is sauntering past a health food shop murmuring affirmations like: “I deserve abundance… especially rent-adjusted abundance…” Then, he spots you. 🧿 His First Reaction: Michael slows down. His aura radar pings. He feels a presence he can't immediately monetise. He tries to radiate confidence, unaware that his scarf has tucked itself into his hemp manbag and he looks like a windswept cult brochure. “Excuse me,” he says, voice rich with accidental reverb, “But I feel we’ve shared a lease… in a past life.” Your Response: Flat. Calm. Surgical. “I know who you are. You’re the lad who tri...

  🏝️ Michael G. Tierney: Exiled to Lanzarote (By Choice) “Ireland just didn’t understand my vision. So I took it abroad—along with several creative write-offs.” 🌋 The Move: Michael claims he relocated to Lanzarote for “creative solitude, tax efficiency, and volcanic energy alignment.” He tells everyone he’s “on retreat,” but in reality he’s managing his Irish property empire from a hammock, shouting into Zoom calls with one AirPod and a hangover. He refers to it as: “Digital nomadism, but make it landlordcore.” 🏡 His Villa: Nicknamed “Casa Equity” , it features: A saltwater pool shaped like a Celtic knot (funded by a grant intended for solar panels), A “rent-free thinking zone” (also known as the living room), And a guest annex he illegally Airbnbs to spiritual influencers looking to “find their ROI.” The neighbours hate him, but his lawyer is also his yoga teacher, so it balances out. 🍽️ His Daily Life: 8:00am: Sunrise gratitude espresso on the balcony...

  Oh, now we’re going full Michael? Buckle up. 🏢 Michael’s Property Portfolio: A Love Letter to Loopholes “The Penthouse of Protest” – Dublin 2 A luxury 3-bed overlooking the Liffey, completely unoccupied since 2019 because Michael believes it appreciates “more spiritually” when empty. He tells people it’s a meditation pod. “Gráinne’s Ghost Flat” – Galway Bought at auction, this tiny studio still has a resident banshee. Michael refuses to evict her “on ethical grounds,” and uses the haunting as a tax write-off under “supernatural interference.” “Three Gaffs and a Pizza Oven” – Cork A row of terraced houses converted into an Airbnb maze, with an outdoor pizza oven that somehow violates five zoning laws and still qualifies as an “art installation.” “The Yield Fortress” – Athlone A 10-unit block where all the tenants are on rolling leases so he can "agilely pivot" when the market sneezes. His motto? “Flexibility is profitability.” The fire alarm's been be...