That song makes me want to kill myself

by Twenty Major on May 11th, 2006

Dirty Dave, despite his malodorous reputation, has a quite beautiful singing voice. Have you ever seen that episode of the Simpsons where Homer overhears drunken slob Barney singing in the toilets of Moe’s tavern? Well, the first time Dave sang that’s what it was like for us.

Not regularly, but every now and again, we’ll be in Ron’s and he’ll break into song and we’ll fall silent. For those few moments all we have to think about is the beauty of the human voice, his perfect pitch, his 4 octave range and that little tremelo thing he does which would make a man far less hardy and much more girly than I reach for the kleenex (to dry his tears, you filthy minded swine).

Last night was one of those nights. Normally Dave sings upbeat songs such as ‘Don’t go’ by Yazoo, ‘Sweet Freedom’ by Michael McDonald or ‘Saint Anger’ by Metallica. This time though he went totally other way. He started singing:

You got a fast car
I want a ticket to anywhere
Maybe we make a deal
Maybe together we can get somewhere

Anyplace is better
Starting from zero got nothing to lose
Maybe we’ll make someth…

“DAVE!”, I roared.

“What?”, he said.

“Stop that immediately. You cannot sing Tracy Chapman’s ‘Fast Car’ in the bar on a Wednesday night, especially when we’ve just finished watching the UEFA Cup final. Everybody knows that it is one of the most tedious, boring, wrist slashing songs ever invented.”

“Oh, it’s just I was feeling a bit blue.”

“Right”, I said ignoring that part lest he bend my ear for hours about how he’s desperate for a shag or something, “just stop it though.”

However, it got me thinking about the most tedious, boring, wrist-slashing songs in the world. I have a top 10, in no particular order. More than 30 seconds exposure to these songs can lead to narcolepsy, brain damage and fatal blood loss. Feel free to add yours to the list.

1 - Tracy Chapman - Fast Car (Shame it’s not Princess Diana’s car)
2 - Bob Dylan - Knockin’ on heaven’s door (you’ll get there quicker if you keep singing this song, you curly twat)
3 - REM - Everybody Hurts (If I ever meet you you’ll hurt more than everybody put together)
4 - Nilsson - Without you (Can’t live? Don’t then).
5 - Robbie Robertson - Somewhere down the crazy river (If I want to hear someone talk like a private detective I’ll watch a Philip Marlowe film).
6 - Leonard Cohen - Suzanne (shame she didn’t drown you in the river, miserable fucker)
7 - Elton John - Candle in the wind (For incflicting this on us twice I will kill you twice)
8 - Billy Joel - Piano Man (Can you play the fartmonica because that’s where that mouth organ is going).
9 - Phil Collins - In the air tonight (you poxy bald cunt, I will never forgive you for this)
10 - Damien Rice - Can’t take my eyes off of you song (Die fucker. Just die).

Well, come on then. The people must be warned.

Sticks and stow-ens

by Twenty Major on May 10th, 2006

“Hee-yor, Deco. You seen dem Sopranos dats on de telly?”

“Yeah man, fucking sick dey are. Legendary fuckin’ hard men, loadsa cash, birds, caaaars and fuckin’ guns. Yeah man, solid.”

“D’ya reckon we should after be settin’ up a cry-em famly loike dat here in de Blanch?”

“Dat’s a fuckin’ sound plan, man. Only ting is loike we’re not actually famly an’ all.”

“Well, what about I marry your sistaw?”

“Stay de fuck away from me sistaw, ya cuntcha. Me knuckles are only after getting back in shape after batterin’ dat uddor bloke she was seein’.”

“Dat was Mr Hanlon, yer 73 year old next door neighbaw and she was just saying hello outside yer gaff! Clow-en. Look, I marry your sistaw, you marry my sistaw and den we have a cry-em famly coz I’ll do cry-ems and you’ll do cry-ems. Den seein’ as your muddaw is Wayner’s muddaw’s sistaw you’re related to him an’ all and if he marry’s Lynchie’s sistaw den he’s related to me coz his half brudder is my Da’s brudder’s nephew. It’s sorted.”

“Deadly. I’m buzzin’ boss. What’ll we do dough?”

“Easy. Yore already sellin’ de yokes, Lynchie gets de smoke and de coke, I’m after lendin’ Smithy and Mango €4,000 for a deal so I just tell dem I’m collectin’ with interest so that’s the loan sharkin’ sorted and all Wayner has to do is get involved in the construction or waste disposal business.”

“Waste disposal, eh? Who’s gonna fuckin’ pay him for buryin’ a load o’ tinkers and Romanians dough?”

“Heh, you’re a fuckin’ muppeh! Du udder ting we’ll do, reeeet, is go round to all dem blokes dat we don’t like and just shoot de cunts in the cunt.”

“Rapid! And de best ting is dat de cops don’t even have any fuckin’ guns so if any of dem catch up with us we’ll just shoot dem in the bollix!”

“De only ting is we have to come up with a deadly nay-em like de ‘Sopranos’ or de ‘Latin Kings’ or de ‘Crips’”

“Dat’s what I like about gangs, equal opportunity an’ all dat. You’ve got wops, spics and disabled people all doin’ the same stuff.”

“You’re a fuckin’ stupid cunt, so you are.”

“Don’t call me stupid or I’ll fuckin’ burst ya, ya cuntcha.”

“Shut up. A nay-em. We need a nay-em. Maybe after a snake or sumthin’. ‘De Cobras! Dat’s it!”

“Nah man, dere’s already a gang called de Cobras.”

“Right, a dangerous animal. De Black Pantaws!”

“Taken”.

“Shite. De Bloods!”

“Taken”.

“Arse. I know. De Ayran Brudderhud!!”

“Taken. You’re no good at dis. I’ve got an idea. You know dat vicious dog you used to have? De one dat bit the balls out of Shaner’s pants and de one dat done a poo on yer ma’s carpet? What was his nay-em again?”

“Scamp?”

“Yeah. Scamp. Mad yoke he was. What make of dog was he?”

“West Highland White terrier.”

“Dere you go den!”

“What do you mean ‘dere you go’?”

“Dat’s our name. From now on we’re de ‘Westies’!”

“Deeeeeeeeaaaadly!”

Honesty

by Twenty Major on May 9th, 2006

Honesty is the best policy, isn’t it? Of course we all have to lie about small things every day. It’s part and parcel of life.

For example, people that work in an office have to pretend to like people they really can’t stand because they have to work together and it makes things very awkward for some people if they have to work with someone they dislike or someone who dislikes them.

Back in the old days when I used to have office jobs I was a bit like that at first but then I decided that I didn’t have the time or the energy for that kind of shite. So I embarked on a policy of 100% honesty. Meetings were fun.

“Twenty, what are your thoughts on this proposal?”, my bird named boss would ask.

“Well, to be honest with you I think it’s a load of shite, completely unworkable, badly researched and will end up with us gaining short term but losing 40-60% of our staff in the medium to long term. I realise you’re a numbers man with absolutely no concept of how to manage people as opposed to spreadsheets so I can see why you thought this was a good idea but that doesn’t make it any less shit. To be honest it’s like something a person who’s just graduated from a 3rd rate business college would come up.”

Invitations to social events were also a good laugh.

“Hey Twenty, fancy a pint after work? We’re all going!”

“No thanks. It’s not that I don’t want a pint it’s just that you are the most boring person I have ever met. Talking to you for more than 5 minutes takes more energy than I can muster. Neil is a fucking simpleton and I just can’t listen to him go on any more about how often he’s done coke and gone back to Susan’s apartment and had mad sex with her. Susan herself has the intelligence of a shoe. Maura’s face is hairier than my arse and I’m not even slightly interested in hearing about her collection of Hornby trains. Good God, what the fuck is a 31 year old woman doing with a hobby like that and why can’t she talk about anything else? Actually, her Grizzly Adams face explains it all. Richie never, ever buys anyone a drink despite getting involved in rounds and if I went and he disappeared off to the toilets when it was his turn I swear to you I would glass him and I can do without the trouble although the thoughts of him bleeding and screaming is appealing. I fucking hate David’s face, I don’t know why. I just hate his face so much I want to set him on fire. Clara is a complete liar, I wouldn’t believe her if she told me the right time and Barry has this thing he does when he talks. He kind of twitches his head which is very disconcerting and it makes me think he’s a bit Matt Damon and Matt Damon makes me sick. So, basically, no. I’d rather sew up the eye of my cock than go out with you this evening.”

“Ok! Maybe next week then.”

Simple office interaction became more interesting.

“Twenty, what do you think we should do to reduce the number of incoming calls we receive?”

“Dave, has anyone ever told you that you have a serious BO problem? No? Well, I’m telling you now. You stink man. Change your diet or wash or something.”

or

“Hey Twenty, when does that report have to be finished by?”

“Fuck off. I’m not in the mood for talking to you now. Oh, and by the way, you’re a cunt.”

Signing someone’s goodbye card became a pleasure:

“I’ve always hated you and this will be a better place without you. Also, you’re very ugly.”

In fairness they didn’t really understand the whole being totally honest thing and they asked me to leave a few weeks later.

I told them I’d really, really miss them all.

Fat camp for teenagers

by Twenty Major on May 8th, 2006

Fat camp. For teenagers. In DCU. Apparently it’s going to cost €6,500 although the Sunday Independent article was so badly written they gave a price for the 2 year programme rather than the 4 week camp for tubby teens.

Parents, if you have a tubby teen don’t waste your money on a fat camp. They’re a load of shit. Here’s what you do:

1 - Take teenager
2 - Lock teenager in some kind of basement over the summer months
3 - Provide teenager with water and basic food so it doesn’t die
4 - Give teenager electric shocks if it doesn’t run 10 kms every day on the treadmill or cycle 40 per day on the exercise bike. It is suggested shocks are applied to the genitals.
5 - When teenager is not a fat cunt release teenager to the wild once again
6 - Advise teenager that if they become fat again you will kill them

It’s very fucking easy. Don’t eat as much and exercise more. Weight loss programmes are just a load of shit for people who don’t want to do the hard work.

“Eat as much as you want and still lose weight!!” - bollocks. Eat less. Exercise more.

I have to say that I lost a lot of weight in the 90s when taking lots of E made me eat less and exercise more. I was a proper skeleton.

That’s it. Parents, forget my 6 step plan above. The solution is obvious. Give your kids massive doses of MDMA and they’ll stop being two-seat-on-a-plane-taking-cunts.

Free Ecstasy for everyone. Yay!

Lost

by Twenty Major on May 5th, 2006

A good few years back, must be 25 or so, me and Jimmy and another mate of ours, Bob, went to stay with this bloke who had hired us to do a job. His name was Jean-Hugo Le C’arville and we’d taken somebody who had crossed him to his palatial estate near St. Etienne in France. What happened to him I don’t know but there was a lot of screaming and drilling and sawing and setting stuff on fire one night.

While there we feasted on the best French cuisine as our host had his own chef, who came with three Michelin stars, and drank wonderful French wines including a bottle of 1973 Château Mouton Rothschild with a label designed by Pablo Picasso. Of course the French people in the little town were very French and they didn’t really understand us. Although I am a fluent French speaker my Dublin accent made things a bit difficult for them.

“Ooohvray la fenechra!”, I’d ask and it would take me a good few goes before they said “Ahhhh, ouvrez la fenêtre!” then whisper “L’anglais de merde” just loud enough for me to hear them. The joke was on them though. English, indeed. Anyway, that is just incidental.

Where the fun began was when Jean-Hugo set us a challenge. He said “Mes amis, I ‘ave, in my jardin, a network of ‘edges and paffs frough which you must find your way from one side to ze uzzer! Do you accept zis challenge?”

“What do we get if we complete ‘zis task’?”, I asked.

“I weel pay you fifty-fousand pounds. Sterling!”

I conferred with the lads. There wasn’t much conferring. That was a lot of money back then.

“All right, show us ‘ze way’”, said Jimmy and he did.

So in we went to this labyrinth thinking it would be a couple of hours diversion in the summer sunshine. By 9pm that night we had thought again. This was well before the time when a quick mobile phone call would have solved the problem and with 50 grand at stake we were sure they weren’t going to come look for us. The hedges were around 12 feet tall and there was no way of going through them or climbing on top of them. Now it was dark. ‘Oh well’, we thought, ‘we’ll have to wait till tomorrow’.

Tomorrow wasn’t any better. Or the day after. Or the day after. By day 7 we were starving and staying alive by licking the dew off the ground each morning to quench our thirst. We tried eating the leaves but they were minging. Jimmy ate a worm which took him right back to his childhood but we were in serious trouble.

Poor old Bob was the worst though, a skinny chap at the best of times he was fading fast. Sadly on the 9th night he passed away.

Says I, “Jimmy, this is like that film that hasn’t been made yet about that plane that hasn’t crashed yet with that South American rugby team that hasn’t to eat each other yet. If we want to stay alive we have to resort to…cannibalism!”

“Fair enough”, said Jimmy. “I’m fuckin’ starving”

Just then all the days without food caught up with me and the world started spinning. I got that buzzing noise in my head and the next thing I passed out. I don’t know how long I was out for but when I awoke Jimmy had managed to get a small fire going with some branches from the hedges and it smelt like he’d been cooking.

It was as sweet as smell as I’ve ever smelt. I started drooling immediately. I could taste meat even if it was the body of our former friend. When I made my way over though I couldn’t believe my eyes.

Jimmy was sitting there, like a stuffed pig, licking his lips and gnawing on bones and nothing from the wrist up on either side remained.

“What the fuck have you done?”, I thundered. “You miserable cunt. Here we are, stuck in this maze, starving to death and you eat everything? You fucking cunt.”

“Calm down, Twenty”, said Jimmy. ” I didn’t eat it all. I left you Bobby’s hands.”

*Author’s note - posted on the 25th anniversary of the death of a famous hunger striker. 

The worst thing I have ever seen in my life

by Twenty Major on May 4th, 2006

I have seen some terrible things in my time. I have seen more Tom Hanks films than I really should have, I’ve seen a man jump from a tall building and splat into the ground. I was once crossing to go to Freebird records just by O’Connell Bridge and you know that bit where you cross a little bit then the rest? Well, I was beside an old lady who seemed to forget there was traffic coming and she stepped into the path of a lorry which knocked her down as far as the IFSC.

I’ve seen images of war which would turn your stomach. I’ve seen seen Dirty Dave naked … erm… excuse me, I just got a little bit sick all over my keyboard even thinking about it. Somebody once sent me a midget clown porn video and that, I really thought, was the worst thing I would ever see in my life.

That was until yesterday. When I saw this.

This is Ireland’s Eurovision Song Contest entry. Now, if you thought there was no possible way of topping last year’s entry when we sent over a special needs brother and sister then think again.

It’s Belfast crooner, Brian Kennedy, and a whole range of simpletons singing along with him. I’m not even sure I have the words to describe how bad it is. What I am sure of though is that it is, without question, the worst thing I have ever seen in my entire life.

I mean, who are those fucking morons in the car and in the nightclub with him obviously miming along at the same time? What are they supposed to be? It’s not as if they’re trying to be backing vocalists because they’re singing along with what he’s singing. As well as that he seems to have just picked them up, like some kind of Mafia don, from the middle of a street as they looked at their map. Somebody needs to write to the Rough Guide and advise backpackers that if a dark car/jeep pulls up and offers you a lift do not get into it as you may be roped into acting like a fucking simpering moron with Brian Kennedy. He prowls the streets of small town Ireland preying on unsuspecting tourists.

I hope they were paid a large amount of money for that because the shame they have brought upon themselves and their families is immeasurable, especially the bloke.

And there’s two girls and one guy. Either they’re a happy little threesome or we’re supposed to believe that yer man is interested in the other one. Come on. We’re not fucking stupid.

Then comes the piece de resistance. We move from a nightclub where they’re drinking Guinness to Glendalough - how Oirish!! - with Kennedy in a camel coloured coat and the three of them following him again. If that was me I’d have pretended to go to the bog in the club and escaped out the window or glassed myself in the face repeatedly till I bled to death.

He then shows how interested he is in the other girl by hugging a stone wall.

I swear I could live another 100 years and I’d never see anything this bad again. Nothing can top this. Nothing.

I hope David Blaine dies roaring

by Twenty Major on May 3rd, 2006

I can’t be only person to hope that mumbling cunt David Blaine’s latest stunt goes horribly wrong, can I?

So far he has thrilled us all by standing still on top of a pole, standing still in a block of ice and doing his best big cat in a zoo impression in a see-through box in London. Now he’s going to stand still inside a giant bubble. Honestly, the excitement he generates is nothing short of spectacular.

Should he survive, and naturally it is a dangerous situation he’s in and not at all staged with every safety precaution in place, I have a few suggestions for his following stunts. He may not like them because some of them don’t involve standing still and doing nothing for a long time but perhaps one or two might tickle the fancy of the world’s laziest magician.

1 - The quick speech stunt: Anyone who has had the misfortune of listening to Blaine speak will know that he is a semi-coherent bore with the kind of drone that you would associate with a history professor who’s had some kind of stroke. For this stunt Blaine must spend 72 hours, standing still, in a box which is wired with plastic explosives. For the entire time he has to speak like a normal person, using intonation in his voice, pronouncing all his words clearly and sounding cheerful instead of like someone who just lost a winning €100m lottery ticket just after he was raped by an AIDS monkey. Should he fail to maintain this speech pattern the box explodes.

The beauty of this is that the box will be soundproofed so none of us have to listen to the cunt.

2 - The Middle East art stunt: A true test of his bravery. He goes to Iraq or Iran or even perhaps Pakistan and stands in the street with an easel, canvas and some paints. Via a satellite video link people instruct him to draw the most obscene paintings of the prophet Mohammed they can think of. Having previously been force fed then dosed with industrial strength laxitives he must pause ever 5 minutes to poo on the ground then use pages from the Koran to wipe his arse whilst singing “Born in the USA”.

His goal is to last a week.

3 - The Doolittle stunt: To demonstrate the power of the human mind to control animals Blaine is sent to a wildlife park to converse with the animals there. It’s Jurassic Park and he has to engage starving velociraptors in a debate regarding mankind’s overuse of fossil fuels whilst smeared in the blood of that fat postman guy from Seinfeld.

A boat will come back to pick him up in 3 months. Long enough for the wanker to starve to death if he has to hide up a tree.

4 - The GrayRice stunt: It has been proven scientifically that human endurance to Damien Rice’s ‘Can’t take my eyes off of you’ song is limited to 8.43 consecutive plays. David Gray’s ‘Sail away’ song is slightly more durable at 11.34 plays. However, if you play them both at a Spinal Taptastic 11 in volume at the same time it is something that only the strongest minds can resist.

Blaine will be placed in a room with as much food and drink as he needs. All mod cons. A toilet. A 3-seater leather couch. And those two songs playing at the same time over and over and over again. He must last 2 weeks without going insane. There is a sanctuary room from which he can escape the music but he can only go in there after taking a massive dose of PCP and firing up a chainsaw.

5 - The Irish bank holiday weekend stunt: As he loves standing still Blaine could come to Ireland on a bank holiday weekend and stand in the middle of a country road just around a blind corner. His task is to not get mown down by a boy racer in his Nissan Micra who is coming back from the the nightclub in the town 14 miles away having drunk 5 vodka and red bulls on top of a 7 pints of Guinness.

If he survives the night he’s moved to the Naas dual carriageway.

6 - The Blanchardstown magic stunt: Blaine takes to the streets of Blancardstown to perform his world renowned street magic. However, he can only do tricks on members of the various drug gangs and each time he finishes one he has to raise and longingly sniff his middle finger.

He then says “Mmmm, so good” and the scummer will ask “What is it?” and he has to reply “Your ma!”

He is allowed use his awesome power of levitation to get away. 100 tricks must be performed or he loses. The penalty for losing is to drink a mug full of Paris Hilton’s gee juice.

Will he have the balls to ever try some properly dangerous stunts? I think not. Let’s just hope his bubble bursts sooner rather than later.

How to assassinate world leaders

by Twenty Major on May 2nd, 2006

It’s not often that Splodge, the quiet one in Ron’s with the birthmark across most of his face, starts the conversations, but last night he said:

“Lads, if you could assassinate one world leader and get away with it, who would it be?”

“Good question, Splodge”, said Ron. “For me it would have to be George Bush. It’s not so much that he’s a cretinous, dimwitted puppet of big industry or that his command of the English language is on a par with Tarzan’s, it’s more to do with his face. Every time I see his face I just want to smash it in with my fist. No weapons, no acid, no knuckle dusters. Just my fist and his face. So that would be my choice. Not the classic assassination. No rifle shots from the book despository. Nope. I’d just punch him in the face until he died.”

“Good choice, Ron”, said Jimmy. “For me it would be Robert Mugabe. I hate that cunt. Did you know an anagram of his name is ‘Rage, brute mob’? How appropriate is that? Also, I hate that ridiculous cupid’s bow he has. It’s worth than Joaquin Phoenix’s and that’s saying something. As well as that he changed the name of the country from Rhodesia, which sounds like some kind of pollen allergy, to Zimbabwe which sounds like a South African cricketer. Let’s no forget his human right’s abuses, his blatant racism and the fact he’s running the country into the ground. Inflation is so bad it costs $345,000 for a pint of milk. I’d poison the cunt with a piece of string dripping into his mouth like in Shogun.”

“Can’t argue with that”, I said. “I’m a bit unsure. If Lucky was here I’d say Berlusconi then change my mind and say how cool Berlusconi was and how he was so great until Lucky went mad. There’s that mad fucker in North Korea but they do such great work in the stadiums with those colour cards. I suppose the one I’d really have to take out at the moment is that Iranian fellow, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. Now, I know lots of people don’t like Jews but creating a nuclear energy programme to try and disguise the fact you just want to make bombs to blow Israel off the map is just out of order if you ask me. Plus his beard does beard wearers a disservice as his makes him look shifty, distrustful and like a crazy fucking lunatic instead of looking handsome and distinguished like a beard should make you. So, for me, that’s the guy I’d take out and I’d do it in a simple way. Car bomb, exploding camel, suicide Ayatollah, you know yourself.”

“He’s a right nutter and no mistake”, said Ron. “So what about you Splodge?”

“Tony Blair.”

“Oh aye? Why’s that then?”

“Well, I have this bet with my brother and he says there’s no way Cherie Blair can be any uglier than she already is. I figure seeing her cry over the dismembered corpse of her cuntfuck husband will win it for me. That’s going to be the best €100 ever….erm…I mean that would be the best €100 ever.”

“Righto, Splodge. Pint please, Ron!”

Violence is golden

by Twenty Major on May 1st, 2006

“Violence is not the answer!”, so many people are quick to say.

Well it is if the question is ‘Please give a one word defenition describing behaviour involving physical force intended to hurt, damage or kill someone or something’, and nobody can argue with that.

There are other people who would say “Violence is a last resort”.

I’m not sure that’s true either. Imagine you come home one day and find your family butchered, having been tortured for hours. Their screams begging for their lives are still almost audible in the blood-soaked air. Then you discover who did it.

You’re not going to ring him up and say “Now, say you’re sorry” and get rebuffed until such time as violence is the only option left to you. In this case violence becomes the first resort as you make the person sorry they were ever born with a series of tortures so inventive they’d put you in charge of Guantanamo Bay if they ever heard of them.

Luckily most of us will never have to deal with that situation and although some people have come home and pretended that happened to them then appeared on television as if they weren’t the one who did it but like I say it’s rare.

Personally I’m not a violent person but that’s why I’ve been friends with Jimmy the Bollix for so many years. It’s not that he’s particularly violent either. He only uses violence when it’s really necessary like when you get interrupted during a burglary, approached by a Romanian beggar or when Damien Rice music is played in a shop or bar or restaurant.

I’ve never seen him beaten in a fight either. He’s got a titanium jaw. I’ve seen him take punches that would knock down statues and he hardly blinks. He says it’s because of an overdose of novocaine when he was at the dentists as a young man getting an extraction. In classic superhero style this overdose has left him immune from pain in the lower part of his face but he does drool a bit too much.

The best fight he was ever in was when he was in L.A some years back. He was driving along the road when he saw LL Cool J go past him. Now, some years previously I had written the world’s greatest ever rap but being an old man from Dublin I knew my chances of being rap’s greatest artist were slim. So I brokered a deal with LL Cool J and he was to pay me an enormous sum for my kickin’ rhyme.

However, the sly cunt just fucking stole it and since then he - along with Daryl Hall, Adrian Gurvitz, the keyboard player from Hue and Cry, Martika, Eddie Vedder, Paul Weller, John Parr and Gary Numan - has been my mortal enemy.

Jimmy gave chase, pulled up alongside him and dragged him out of his car. The two them went hand to hand on Santa Monica boulevard. It was, according to witnesses, no holds barred.

“You fucking stealin’ cunt”, said Jimmy.

“Fuck you, Nigger”, replied Cool J.

“Up yours, Whitey”, said Jimmy.

They beat the absolute crap out of each other. Kicks, punches, slaps, Cool J pulled Jimmy’s hair, karate chops, the whole lot. Then things got really ugly. One of Cool J’s mob had seen what was going on and threw a weapon to his boss. A live panther!

Jimmy then had to deal with the burly rapper and a speedy and deadly feline. Amazing. At one point Jimmy’s mobile rang.

“Howya, Mam, listen bit busy here at the moment. I’ll give you a shout back. What? No, just having a massive brawl with LL Cool J. Eh? Ok, I will.”

He switched off his phone and got ready to resume but Cool J had run off leaving the half-dead panther on the road.

“Come back here you cunt!” roared Jimmy. “Me ma said I have to knock you out”, but he didn’t turn around.

Imagine his horror when we discovered the name of LL’s following LP (back when we still had LPs, just about). So not only did he steal my rap he used Jimmy’s now long departed mother to make his music.

He’d be wise not to show his face around Dublin for the foreseeable future. I may have to throw a punch or two myself and be careful who you sell your raps too. Take it from me.

So, in conclusion, violence is probably a good idea most of the time. Except at home. You can’t run off without anyone knowing who you are there.