Wednesday, June 30, 2004
I hope you'll join with me in a repressed and effetely bourgeois tight-fisted air-punch as tribute to the loathsome Tim Henman who once again wanks the feeble hopes and dreams of many of the nation's middle-class mothers into a frothing frenzy before limply spurting all over his shoes and shuffling away for another 51 weeks.
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Oh impatient Sophie, sensible Charlotte and... Joanna, who's always late. Since you're gullible enough to eat just about anything, come pucker your lips round my all-new low-fat McAnus.
What the ad really says: "These girls are also new in McDonald's. Gullible Sophie, gullible Charlotte and...Joanna, who's always gullible."
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What the ad really says: "These girls are also new in McDonald's. Gullible Sophie, gullible Charlotte and...Joanna, who's always gullible."
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Tuesday, June 29, 2004
It’s lesbian sex week here on the Nutgroist blog. We're going to be spending a goodly majority of the time celebrating this most beautiful of all the dreadful, disgraceful, disgusting, unnatural, perverted and blasphemous sexual practices demeaning humanity today.
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Sunday, June 27, 2004
What is a Man? What constitutes that great mass of tumbling, rumbling masculinity, that firm be-nippled flatbreast of terrible flesh and brutal bone thrust rigid and strutting upon this earth the poor beast thinks its own? Is it the stout meaty rhythms of the heart, paced against the futile fleeing haunches of venison promise before us as we gallop naked to wrestle with it, locked jaw on proud stout antler, heart beating hart, to death and glory and port wine soaked supper? Is it the unpredictable fury chased down upon the denizens of the copse, with arms used as legs and legs used as more legs, pubic hair at last curling wildly as you tear through hedge dispensing incisor-rooted justice to hare, squirrel, dogfox and vole? Is it the muskrat stench of febrility brought forth to the vermin of the hearth, a lesson learnt too late of the fragility of existence, squashed short by gently applied, almost kindly yet unstintingly brutal pressure to the blinking and dazed tiny head betwixt forefinger and thumb? Or is it just about having a big dangly willy and a pair of fatty balls?
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Saturday, June 26, 2004
Friday, June 25, 2004
Thursday, June 24, 2004
are those robot hands 'George' is sporting there? does 'kurtaran' mean Karate? does it feature a lot of Galactica? I'm sure someone out there is damn fool enough to find out.
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This has to go into the first rank of shameless Bond clones. I can't believe they got him and her (and she kicks arse if you read the reviews). Funny how you never see this mentioned in those documentaries, just like you never see this in histories of Star Wars
Meanwhile, all I want for groistmas is this please
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Meanwhile, all I want for groistmas is this please
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Tuesday, June 22, 2004
We've had two days of a strange cotton-woolly substance floating through the air round here. Have any other Dubliners experienced this or is it just my particular plot of land that’s being fluffy-spunked on from above?
Have Rickie Lee Jones' predictions finally come true?
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Have Rickie Lee Jones' predictions finally come true?
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Things I learnt this weekend whilst in the company of an old friend from the old country:
-Spain are planning to get a large hacksaw and cut Portugal loose from its Iberian moorings. They're going to push it north.
-'Homage' is anywhere homosexual activity takes place and good luck to them all
-There should be a shop opened that specifically caters for people who think they're pronouncing certain products correctly. They will sell samosas, freixenet cava and the like.
-any eating establishment which offers 'Salsa Sauce' must be stopped
-I still dream of Organon. I wake up crying
-flying pigs? that'll be pigeons
-one can buy a lady for an hour of physical interaction in or near a certain hotel in Mespil Street
-but one won't
-If you're happily married and your wife likes women too, you find it very easy to tell strangers in nightclubs
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-Spain are planning to get a large hacksaw and cut Portugal loose from its Iberian moorings. They're going to push it north.
-'Homage' is anywhere homosexual activity takes place and good luck to them all
-There should be a shop opened that specifically caters for people who think they're pronouncing certain products correctly. They will sell samosas, freixenet cava and the like.
-any eating establishment which offers 'Salsa Sauce' must be stopped
-I still dream of Organon. I wake up crying
-flying pigs? that'll be pigeons
-one can buy a lady for an hour of physical interaction in or near a certain hotel in Mespil Street
-but one won't
-If you're happily married and your wife likes women too, you find it very easy to tell strangers in nightclubs
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Most of the world's silliest surnames are ones like Bumface or Mechanic or something unusual like that, but it's just occurred to me that the really silly ones are those common ones I never noticed were so silly. And for that reason I nominate the surname "Gibbons".
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Saturday, June 19, 2004
After the strange sensation of watching the England France match in the pub with most of the locals cheering for France, I didn't expect to hear them all cheering for England when I went back to watch them play Switzerland. Yet they mostly did. Someone explained to me that Switzerland put Ireland out of the qualifying stage for this championship.
Someone else explained that these same guys who cheer against England will all be supporting Man United, Liverpool etc come the start of the new season. So I left in good spirits and returned an hour later to watch France Croatia to discover everyone was now supporting Croatia. I think there must be strange pecking order, with countries who have recently dumped on Ireland at the bottom, countries who have been dumping on Ireland for 800 years just above them, then countries who eat frogs and horses next and at the top come countries that have themselves been dumped on by bigger neighbours over the years. We'll see what happens when that Iraqi javelin thrower goes to Athens later this year.
So halfway through the game we're all sitting at this noisy, buzzing bar transfixed by that rare thing, a genuinely exciting football match, and a guy walks in, stands next to me, gazes at the score, turns and says "What sort of result do we want?". I ask "It depends on where you're from? Are you English?".
"Fuck no! What's the best result for Ireland?".
I tell him "You're not in the championship"
"I know. For keeping England out".
I go very English, not wholly intentionally:
"Oh....um, Croatia. Cheer for Croatia".
So my pecking order theory is bullshit. Sport, as anyone who went to school in England learns, brings out the worst in people. All the primitive urges of boastfullness, domination, humiliation and arrogance are as essential as shorts and trainers to the competitive. Wearing your i'm-a-twat-badge Hackett with the collars up doesn't help either.
Saturday rant over and done with - i'm off to the pub to probably cheer Latvia and the Czechs, since the Germans haven't had as much occupation and the Dutch, er, wear a lot of orange.
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Someone else explained that these same guys who cheer against England will all be supporting Man United, Liverpool etc come the start of the new season. So I left in good spirits and returned an hour later to watch France Croatia to discover everyone was now supporting Croatia. I think there must be strange pecking order, with countries who have recently dumped on Ireland at the bottom, countries who have been dumping on Ireland for 800 years just above them, then countries who eat frogs and horses next and at the top come countries that have themselves been dumped on by bigger neighbours over the years. We'll see what happens when that Iraqi javelin thrower goes to Athens later this year.
So halfway through the game we're all sitting at this noisy, buzzing bar transfixed by that rare thing, a genuinely exciting football match, and a guy walks in, stands next to me, gazes at the score, turns and says "What sort of result do we want?". I ask "It depends on where you're from? Are you English?".
"Fuck no! What's the best result for Ireland?".
I tell him "You're not in the championship"
"I know. For keeping England out".
I go very English, not wholly intentionally:
"Oh....um, Croatia. Cheer for Croatia".
So my pecking order theory is bullshit. Sport, as anyone who went to school in England learns, brings out the worst in people. All the primitive urges of boastfullness, domination, humiliation and arrogance are as essential as shorts and trainers to the competitive. Wearing your i'm-a-twat-badge Hackett with the collars up doesn't help either.
Saturday rant over and done with - i'm off to the pub to probably cheer Latvia and the Czechs, since the Germans haven't had as much occupation and the Dutch, er, wear a lot of orange.
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Friday, June 18, 2004
Convoluted joke to wince over the whole weekend:
One of your dog's two dicks doesn't work?
Come off it, mate, pull the other one
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One of your dog's two dicks doesn't work?
Come off it, mate, pull the other one
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Since I started working from home, despite the no doubt excellent advice from Jonny Billericay , I have not washed and dressed for the day ahead. In fact it now dawns on me that I do quite the opposite, since I only wash and dress when I have to leave the flat. Now the washing machine is faulty so it's been a good way of preserving pants but that's not the reason I do it. It's sheer lazyness. No, it's buzyness, what am i saying? It's Buzyness more than anything. So the startling conclusion, at least to me, is that I spend anything up to 20 hours a day in the nude. I have to put an apron on to cook supper, that's one of her rules, but otherwise since I sleep naked and spend all day lounging around wantonly naked I am very comfortable with it. If she's bringing friends home she knows to warn me first because otherwise i'll be lolling in the nod and not really caring about it. It's also spurred me on to deciding to go back to the gym regularly because right now i look like a cross between Wolverine and one of those 1980's butterball turkeys with all the dangly bits flopping around.
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Anybody want to buy two tickets to see Ray Charles in Dublin next month?
I'm not selling, just asking.
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I'm not selling, just asking.
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Have you seen the old man?
Walking through the streets of Dublin
He's a lot fucking happier than the one in London town
In his eyes you see such pride
And held loosely at his side
Tomorrow's racing post, telling today's racing news
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Walking through the streets of Dublin
He's a lot fucking happier than the one in London town
In his eyes you see such pride
And held loosely at his side
Tomorrow's racing post, telling today's racing news
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Thursday, June 17, 2004
there's only a nano-chance of this i know but about 12 years ago the dj Gilles Peterson played a track on kissfm by an italian jazz pianist called Marco di Marco and I must have it. it's the most rocking piece of music there ever could be and i cannot rest until i hear it again. it's not a case of simply buying it since i've never seen it for sale and besides, i don't know what it's called. all i remember is some of the tune and the fact that it was a quartet playing. just the name would be a good start and i'd be embarrassingly grateful, an mp3 would elicit a debt of gratitude repayed in barrels of black beer should we ever meet.
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Wednesday, June 16, 2004
There it is, then. On the centenary celebrations of Dublin's most famous Jew's journey across the city, I submit Dublin's most anonymous Jew's journey from his house to the gym. The little camera really did give up so the pics of all the pretty girlies lying on St Stephen's Green, the lucky ducks fucking in the public pond, the decrepit couples outside Davy Byrne's dressed as Bloom and entourage are lost forever.
I made this journey listening, for the first time, to a recording of us walking through the crowds at a festival last year while a band play in the distance. At one point I hear myself having to move out of the way of someone coming in the other direction, saying 'oops, sorry'. At that precise moment, on Grafton Street I find myself doing and saying exactly the same thing. I can't describe the feeling because it's so unusual.
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I made this journey listening, for the first time, to a recording of us walking through the crowds at a festival last year while a band play in the distance. At one point I hear myself having to move out of the way of someone coming in the other direction, saying 'oops, sorry'. At that precise moment, on Grafton Street I find myself doing and saying exactly the same thing. I can't describe the feeling because it's so unusual.
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Scene of ABBA's famous Eurovision victory, the loo itself has long since been demolished much to the chagrin of thousands of frisky adult male fans of said group
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Further down the road I came upon a giant invisible guinea fowl sitting on top of the wall. It flew off at the first sight of my camera.
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This is where i'm going to live someday with my understanding girlfriend and my submissive Kate Bush working as my naked wiccan maid
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This is the crossroads in Ballsbridge where I sold my sole to the devil. I needed the money and he fancied a nice piece of fish.
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If you look carefully you can see they had four fingers and a thumb on each hand marking them out as quite usual. Palm readers will note that their lifelines peter out after only 400 years of near-continuous life
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as Ginsterlad says - it doesn't exactly inspire confidence in the course:
What qualifications do I need before I can take the course?
Despite its name, you do not need to be a graduate to take our Postgraduate Diploma in Journalism course. The name reflects the level of study and the intensity of the training, but we are prepared to accept anyone who can demonstrate the aptitute and commitment to become a journalism.
Cribbed by one of my interns from the Journalism Training Centre , Surrey
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What qualifications do I need before I can take the course?
Despite its name, you do not need to be a graduate to take our Postgraduate Diploma in Journalism course. The name reflects the level of study and the intensity of the training, but we are prepared to accept anyone who can demonstrate the aptitute and commitment to become a journalism.
Cribbed by one of my interns from the Journalism Training Centre , Surrey
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I'm very suspicious of people who walk around with one hand placed on their stomach. There's something sexually sinister and unpleasantly visceral about a man or woman who pats their stomach at any time, but to walk around in public like that, well it brings to mind all sorts of horrific ideas. What's in there? Why are they so pleased? What did they swallow? There's something in there.
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Last night we went to a fancy french restaurant, expensive as hell but very friendly and unpretentious. Our francophile Irish waiter knew us all from previous visits but never all at the same time, so, presented with this group of french and english friends and colleagues he strode over to our table with the menu held close to his chest, turned to me and said:
"You're English, right?"
"yeah, i'm English"
He grinned and flipped over the menu to reveal a piece of A4 paper attached to it with a big '2-1 HA HA!' scrawled in big red letters across it.
The French erupted. Smiling, I kept my cool, remembering i don't actually give a shit and i'm just playing the role of a proper english bloke with these frenchies playing their roles. My girlfriend, it seems, forgot.
A couple of hard squeezes to the knee and my you-had-to-be-there witty comment worthy of George Bernard Wilde himself calmed things down and shut them up and that's the end of this fascinating tale, except to say i'll be avoiding that Swiss fondue hut in Ranelagh and shan't be visiting the Croat Goat and Stoat Bar and Grill anytime soon
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"You're English, right?"
"yeah, i'm English"
He grinned and flipped over the menu to reveal a piece of A4 paper attached to it with a big '2-1 HA HA!' scrawled in big red letters across it.
The French erupted. Smiling, I kept my cool, remembering i don't actually give a shit and i'm just playing the role of a proper english bloke with these frenchies playing their roles. My girlfriend, it seems, forgot.
A couple of hard squeezes to the knee and my you-had-to-be-there witty comment worthy of George Bernard Wilde himself calmed things down and shut them up and that's the end of this fascinating tale, except to say i'll be avoiding that Swiss fondue hut in Ranelagh and shan't be visiting the Croat Goat and Stoat Bar and Grill anytime soon
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Tuesday, June 15, 2004
there's still some fucking time to leave a cunting comment in my bollocks arsechives you wankers. i'm especially shitting well after my danish and dutch readers, if for no other reason than i greatly admire your bacon, your hopjes and your culture of tolerance you lowland-living weirdos - leave it in dutch, double dutch, danish or viking - i dont mind, i really don't.
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my new word for the month:
Buzy
Meaning busy, lazy and boozy all that the same time. I was going to post this a few weeks ago when I first had the word but I was too, um, what's the word?
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Buzy
Meaning busy, lazy and boozy all that the same time. I was going to post this a few weeks ago when I first had the word but I was too, um, what's the word?
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Monday, June 14, 2004
JJJJY01: what would you do if the Aurora Borealis was actually a lightshow YES arranged years ago and it was never dismantled ?
What indeed!
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What indeed!
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Why can't England fans riot in Portugal like they're supposed to? You just can't rely on 'the team' these days. They're so erratic. I've bet serious money on their hooligan antics leading to England's expulsion but what do the government do? They only select law-abiding fans to go abroad, keeping all our best fighters in England, which leads to riots IN ENGLAND. Fuck's sake, what did they expect?
Exile is such an underrated punitive measure. Bring it back/send it away, I say
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Exile is such an underrated punitive measure. Bring it back/send it away, I say
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What's an owl's favourite phone number?
282820
(please be patient with me - i'm still going through my 'shit' period, remember)
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282820
(please be patient with me - i'm still going through my 'shit' period, remember)
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taken from Metro(Aug1939):- Adolph in Wunderkind
...and beyond all the hype and bluster of the Nazi PR machine I found a man who, if you get him on his own sitting over a pint of hot schnapps, can really open up and talk about the difficulties he's had trying to be the 24/7 Fuhrer. He doesn't do beer-halls or the Opera House much these days but he's a genuine, funny guy with a big heart who isn't afraid to cry. I predict great things ahead for Europe with this guy at the helm. He's got synergy
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...and beyond all the hype and bluster of the Nazi PR machine I found a man who, if you get him on his own sitting over a pint of hot schnapps, can really open up and talk about the difficulties he's had trying to be the 24/7 Fuhrer. He doesn't do beer-halls or the Opera House much these days but he's a genuine, funny guy with a big heart who isn't afraid to cry. I predict great things ahead for Europe with this guy at the helm. He's got synergy
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Saturday, June 12, 2004
Friday, June 11, 2004
I like to hear a good political ranter as much as the next apathetic consensus liberal but occasionally you run into some twat who gets so steamed up they spill over into the kind of bullshit below - but what really gives it away is his confusion between, well, if you don't know you ought to...
O'REILLY: Sure because of what we've said here that there is a semi-organized, maybe even more than that, group in Hollywood that is going to use their celebrity to try to get Bush out of office. Now...
HAMMOND: Well, Bill, is this a shock to you?
O'REILLY: No, no, no, but I think it's more organized than ever before and I think they have more access to the media than ever before because the celebrity media, as I said, is so profitable and pervasive. So now it becomes a Leni/Wiesenthal (ph) Third Reich propaganda proposition where what they say and do is put in everybody's face. Now, is there anything wrong with that? No, there isn't. They're entitled but I think everybody should know what's going on...
Reprinted with no permission from rupert "howling mad" murdoch's fox news channel
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O'REILLY: Sure because of what we've said here that there is a semi-organized, maybe even more than that, group in Hollywood that is going to use their celebrity to try to get Bush out of office. Now...
HAMMOND: Well, Bill, is this a shock to you?
O'REILLY: No, no, no, but I think it's more organized than ever before and I think they have more access to the media than ever before because the celebrity media, as I said, is so profitable and pervasive. So now it becomes a Leni/Wiesenthal (ph) Third Reich propaganda proposition where what they say and do is put in everybody's face. Now, is there anything wrong with that? No, there isn't. They're entitled but I think everybody should know what's going on...
Reprinted with no permission from rupert "howling mad" murdoch's fox news channel
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Thursday, June 10, 2004
faraa3: iraq are thru to the next world cup arent they?
JJJJY01: are they ?? not yet they arent
faraa3: dunno
faraa3: what would you do if Iraq was actually through to the semi-finals of the next World War
faraa3: to meet either England, US or Israel
JJJJY01: they went through on sanctions after extra-time
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JJJJY01: are they ?? not yet they arent
faraa3: dunno
faraa3: what would you do if Iraq was actually through to the semi-finals of the next World War
faraa3: to meet either England, US or Israel
JJJJY01: they went through on sanctions after extra-time
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Wednesday, June 09, 2004
I never imagined I'd eat roast giraffe
Until, that is, I met you
I didn't know then that some smells made me laugh
Until, at my house, your first poo
I didn't think you could fit plums down your throat
Until, that is, our first date
I never thought you'd like to get with a stoat
And now, we think, yes, that that's great
I couldnt have guessed that my mum was impressed
When she met you and not 'cos you're black
I wasn't to know when our union was blessed
That my heart would choose then to attack
(And speaking of blessed I'm still fond of that dress
That I wear when i'm stretched on the rack)
My dad, yes it's true, he's a bit of a jew
But your tits won him over ok
So what, in the end, if you're somewhat hindu
He's just so relieved I'm not gay
I'd forgotten the fact that all life is a farce
Until you stopped me sniffing glue
And I never thought the sun shone from my arse
Thanks to you, my sweet love, thanks to you
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Until, that is, I met you
I didn't know then that some smells made me laugh
Until, at my house, your first poo
I didn't think you could fit plums down your throat
Until, that is, our first date
I never thought you'd like to get with a stoat
And now, we think, yes, that that's great
I couldnt have guessed that my mum was impressed
When she met you and not 'cos you're black
I wasn't to know when our union was blessed
That my heart would choose then to attack
(And speaking of blessed I'm still fond of that dress
That I wear when i'm stretched on the rack)
My dad, yes it's true, he's a bit of a jew
But your tits won him over ok
So what, in the end, if you're somewhat hindu
He's just so relieved I'm not gay
I'd forgotten the fact that all life is a farce
Until you stopped me sniffing glue
And I never thought the sun shone from my arse
Thanks to you, my sweet love, thanks to you
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Wanted: 10 fearless individuals to come with me to a crowded Karaoke bar and proudly sing songs they have honestly never heard before with passion, gusto and brand new melodies.
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It's time someone took my idea for flipper-mittens seriously. I for one would pay good money to see other people walking around wearing snappy claw-gloves, where the thumb, forefinger and middle finger are all squashed into one mitteny-chamber and the ring and little fingers live within the other. Hey presto, you've got yourself a whole population of lobster-men at last. Vulcan greetings will become the norm throughout winter and i'll maybe get over the hurt caused by seeing socks with individual toe-pockets on the market, an idea i had, oh, about a million decades before anybody else i'm sure.
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We've all got strategies to overcome tongue-tiedness in whatever creative ideal you're in pursuit of. Mine's blogging. So what happens when nothing bloggable comes across?
Blog.
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Blog.
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Which reminds me: Sure I'm no expert in these matters, but wouldn't a real pint of Dick Advocaat taste rather unpleasant?
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I'm a fairweather football fan and proud of it. The more importance the mob attaches to authenticity, loyalty and committment in the ludicrously titled 'beautiful game', the more repugnant i find the practice of 'support'. It also demonstrates the general public's unceasing pleasure at being ripped-off by greedy bastards in exchange for some manufactured and carefully regulated excitement within safe and unquestionable boundaries. It's a matter of class is football, and increasingly it seems no-one's got any but they all think they have.
That poorly thought out rant over with, it's with pleasure I can reveal that I've put a couple of quid on Euro2004. Not on England to win. nor France, nor Italy or whomever. My money has gone, perhaps for good, maybe for bad, to gamebookers who are offering very acceptable odds of 33/1 on England being kicked out of the tournament as a result of the bad behaviour of its fans.
I bet the UKIP are wishing it could happen before the elections. I'm just hoping it'll happen. And the money would be a bonus.
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That poorly thought out rant over with, it's with pleasure I can reveal that I've put a couple of quid on Euro2004. Not on England to win. nor France, nor Italy or whomever. My money has gone, perhaps for good, maybe for bad, to gamebookers who are offering very acceptable odds of 33/1 on England being kicked out of the tournament as a result of the bad behaviour of its fans.
I bet the UKIP are wishing it could happen before the elections. I'm just hoping it'll happen. And the money would be a bonus.
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It's a terribly embarrassing admission and I know all my film buff friends will shun me but it's time to come right out and say it: i've never seen You've Got Mail
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there will now follow a week or two of consciously sub-substandard posts in an effort to wank out this pustulous brick of nothing:
England in gland
Scotland it's got land
Ireland hire land
Wales wails
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England in gland
Scotland it's got land
Ireland hire land
Wales wails
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Tuesday, June 08, 2004
Monday, June 07, 2004
Swept away into Womanly lycra-clad sweaty heaven, i feel inspired to write maybe my first genuine blog entry, with real paragraphs and all that fancy punctuated shit
I leave the flat for a coffee up the road, walk out of the drive and find 40,000 women walking quickly past my door. That's not a wild guess, some exaggeration - it's the offical figure. My unoffical statistics agency would have to put the total number of humans to at least 45,000 since, although it turns out I'm trapped within Dublin's Womens' Bank Holiday Mini-Marathon, there are many men participating. ALL OF WHICH are dressed as women. A good many nuns, some tarts, a nun-tart and a majority of lumpen-breasted patchy-wigged tranny-lites. That's unintentionally done i hope, since the event is mainly to raise money for breast cancer and equally worthy women's causes.
Personally i'm an arse man but since they don't get the publicity of breasts, and presumably are less susceptible to the dreaded canker, i'll happily give spare cash for my next favourite area of feminine flesh protusion. There's nothing worse than losing your mammaries.
Meeting at a cafe right in the centre of the action, a friend tells me that we're watching one percent of the entire country jog past us. That means 2% of the entire female population of Ireland. Therefore 4% of the entire population of Dublin and so an incredible 8% of Dublin's female population. All choosing to spend their bank holiday running 6 miles through town for charity and a laugh. Not that i've observed many marathons but im certain that it's not usual to see so many of the participants eating crisps, licking ice creams, smoking and drinking beer along the way. They know how to have fun here.
And I get to confirm my theory, which is that Ireland has some of the most shockingly, heart-breakingly, crotch-touchingly beautiful women in the world. And many, many of the ugliest.
Today is supposed to be a break from banking in Ireland so I can't even... Oh shit, here comes the wife.
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I leave the flat for a coffee up the road, walk out of the drive and find 40,000 women walking quickly past my door. That's not a wild guess, some exaggeration - it's the offical figure. My unoffical statistics agency would have to put the total number of humans to at least 45,000 since, although it turns out I'm trapped within Dublin's Womens' Bank Holiday Mini-Marathon, there are many men participating. ALL OF WHICH are dressed as women. A good many nuns, some tarts, a nun-tart and a majority of lumpen-breasted patchy-wigged tranny-lites. That's unintentionally done i hope, since the event is mainly to raise money for breast cancer and equally worthy women's causes.
Personally i'm an arse man but since they don't get the publicity of breasts, and presumably are less susceptible to the dreaded canker, i'll happily give spare cash for my next favourite area of feminine flesh protusion. There's nothing worse than losing your mammaries.
Meeting at a cafe right in the centre of the action, a friend tells me that we're watching one percent of the entire country jog past us. That means 2% of the entire female population of Ireland. Therefore 4% of the entire population of Dublin and so an incredible 8% of Dublin's female population. All choosing to spend their bank holiday running 6 miles through town for charity and a laugh. Not that i've observed many marathons but im certain that it's not usual to see so many of the participants eating crisps, licking ice creams, smoking and drinking beer along the way. They know how to have fun here.
And I get to confirm my theory, which is that Ireland has some of the most shockingly, heart-breakingly, crotch-touchingly beautiful women in the world. And many, many of the ugliest.
Today is supposed to be a break from banking in Ireland so I can't even... Oh shit, here comes the wife.
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Sunday, June 06, 2004
Not enough people go to confession in this country. I know this because i've had to take it from complete strangers, within seconds of meeting them, twice this weekend.
"I don't work. I've got manic depression. I trained as an engineer but now I just go down the docks every day and just do that"
"In my family there's lots of troubles. Really big troubles, you know. Like murders and people killing eachother and things. If someone in my family says to me 'I'll fucking kill you' I'll fucking kill them first, you know what I mean? I'll not wait, i'll go into their bedroom that night and ask 'can you not fucking sleep? i'm not surprised, neither can I - come on, let's fucking do it' and then i'll (makes pushing-a-knife-into-my-stomach action) fucking do him"
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"I don't work. I've got manic depression. I trained as an engineer but now I just go down the docks every day and just do that"
"In my family there's lots of troubles. Really big troubles, you know. Like murders and people killing eachother and things. If someone in my family says to me 'I'll fucking kill you' I'll fucking kill them first, you know what I mean? I'll not wait, i'll go into their bedroom that night and ask 'can you not fucking sleep? i'm not surprised, neither can I - come on, let's fucking do it' and then i'll (makes pushing-a-knife-into-my-stomach action) fucking do him"
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Amazing historical research by CNN. I just watched several hours of their d-day documentaries and I discovered to my horror that i'd been taught lies at school. I honestly didn't know that it was a purely American operation. I thought the British, Canadians and other nationalities were involved. Why isn't this more well known?
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Saturday, June 05, 2004
weird. I dreamt about ronald reagan last night. he and nancy were, somehow, my grandparents and we stood, them and I plus wife, at big wooden gate dividing a road from a field (an elysian one? it seemed rather farmlike, i think). They were trying tp persuade us to go into it with them and ronnie just leapt over this thing and sped off in glee. nancy looked at us and smiled.
now i accept that this is open to many interpretations but thats not what bothers me. I accept that someone can have a dream about someone the day before they die, be it coincidence or prophecy it doesn't matter. it's just 'WHY ME?'. I couldn't fucking care less and I nor could he i dare say
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now i accept that this is open to many interpretations but thats not what bothers me. I accept that someone can have a dream about someone the day before they die, be it coincidence or prophecy it doesn't matter. it's just 'WHY ME?'. I couldn't fucking care less and I nor could he i dare say
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Friday, June 04, 2004
Thursday, June 03, 2004
Who ARE you people and how did you GET here?
www.jesuschrist.com
eating raw chicken
"girl meat"
cuntbusting
buggery
I'll have a babycham
+"lyrics" +"knights in white satan"
about human flesh it tastes
Gutrot videos
post your naked photocopy cunt
www.mybum.com
fuckabilité
"+www.mybum.+com"
licky the duckling
billy bob thornton parasites
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www.jesuschrist.com
eating raw chicken
"girl meat"
cuntbusting
buggery
I'll have a babycham
+"lyrics" +"knights in white satan"
about human flesh it tastes
Gutrot videos
post your naked photocopy cunt
www.mybum.com
fuckabilité
"+www.mybum.+com"
licky the duckling
billy bob thornton parasites
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Wednesday, June 02, 2004
Saw a weird film last night. Back to the Future 4. Didn't expect to see that out for a few years, especially considering it's not been made yet.
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Which makes me wonder, the singer from Bros, was his nickname at school Matt Gloss? Considering he sports a creosote permatan the irony would be just too much. Which is why it probably didn't happen. And i'm going to go now.
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Thanks ginsterlad74:
By the way, I have just found out (though not through personal experience I am happy to say) that the primary treatment for warts is "wart paint". Also liquid nitrogen. Really. I quote (from a medico text):
"The most common treatments offered are wart paints, which are acids to gently burn off the lesion, or liquid nitrogen cryotherapy to freeze the lesion."
I suppose the overall look of the wart will impact on the decision whether to go for matt or gloss, and I am told that the favourite colour is Dusky Skin Pink With A Hint of Freckle.
Apparently it was a mix up with wart paint caused by a typo on the production list that nearly caused the scuppering of the film Last of the Mohicans
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By the way, I have just found out (though not through personal experience I am happy to say) that the primary treatment for warts is "wart paint". Also liquid nitrogen. Really. I quote (from a medico text):
"The most common treatments offered are wart paints, which are acids to gently burn off the lesion, or liquid nitrogen cryotherapy to freeze the lesion."
I suppose the overall look of the wart will impact on the decision whether to go for matt or gloss, and I am told that the favourite colour is Dusky Skin Pink With A Hint of Freckle.
Apparently it was a mix up with wart paint caused by a typo on the production list that nearly caused the scuppering of the film Last of the Mohicans
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A sample from the link below:
Trees and the law by Robert S. W. Pollard
Availability: Out of Print--Limited Availability
Trees and the laws that KILL them April 27, 2004
Very informative book and structured nicely. Should have contained more info on how tree laws cause problems in the first instance. As an attorney, I am consulted by property owners who want to remove trees without fear of tree-preservation laws. I cannot advise clients to ignore laws (though tree laws often seem easy to ignore). I can tell clients what a lot of people do: they don't plant any trees that are protected by tree laws. And any tree protected in tree laws that is still small enough to be legally killed, is killed.
Tree laws can be amended, so that every tree is a potential risk that a property owner will be restricted by government in the future alteration of his property. Tree laws make treeless property the safest route.
Tree laws kill trees, as every libertarian knows. And rightfully so, because tree laws violate private property rights by "socializing" trees.
The joke about the endangered species act is that if a property owner sees an endangered species on his property he should "shoot, shovel and shut up." Under tree-preservation laws it is "chop, chip and chill."
Tree-huggers must have fallen out of a stupid tree and hit every branch on the way down. If public officials were any more stupid, they'd have to be watered weekly. If their antidisestablishmentarianism continues then more "protected" trees will die.
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Trees and the law by Robert S. W. Pollard
Availability: Out of Print--Limited Availability
Trees and the laws that KILL them April 27, 2004
Very informative book and structured nicely. Should have contained more info on how tree laws cause problems in the first instance. As an attorney, I am consulted by property owners who want to remove trees without fear of tree-preservation laws. I cannot advise clients to ignore laws (though tree laws often seem easy to ignore). I can tell clients what a lot of people do: they don't plant any trees that are protected by tree laws. And any tree protected in tree laws that is still small enough to be legally killed, is killed.
Tree laws can be amended, so that every tree is a potential risk that a property owner will be restricted by government in the future alteration of his property. Tree laws make treeless property the safest route.
Tree laws kill trees, as every libertarian knows. And rightfully so, because tree laws violate private property rights by "socializing" trees.
The joke about the endangered species act is that if a property owner sees an endangered species on his property he should "shoot, shovel and shut up." Under tree-preservation laws it is "chop, chip and chill."
Tree-huggers must have fallen out of a stupid tree and hit every branch on the way down. If public officials were any more stupid, they'd have to be watered weekly. If their antidisestablishmentarianism continues then more "protected" trees will die.
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I have never seen a man die
But every day I go and try
I have never had a sexual life
Despite a homosexual wife
My kids don't think their dad is cool
For sending them to spastic school
My folks dont think my job is right
I'm sucking cocks when money's tight
The Lord above has sent me pain
In the form of 'shaky brain'
My friends want all their money back
Not spent on shares in Afghan smack
And that is why I'd like two E's
Will you fix it for me, Jim'll, please?
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But every day I go and try
I have never had a sexual life
Despite a homosexual wife
My kids don't think their dad is cool
For sending them to spastic school
My folks dont think my job is right
I'm sucking cocks when money's tight
The Lord above has sent me pain
In the form of 'shaky brain'
My friends want all their money back
Not spent on shares in Afghan smack
And that is why I'd like two E's
Will you fix it for me, Jim'll, please?
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Tuesday, June 01, 2004
Next time you're in Ravenna my friend, let me tell you, go down the Via del Appia and just off the main square round the back of the cathedral there's a real old world backstreet filled with rickety old traditional stores, and right at the end hidden away is a lovely little McDonald's where you can get a very authentic hamburger and chips with Coke for a really good price. The staff are charming, the decor is from another century and the service is fast and efficient. And do say hello to Fabrizio 'Five Stars' Fanelli, Il Grande Patrone, from me.
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I've been to Bangalore
But I've never been to Naples
I've crossed the murky Rhine
But I've never run a stable
I've lived in central Moscow
But I didn't kill Clark Gable
And the money in my pocket
Is a fact and not a fable.
I burst a big balloon
In a poor man's wooden palace
And I've snookered Jonah Lomu
Whilst admiring Jimmy Challiss
I've shipped a crate of testes
To Wontokochakadowa
But I've never eaten snowflakes
With a bottle of Black Tower
Two ladies were an'asking
If I ever planned to marry
But their questions and their glances
I was quick enough to parry
For the weight of human suffering
Is too great to be doubled
And I'm bubbled to be troubled
By tall maids with minds of rubble
Ginsterlad74
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But I've never been to Naples
I've crossed the murky Rhine
But I've never run a stable
I've lived in central Moscow
But I didn't kill Clark Gable
And the money in my pocket
Is a fact and not a fable.
I burst a big balloon
In a poor man's wooden palace
And I've snookered Jonah Lomu
Whilst admiring Jimmy Challiss
I've shipped a crate of testes
To Wontokochakadowa
But I've never eaten snowflakes
With a bottle of Black Tower
Two ladies were an'asking
If I ever planned to marry
But their questions and their glances
I was quick enough to parry
For the weight of human suffering
Is too great to be doubled
And I'm bubbled to be troubled
By tall maids with minds of rubble
Ginsterlad74
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