Archive for April, 2006
Post Secret
by Twenty Major on April 18th, 2006
(PostSecret is a post by Twenty Major where people mail in their secrets anonymously on one side of a homemade postcard.)
(New secrets are posted here every whenever I can be arsed.)
Interesting statistic
by Twenty Major on April 17th, 2006
Foreign nationals make up just nine per cent of the workforce, they account for 25 per cent of the deaths on Irish roads.
The solution is obvious, isn’t it? Just don’t allow foreign people to drive over here. I’m sure most of them come with a driving licence from their own country and just swap it for an Irish one. So when Władek or Dobrosław or Franciszek arrives here they should be banned from driving until they have lived here for at least one year.
Let’s face it, most of them arrive here with little or no English so reading road signs is nigh on impossible at first. They confuse ‘Clonmel 34km’ and think it means ‘Drive like a mad cunt around this corner’ or ‘Stop’ with ‘Plough into oncoming traffic’. As well as that most of them come from countries where they drive on the right so they’re just like cats.
If you have a cat and you move house you must keep your cat indoors for a period of time so that their internal radar/homing device reconfigures itself to their new location. It’s the same with Eastern Europeans. They’re coming over and not adjusting. They’re landing at Dublin airport, getting into a car and before you know it they’re involved in a massive accident. I’d suggest most of the time it’s caused by them driving on the wrong side of the road because they’re simply not reconfigured to Irish life. You wouldn’t let your cat out on the first night in your new home so why would you let a Polish or Latvian person drive as soon as they come to Ireland?
Seeing as they all get all kinds of benefits as soon as they arrive anyway some kind of discount travel card shouldn’t be too much of a problem for when some busy-bodies try and insist they need their cars to get to work. Once they, like a cat in a new house, have adapted to their environment then they can take an Irish driving test and if they pass it then they can have a car.
Surely, after seeing this statistic, nobody could argue that it wasn’t for the greater good and it’s not discriminatory, it’s simply common sense. These people can’t understand words without many Zs and Ks and very few vowels. It takes them time to get used to the complex nature of the English language. If we can decide that a person is too young to drive until they’re 17 it’s not racist to decide that a person is too foreign to drive until they can understand road signs and maps and other drivers hand gestures.
Of course I simply bought my driving licence many years ago from Counterfeit Conor. No test. No lessons. I just bought a car, bought my licence and away I went. Much easier and I have never once had an accident.
These days I drive an enormous SUV because they’re a major contributor to global warming and it’s fucking freezing in Ireland most of the time. I’m doing my bit for my fellow countrymen and women. Don’t all thank me at once.
Easter Sunday
by Twenty Major on April 16th, 2006
“And on the third day Jesus rows again.”
Apparently he was quite successful in the coxless pairs.
Good Friday
by Twenty Major on April 14th, 2006
*bring bring* *knockity knock*
“Ave, Jimmius The Bollixus. What a fine day it is in old Jerusalem.”
“Ave a tu, Twentius Majorus. Just coming around to see if you fancy a gourd of wine or two.”
“Fantasticus idea but I have to work later.”
“What a pain in the anusus. How come?”
“Oh, you know that fucking Agnus Dei, Jesus?”
“Ahh, I have heard of him, he’s not exactly compus mentis if you ask me.”
“Isn’t that the veritas. Anyway, old Romulus Murphy was supposed to be on today but his children have typhoid so I have to help crucify the fucker.”
“Infelictus, old chap. Why don’t you come around after? Stinkius Peticus and Dirtius Dave will be there too. In the Ovis Niger from about 8 o’clock, erm, us.”
“Grand! See you then.”
*some time later*
“Come on now, fella, I don’t want to whack you with this thing any more but you can’t just lie there. What? I know it’s fuckin’ heavy and I don’t envy you one little bit but if you don’t pick that cross up and get moving then I’m gonna get a bollocking from my boss and I know you wouldn’t want that to happen. I’m just doing me job, mate.
Good man, you’re very forgiving I have to say. I wouldn’t be half as nice as you about it. Listen, here’s what I’ll do but don’t fuckin’ let on I’m a soft touch or anything or I’ll spear you in the bollix. I’ll get someone to give you a hand with that thing for a while. A big strong African or something. Ahh, you’re welcome, son. In this heat you need it an’ all an’ anyway.
Here, you! Yeah, you there. What’s your name? Ok, Simon, come over here. Because I’m telling you to, that’s why. Look Simon, I’m having a pretty shitty day, all right? Don’t make me come over there because if I do I’m going to batter you. I just want you to give this lad a bit of a hand with his cross, he’s fuckin’ wrecked, look at him. What? How do you know that I won’t just leave you there and crucify you instead? Are you going around saying you’re the son of God and pissing off pharisees all over the shop, are you? No, then you’re safe enough, so shut the fuck up and come over here and carry this thing for a little bit. Good lad, wasn’t so hard, was it? I’ll give you the nod when it’s time to hand it back. On you go.
Right, yer man there’ll carry this for a little bit for you. Give you a chance to rest a bit. Here you there! What are you doing? Ok, you can wipe his face for all the difference it’ll make. Ok, off you go now. Women, eh? Read any good scriptures lately? Nah, me neither. It’s all just the same story done over and over at this stage, innit? There’s no new ideas at all. That hat must be fucking killing you…”
*some time later*
Wooo-hoooo, look at that. I’m after rolling two sixes. That’s a go on your sister for me, Spartacus. What? Fuck, you’re right, looks like rain. Amazing how quick it rolls in sometimes, eh? Best get inside. Let me just check on the lads. The two thieves are still up there roaring, yer other man’s had it though. Best off if you ask me. Fuckin’ harsh way to go. Them Jews stitched him up right and proper, eh? Nice of him to forgive us but we knew what we were doing. Like it was the first time we’d crucified someone! Pfffff, we’re hardly amateurs. Right, let’s get some shelter. I’m gettin’ soaked.”
*some time later*
“Ave, Twentius!”
“Ave, lads. Man, what a fucking day. The vox populi in one ear, the son of God in the other. Non facilis, non facilis. Get some overtime though so first round is on me. Ronicus, vinos all round!!”
*some time much, much later*
“Stinkius Peticus, you are a massive cunt but te amo. You an’ all, Jimmius, even you Dirtius. Yer me besht matesh, you know that? You know what? *hic* It started out shite but this has been a pretty Good Friday.”
“In vino veritas, Twentius, in vino veritas”.
Dirty Dave could get frostbite
by Twenty Major on April 13th, 2006
Dirty Dave hasn’t been feeling too well in recent months so he went to the hospital where they did all kinds of tests on him.
He reckons they took more blood than your typical American soldier in an Iraqi Mosque. He said they poked and prodded him, took samples of all his bodily fluids and at one point a doctor had to put his finger up his hole which he says was uncomfortable but strangely familiar (he’s totally blanked out his time in the Christian Brother run orphanage when he was just a kid).
So he came into Ron’s last night and gave us the latest.
“Guess what, lads?!”, he said enthusiastically.
“What, Dirty Dave?”, asked Jimmy the Bollix.
“Well, I’ve just been on to the hospital and they want me to go see a psychologist tomorrow because they reckon I could be bi-polar. Howdya like them apples?!!”
“Erm, those apples are fine, thanks, but sorry to hear about your condition.”
“Sorry? What for? It means I’m much better than you. You could only live at one or the other but I could live in the Arctic or the Antarctic.”
“Dave, you clown, bi-polar means you’re a manic depressive like John Denver who flew his plane into a mountain or 1970s Lois Lane actress Margot Kidder who once ripped all the skin off her legs and ate it.”
“Oh, that’s a bit shit. I don’t feel depressed though. Or manic.”
“That’s often the first symptom.”
“Bollocks. I’m depressed now.”
“Look Dave, relax. I’m sure it’s fine. Here, take these Joy Division and Leonard Cohen CDs, go home, drink some gin and relax. Oh, and could you mind this length of rope for me and these straight edged razor blades? Cheers, mate!”
And off he toddled into the night. I just tried ringing him but there’s no answer. He must have it on silent in the hospital waiting room.
Stop driving like cunts
by Twenty Major on April 12th, 2006
Fair play to the Garda chief who hit out at the hypocrisy of motorists who think an increased police presence will cut deaths on the roads.
People bleat day in day out about how the Gardai should do more and that the government should do more but at the end of the day if people drove better there wouldn’t be half the accidents there are. Lots of accidents would be avoided if people didn’t drive like absolute cunts most of the time. How often has some wanker come driving right up your arse flashing his lights for you to move out of the way on a dual carriageway or motorway?
Ok, that in itself is not going to cause an accident but the prick who drives like that will. At some point he’ll pull that stunt on a normal road or he’ll go overtaking where he has no business to be overtaking and he’ll plough into an oncoming car or, if we’re lucky, he’ll just smash into a wall or a ditch and die roaring on his own.
How many times has someone shot past you going like a fucking express train only for you, who is driving normally, to pull up beside him at the next set of traffic lights? Don’t you feel like getting out of your car and kicking his fucking lights in? That shit drives me fucking mental.
In the country there’s some ‘blame’ to be put on the roads which are narrow and windy but I know people who live down there who drive those roads like a rally driver. There’s barely room for one car so when two of them meet at a decent speed, often late at night, then the consequences are inevitable.
Then there’s drink. No matter what people say there’s still a culture of drinking and driving in Ireland. It happens in Dublin where people’s local is a half a mile away so it certainly happens in the country when people have to drive to get to the bar they want to go to. They might think they’re all right and maybe in the great scheme of things they’re not ‘drunk’ but it makes a difference.
Penalty points are grand, if that’s your thing, but the 31 new offences last week didn’t make any difference to the dozen or so people that were killed in car crashes since they were introduced.
We need less whingeing about lack of police that and government this and more common sense. If people took a bit more responsibility, drove better, didn’t drink when they drove and were more conscientious then we wouldn’t lose so many lives on the roads each week.
It’s not fucking rocket science but then too many people think it can’t happen to them. Just wait, fuckers, just wait.
Update: The Minister for Transport unveils new road safety measures including on the spot fines for drink drivers - “Give us €100 and off you go then. Drive straight now!”, a ban on handheld mobile phones - can’t argue with that - and privatisation of speed cameras which is going to become, after the M50, the single greatest rip off in Ireland, mark my words. It means the cameras are not being run to improve road safety, they’re being run for profit.
Freegans - what a pack of cunts
by Twenty Major on April 11th, 2006
I was reading some blog the other day, can’t remember which one, and they had a link to this site. I’d rather have ended up looking at pictures of Mary Harney’s arse being pummeled by a Romanian with a pneumatic AIDS cock. It’s all about people who call themselves ‘Freegans’.
Listen to this: “Freeganism is a total boycott of an economic system where the profit motive has eclipsed ethical considerations and where massively complex systems of productions ensure that all the products we buy will have detrimental impacts most of which we may never even consider. Thus, instead of avoiding the purchase of products from one bad company only to support another, we avoid buying anything to the greatest degree we are able. The word freegan is derived from ‘free’ and ‘vegan’.”
Now, vegetarians are bad enough but vegans are horrendous, pasty-faced, sickly people who are in urgent need of a good steak. They have disgusting hair and translucent skin because they lack protein that you can only get from a t-bone or pork chop.
Combine a minging vegan with some cunt who refuses to buy any products and what you’ve got is a cunt that should live on a commune with some chickens to lay eggs, goats for milk and all the shite that they talk to fertilise their plants.
Then there’s this: “Perhaps the most notorious freegan strategy is what is commonly called “urban foraging” or “dumpster diving”. This technique involves rummaging through the garbage of retailers, residences, offices, and other facilities for useful goods.”
You might call it ‘urban foraging’, you scabby cunts, but I call it bin dipping. You might think you’re being all environmentally friendly but in actual fact you’re no better than a bag-lady or some kind of tramp or a Scouser. Disgusting bastards trawling through people’s rubbish looking for food or a half-used carton of banana milk or old appliances or an overcoat that has sick and cum stains all over it. Dirty, dirty scumbags. Rats go through people’s rubbish so Freegans are like rats except much worse because they’re also like tramps and bag-ladies and rats aren’t like that. I suspect Freegans carry more diseases than rats too.
Freegans also object to paying rent because it gives money to evil landlords so they take over boarded up houses or vacant premises. So not only are they sickly, pasty-faced, bin dipping, shite talking hobos they’re squatters as well and we all know squatters are fucking cunts, stealing electricity from other houses, defecating on the floor and rubbing it on the walls and they’re a burden on the health care system when they all get pneumonia and the plague from living in freezing, unsanitary conditions in the winter.
Here’s the best bit though: “Work means sacrificing our freedom to take orders from someone else, stress, boredom, monotony, and in many cases risks to our physical and psychological well-being.”
So, to sum up they want everything for nothing, they’re not averse to eating your left-overs or wearing the clothes you throw away, they occupy private property that they have no right to be in, they stink like Paris Hilton’s gee and they refuse to work because it contributes the economy and they want us to treat them like humans and respect their choices? Fuck that. What they are is downright lazy. I had a cousin who refused to work as well. Not out of any lifestyle choice but simply because he was a lazy cunt. He got enormously blimpy from sitting around and eating Mr Kipling French Fancies and watching daytime TV - then he went into a diabetic coma, the fat fuck. Anyway, I digress. I bet these Freegans aren’t too lazy to go pick up their dole and other benefits though.
“Oooooh look! Me and my life partner have had two disgusting little urchins which we delivered at home and bit the umbilical cord off with our teeth then had placenta on toast for a week so give me my children’s allowance”, is what I imagine they’d say and that’s being kind to them. You have to feel sorry for the kids because no doubt the mother has plaited pubic hair and she used the lice that live there as their first meal. It’s too late for them now, of course.
These fuckers need to be rounded up and told ‘Join in or fuck off and by fuck off we mean we’re going to kill you’.
If there were enough of them I suppose we could burn them to create electricity to power the saw which cuts the cow in half and the machine which wraps the pieces of meat in environmentally ‘friendly’ cling film and the freezers in the supermarket where I buy the cow and my oven or grill which cooks the cow.
Mmmmmm, thanks Freegans for this delicious fare. Tastes so much better because I know some of you died so I could enjoy it.
Seriously though, they’re just hippies crossed with crusties crossed with Green party members wrapped in a can’t-be-arsed, germ covered bubble of indolent, shifless, parasitic sloth. It should be legal to kill them on sight.
Let this be a warning. The first Freegan I see in Dublin I am going to string him up by his bollocks from the Five Lamps and stone the cunt to death.
Bollocks
by Twenty Major on April 10th, 2006
I’ve just remembered that last night I dreamt I was writing a screenplay which was absolute dynamite. ‘Twenty the Movie’ would have been just around the corner awaiting a Christmas release (it had to be finished by the end of October so they could start shooting in January).
Even in my dream I remember thinking ‘Ooooh, you better remember this when you wake up’ but, of course, I didn’t.
Arse.
Update: I remembered! However, it was fucking shit. Carry on.
Look at all my MP3s!! Oh, you can’t…
by Twenty Major on April 10th, 2006
iPods and stuff are great, aren’t they? I’ve been having lots of the fun with the iPod Nano I won. It’s tiny and I can fit something like 1,000 songs on it. It weighs a few grams and I can take it anywhere. I can choose what songs to put on it, I can take some off, put some others on, make up playlists and all kinds of jiggery-pokery.
However, there’s just something about digital music collections that doesn’t compare with having something physical.
I have in my home a very large collection of albums, 7″ singles and 12″ singles on vinyl. Ok, I can’t take 1,000 songs with me while I’m taking a bus or sitting in a pub reading a book but I have a collection. I have something I can pick up and look at and store in nice ways or even untidy ways. People have come to my house and said ‘My goodness, look how many records you have. You’re even cooler than I first thought, Twenty!’ because there’s no escaping them.
If I had a 60gb iPod which I assume would have a 15,000 song capacity and it was full to the brim people wouldn’t look at it and say ‘Wow! What a lot of music you have’. They’d probably just say nothing and think ‘Oh, another cunt with an iPod’.
I know people who read books and pass them on like old newspapers but I also know people who collect them like precious gems. They know which book goes where on which bookshelf and would no more part with one of them than they would with their right arm.
It all boils down to the fact that having lots of stuff is cool and having lots of digital stuff is also cool but nowhere near as cool as having something you can stack, sort or cram into various spaces.
Vinyl is also a cool thing to collect as it sounds better than CD and I don’t care what anyone says. God be with the days when I used to trawl the second hand record shops in Dublin looking for rarities. Freebird was the first stop, generally, and there was the George’s St arcade but there was one on Wicklow Street/Exchequer Street that used to be deadly. Can’t remember the name of it though - it might have been Record Collector - but that’s where I bought my replacement original 7″ of David Bowie’s Space Oddity after Dirty Dave had drunkenly used the one I actually bought in 1969 as a coaster.
I thrashed him to within an inch of his life, let me tell you.