Hot weather

by Twenty Major on July 19th, 2006

Another tsunami, hot weather in Dublin, surely Armaggedon can’t be too far away. Seriously though, the heat is wrecking people’s heads. What little ability they had to think clearly beforehand has been well and truly wiped out.

Take this exchange between Dirty Dave and Stinking Pete last night, for example:

“Here Stinking Pete, have you noticed anything unusual about your bowel movements lately?”

“Erm, I’m not sure, Dirty Dave. I always have a good look behind me when I’m finished and it’s been a long time since I saw any worms.”

“No, not that. More the consistency of your stool.”

“Well, I go every morning at 10 and every evening at 7.15. Regular as clockwork, so I am.”

“No, I don’t mean that. It’s just that with this hot weather and all I think my shite is melting while it’s still inside me.”

“Really, what makes you say that?”

“Well, instead of being long logs of shite I’m spraying liquid every time I sit down. Like last night I was walking home and I felt like I had to fart but it felt like my ring-piece was opening too much for a fart and there was the very definite danger of following through. And as I was wearing me nice white linen pants that would not have been good.”

“Wow. I never thought about that before but I suppose it makes sense. I mean, if you put a chocolate bar down your t-shirt and went out in the sun it would surely melt so there’s no reason while the waste matter inside you wouldn’t melt either.”

“Exactly. To take it a step further imagine the shite as chocolate, your bowel as a saucepan the sun as the flame from your gas hob underneath it. The sun would melt the chocolate so it’s obvious that the sun is cooking our shite too.”

“Fucking hell. You’re some man.”

“Here, do you reckon the sun would make your piss warmer too?”

“Only one way to find out. Ron, give us a pint glass there, will ya?”

The arrival of autumn can’t come too soon.

A modern day fable

by Twenty Major on July 18th, 2006

Once upon a time there was a little pig. He lived in land which was given to him after a great battle.

Unfortunately this land was taken away from a goat, a cow and duck-billed platypus. None of the animals could ever agree about anything. One day one of them was standing too close to the fence of the other, the next one would complain that the smell of the other’s poo was too strong, the day after there would be complaints about the loudness of somebody’s plaintive mooing.

After a while though the goat, the cow and the duck-billed platypus began to gang up on the pig.

They taunted poor old piggy mercilessly.

“You stinking pink cunt”, they’d shout over the fence. “You’re good for nothing but eating swill and rolling around and oinking a lot.”

The pig had broad shoulders though and he was able to ignore their insults. Then they moved up a gear and began attacks on his land.

The cow would propel his mighty cow pats causing horrific damage. The goat would sneak onto the pig’s land and munch important documents and occasionally the odd piglet while the duck-billed platypus would fill urns with his urine and use a crop sprayer to drench the pig’s land with his rancid juice.

But the pig was stoic and he carried on with his normal life as best as he could.

The others, enraged at the pig’s ability to ignore their best efforts, decided they had to go further so they would kidnap the pig, torture him and hold him hostage for months at a time before releasing him back home. He tried to improve his fence and security but the cunning of the goat, the brute strength of the cow and the tactical military planning of the duck-billed platypus was too much. As soon as he’d recover they’d kidnap and torture him again.

The pig was able to withstand many things but even a creature as phlegmatic as he had a breaking point. He knew he needed help and although he didn’t have too many friends in the region he had one confidante that would help him.

“Eagle”, said the pig, “I am selfless and forbearing but this is becoming too much for me. What can I do?”

The eagle, a wise and noble creature, considered for a while before speaking.

“Pig”, he said. “Suffering and joy teach us, if we allow them, how to make the leap of empathy, which transports us into the soul and heart of another person. ln those transparent moments we know other people’s joys and sorrows, and we care about their concerns as if they were our own. Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, vision cleared, ambition inspired, and success achieved.”

“I see”, said the pig. “And I understand but this situation is too much for me now. I just don’t know what to do.”

“But there is suffering in life, and there are defeats. No one can avoid them. But it’s better to lose some of the battles in the struggles for your dreams than to be defeated without ever knowing what you’re fighting for”, the eagle replied.

“Erm…”, said the pig.

“What man actually needs is not a tensionless state but rather the striving and struggling for some goal worthy of him. What he needs is not the discharge of tension at any cost, but the call of a potential meaning waiting to be fulfilled by him”, said the eagle.

“That’s all well and good, eagle, but they are kidnapping me, torturing me, holding me illegally against my will”, cried the pig.

“Oh for fuck’s sake Pig”, said the eagle, “just call Hamnesty International then.”

In the Lebanon

by Twenty Major on July 17th, 2006

Oh Phil Oakey, how far-sighted you were.

Little did you know your 80’s hit would still be fresh and relevant in the mid 00’s. Glad to see MacDara is getting out but the Irish bars of Beiruit will suffer because of his absence.

People don’t stop to think about the details of how Israel’s bombs affect the community. Yes, some people are killed and some people are maimed and have their limbs blown off and are scarred for life and lose loved ones and their homes and property and famillies are destroyed by Israel’s totally disproportionate response but what about poor old Paddy from Paddy’s Pub?

What’s he going to do when all the Irish are gone? This time those Jews have gone too far.

I will stand idly by while they blow civilians to pieces while tugging their curly beards and blaming them for aggression against their state but once they start putting Irish bars out of business then they’ve just made themselves another enemy.

What if this affects the worldwide sales of Guinness and in order to recoup the profits lost the world’s most famous brewery uses lower quality hops or grain which negatively affects the taste of their stout?

I can’t let that happen, I won’t let that happen and I can’t let that happen.

I’m off to throw lumps of Denny’s ham at the Israeli Embassy. They’ll probably launch a rocket attack on Cabra but a man has to stand up for what he believes in.

Rarf

by Twenty Major on July 14th, 2006

Bleeeurr. Mraaaarf. Uburuburubur.

The noises of the hangover.

I need to add ‘clink clink stir’ but I fear it’s too early in the day to hit the Tanqueray.

Update: The ‘clink clink fizz’ of the Alkaseltzer and the ‘plop plop flush’ of a massive crap seem to have improved matters slightly.

The man from the Czech Republic.

by Twenty Major on July 13th, 2006

I met a man from the Czech Republic last night. He played the violin and sang Nico songs.

He had very frizzy hair and I think he must have been mildly autistic. I gave him some money as he played his peculiar brand of music for a very long time in the square I was sitting in.

As he played and song in that strange voice of his many, many accordian players walked through giving him dagger looks. No joke, at least 6 of them came by but the man from the Czech Republic kept them at bay.

They were spitting mad. It was hilarious. He deserved the money I gave him for making them angry for so long and for saving me from listening to their music.

As Hitler said, “The definition of a real gentleman is a man who knows how to play the accordian but doesn’t.”

Eventually he stopped and came around with his cap. As soon as he’d left the accordionators moved in. Oh dear.

I followed my new friend from the Czech Republic.

Stop saying ‘er’ and ‘erm’

by Twenty Major on July 12th, 2006

When the only TV channels you have that speaks English are Sky News, BBC World and CNN it’s not good.

After an important meeting with some Eastern European investors for my wonderful invention mentioned yesterday I got back to my hotel to watch something to pass the time before a dinner of more gruel.

Sky were reporting on the bomb blasts in Mumbai. As it was breaking news it wasn’t scripted and the bloke was absolutely rubbish.

“So the …er… bomb blasts have been …erm… condemned and thus far we …er… have only speculation about who might be …erm… responsible for the …er… blasts which …erm… ripped doors and carriages off …er… the trains….”

And the worst thing is that the minute you start noticing the ‘er’s and ‘erm’s you can’t not hear them and then it becomes really fucking irritating.

Being rather bothered by the Sky bloke I switched over to the BBC because at least the BBC was staffed by professional broadcasters. They certainly wouldn’t inflict hopeless pauses and silly grunts at me, would they?

They would. Talking about the Geneva convention applying to the people at Guantanamo he was just as bad as the Sky fella.

“So …erm… the US government has …er… announced that …erm… ” etc.

Shocking. Why can’t they get people who can speak more than 5 words without an ‘erm’ or an ‘er’? It’s a fucking disgrace is what it is.

These people need to be told they’re on live television and if they can’t speak properly then they need to go empty bins or something else which better befits their talents.

I would fire them on the spot and the best thing is Sky and the BBC and CNN have plenty of broadcasters who can just waffle non-stop without ‘er’ing and ‘erm’ing and that’s what makes you notice it.

Fire them. They deserve it.

Inventions

by Twenty Major on July 11th, 2006

Sorry that posting is a bit off-kilter this week. I’m travelling and working on an invention.

How many of us have wished we had something to mask our footprints in order to further cloud the evidence trail? How often have criminal been caught by CSI style technicians because they’ve left a clear as mud footprint in the ..erm… mud?

Well, my idea, which came to me after drinking lots of Havana Club rum, is that when you’re barefoot somewhere and need for your footprints to be covered up you can slip on a mould of a left foot on to your right foot and vice versa.

When that fat beardy cunt comes along and takes out his magnifying glass he’ll be completely flummoxed because there’ll be a big toe and a little toe in exactly the same place. He’ll think there’s some kind of freak out there and will send his entire team out to look for a freak with a massively deformed foot.

Our clever criminal though will simply take off his mould and nobody will ever catch him.

I’m trying to find investors in Eastern Europe and it’s all looking very promising. Apart from the gruel they serve here. At least they have Havana Club rum.

I might spend the afternoon trying to come up with a new invention.

harrrrrrrrr

by Twenty Major on July 10th, 2006

Daer readeers,

I havfe jsut arrived hmoe aftre cebrelating teh wrold copu filan wiht Lulcky Lucioanao. I remememebre ltos abotu the gmae adn is a shame taht zidane diudn’t loaf matahari in the teeht and not teh cchest.

I nmay hve drunk a bit tooo mchu.

Now i msut go adn go unconcsious.

Twetny

Pick it up…

by Twenty Major on July 7th, 2006

“Twenty”, said Dirty Dave. “If I was to put you in a situation where your life was in extreme peril and the only way you could save yourself was by choosing one of the following options, which would you choose?”

“Go on then”, I said.

“Number one - wearing a pair of shoes all day that were 2 sizes too small for you. Number two - wearing y-fronts which go up your hole or number 3 - having the same dinner every night for a week. What’ll it be?”

“Are you taking the piss?”

“No. Why?”

“Well, apparently my life is in danger and to save myself I would expect to have to perform an act of courage or do something so difficult or disgusting that I genuinely have to choose between death and this option.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, your options could be, for example, number one - drink the 8 pints of horse spunk they supposedly emptied out of Marc Almond’s stomach all those years ago. Number two - listen to Damien Rice’s music on an iPod for 48 continuous hours or number 3 - spend more than five minutes in a room with Ryan Tubridy and not call him a cunt. Those are real challenges. Yours are not.”

“I see. So my options would be for someone whose life wasn’t necessarily in danger but may in danger at a later stage or is potentially in trouble without actually being in any danger at all.”

“Yes, but then what’s the fucking point then? Why would anyone whose life wasn’t in jeopardy take part something like this to begin with?”

“Erm…”

“Dave, usually your stupid questions and ridiculous scenarios have some comedy value as they are so ludicrous but I have to say in recent times they’ve been well below par. Like the other night you asked if I had to choose from cheese cake, profiteroles and lemon sorbet as my desert which would I go for. That’s shit man. It’s certainly not up there with ‘Who would win a fight between Godzilla and Enya. You need to sort it out.”

“Sorry, Twenty.”

“Yeah, so you say.”

“No, really. I’ll do better. I’ll try harder. I promise.”

“Promises, promises, Dave. Words are cheap.”

“No, really. I wi-”

“That’s enough. Get some pints in.”

“Two pints, Ron. Cheers. So Twenty, if you could be any piece of furniture, what would you be?”

Buy my shares

by Twenty Major on July 6th, 2006

So the Irish government are urging people to buy shares in Aer Lingus when the national airline is floated this year. Fuck that shit. Remember they urged people to buy shares in Telecom Eireann, now Eircom, as well?

Nobody made any money out of that apart from Eircom employees who still pick up healthy cheques each year because of the employee share scheme thing. Regular people who put their savings into it ended up with fuck all as the company was floated with a share price way above it’s real value which plummeted almost straight away.

The only way I’d buy shares in Aer Lingus is if I could buy them all then I’d sack all the lazy, SIPTU cunts that ‘work’ there.

I might launch a share issue of my own though. David Bowie did it. He sold shares in himself and I bought a large number. I never did a go on Iman though.

Fucking rip off.