Possibly The Best Maddest Out-Of-Control Thing I Have Ever Seen. R.Kelly Has Fully Lost It

LIDL

This will be a short, badly written post with no thought put into it at all. However it must be said. I want everyone to shop in LIDL. Reasons why lidl is the glorious haven of joy bathed in a holy numbus of light from 10 to 1

10. Its very cheap

9. They have crazy polish cakes and biscuits.

8. The aisles are 8 or 9 feet wide as to avoid supermarket rage

7. The sell giant salamis some well over 3 foot long (some even bigger)

6. The sell original Barr's Irn Bru in 3 litre bottles

5. When you check out they throw all your food back in the trolley for you to pack later. (thus saving valuable seconds for the person behind you)

4. The have isles with crazy power tools, ladders, watches, sports equipment,
wratchet sets, toolboxes and every week is a different suprise.

3. They stock beer from all around the globe

2. I dont think they have closed since 1996

1. And the top reason for shopping in Lidl is that its packed to the rafters with incredibly hot eastern european ladies searching desperately for shelled prawns in the bottom of the freezer while sporting white trousers, a thong, a belly top and bleach blond hair.

Lidl is King.

Truffle Shuffle

Air Traffic

Red Tape

oh how I hate organisations. The tax office, the AA, the NCT'ers. The searing rage, the horrific anger. After my day in court cronicled in the Judicial Mockery I thought this nightmare would be over. But no. I ring the NCT crowd to try and get proof that I was compliant in feb of this year. Only to be rudely told that I had to fill out 3 forms in triplicate and send 24.50 euro to some busy cunt in Shannon. So I promptly hung up on the filthy unhelpful scumbag and redialled the same number. Requested the same exact documentation from some other unhelpful and even more unfriendly scumbag, and somehow managed to weave my way to a free cert and no forms in triplicate. Seems as if their traning leaves a bit to be desired. Then i rang the AA and asked for same sort of proof of insurance. They were nice and said yes, they would would send out the necessary to me. A week later it hadnt arrived so I rang back, nothing was sent, no record of the request. I had to stay on the phone for another 25 minutes so that "Rachel" could get her house in order. So it seems as if their training leaves a bit to be desired.

Red tape.

Our Antipodean friends

So as I trawled through the world of internet television, I was flicking through some video content, one of the pieces was about an Australian girl, who got into smoking marijuana and it became an addiction, she woke up, did a bong, got up had a coffee and smoked a blunt at the kitchen table, then met up with her hippie friends and drove to someone's house and smoked until she came home at midnight. She continued to do this until one day she heard a voice telling her to jump out the window, then another few voices telling her to do all sorts of crazy, religious and dangerous things. She had developed schizophrenia. The girl checked herself into a mental hospital that deals specially with cases involving severe aural and visual hallucinations brought on by psychotropic drugs and where the average stay is 3 weeks. She was there for 6 months. Possibly because she was crazier than a shithouse rat, and the drug was the trigger for her mental breakdown. Or it was because she simply did smoke too much. I watched in horror as her life fell apart and she couldn’t even walk down the street as the buildings closed in and her father (in her mind) worked for the CIA and was going to have her "taken care of". I left the programme as I had decided to continue to apply myself to the project I had been working on the previous day, the complete ransacking, tidying and clearing out of my "office". So as I drew the task to a close, I found a small bag of grass on the table under my keyboard. Instead of immediately thinking of my Australian hemp smoking pseudo artiste friend, I plunged headlong into construction of a powerful mind altering joint. Having 12 personalities was low on my list of importance as I scanned the desk for a lighter and lit the top of the perfectly made cone. I sat for a moment allowing the smoke to fill my lungs and my mind to slowly empty of coherent thought as my body slipped into the chair. Quiet filled the room and sun shone in the window. For a few seconds I had complete relaxation, but my moment of peace, serenity and utter abandon was shattered almost immediately with the sound of a posh English voice filling the room, "are you going to paass that or must i have to aaask". I must have frozen in my chair for what seemed like an age and then slowly swivelled to face the voice. A well dressed middle aged man with a thin ginger moustache and a wide brimmed hat sat cross-legged on the couch facing me, his left foot bobbing up and down and his highly polished shoe dangling from his toes. I gazed down at my hand. The joint had gone out. I lit it again and leaned forward towards the man and extended my fingers towards him. He plucked the joint from my hand. "Splendid" he cooed. There was a long pause. "Hallucination" I finally replied. He reclined in the seat and moved the hat back onto the crown of his head, the joint pointing upwards from his thin fingers. "Well dear boy, I wouldn’t normally be an advocate of it, but you should have listened to the bloody Australians"

Run, Run, Run for President

I was astounded today when I suddenly saw someone from die hard II is running for president of the US.

Sucker punch

I lied, obviously. There was nothing the next day, nothing the day after that, and the day after that . . . . . . why? well, I was waiting for that lightning bolt of inspiration - when a 100-Watt Halogen bulb goes off in my mind, burning the feck out of my synapses. The problem for me is: how can I make posts about my mundane life interesting, especially when I'm intimidated by the writings of familiars (did you check nemici's last post? - good shit. Keep 'em coming, blondie) And I came up with the solution - rage. It seems to be the driving force for so many blogs out there, so why can't it work for me? There seems to be plenty of it out there. Enough to go around.

And, boy, I've got lots of it polluting my veins, as an incident last week proved. A remarkable occurrence in my otherwise normal lower middle-class existence. I was sauntering through the centre of town on a day-off from work with my daughter in her buggy, feeling fatigued and a little pissed off. At a busy junction, I paused and waited for the green man. When he duly arrived, I began to cross the road as all traffic had paused, bar one cyclist. He kept on coming. Not, it must be noted, at high velocity (ok, he was crawling along), but he was still in motion. The wheel of his bike was about half a foot away from the buggy when I kicked out with my left foot, striking his wheel. But that wasn't the end of my act of aggression, oh no. It quickly escalated. I pushed him, then punched in the face, catching him on the jaw. He was obviously stunned - and angry. Very angry. He started to follow me on his bike, saying 'Come 'ere, I want to talk to you'. Of course, I didn't want to talk to him at this stage as I had now come to the realisation that this cat was a head (his threat to break a bottle over my head confirmed this). This was all taking place near lunchtime on a busy, busy thoroughfare with crowds jostling by us. But I wasn't aware of anyone else, of people gawking at us. As far as I could tell, no one was paying attention. Luckily for me, the cyclist gave up his chase (probably had to make a drop-off or something). I ducked into a place of sanctuary and carried on with my errands as if nothing had happened. But, for me, those few moments were extraordinary. Because, if truth be told, it wasn't a totally unpleasant experience. And that's what scares me more than anything else. Time for some anger management, methinks.

Idle oh so idle.

Aidan o Vitch in some sort of home made coup? He shall put us against the wall when he is king. Take the blog and his followers in his own direction and discredit us all. Or he may a just ruler, with understanding, hope, ideas, freedom and a steady hand - for I agree, we have all gone to our own depths (or heights) brought on by foreign travel, football, computer communication (not through blogs), moving house, impending childbirth, work (both home and job) play and social interaction and sometimes obligation.

I think apathy has been mentioned before in a previous post, its a disease while not contagious is quite dangerous to the thirty-something male, I find the idea of sleep far more appealing than most daily options put before me. And the prohibitive cost of "enjoyment" see's my future in other arena's, both spiritually and physically.

I myself have the "running bug" - Somewhere in the world where the water is free and the cost of daily life is insignificant to what could be in my bank account after 3 months of abstinance and lack of 30th birthday's. Let me walk forth through the mountains and streams, with the ability to capture the visual slung around my neck, let me write on paper alone what has happened that day, let me communicate with strangers though all mediums but common speech, let me sleep not in a white bed with sheets and not drive a silver shiny car, but do I make an enemy of my own future? or is this "their rules" and something which I can avoid till i lie on my death bed and think about all the wonderful things that I have seen and the people I have met.

Idle oh so idle. I feel like a monochrome insect or alternatively some sort of chameleon peering into a luscious garden with endless sources of sun, water and companions.

is this living ?

The Toiling of Idle Hands

Lazy, lazy bastards that we are there have been no posts for the last while, which is causing me distress. But we've been distracted and our thoughts have gone to our own little fiefdoms instead of the collective good. Also, I've been bereft of ideas. But that's all gonna change. I'm taking over. I've decided that there is gonna be a coup. I am blog leader and there will be order - and posts. Maybe even one a day, if you're lucky. It will begin tomorrow, the new era. So sleep tight and prepare. A new era is about to dawn.

Happy Birthday Cheeta !

Having spent many a rainy morning as a kid staring at the tube and laughing at Tarzan and Cheeta's antics, i take great comfort in the knowledge, that Cheeta, lives merrily in sunny cali-for-ny-A.
Happy Birthday Cheeta, who turned 75 last week.

Oh how delightful to meet you, my name is Carlos Tevez

George Clinton and the P-Funk All Stars.

Another Jose Antonio ?

The new season grows ever closer and my mind is starting to wonder how will my beloved Arsenal fair over the 9 months it takes for the English Premiership to run its course?

As per usual i am hopeful and i urge myself to believe we will lay down a genuine challenge for the trophy, but i live with this terrible fear that once again the strength and consistency the Arsenal were always renowned for, will be absent for a third season in a row.

I know Arsene Wenger is a man with a rare and indeed at times beyond human craftiness for spotting talent.

Each year there are but a few if any signings for a Gooner to get animated about, but this year Arsene has spent more than his usual limit on a 24 year old Croat/Brazilian called Eduardo da Silva. He seems to be The Quintessential Goal Mouth Poacher in the style of an Ian Wright with an uncanny ability to be in the right place at the right time.

Will he be the goal scorer that Arsenal so badly need? Someone that put the ball in the net with close to a goal a game average, someone that can survive the grueling months of a football season injury free with a fervour for success and a dedication to the fans who dedicate themselves to the Arsenal cause.

Or will he be another Jose Antonio ?

It's good to rant

As I make my way across this great blogosphere, I notice that most personal blogs seem to be great rants against the state of this modern world and our frustrating lives that are sometimes unfulfilled.

This is a good thing, it's like an exhaust vent for all our rage, a cathartic process that expels all the bile, but it surprises me when I come across a blog by someone I know and the web personality that they portray is completely at odds with the person you know.

That leaves me wondering, which is the real them? And should I be sleeping with an axe in my bed in case they come after me (because they're all psychopaths under that sheen of normalcy). All that anger isn't healthy, and no amount of writing about it on the web will assuage that raging beast that resides within their minds. Only the spilling of blood will suffice, I reckon.

Disappointment is a dish best not served at all

W#nk, sh@t, twat, arse biscuit, p#ss flaps, meat curtains . . . . . . .

My mate Con - we're going to see George Clinton on July 4.

Me - great, thanks, see you there.

Work - can you do a shift on Thursday evening, July 5?

Me - no probs, I have nothing on.

Con - whoops, I gave you wrong date, it's July 5.

Me - w#nk, sh@t, twat, arse, p*ss flaps, meat curtains ....... No Ampfiddler or P-Funk All Stars for me

OUR LEADER

This man truly takes things to new dizzying heights.
http://www.channel4.com/bigbrother/news/newsstory.jsp?id=9621&housemateId=621

Burnt-out

How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable,
Seem to me all the uses of this world!

When I was younger, I had no idea what the whinging Danish prince was on about. Now, I have a sense of what ailed him.

Wanna Play ?

Have fun

His Name Is Legion (excerpt)

Legions, lesions. I dont know, but they seep guilt when I am alone, and when in the company of others they shoot venomous bile at everyone around , the only cure is to trick them into submission with humour, although it has a side effect, when I return home I burst into tears…………

Something smells a little fishy

I was struck by the story this week of the dead body discovered in the freezer of a fishmonger's. The gardaí say the dead man could have been there for five years. Yes, FIVE frickin' years. Now, I'm sorry, but I got to say this, but how is it that a body can lay in a freezer for such a period undiscovered? Got to be a massive bloody freezer. Maybe it leads to Narnia and he was offed by the White Witch. Wonder if they found any Turkish Delight?

Royal bashing

Bogball text that amused me, as I am a Dub (even though I feel like razing the city to the ground most of the time - go Genghis Khan on its ass. Luckily enough for Dublin, I don't have a nomadic Mongol army at my beck and call):

Pierce Brosnan, Hector, Brian Smyth, Dylan Moran, Peter 'The Man With the Hat' McDermott, Tommy Tiernan, The Book of Kells, Peter Darby, The Hill of Tara, The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (aka Lyons, O'Mally, Harnan and Foley), Paddy 'Hands' O'Brien, Bru na Boinne, Joe Cassells, Newgrange, Mochie Regan, Tommy 'Neanderthal' Dowd, Turlough O'Carolan, The Red Collier, The Tara Brooch, Paddy Reynolds - both of them, Trim Castle, Ollie Murphy, John McDermott, Fintan Ginnity, Bernard Flynn, Noel Dempsey, Jinksy Beggy, Shane 'Horgs' Horgan, Liam 'the Ego' Hayes, Brendan Cummins, Graham Geraghty, All the losing dockets in Fairyhouse, Sir Francis Beaufort, the River Boyne, the witchdoctor Sean Boylan, the traffic in Ashbourne, Lord Mountcharles, 'Clever' Trevor Giles, John 'Brutal' Bruton, 'Repetitive Column' O'Rourke, Meathies from Dunboyne and Ashbourne with Dublin accents, and Colm Coyle - your girls took one hell of a beating!

Sooner or later everyone conforms.

Alexei Lalas, former US dope smoking, guitar playin, hemp weaving, World Cup 1994 playin centre back who was in the middle of planning to storm congress and the behead all inside, has been got to.

His short hair and lack of a beard and shoelace headband now plainly states that he is under the full control of "the man". The two photos above prove my point beyond any resonable doubt.

Alexei is now a puppet of the MLS regime. Sooner or later everyone conforms.

Monsieur Sebastien Tellier C'est Bon

Well went to see the above mentioned musical mentalist last night, not that familar with his work but we were treated to a mix of rock and roll, melodic chugging builders of tracks, think basslines, (while backed by very competant musicians), poetry, piano melodies, haunting solo vocal arangements and unsually also his comedy stylings. Apart from the excellent live skills of his band he also drank red wine which he deemed 7-Up, and whiskey which he deemed apple juice, he introduced his keyboard player as Simon the paedophile and when someone shouted Sarkozy from the crowd he self flaggellated himself with a sweat soaked towel, he insulted his mother but telling us how short and fat she was, and also informed us as to how when naked he was a beautiful person. If all this was not enough to make this an unforgettable night, we were treated to his own version of what was a fusion of jazz ballett and modern dance in slow motion and topped off by kissing and licking his microphone and the hand of Simon. We left with smiled on our faces searching for superlatives to describe the night - however the sentence we settled upon was "that was really enjoyable".

Down with Bertie, long live King Keano

Well, five more years of the Bertie Show. It's a sad state of affairs when he looks like the only viable statesman in this nation of ours. My choice would be Roy Keane. What, I hear you cry. Well, it's obvious this democracy lark isn't working, proportional representation is a load of arse. I say we revert to a monarchy, creating a new dynasty with Roy as our new High King. We need a strong man, it obviously works for North Korea and Zimbabwe. A crazed lunatic at the helm (although i'm sure Keano is perfectly is perfectly sane) would be preferable to good old, salt-of-the-earth Bertie. If hyperinflation and starvation ensues, at least we know who the buck stops with - and then we can lynch 'im and put in another strongman to put us on the right course to oblivion. Also, if we had Keano as our king, Keano the Lesser could be the court jester. Happy days.

Burn it all (in my opinion a fine piece of dialogue)

Remember this, Ronald?
Remember who it belonged to? - Mm-hmm.
What did you do to that little girl?
It's not fair, Shadow.
What did you do to that little girl?
I burned her.
You burned her.
What do you do to old ladies, Ronald?
Burn them.
And what about the world, Ronald?
What would you like to do with the whole world?
Burn it all.
See ya next year, Ronald.

Liar liar

What an ultra maroon!

J.K.

John Hughes, heed our call

For a while now I've been feeling that something has been missing from my life, a gaping hole where something warm and fulfilling should be. Couldn't put my finger on it for the longest time, until it came to me in a flash. John Hughes . . . . . where has he gone, why has he left us? The man hasn't directed a film since 1991, why is that? Has the creative well run dry?

He is still writing screenplays, it seems, but, by God, they are rubbish. What could have happened? Weird Science, Ferris Bueller . . . . how those films enriched my teenage years, providing me with much mirth and quotable dialogue when my underdeveloped conversational skills were lacking. I hope that he is not all washed up, that he can provide those that have grown up with him another masterpiece. Perhaps a vehicle for the greatest living comedian, Will Ferrell. Now that would be something - Hughes, heed this call. I command thee! Otherwise the world will be an emptier place.

The Amazingly True Coincidence of Chris Isaak (or Blue Hotel)

On a recent sojourn to the wonderful and limitless city of London to see our heroes of North London, my good friend Ovak and I were taking in some of the sights and sounds of St James' Park behind 10 Downing St. Among such topics that were discussed was the blatent sharing of yellow or pink womens undergarments. (I was proved wrong on the return to the park entrance - they turned out to indeed be yellow) and of course modes of transport that would allow us not to expend any more energy that was needed in the growing heat.

So we lay on the grass recharging our bodies and sipping bottles of water. Eventually we decided to move on and see where our ramblings would take us, before we left Ovak went into the nearby cafe to replenish our water supplies, I waited outside and observed the local people coming and going in the sunshine. As I leaned against the wall I saw a gentleman who bore a striking resemblance to the popular music provider - Chris Isaak. It was obvious to me that it was not the afore mentioned Isaak but a man who shared a few of his facial characteristics.

So our journey took us further through London (passed the yellow undergarments) as we laughed and joked about accosting Isaak and through verbal wordplay tricking him into revealing his identity.

Ovak : "hello Chris"
Chris Isaak : "I am not Chris Isaak"
Ovak : "ahhhha, we never said anything about Isaak - so we must now assume that you are said Isaak"

These humourous imaginary exchanges went on for a while until we shifted gear into reflexive racism or the "here's your mate" line which is used for all quasi non normal approaching individuals.

Our day in London came to a close and we headed for Healthrow Airport with sadness at departing a great city that had provided us with a great weekend. The flight was uneventful and we disembarked and fumbled in our pockets for our documents as we approached passport control. As I managed to locate my passport I slowed almost to a standstill to re-zip my bag and throw it back on my back, I looked ahead and chuckled to myself as another Chris Issak lookalike sat on a bench to my left. Then the staggering realisation of what was happening became apparent. This was not a Chris Isaak lookalike, this was indeed the real Isaak, I caught his gaze and cracked a small smile, he half nodded in acknowledgement, I tapped Ovak on the shoulder and pointed, his face dropped with a look of utter suprise and disbelief. We scuttled forward towards passport checkpoint looking over our shoulders with complete disbelief, here was the very man we had joked about less than 3 hours previously.

To quote a great thinker of our time and to try and somehow explain this inexplicable event I shall finish with this : A lot of people don't realize what's really going on. They view life as a bunch of unconnected incidents and things. They don't realize that there's this, like, lattice of coincidence that lays on top of everything. Give you an example; show you what I mean: suppose you're thinkin' about a plate o' shrimp. Suddenly someone'll say, like, plate, or shrimp, or plate o' shrimp out of the blue, no explanation. No point in lookin' for one, either. It's all part of a cosmic unconciousness.

It's the Ladybug's picnic, mutha phuqua!

Brings back memories, mutha phuqua!

J.K.

As we strolled down Camden St with one thing on our minds........................Burgers! We passed the d.j. from the evenings earlier almost religious experience ,all we had was a casual but still thrilled "hey man great gig".We turned again and before there was a moment to start contemplating toppings on beef patties there he was,turning the corner meandering towards us with a bottle of champagne in hand,THE REVEREND BIG DADDY KANE !!!!!
Fuck ME

No words....

Losing my religion

Unfortunately, I am a glass half-empty kind of individual. My pessimism is my curse. However, it can sometimes be my saviour as my expectations are forever low.

Take Arsenal, for example. I do not believe that Arsene Wenger's team is on the cusp of greatness. In fact, the Gunners are balanced on a tightrope and are in danger of falling into a deep precipice. There is no doubt that Arsenal possess oodles of talent in their young team, that they are encouraged to express the finer points of the game.

But it is also evident that Arsenal are a team incapable of doing the simple things when necessary. Wenger can unearth footballing prodigies from all over Europe and Africa, but he doesn't seem to have the tactical ability to achieve what these players tantalising promise.

Look at Rafa Benitez, he looks to be, finally, making real progress at Liverpool. He obviously gives his players proper direction as to what he wants. Look at the game at PSV, the team that knocked out Arsenal, 'Pool dismantled the Dutch with ease and look assured of a semi-final slot. This coming only a few days after a convincing result over Arsenal at Anfield.

Three defeats on the trot for the Gunners, it is not what we have come to expect. It is a worrying trend at the wrong end of the season, because if this problem is not attended to, Champions League football will not on the menu next season, which will have a knock-on effect.

If this nightmarish scenario comes to fruition, top players won't be so keen to move to the Arse, revenue will drop and season tickets will probably be easier to get.

There is something wrong, Wenger has to stop the rot or a season of so much promise will deliver us to a horrible reality where we will wish that the glass was at least half full.

The terrible shit stand off

Friends, I come to you in terrible times. What should have been a happy day has sadly taken a turn for the worst. I must lay bare before you - my "cubicle shit phobia". Cubicle shit phobia, a terrible affliction, suffered by many but spoken by few. Likened to anal warts, terribly painful but ultimately curable - but I digress.

I will start at the beginning. It all starts with dental hygiene, I decided that gum after each meal would keep my teeth free of food and my breadth minty fresh, so I bought myself a couple of boxes of chewing gum, you know the kind, flip top box and 50 pieces approx.

So with my new found dental hygiene plan firmly in place I set about chewing for all I was worth. But then it started to take over, it wasn't just after meals, it was after, tea, water, snacks, then it just became all the time. With all this chewing I was becoming unwell, my stomach was churning and I found myself with a severe belly ache. So I decided to read the chewing gum packet and to my complete horror and surprise - I find the following warning in tiny letters emblazoned on the underside of the box. "excessive consumption may produce laxative effects".

By the time I had read the sentence it was becoming unbearable, I rushed forward from the cubicle but keeping my paces to a minimum so as not to draw too much attention to my ever worsening condition. I walked through the hall to the "unused" toilet in order that I could relieve myself from the awful aching. I swung the door open and to my surprise, the two cubicle toilet had an engaged sign on one of the doors. My phobia, started to kick in, I mean the manly pursuit of shitting is all very well, why I can piss like a racehorse standing at a urinal but I cannot, I dare not, unload the watery chewing gum fuelled contents of my bowels while another gent, who's shiny shoes poked under the corner of the cheap wooden door.

And so it began......the terrible shit stand off. Dead silence less the drip drop of the tap. Not a movement from either man. My face grimaced, beads of sweat trickled down my forehead. This man was made of steel. "Oh god he could have a paper" I thought to myself. What if he has some sort of novel in there. I stared down at my shoes. The pain becoming unbearable. I would have to leave. There was another toilet at the other end of the building, but would I make it ? Suddenly as I was about to seize my pants and make a dash for it I heard it.......the slow recognisable tug of toilet roll. He was finished. This was it. I dreamed of bidets, waterfalls, andrex puppies, emptiness. I heard a belt buckle being fastened and a loud flush. Then water and soap and the whoosh of a hand dryer.

I waited, the door opened. My only fear now was the double pass, he would leave and someone else would enter, this surely would be my downfall. The door slammed shut.

Moments later my grimace turned slowly to a smile and my groans became a relieved sob, the sweat on my brow was replaced by a small tear from the corner of my eye. I sat for a moment in some sort of faeces induced nirvana.

The terrible shit stand off was finally over.

still.............

I dont care about Slovakia, he is still a mad eejit.

Stephen Staunton

Whilst sitting in seat 22, row y in the Hogan Stand in Croke park last saturday watching the Ireland vs Wales game, I looked down towards the technical area hundreds of feet below. Ireland were under late pressure from the Welsh who obviously wanted to come away with a point. Stephen "Stan" Staunton stood statuesque, arms folded, vacant stare, mouth slightly ajar, whilst his players obviously having been given questionable tactical advice and had at times looked embarrassed as they "hoofed" the ball 60 yards in the general direction of the opponents goal. I was not quick to criticise Staunton but after witnessing this performance I am going to hop up on the bandwagon and call for this man's head. Hang em high boys, hang em high.

Keep the Faith

Whatever happens and above all else,now more than ever it is time to keep the faith.No club in the land holds in their grasp a destiny as golden.
New Stadium ,an average age of 13 and a manager that is about to realise his dream.
Do you believe?

Untitled

The following passage is the beginning of weekly updates from my new and as yet untitled novel.

Comments and suggestions are welcome.




"I vote that we move to the theme of violence"cried a gentleman with a balding head, a full beard and brown coloured ale congealing at the corners of his mouth, "yes" replied the gentlemen sitting around the table almost in unison, some bashing their fists upon the table. While their elbows desperately sought the space between the oversized schooners of beer, empty shot glasses, box like ash tray overflowing with smoldering cigarette butts, paper and beer mats. They gulped down the ale as if this was to be their last drop but the night had many hours left to go. This moment in alcohol fuelled revelry was ultimately to be their downfall. Each of the 8 men's doom. To some this would forge an almost unavoidable groove towards swift and total annihilation. To others the end would take a far more long and distressing road.

This was the beginning.

Hell Awaits

Heavy metal 'a comfort for the bright child'

Intelligent teenagers often listen to heavy metal music to cope with the pressures associated with being talented, according to research.

The results of a study of more than 1,000 of the brightest five per cent of young people will come as relief to parents whose offspring, usually long-haired, are devotees of Iron Maiden, AC/DC and their musical descendants.

Researchers found that, far from being a sign of delinquency and poor academic ability, many adolescent "metalheads" are extremely bright and often use the music to help them deal with the stresses and strains of being gifted social outsiders.

J.K.

The 'Final Solution'

No need to thank me just yet, but I've done it. Yes, that's right, I've found a solution to all the world's political problems, a way of solving the current malaise that afflicts the Middle East especially.

We have seen pro wrestlers become politicians in America and Japan, but what about going in the other direction? Politicos getting into the ring for some 'Smackdown' action. If Americans elected their representatives based on wrestling abilities alone, then we'd half nelson half of the political conflicts we have in the world today.

Wait a minute, you are probably thinking, what does this have to do with world conflict? Well, I will explain - each nation should have a champion, who is a wrestler and a leader, hopefully democratically elected, who will enter the ring and face off against his adversary from the opposing nation (WWE rules apply) to sort out any political gripes or impasses. The wrestling matches would also replace armed conflict and struggle, just mano-a-mano, one nation's champion versus another. So, we could have George W and Tony Blair going up, tag-team style, against Kim Jong-Il and Ahmadinejad. If it were a multi-lateral problem, then a 'Royal Rumble' would suffice.

The UN, of course, would become the UNWF and all fights would be under the auspices of that organisation. I think it could be a beautiful thing.

The Great Sasuke, a wrestling legend, is running for a gubernatorial race in Japan, and he refuses to take off his wrestling mask, despite being a legislative member of the provincial assembly. Therefore, he unquestionably would have my vote, if I lived in that Japanese province, and if Bertie Ahern or Enda Kenny (my personal preference would be for Mary Harney as she fell off the ugly tree) decided to wear wrestling masks, then I would pay attention to them and place greater significance on their words.

No Harm Looking

If you get the chance watch the show (The Great Global Warming Swindle).

Yes some of it is a little OTT but it does have interesting and valid points that i think would at times need a little further investigation. Nonetheless people could do with hearing what is said, and it might sway people off a direct one truth agenda.

Don't be so sensitive

The new film 300, base on a Frank Miller graphic novel, is causing a stink with the Iranian community world wide. They see it as a slur on ancient Persian culture, a misrepresentation. However, depending on Hollywood to give an accurate portrayal is like putting all your stock on George W to solve the problems in the Middle East, making the Jews, Shias, Sunnis into one big, happy family - it ain't gonna happen. This is a COMIC-BOOK film, literally. They put in elements to make an historic event look even more fantastical, as opposed to the woeful Troy where they did the opposite. Okay, Iranians say that this is American propaganda against them - but I'm sure a large proportion of Americans don't even realise that Iran is Persia. This is a pure, mindless action movie designed, with its testosterone-fulled violence, for teenage boys. There is no subtext.

Be CAreful !!!!!

In these modern times even the small pleasures can turn around and bite you on the ass.EVERYTHING gives you cancer!

The Wonder of it all

I was blind but now I can see.

3.14: I hope it's not too late...

Happy Pi day to one and all.

J.K.

Mondo, mondo, mondo

Apologies for my tardiness, but am now finally contributing to the creation of this realm of magnificence. My own sphere of influence is small, but perfectly formed. First up from me is a little music to enhance your reading/viewing pleasure. It is a soundtrack of sorts - a soundtrack for a 1970s German soft porn movie, purporting to be a documentary or 'mondo' feature, concerning a hirsute women with odd-shaped, small breasts on a voyage of self-discovery in India and Africa. Except this film, starring Holga Schmuchkler and directed by Konrad-Kunz Kuntsler, doesn't exist, except as a concept for my soundtrack, which is unfortunate.

We're number 1!

Irish EU's 'worst binge-drinkers'

Ireland has the highest rates of binge-drinking in the European Union, a survey exploring attitudes to alcohol has indicated.

Finally, something to be proud of. I'd like to congratulate everyone for all their hard work. And all this with St. Patrick's day just around the corner...

J.K.

Me Virgin!!!!

Oh how life can be strange sometimes! One minute you are celebrating your brothers 21st birthday amongst your nearest and dearest and the next , your darling brother who you have known for over three decades dares to try and bite through your skull so as to reach the bountiful source of grey matter contained within.
Oh how life can be strange!

The will of the Gods.

please read.........what enlightened spiritual subtlety.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/asia-pacific/6441631.stm

The Ratings Game

Hello to my fellow blog owners and blog readers.

Mucho excited about this coming together to form new opinions and possibly a conglomerate of some sort that will allow me to become famous and rich without actually having any talent. I suppose its always been an unrealistic dream but hey "I have a dream" etc etc etc.

Moving on, I would first like to pay a public homage to Aidano, I sit and type while listening to his mondo exotica. A musical mix of so far wonderful flowing mini journeys which are brightening up my Sunday night. (of late sunday depression has been coming on strong but I will come to that at a later date).

May I secondly say JK - a great idea this is an I am proud to be a part of it. I hope it will be long running and spark ideas that may lead us in unknown directions. Bravo sir bravo.

Last but not least in the thank you's may I say, Con (Ovak30) - your idea for sitting in windows of restaurants with rating cards cruely rating passers by with 3.4's, 5.6's and the occasional 9.8 filled me with hope that we could spread some of our hopelessness upon others while enjoying steaks and other sundries.

To new beginnings.

L.B.

First Post

At the moment we're just setting things up. Come back soon.