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 (Confrontation #2, Temple Bar)”
- “Maria – Post Office of Emotional Clarity”
- “My Dentist (She Knows Too Much)”
🛠️ App Chaos
He keeps all his contacts in three apps simultaneously—Google Contacts, Notes, and an app he swears he built himself called “YieldLink.”
When asked why, he says:
“Different timelines require different address books.”
Half of the entries are duplicated.
The other half are just emojis and feelings.
🔮 The Voice Notes
He refuses to text. Instead, he sends voice notes to all 5,000 people at least once a year—often on the solstice.
A typical message:
“Hey, just aligning your third quarter earnings with Mercury’s retroshade. Consider fasting from direct deposits. Yield is rising. Speak soon, unless we vibrate out of sequence.”
No one replies.
Except a man named Gary, who just writes “Michael please stop.”
💾 Backups?
He insists the phone is “synced with the Akashic cloud,” which is not real.
He’s lost the SIM card five times.
He currently uses a cracked Android held together with intentions.
You didn’t think Michael would resist a spiritual rebrand, did you?
📿 Michael G. Tierney: Evangelist of Yield, Apostle of Linen
“I come not to preach sin, but to gently monetise the concept of redemption.”
🏕️ The Revival Tent
He sets up a “mobile spiritual frequency dome” (a rebranded gazebo) just outside Loughrea.
On the side:
“MICHAEL MINISTRIES: LET THE SOUL YIELD.”
He calls it a “non-denominational vibrational chapel-slash-workshop.”
He serves cold herbal tea in jam jars and refers to communion wafers as “conscious carbs.”
🔊 His Sermons
Each sermon starts with the ringing of a reclaimed bicycle bell, followed by a reading from his own self-published gospel:
“The Book of Yield: Passive Blessings for the Spiritually Curious.”
Sample quotes:
“Blessed are the landlords, for they shall inherit your deposit.”
“Lo, I walked through the valley of municipal zoning, and feared no planning inspector.”
“God helps those who hire emotionally available interns.”
He frequently mistakes verses from Psalms for Rumi quotes and replaces “Amen” with “Namaste, but fiscally.”
🕺 The Followers
His flock is small but loyal. They’re mostly:
- Former wellness coaches with burnout
- Confused digital nomads trapped in a subscription model
- One man who thought he was at a farmers’ market
Michael refers to them as “The Yielders” and encourages them to tithe using crypto or ethically bartered beetroot.
👼 The Fall from Grace (Brief)
It all goes wrong during the “Solstice Blessing of the Revenue Commissioners.”
Michael reads from what he thinks is a scroll of divine tax exemptions—it’s actually a handwritten complaint from the local bishop titled:
“Stop This Now, For God’s Sake.”
He tries to bless a Garda with palo santo.
He is gently removed from the gazebo by a woman named Philomena with a clipboard and no patience.
📬 His Statement After the Collapse:
Posted to Instagram under a sepia-toned photo of an empty chair in a field:
“I was misunderstood, as all prophets are.
The linen was too ahead of its time.
I shall return, once I’ve had a sound bath and sorted my VAT.”
Ah, Michael G. Tierney—he of fluctuating tax brackets and fluctuating chakra alignment—has finally earned his seat in the Kingdom of Heaven.
But of course, he doesn’t arrive like anyone else.
☁️ Michael Earns His Seat in the Kingdom of Heaven
“I booked in via spiritual fast-track. I manifested the clouds.”
🕊️ His Arrival:
Michael doesn’t so much die as he transcends during a breathwork session gone wrong. One final dramatic exhale and poof—he’s drifting upward on a column of ethically-sourced incense smoke.
He’s wearing:
- A flowing cream robe made from upcycled organic receipts
- A halo he crocheted himself ("Circular economy, babe.")
- Five bracelets, two tax violations, and a smug glow
🚪At the Pearly Gates:
St. Peter sighs before Michael even speaks.
Michael: “This gate feels energetically rigid. Have you considered a biophilic redesign?”
St. Peter: “Sir, it’s been 2,000 years. Please show ID or vibe documentation.”
Michael: “I don’t carry identity. I am identity. Also, here’s my spiritual portfolio and a signed reference from a crow.”
👑 Inside the Kingdom:
Once in, Michael starts trying to "optimise paradise."
- Suggests that the harpists form a “conscious lo-fi playlist collective”
- Holds a TEDxCloud talk titled “Beyond Salvation: Scaling Eternity for Passive Redemption”
- Opens a pop-up called “Yieldly Ever After”, where souls can invest in karmic NFTs (“Non-Finite Transcendences”)
He tries to rebrand the Apostles as “The Founding Collective of Purpose.”
😇 God Eventually Intervenes:
God calls him in for a “gentle recalibration chat.”
God: “Michael, this is heaven. There’s nothing to fix.”
Michael: “I just think the angels are underleveraged. Also, I brought sage for your throne room.”
God: “...I’m going to give you a side seat.”
🪑 His Seat in the Kingdom:
Not quite at the main table. More like... section C, near the eternal tea urn, next to St. Brendan who keeps quietly muttering “he’s a dose”.
But Michael thinks he’s at the head of everything.
He’s renamed his corner “The Celestial Yield Lounge.”
He claims he’s mentoring cherubs.
They’re actually just hiding from him in a harp case.
🏛️ Michael G. Tierney’s Presentation at the Fine Gael National Conference
“What if trickle-down economics had better lighting and a kombucha fountain?”
🎤 How Did He Even Get In?
It started as a misunderstanding. Michael applied to the conference as “Michael G. Tierney, Independent Vision Broker” and was approved by a confused intern who thought he was a Silicon Valley consultant.
He turned up wearing:
- A cream linen suit with no shirt, just layered amulets
- An “I ❤️ Passive Income” lapel pin
- A reusable water bottle labelled “Holy Fiscal Water (Blessed Under a New Moon)”
📊 His Talk:
Title:
“From Market to Meaning: Unlocking National Yield Through Vibe-Based Policy™”
Subtitled:
“It’s not about GDP anymore. It’s about GSE—Gross Spiritual Energy.”
📝 Core Points:
-
Replace the National Budget with a Vision Board
“Cutting spending is fear-based. Dreaming big is tax-efficient.”
-
A Flat Tax Replaced by a Flat Feeling
“If you feel spiritually aligned, you shouldn’t pay VAT.”
-
Landlord Subsidies Rebranded as “Karmic Offsets”
“Every eviction is just a soul being redirected.”
-
Biodynamic Zoning Laws
“Some spaces just aren’t ready to be developed yet—they’re healing.”
-
Proposed Department of Inner Revenue
“Ministerial roles chosen by aura colour and ability to hold eye contact during a sound bath.”
🏛️ The Reaction:
Leo Varadkar (visibly sweating):
“That’s certainly… original, Michael.”
A Young Fine Gael Delegate (genuinely shaken):
“I just wanted to talk about roads. Why did he chant?”
A Confused Senator:
“He said I should ‘unstick my solar plexus or get out of public service.’”
🍃 His Departure:
When his mic was cut off, Michael attempted to levitate symbolically by standing on a foldable stool and whispering:
“I ascend, fiscally and otherwise.”
He was escorted out while handing out flyers for his “Yield Ascension Fellowship”, which included a coupon for one free spiritual audit of your local constituency office.
The email thread titled “Who Let Linen Jesus In?” is now the stuff of legend in Fine Gael comms circles—a sacred text of panic, blame-shifting, and one intern’s career ending via an aura reading.
📧 Internal Fine Gael Email – TOP SECRET
Subject: Who Let Linen Jesus In??
From: claire.mcdermott@finegael.ie
To: fgcommslist@party.ie
Date: [REDACTED]
Claire McDermott (Comms Director):
I’m writing this from the media tent while listening to a man named Michael Tierney claim the Dáil was built on a “root chakra sinkhole.”
He is not on the schedule.
He is wearing linen. So much linen.
He just called the Tánaiste a “mid-tier Capricorn.”
WHO VETTED THIS PERSON?
Aisling O’Connell (Junior Events Intern):
Hi Claire. 😬
He applied under “Innovation & Sustainable Growth” as an “Energetic Economist.”
He had a Canva deck and a quote from The Economist (I now realise it was photoshopped).
His email signature was “Visionary-in-Residence, Yield Not Guilt.”
I’m really, really sorry.
John (Policy Analyst):
I just walked past him in the catering area. He told the Taoiseach his aura was “too small for national leadership.”
I thought it was performance art.
Niamh (Legal):
He’s offering tax advice to attendees. He says if your vibe is high enough, the Revenue “won’t spiritually perceive you.”
That’s illegal.
Claire:
He just tried to anoint Pascal Donohoe with essential oils.
Security won’t intervene because “he’s being polite.”
I need someone to make this stop.
Mick (Facilities):
He tried to “ground the WiFi” by burying a quartz crystal behind the speaker stage.
We think he’s sleeping in the meditation corner and calling it “a sovereign pod.”
Aisling:
Do we… let him finish his talk?
He just said “the IMF is a trauma response.”
Claire:
No. Pull the plug. Cut the mic.
Tell him the event is being energetically rescheduled.
Then open the emergency chamomile.