Dubloon shows his class

by Twenty Major on December 14th, 2004

After posting an email address to which readers of his mypoic blog can send feedback, Dubloon posted a couple of emails which were very positive towards his site (and it is a he), then to balance it out he posted this, somebody who doesn’t appreciate what he writes.

However, instead of just publishing her letter he proceeds to attempt humour (I assume he thought the ‘Normans’ gag was quite clever but I’m sorry to say it was about as funny as cancer of the spine) by dissecting her mail in a childish rebuttal. Pretty lame, you’d have to agree. Remember, Dubloon closed the comments on his own site because, and I quote, “…visitors who come to read bad things about Dublin are not interested in total strangers bickering.”.

So what makes him think visitors are interested in Dubloon taking apart an email sent to him about his site? If he’s going to bicker surely he should give the person he’s trying to belittle the right to reply. Not just in another email, because he can edit those to suit himself, but in a real time way, in a comments system like another blogger worth his salt would.

Stop being a coward, Dubloon. Settle down with a nice cup of java and turn your comments back on. It’ll make your blog a better place, as it is you’re just making yourself look (more) like a petty, sore and spiteful individual.

Spencer Dock development

by Twenty Major on December 14th, 2004

I read yesterday that the Spencer Dock development is to get underway at last. New offices, shops, restaurants and apartments will be built and will transform what was once the sort of place you’d go for a knife fight into one of the most desirable locations in Dublin.

The buildings will be restricted to just 11 stories though as permission was not granted to build a 37 story ’skyscraper’. It’s a bit of a shame really. I’d like to see some skyscrapers built. Dublin does not really have any kind of set architectural style. There are fine old streets like Dame Street which have been ruined by new buildings. There are some nice Edwardian and Victorian areas, but they’re out of town mostly. The city centre is a hodge-podge of poxy design and brown envelope purchased planning permission. What difference would a couple of really tall buildings down the quays make? In fact it would add something to the city, that’s for sure.

The new skyscrapers would be tourist attractions, great for sniping people from the roof and a whole new area for people to commit suicide on New Year’s Eve. Bord Pleanala need to get their fat arses into the 21st century and instead of trying to maintain what’s a pretty uninspiring city, architecturally, they should give Dublin a chance to develop it’s own style with flashy glass and chrome cloudticklers.

One small point about redevelopment in Dublin. The pictures of Spencer Dock show blue skies with speedboats resting outside a posh apartment complex. Speedboats I can live with, if you want to go up and down the Liffey in your Miami Vice boat then more power to you, but something should be done about the blatant false advertising. Blue skies and the sun shining, what are they thinking?

This bloke came up to me…

by Twenty Major on December 13th, 2004

…and he said ‘You cunt.’

I said, “What?” He said, “You cunt”.

I said ‘Do you think you’re Peter Cook and Dudley Moore, you fucking cunt?’

Anyway, this went on for some time until I said “Look son, I’ve had enough, now fuck off you fucking cunt, would ya?”.

Here are some other people I would like to say ‘Fuck off you cunt’ to:

Barry Egan: He’s ginger, he thinks he can write, he looks like a pissed up old tramp. Fuck off you cunt.

Eddie Irvine: Going to Café en Seine only makes you more of a cunt you fucking second rate playboy. Fuck off you cunt.

Celia Ahern: Just what Ireland needs. Another writer of fluffy, insipid chick-lit. And we used to be well known for our great writers. Fuck off you cunt.

Clare McKeown: Leave some of the fucking pie for the rest of us you fucking blimp. Fuck off you cunt.

Tiger Woods: Stop being such a fucking cunt all your life and enjoy yourself. Try smilng now and again. Fuck off you cunt.

The bloke from Coldplay: You’d think with all his money he’d get his teeth fixed and buy himself a decent gansey. Fuck off you Paltrow licking cunt.

James Nesbitt: Norn Irish actor with a bulldog’s jaw. Why the fuck are you on the TV every time I turn it on? Fuck off you power-cunt.

That’s enough for today. Those cunts are getting me down.

More 80s pop stars - where are they now

by Twenty Major on December 12th, 2004

Not many people know this but Nik Kershaw has shrunk to the size of a common Elf and now lives under a toadstool at the bottom of my garden.

Toys for Christmas

by Twenty Major on December 10th, 2004

Amidst all the flashy MP3 players, Playstations and Xboxes, DVDs and other hi-tech wizardry wouldn’t it be great to see some of the toys our generation grew up with make a return to their rightful place underneath the tree this Christmas?

Obviously we’d have to make a few small modifications but I think these toys and games could be a winner again:

Simon: In the old version coloured lights flashed and made a tone, you had to repeat the sequence for as long as possible. In the new version the principal is the same. The lights flash, a tone is sounded but if you get it wrong you have your name changed by deed poll to Simon and you have to run up and down your street and yell ‘Everyone, MY NAME IS SIMON!’ but you have to do it with your tongue stuck into your bottom lip like a spazzer.

Twister: To sort out the problem of illegal immigrants and bogus asylum seekers each new game of Twister comes with 2 Bosnians, a Ukranian and a Nigerian. Kids make their new slaves play the game and when one fails to display appropriate suppleness the others twist his neck until he dies. The winner of each games gets Irish residency. Spare ‘fugees can be bought separately.

Marbles: Everyone had marbles back in the day. The little small ones were common, everyone had a few ‘gulleys’ but the top o’ the line were ’steeleys’ (I remember there used to be a fine marbles shop opposite Stillorgan shopping centre). I’m not quite sure what you could do with marbles, to be honest, I really just remembered the word ‘gulleys’ and wanted to use it. Sorry.

Trival pursuit: Kids form a gang and chase somebody for a minor offence.

Fuzzy felt: A great favourite from years ago, we used to make delightful pictures from pieces of sticky felt. In this game, aimed at priests and swimming coaches kids are given small beakers of rohypnol and felt up. Then, despite their mind being all fuzzy, they have to point out the offender from a line up.d

Etch-a-sketch: Leady goodness in a red casing. This time there’s a twist, unless the user makes a perfect circle the unit will self-destruct. Batteries and plastic explosives included.

Sea Monkeys: If you ever had these things you’ll know that you dump a packet of powder into some water, wait and you get these little sea monkey creatures swimming about your tank. They ususally last a week or two before they all start dying and nobody realises the incredible agonies of a sea monkey’s death, but nevermind. However, what if we could grow real monkeys which we could then use for helping around the house, taking the dog for a walk and representing Ireland in the European parliament. Worth thinking about.

Operation: In an effort to clean up some of the homeless people on the street they’re drugged and brought to a massive convention centre where the 2005 Irish Operation Contest takes place. Kids have to remove the funny bone, bread basket, Adam’s apple et al before the bottle of Paddy’s used as anaesthetic wears off.

So many old games, so many new uses. And I haven’t even begun to think about the Spirograph, Stylophone or Action Man.

Drunks and child beggars

by Twenty Major on December 9th, 2004

Can you believe a judge made a pub shut down for 3 days and fined it €150 because Gardai found a drunk and incoherent man inside?

I am shocked by the lawlessness of my fellow Dubliners and I must doff my cap to the Gardai for coming up with such a clever and well-worked sting. Who would ever have thought to go into a pub at 10 o’clock at night to find a drunk person? Judge Gerard Haugton, who we can assume has never once in his life been drunk, has ordered The Confession Box in Marlborough Street to close from Jan 7th - 9th next year and the owner must pay staff for the three day closure.

I’m told that future Gardai operations will include raids on restaurants to find people engaged in gluttony, one of the seven deadly sins; Brown Thomas department store to catch people shooping with intent and parks across Dublin to arrest anybody enjoying the fresh air with gay abandon.

In other news it appears that more than 1000 children were seen begging on the streets of Dublin this year. The report says that many of these children were from the ‘Traveller or Roma’ communities. In other words they’re knackers or gyppos.

My solution to this would be to round up these children when they’re begging and put them in a pound like they do with cars. Leave a little sticker on the ground from where they were taken with a phone number so the concerned parents can come and retrieve them if they so desire. When they come charge them €120 to get the kid back, with a €12 per day storage fee if they don’t come at once. That should cut down on the number of child beggars almost immediately. If the child is left for more than 30 days it can be assumed that nobody wants it and it can be sent to Africa to be ground down for food for famine victims.

Some questions

by Twenty Major on December 8th, 2004

If you had a meeting with British Home Secretart David Blunkett would you be able to stop yourself making faces and doing the wanker gesture at him while you were just talking normally?

Do you ever walk into a Centra or Spar in the city centre and wonder if you’ve somehow ended up in Beijing?

Isn’t it fun when you hear touts say “Anyone buying or selling a ticket?”, then you say “Yes, I am”, then you just walk off?

Wouldn’t it be cheaper for TV companies making programmes like ‘I’m a celebrity get me out here’ to dump the z-list cretins in Carlow, which is a much scarier place than any jungle I can think of?

Why can’t Joss Stone just fuck off, the hefty cunt?

Why can’t make Gerry Adams and Ian Paisley fight to death and then have the winner of that fight fight to the death against a bear?

Why are all java programmers absolute cocksuckers?

Would it be possible to annex Limerick City from the Republic and use it as giant prison?

Wouldn’t it be fun to set up some kind of charity or awareness organisation, spend some time building up a reputation then get yourself invited on the Pat Kenny show to talk about it and in response to Pat’s first question say ‘cunt shit fuck cunt cunty cunt cunt bollix cunt’?

Can’t Daniel O’Donnell be made illegal?

Why can’t we fill we the Phoenix Park with hundreds of Phoenix?

Where’s the beef?

by Twenty Major on December 7th, 2004

Mary Harney has said it will be almost impossible to trace the source of the variant CJD (Mad cow disease) which infected a man in Dublin.

However, she has assured people she will sample a piece of every cow in the country, the gluttonous behemoth.

Mr and Mrs

by Twenty Major on December 6th, 2004

- Paul Daniels and Debbie McGee

- Guy Richie and Madonna

- Jude Law and Sadie Frost

- Biddy and Miley from Glenroe

Apropos of nothing I just thought I’d mention these husband and wife teams that are/were also complete cunts.

Twas the night before Christmas (in Ballybrack)

by Twenty Major on December 6th, 2004

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;

And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,

Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

There in the garden were three lads from Glasnevin

So I took out my shotgun and sent them to heaven;

I picked up the bodies and set them on fire,

the house was aglow from the scumbag based pyre.

Now every 12 months I do the same thing,

I burn up three scumbags and we all dance and sing;

They’re out trying to burgle, never stopping their hunts,

But I teach them a lesson the itinerant cunts.