How much is a life worth?

by Twenty Major on January 31st, 2006

“Here Twenty, what do you think about Hamas?”, asked Stinking Pete.

“It’s quite nice with a bit of pita bread but I’m not a great fan of chickpeas”, I answered.

Pete just looked a bit confused. Lucky Luciano, the compassionate assassin, looked especially troubled last night.

“What’s up Lucky Luciano?”, Jimmy the Bollix asked.

“Is a this job I am a offered. For me is a big big money but is a not a good transaction. Me, I’m a like a when the person is a bad and for me is a no problem a kill them but this time is a not so clear cut.”

“Well, who is it? Maybe we can help you make a judgement?”

“No, I not say a nothing because is a not professional but if I’m a not like the person who hire me I not like a do the job.”

“So you don’t like the person who hired you. What about the person they want you to kill?”

“Ooooh Mama! I’m a hate this person more but not so much as a the person who a hire me. Is a focking piece of a shit. Twenty, you know who is a Monica Bellucci?”

“Yes, Lucky, I know who is a Monica Bellucci.”

“She is una figa.”

“I suppose she is but what does she have to do with anything?”

“As bella is a Monica Bellucci equal is a minginini the person who hire me.”

“Just throwing this out there, Lucky, but why not kill the person who they want you to kill and then after they pay you kill the person who hired you too?”

“But who a pay me to kill them?”

“Erm, nobody. Just kill them because you hate them and they’re more minging than Monica Bellucci is hot.”

“I no a understand. Is a nobody paying me to kill them so why a kill them?”

“Why not kill them?”

“I don’t a kill nobody for free. Ron, he a no give a pint for a free to nobody. Me, I’m a don’t kill anyone for a free.”

“You mad Italian. I’ll give you…hang on, let me check how much change I have in my pocket…€4.56. How’s that? You kill them, I’ll give you €4.56!”

“€4.56? Ok, is a worth it.”

Lucky Luciano. A man of true principle.

Either - Or

by Twenty Major on January 30th, 2006

“Twenty, who would you want to win in a fight between a traveller and a Romanian?”, asked Stinking Pete in Ron’s on Friday night.

“Oooooh, good question!”, said Dirty Dave.

“Si! Si! Let’s a hear ya, Twenty”, said Lucky Luciano.

“It is a good question, you’re right Dave”, I replied. “Well, Stinking Pete, it’s a difficult one to judge. On the one hand there’s the traveller with their making a mess of everywhere they pitch their caravan, their distracting you at the front door while their accomplice makes away with the clothes from your washing line and the tools from your utility room and the poor quality tarmacadam they lay while they case your house for future burglaries. On the other hand there’s the Romanian who steals from you as you least suspect it, swiping your mobile phone as you sit at a table and the women holding their drugged up babies in front of you telling you how poor and hungry they are while their gold teeth are worth a small fortune.”

“It’s a tough one all right, but who would you want to win?”

“That, Stinking Pete, is like asking me if I’d rather eat a plate of cat sick or a bowl of dog poo.”

“Hypodermically though, you have to choose one.”

“I’d go for the Rocky III ending.”

“What’s that then?”

“Well, at the end of Rocky III Rocky and his arch-nemesis, Apollo Creed, have fought each for the world title and come together to see of the challenge of Mr T before he joined the A-Team. They are now good old chums and at the end they get into the ring and have a sparring match.”

“Right, and what happens?”

“Well, they duck and cover, bob and weave, and then they both swing a punch at each other which is quite obviously going to connect with their respective jaws. Before that happens though the film freezes and we get the ‘Eye of the tiger’ music.”

“Ahhh, I see! You’d like them to beat the crap out of each other then knock each other out with a vicious punch.”

“No, I’d like for time to somehow freeze while they were in mid punch so I could clamber into the ring with a chainsaw and cut both the cunts in half.”

Have you ever…

by Twenty Major on January 28th, 2006

…had the scuts so bad it’s like vomiting out of your arse?

Role play is a load of wank

by Twenty Major on January 27th, 2006

“Ok now we’re going to try and put what we’ve discussed today into practice. Let’s try some role play”

Oh Jesus, please let me have some kind of aneurism. Anything but this

“Let me see, I’ll be the employee who’s always late and one of you can be the boss. Erm…Twenty, you can go first.”

“Ok. If I must.”

Fucking cunt, I hate you and your ilk. Fucking twats.

“Right then, I’m going to pretend to just arrive at work and you have to call me over and then talk about why I’m always late.”

“Ok.”

“So, here I am arriving.”

Oh yes, swinging your arms and walking on the spot makes it so realistic

“Right ‘Murphy’, we have a bit of a problem. You’re always late. Why?”

“Dunno.”

“You’re fired, you cunt.”

“Ok, joke over. You can all stop laughing. Let’s try and take this a bit more seriously. Ask me again why I’m late.”

If by ask why I’m late you mean ’smash my face in with a chair’ I’d be much happier

“Why are you late all the time?”

“It’s my daughter.”

“What about her? Is she a paraplegic and you just can’t get her up in the morning?”

“No, I have to bring her to school and she takes so long to get ready what with her breakfast, getting her into her school uniform…”

“Listen here, ‘Murphy’, it’s none of my concern that you chose to spread your vile seed upon the face of the earth when we’d have been much better off if you’d been a Jaffa, but frankly blaming a little girl… how old is she?…”

“She’s 6.”

“…blaming a 6 year old girl because you can’t get to work on time is about as spineless as you’d get, although I wouldn’t expect any less from you. You’re the same cunt who can’t come to work when you have a little bit of a sniffle while your colleagues, who might also be under weather, have to pick up your slack. Remember that time you came into work and after half an hour you went to the canteen to get the subsidised breakfast, which you scoffed like the piggy you are - I mean look at that fucking belly man, it’s a wonder you can see your knob to give it a wash, not that you’d be doing anything to get it dirty. If I was your wife I wouldn’t fucking let you near me - and afterwards you said you had to go home because you felt uncomfortably full. Full, I ask you. You’re a pathetic excuse for an employee, your work is shoddy when you can be arsed doing any, everyone talks about you behind your back. They call your Snowhead because of your dandruff and Stinkface because you stink and you’re ugly it looks like the stink is coming from your face. As well as that people pick their arses and wipe it on your mouse when you go to the toilet. Bob down in accounts does an impression of you which made the whole company laugh when he did at last year’s Christmas party after you’d gone and that promotion we keep talking about? Well, you have about as much chance of being promoted as Osama Bin Laden has of being invited to George W Bush’s steak-out for his birthday bash. In fact, now that the subject has been brought up I’m going to promote Mad Richie - you know the bloke who talks to himself and has that tick where his whole face scrunches up like someone has shoved a bottle of beer up his arse? Aye, he’s promoted and you’re not. There’s a very fucking simple way of not being late ‘Murphy’. Drag your enormous fat arse out of the bed earlier, give your daughter her breakfast earlier, leave the house earlier and you won’t have a problem with arriving late. If you’re late one more time I’m giving you a written warning. Late again, another one. And three written warnings equals you being fired and if that happens I will have a champagne party in the office while you’re still cleaning out that pig-sty of a desk of yours. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

“Ok! Very good! Now who thinks Twenty might need to work on his man-management skills?”

I’ll fucking man-manage you in the face with a shovel, you cunt.”

Buh-bye now, Kunle

by Twenty Major on January 26th, 2006

You might remember some time ago there was a big story in the Irish news about an illegal immigrant from Nigeria called Kunle. He was going to be deported but lots of his little fat friends made a protest so the Minister for Justice said he could stay until he finished his leaving certificate.

Now, Kunle has just received a letter telling that he has to go and he won’t be allowed stay in Ireland. When you consider the leaving ended last June he should be grateful for the extra time.

The fat friends and the residents against racism are spewing, of course, but the bottom line is Kunle is a failed asylum seeker and not only that he was snared for driving without tax or insurance so he’s obviously quite stupid indeed. Imagine if you were trying, against all odds, to get a visa to stay in a country you weren’t allowed to live in wouldn’t you be on your very best behaviour?

You certainly wouldn’t drive around without tax and insurance - what would he have done if he’d crashed into someone and injured them? - and you certainly wouldn’t have done it when you already had a previous conviction for a traffic offence.

If you did wouldn’t you understand that people might question what sort of a contribution you would make to society? I mean, if you’re willing to endanger the lives of people who pay their tax and insurance by driving around without it when you’re on a temporary student visa and hoping to impress people enough so they’ll let you stay what would you be capable of if you were given a permanent visa?

I think it’s fair to say that it’s a short step from driving without tax and insurance to armed robbery, serial killing and possibly recording a duet with Brian McFadden, all of which we can do without, thank you very much.

Still, Kunle can go back home to Nigeria and put the C+ he got in pass English to good use.

DEAR SIR,

CONFIDENTIAL BUSINESS PROPOSAL

HAVING CONSULTED WITH MY COLLEAGUES AND BASED ON THE INFORMATION GATHERED FROM THE NIGERIAN CHAMBERS OF COMMERCE AND INDUSTRY, I HAVE THE PRIVILEGE TO REQUEST FOR YOUR ASSISTANCE TO TRANSFER THE SUM OF $47,500,000.00 (FORTY SEVEN MILLION, FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND UNITED STATES DOLLARS) INTO YOUR ACCOUNTS. etc

The real reason behind the war in Iraq

by Twenty Major on January 25th, 2006

“You know I think, Twenty?”, asked Dirty Dave.

“That Oompa Loompas are real and that Offaly is a made up fairytale land”, I replied.

“Don’t be daft. I was thinking about the whole war in Iraq thing.”

“Really? Normally you don’t think about much apart from how much fun it’s going to be to scrape the dirt from under your fingernails and when Creme Eggs are going on sale.”

“I have another side to me, Twenty. Deep down I’m a deep thinker with a socio-liberal political outlook.”

“What exactly do you mean by ’socio-liberal.”

“Erm, that’s not the point. The point is that I was thinking about the situation I mentioned previously and for me it boils down to one thing.”

“Is that right?”

“Yep, that’s right. Some people might say the war in Iraq is simply a way of keeping America’s arms and aerospace industries ticking over. They need war to keep going but I don’t think it’s down to that. Some people might say that George W Bush is just doing what his Daddy tells him and George Sr wasn’t able to to take Saddam out and this whole thing is about revenge but that theory doesn’t convince me either. Then there’s the whole oil thing and how America wants to control Iraq’s vast supply of oil as its own supplies are piddling by comparison. But that’s not it.”

“Well, you’ve covered the main ones there, Dave. What’s your theory.”

“Beard envy.”

“What?”

“Beard envy. On a deeply subconscious level George W Bush and most American men are jealous of the fullsome beards that Saddam Hussein and other Iraqi men can grow. This deep rooted envy is projected via the vast war machine. Notice how they haven’t waged war upon the Canadians and nobody can say they don’t deserve it but the Canadians, due to their race being diluted by the French, have the facial hair of a mangy dog. The same with the Mexicans, their wispy half-taches don’t warrant military action. The greater the beard the more the beard envy and the greater chance their is of war.”

“Interesting theory, Dave, I have to say. It’s a wonder they didn’t invade East Germany when you think about the women athletes they used to send to the olympics.”

“Aye, and that’s a rather fullsome set of whiskers you have there, Twenty. You’d want to be careful yourself.”

“Hmmm, I was wondering why Donald Rumsfeld rang me up yesterday asking if I wanted to buy arms.”

Migrant workers

by Twenty Major on January 24th, 2006

All sorts of hoo-ha on the news yesterday about migrant workers. Some people think they’re great and some people they’re taking jobs away from Irish people - although I can’t remember the last time I was served in a pub by Irish lounge staff.

There’s talk about bringing in a work permit system although migrant workers rights people, or busybodies as they’re better known, are opposed to this.

I think we should be able to vote on people who are allowed in. Perhaps some kind of TV programme like Pop Idol where they audition and we get Louis Walsh, Simon Cowell and Sharon Osbourne to give them the thumbs up and thumbs down.

Cowell - “You are, without doubt, the worst manual labourer I have ever seen.”

Sharon O - “Shut your face you man boobed cocksucker.”

Personally I have no problems with migrating workers. They come in spring, work all summer long then fly south for the winter.

Shut it you fat cunts

by Twenty Major on January 23rd, 2006

There was an article in the Sunday paper yesterday about how obesity levels in Ireland are soon going to be as bad as they are in America where one every 3 people is large enough to have their own gravitational pull.

Professor Niall Moyna, Head of the School of Health and Human Performance at DCU says “Obesity is an insidious disease, you become desensitised to it and that’s exactly what’s happening in Ireland - people are becoming desensitised to seeing obese children.”

And that’s why there’s so many fat cunts. Wankers like that saying obesity is a disease. What a load of fucking horse cack.

Cancer is a disease. Malaria is a disease. The bubonic plague is a disease.

Lazy cunts sitting around eating more food every day than your average African child eats in a lifeitme is not a disease. It’s greed. It’s gluttony. IT. IS. NOT. A. DISEASE.

There’s a very simple cure for obesity. Eat less, exercise more. You don’t need to be a fucking genius to work it out but all the time idiot people try and pass it off as an illness and then use it as an excuse to eat more.

“Oh, I can’t help the fact I just ate a family sized bucket of KFC. I have a disease.”

No you don’t, blimpy. You’re just a cunt who likes eating too much. I guarantee you I can cure any single person of obesity. I’d lock the cunts up in kennels, feed them just enough and make the shiftless gluttons get up off their enormous arses and do some physical exercise. You know, walking and possibly cycling and maybe, when we reinforce the planet Earth some light jogging.

It’s worse amongst kids whose parents are quite content to feed them with Birds Eye this and Findus that all washed down with a McDonalds and as many chocolate bars as they can stuff in their fat little faces. They’re like the German child from Charlie and Chocolate Factory. Insatiable little piggies who will develop heart disease and high blood pressure and diabetes and will take up hospital beds because they couldn’t fucking eat properly. Think how much money these plumpers are costing the health service.

People like that doctor annoy the cunt off me. If they spent more time on trying to cure diseases that actually exist and not ones that are made up to support a whole fucking industry of diet plans and exercise regimes and fitness videos by Z-list celebrities then the world might be in better shape.

Quite frankly obese people should be made to lose weight or they should be killed so as to stop being a burden on society.

Noam Chomsky is a cunt

by Twenty Major on January 21st, 2006

Ever since ‘Killer’ with Seal it’s been downhill if you ask me.

Lucky’s film reviews

by Twenty Major on January 20th, 2006

My Italian compassionate assassin chum Lucky Luciano isn’t so lucky twice a week when his wife makes him go to the cinema. He really hates going to the cinema “Is a full of scum”, he says.

Still, Mrs Lucky, much as he loves her, is a woman not to be trifled with so off he goes twice a week, every week. Remember, this is a man who would slit your mother’s throat if he felt she deserved it and you paid him enough.

He came into Ron’s last night and sat scribbling in a note pad for a while before he said to me “Twenty. You a have a this website. Is-a big thing you must do now. I write a review of the films a Mrs Lucky make a me see. You put on a your website. Is a important.”

“Fair enough then, Lucky”, I said. “If you think is a important.”

“Is a important and don’t a make fun of my accent, cazzo!”

So without further ado here are Lucky’s film reviews:

1 - Brokeback Mountain:

Is a film about two cowboy. One night is a very cold so they fuck and with a many sheep to choose instead of man bottom. For me is a better they fuck with a they horses.

Time she a passes. Two gay cowboy they a marry women and have a the children but meet for sweaty man love. In a the end the two they a meet in a bar, kill all a those gay bashers and drink many mojitos and they a live happily every after except one a cowboy is shirt.

For me Bareback a Mountain I give 20 out of a 10. This because it only took a me 20 minutes to go a sleep. Luckily this a time I don’t snore too much so Mrs Lucky don’t smash a my balls in like when we went to a Lost in Translation.

2 -Chronicles of Narnia:

This a film make a me sick but is good advertisement for Ikea. Anitque a furniture cause problem like a woodworm or magical realms in a the back past a the fur coats.

Is about 4 kid who go to I think is north of a Finland or something and meet a two legged talking goat. The goat he is a stupido and white witch make him into a stone with powerful magic like a the women of Sardinia.

Then a the children meet a talking lion called Alan and he tell them they have to fight a the big fight against witch. For me is easier for lion to kill witch as he have a the big teeth and claws but still. Then Alan he is a killed because one of the children eat a too much turkish delight but he is a magic a lion because he come back to life just like Jesus or Osama Bin Laden.

Then is a big fight, children and goat people and unicorns and minotaurs and hippos all a scuffling but a soon the children win and witch is dead and magic potion make a everyone good who die alive again. Like a the holy communion or Jack Daniels. Then they are king and a queen and live a there for long time until adults.

One day are out on a they horses and go in furniture again because have a forgotten how they a came to a Finland. When go past a the coats are back in a the house and is a children again. Is a like life. Start as a child and piss a your pants, be adult and all is a good and fun, then back again as a child with a piss your pants but take a more medicine.

If I a had a to sum up Chronicles of a Narnia in a one word I think for a just a little time and they I say “Shite”.

So there you go. Forget Barry Norman, if he isn’t already dead, Lucky Luciano’s film reviews are all you need. Next week he’s reviewing Harry Potter and Colin Farrell’s sex tape.