Why do some people just look like the sort of person they are?

by Twenty Major on July 17th, 2005

This is kind of a hard one to explain but bear with me a bit.

You know the way it’s possible to look at somebody and know, just know, that the person is a cunt? You never need to meet them to know they’re a cunt it’s just written all over their face. And even if you did meet them it would be further proof to my theory for which I don’t yet have a name.

And it doesn’t work with just cunts either, there are all kinds of people out there who like like they are, if that makes sense. For example, you might walk around a block of flats somewhere and encounter a little lad of about 8 who has that kind of shaved head, roundy-faced look that you just know is going to grow up into a bloke who likes to fight people. He looks, literally, like trouble.

And the face of the bloke that you would never ever leave a child alone with. You just know by their face that he’d love to be left alone with your teenage daughter or your pre-pubescent 12 year old son. You can’t explain it, you just know.

And gay people. Lots of gay people look, well, completely gay. And by that I don’t mean they’re wearing a rainbow waiscoat showing off their Barbara Streisand albums and talking in a lispy voice. They just look like they’re gay and they are gay and you know they’re gay. But what happens if you look like that and you’re not gay or do you have be gay to look like that? And how does it work anyway? Is there a gene which makes you gay and because you have this gene you’ll take on this shape face which tells everyone you’re gay?

It is all tremedously confusing when you think about it. I’m sure there must be some serious research going into this because if you could isolate the gene that makes a gay person look gay what’s to say their isn’t one for making person good at football or a musical genius or mathematician or all the other cool things people are. So if that’s not too far fetched an assumption to make what’s then to stop one person deciding that, having discovered them all, they clone a person made up with loads of these genes, making them Superpeople, in effect?

Naturally there would be some disasters at first. Maybe certain talents don’t mix well like painting and cookery or snooker and singing. Those imperfectiions would have to be terminated but soon you’d know what went with what and which combinations of things did different things. Maybe having the ability to be a cunt and a politician is found to be the same thing when mixed with humanitarianism. The possibilties are endless. Anyway, these Superpeople would be so clever, intelligent and talented that in order for the natural system of some people being better than other people at stuff rather than everyone being equally as good at everything some of the Superpeople would have to evolve and develop further powers and there’d be nothing anyone could do to stop it. Then they’d probably get some kind of trip out of being better that they’d bring the world into war by trying to wipe out the less clever, but still by our standards total geniuses, ones. So the world would be just the same as it is now but with clever and more intelligent and talented ways of killing people, if you see what I mean.

Anyway, I diverse into areas about which I know nothing. What I do know however is that lots of people look exactly how they are. Their face matches their character and I want to know why.

Does anyone know why?

New Dangermaus

by Twenty Major on July 15th, 2005

It’s not Dangermoose or Mangermouse it’s the one, the only, the large breasted Dangermaus.

Some reader comments

by Twenty Major on July 15th, 2005

What’s great about blogs is that you can get feedback from your readers on the stuff you write. I love when people comment on the day’s post and sometimes there are some properly entertaining debates and scraps, like the one we had when I suggested we kill all poor people.

It did occur to me write a series of those posts but instead of poor use the words, Romanian, Black, Chinese, old, crippled, blue-eyed, small, fat and many more. I decided against it though because I hate to be so specific. I’m an equal opportunities blogger. I hate everyone equally. Except for Romanians, I hate them more than I hate Damien Rice singing a KFC ad. Anyway, lots of people (well, about the same dozen or so, thank you kindly) leave comments but sometimes people send me emails as well.

Maybe I’m breaking some blogger-reader confidentiality thing here but some of the emails I’ve received. I have, in the interests of fairness and privacy, removed the email addresses of the person in question. Their comments remain, like their gentials, untouched.

You leave kunle alone his a big hearted person and people like you dont do anything to help him stay here. He is 22 you know

Your brain is on the outside you wanker

Dear Twenty, would you like to appear on a radio show on SpinFM?

I know Mary Harney personally and as well as being really fat she has a very strange odour.

Do you know Larry Smith from Cabra?

I disagree with every single thing you say

cuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcunt etc

You are going to go to hell. And when you get to hell you are going to burn. And when you’re burning Satan is going to come along with his big red cock and shove it up your arse and when he shoots his load it will be like shooting fire up your arse and you will scream and when you scream I will laugh.

You’ve never felt the love of another human being, have you?

Did you know ‘Joy! Warm tent’ is an anagram of Twenty Major?

So there you go. A wonderful collection of correspondence which, at some point in the future, I will categorise and release as a book to rival any politician’s diaries.

Your comments, as always, are welcomed.

More hats, less beards

by Twenty Major on July 14th, 2005

Is it any coincidence that the increase in worldwide terrorism has come with the decline of hat-wearing and the increase in beardism?

Look at any sepia toned picture and all the men wore hats and braces to keep their pantaloons up. Hats are cool and when people wore hats you didn’t have bearded people going round the place exploding themselves on trains and flying bi-planes into the Empire State building.

Now we don’t have hats and lots more people have beards. We also have a huge increase in terrorist attacks, religious conflicts and a week of good weather in Ireland.

Far be it for me to suggest, imply or infer anything but I think the government should make the wearing of hats mandatory and outlaw any beard longer than 1 inch. Nothing bushy allowed although a decent covering of the face shouldn’t cause anyone any problems.

Phone, write, fax or email your TD today and while you’re waiting for the lazy cunt to get back to pop on a Panama, break out your Bowler or slip on a Stetson. Probably best not to wear a turban though.

Shut up with your own opinions

by Twenty Major on July 13th, 2005

God, every day I have to talk to people and listen to their opinions on things. It’s tremendously tiresome because most of the time their opinions are completely and utterly wrong. They’re wrong because they don’t tally with my opinions on the same subject. Some examples:

I think we should have our breaks differently. We should have two 10 minute breaks and one of 30 minutes rather than the one long break we have now - Sorry, but you’re wrong. I decide when you get your breaks and how they’re for and if you’re fucking one minute over tomorrow I’m going to stab you in the eye with a fucking pencil. You’re not paid to think. Shut up and just do your cunting job.

I like the new Coldplay album. It’s got a good beat. - Shut up, you’re wrong. Coldplay, in my opinion, are shite. He’s a beaky nosed tosser who’s married to that dippy geebag Gwynneth Cameltoe. That makes them wankers and if you like wankers then you’re a wanker because it wankers of a feather flock together.

In my opinion you should stop giving me all these reports to do. - If I didn’t hate you maybe I wouldn’t but the fact that I do hate you makes it important for me to give you those reports and therefore makes your opinion about as valid as George Bush’s claim that we’re winning the ‘war on terror’, now have that dossier on my desk by the morning or I’m going to send an email to the whole office from your email address ‘by mistake’ saying how much you loved getting rimmed by the bloke who works in the canteen in the George on Saturday night.

Someone once said ‘Opinions are like arseholes, everyone’s got one.’ That’s not true, actually, so your opinion about opinions is wrong, whoever you are who said that. I remember being on holidays in South America and in a small town in Mexico there was a freak show which had bearded ladies, hare-lippers, a couple of flids and a bloke they called ‘Los Culos’ who had two fully functional arseholes. A double turtle’s tail was an extremely impressive sight, I have to say.

Anyway, that’s beside the point. Fuck diversity, piss off variation, smell yer ma variance and you can shove your mélange up your arse. The world would be a much more agreeable place if people stopped being so disagreeable with me.

What animal would you be?

by Twenty Major on July 12th, 2005

So we’re having a pint last night in the pub and Stinking Pete says “So Twenty, if you could be any animal in the world, what would you be?”

I have to say it’s not something I’d ever really thought about before. “I’m not sure Stinking Pete”, I said, “There are all kinds of powerful beasts that it would probably be quite good to be. In terms of speed and ferocity you can’t look beyond the auld velociraptor. The only problem with those cunts is their thalidomide front arms and you’d never be able to lift a pint or get a smoke up to your mouth. Good for chewing the shite out of people though.”

“Maybe a bear would be good. They’re big, fat cunts who don’t have to worry about their weight because if anyone called you a ‘tubby wanker’ you’d just do that roaring thing at them where your bottom lip comes out really far and they’d cack themselves. People underestimate the speed of bears too. A grizzly bear has a top speed of nearly 100kmh and they can climb trees and buildings so people would have a hard time escaping from you unless they went underground because bears can’t stand the dampness of the subterranean world. There’s also the downside that people like to shoot you and put your head over their mantlepiece. Never good that.”

“You have to seriously consider being a bird of some kind, for the flying, but personally I hate things that are too flappy. Bats, birds, Paris Hilton’s minge, they all terrify me. It would be good to soar majestically as an eagle, a hawk or some kind of griffin but the diet doesn’t suit me much either. You generally eat other bird’s young, stoats, voles, rabbits (without any kind of wild rice or delicious sauce) and to me that’s never going to sit well on my stomach which is delicate at the best of times.”

“Something in water, maybe? I don’t think I’d like to be a dolphin because they’re like beagles. I know everyone goes on about how intelligent they are but to me dolphins look like shifty, sneaky little cunts. You always hear about how they surrounded someone and rescued them from a shark but I bet lots of times when the shark goes away they bash the poor fucker to death with their snouts. The perfect crime. Where are the witnesses? A whale? Nah, there are enough Japanese people after me as it is and who the fuck wants to get harpooned to death by a Norwegian. Maybe some kind of Manta Ray would be good, or possibly a giant eel, but again there’s the smoking issue. Although they’ve tried for years the waterproof Harry is just a step too far.”

“A dog might be something to think about but what if, instead of being a fucking cool dog like Bastard Face or Huckelberry Hound, you ended up like one of those little cunts that people carry around in their handbags. And really, while the ability to lick my own balls is a major draw the idea of eating my own vomit just doesn’t do it for me.”

“I think, Stinking Pete, that when it comes down to it I’d have to be a large cat of some kind. Those lads are really quite cool. They can run very fast, they kill stuff, they fight, the roar and although a eldery lion looks a bit scabby and battered at the end of his life I’m not sure the same goes for panthers. They’re sleek, well oiled killing machines who can climb trees and burrow through rock to get at their prey. Imagine you were an enemy of mine and you were walking down Wexford Street and all of a sudden you look behind you and see a fucking panther smoking a fag coming after you. You’d be bricking it and you’d be right. I’d stalk the shite out of you, chase you around a bit, even if you got into a taxi I’d easily be able to keep up and eventually, when you got out, I’d leap on your back, rip your throat out and feast on your flesh. Yep, it’s got to be a panther for me. Twenty the panther. Sounds good. Oh yes.”

“What about you?” I asked politely in return.

“I reckon I’d be an anteater, Twenty.”

“Why’s that?” I said.

“Because I really like the taste of ants.”

Spammers are stupid cunts

by Twenty Major on July 11th, 2005

Firstly, nobody is called Guadalupe D Conundrum.

Secondly, thanks for approving my mortgage an’ all, Guardy, but what the fuck makes them think anyone will think to themselves ‘Hmmm, instead of going with a financial institution with buildings and paperwork and fancy logos and rubber plants in the office I think I’ll put a huge amount of money and my home in the hands of someone who’s sending out spam emails’?

Only the world’s stupidest cunts would do that and they’d deserve everything they get for being so stupid in the first place. If everyone, and I mean everyone, complains about spam email why are there still people out there who will give their credit card details over the internet for some pills that are less effective than the home made prozac/ecstasy me and Jimmy made one time. We tested them out on Stinking Pete and the first batch made him hallucinate and dance to Rick Astley for 15 hours while the second batch made him depressed and turned his poo bright pink. We gave up after that.

Thirdly, I am quite happy with the size of my penis and its functionality. I don’t need 400 Viagra pills for $200 from Antwan Colon. No really, I don’t. I may be an old man with a leathery sac but the langer itself is absolutely fine.

Fourthly, if I want Microsoft software at greatly reduced prices I’ll knock off a PC World.

Fifthly, while the spammers are off sending their emails I’m shagging their mums. And they don’t know. Hahaha.

Mondays are fucking shit.

Waking up early can be good but today’s it’s gash

by Twenty Major on July 9th, 2005

When you’re working all week waking up early is good because you get to work on time and don’t get fired.

However, waking up early on Saturday morning after a rake of post-work pints is the work of the devil and if I could find him right now I’d tie him down and curl out one of my world famous turds right into his mouth.

Though, like Damien Rice, he probably enjoys that kind of thing.

Bad dog

by Twenty Major on July 8th, 2005

Last night I had been halfway through writing this morning’s story, and what a story, when I realised my internet connection was gone because it seemed my phone line had been cut off.

I was all ready to ring Eircom and call them cunts when this morning I noticed the wee box thing on the wall hanging off at a weird angle. I don’t have too much time to inspect it but it looks like Bastardface, my trusty hound, has had a good chew at it, the enormous wanker. I slapped it back into the wall and it seems to be working for now.

I think I’ll still ring up Eircom and call them cunts though because, let’s face it, they are.

Why do you always have buy something else?

by Twenty Major on July 7th, 2005

I went out last night to buy a new keyboard for my computer last night because the current one is sort of crap. In that it’s full of bits of food, tobacco, fingernails, assorted skin pickings and possibly some dried snots. Possibly.

Anyway, I thought I’d go for something a bit fancy and bought myself the exact same keyboard as the one I have but without cables. And food. And tobacco etc. It’s one of those wireless jobbies and I was really looking forward to getting home and trying it out. Typing without half the letters not appearing was going to be the highlight of my evening. Wednesday is always a fairly unexciting day.

So I got home, took the wrapper off the box, took out my lovely new keyboard, put in the batteries, did the firmware update thingy that the read me file on the CD said I should do then followed the instructions to set it up in the control panel. Except the bit in the control panel I was supposed to update was not there.

‘How odd’, I thought, so I took out the manual. On the very first page it said “To use your Apple wireless keyboard, you need:

A Macintosh computer with built-in Bluetooth module or an external Bluetooth USB adapter.

Note:If your computer didn’t come with an internal Bluetooth module you can purchase a Bluetooth USB adapter from the Apple store.

‘Right’, I thought to myself again, ‘that’s fine.’ Then I thought ‘I SPENT ABOUT $34,000,000 ON THIS FUCKING COMPUTER SO WHY THE FUCK DON’T I HAVE A BLUETOOTH THINGY? AND ANYWAY, ISN’T BLUETOOTH A CUNTING PIRATE OR SOMETHING?’

And instead of thinking in my head I thought it out loud at the top of my voice. I fucking hate when you buy something and when you take it home it doesn’t work because you need to buy something else. What a fucking pain in the crack. You buy a car and then you have to buy petrol and buy insurance. You buy a TV and you need a fucking TV licence. You buy gin and you have to buy tonic. You buy a a 9 bar of hash you have to buy Rizzlas. You buy a gun you need bullets. You buy a Philipino maid and you have to buy it food or it will die. It’s a fucking rip-off, all of it.

I just wanted a fucking keyboard and I now have to go and spend more money, which could have been used for the greater good like buying pints of Guinness and packets of cigarettes and sending crazy letters to Bob Geldof, on a piece of plastic that I would happily insert up the cunting hole of the cunt in the shop who insisted I didn’t need anything extra to make the keyboard work.

When I slowly torture and kill him with sharp knives and Michael Bolton CDs his family may or may not get the irony as they have to buy a coffin and then they have to buy a headstone.