Fuck off last minute stuff

by Twenty Major on July 5th, 2006

I hate when things happen at the last minute to deny me a great achievement.

Like earlier this evening I was in the back garden doing keepy-ups with a football. I was 4 away from breaking my all time record, which is a number so high that it wouldn’t fit on this blog, when Bastardface decided he was bored of lying there watching me dink the ball from left foot to right foot to head to thigh to hell to back of neck and so on.

He leapt up and nicked the ball from me and went “Nrrggrrrrr, rrrrrr, arararararararar” across the garden before nudging the ball under the shed.

I love my dog but he’s a right cunt sometimes.

I remember another time when I was driving down Aungiers Street and I saw Brendan Grace crossing the road.

‘Hurrah! My chance has come at last’, I thought, but no. The fat fucker looked back and realised he’d dropped something on the pavement and went back and got it thus avoiding the front of my car. Tarnation.

Not all people hate last minute stuff. Take my chum Lucky Luciano for example. Take some quotes from him as we watched the Italy v Germany World Cup semi-final in Ron’s last night.

“Grosso? His a name a mean ‘fatty’ in Italian. Is a big a fatty. Do a something you fatty shit.”

“Del Piero, you a make a me sick. Miss a the goals in 2000 against a the France. Vafanculo, Alex!”

Italy score two goals in the last minute of extra-time to put them in the semi-final.

“Bravo, Grosso! Bravo, del Piero. Optimo! I a love you a you both.”

Some people just like last minute things. Sometimes.

School days

by Twenty Major on July 4th, 2006

“They’re the best days of your life”, people will say.

Of course they’re talking absolute shite because the best days of your life are when you have money to do stuff and buy things and take things that make you see things and you don’t have to get up for work the next day.

Some school stuff is funny though.

Like Colin McNamara putting his hand up in class and saying “Father, I don’t feel well.”

“You look fine to me”, said Father O’Malley.

“No, really. I have a terrible pain.”

“Where?”

“In my …erm… stomach.”

“Right. Shut up, McNamara.”

15 minutes later.

“Father, please. Can I go to a doctor? It really hurts.”

“SHUT UP, MCNAMARA OR I’LL MOLEST YOU.”

“Ummff”, said McNamara as the blood drained from his face.

About 10 minutes later McNamara slumps from his desk to the floor. Father O’Malley realises there might actually be something wrong with him. He kicks him a bit till he wakes up and tells him to go to the office and to ring a parent to bring him home.

Despite not being able to walk very well he leaves the room. When he returns to school 14 days later we discover he twisted one of his testicles and was sitting in agony all that time. He had 30 stitches in his sac too, according to him and when he was getting them out he got a massive boner when the nurse was in front of him and she whacked the top of his knob with a wooden spoon.

Then there was Jim O’Leary who was quite mad and wore an eye patch because he had a lazy eye. You never see kids with eye patches these days. I suppose they’ve realised it’s just a better idea to give the little fuckers glasses rather than cover up the one eye they can actually see with.

There was another guy in the class called Kevin something, I can’t remember the surname, but he was a pain the arse. I suppose in hindsight he wasn’t really a bad bloke but when you’re 12 or 13 you’re much less tolerant.

Standing outside during break one day Kevin had his back to O’Leary who took advantage of this by taking out his langer and pissing all down Kevin’s leg. Maybe one of us should have said something but it was too funny.

Not as funny as seeing Kevin with one steaming hot leg chasing after O’Leary who was still trying to put his lad away.

Then there was the history teacher who fell to the ground clutching his heart and started foaming at the mouth. He had a heart attack and died right in front of us. Hilarious. Apart from the fact that Richard Byrne was traumatised and wet himself. Sorry, that just made it more hilarious but smellier.

What about your school days?

Come on in…

by Twenty Major on July 3rd, 2006

Sometimes the people of Ireland confuse and upset me. They will tolerate corrupt leaders, get ripped off and do nothing about it, allow shite like Celebrity Jigs and Reels to be broadcast without toppling the transmission tower at RTE, buy the records of Damien Rice, make it seem plausible that Martin King knows anything at all about the weather and allow Dana to have lived so long.

Other times they make me happy though like when 85% of people polled believed they should be allowed defend themselves from burglars in their own home without the threat of prosecution and a lawsuit.

As one man put it, “A good beating should be an occupational hazard for someone who thinks threatening families in their homes is acceptable.”

Absolutely right. As far as I’m concerned if you come into my home to try and steal my stuff then you have automatically given up any rights you might have.

My home is protected by a state of the art security system called Bastardface. My trusty hound patrols the grounds of my back garden and has previously eaten a decent percentage of someone who tried to burgle me.

However, all security systems have their flaws and I suspect a tricksy robber might use the old chunk of steak with some sleeping powder or the rings of sausages that used to lure Scooby Doo away from his watchpost. So if that guy got into my home, having doped up my dog, and was proceeding to steal the things that I stole myself in various raids around the country worked so hard for I think I should be allowed to knock the shite out of him without fear of recrimination.

There is no way that anybody who enters your home illegally should then be allowed to sue you because you caved his head in with a poker and left him a dribbling cabbage that needs round the clock care.

Why should I go to jail when I come home and find a pair of skangers rifling through the desk looking for the keys of the safe and break their knees with a baseball bat and then tie them up and use the baseball bat to smash all the bones in their legs into tiny little pieces so any recuperation, if it’s actually possible, will take years of painful surgeries and physiotherapy so they can hobble around like 95 year old men who have had both hips replaced?

Is there any good reason why I should be inflicted with the presence of both the Gardai and lawyers because I awake to the sound of a window breaking and then knock the intruder unconscious before starving him to death over a period of about 3 months in my basement?

There is not. And that’s why the people of Ireland have made me happy. Of course there are still 15% of people who think it’s ok for some cunt to come in your house and then when you prevent him stealing your things you get prosecuted and sued and possibly lose your home to pay the little cunt that was trying to rob you in the first place.

Why don’t you just let them fuck you in the arse as well while they’re at it? 15% is a lot of people at the end of the day.

Probably just enough to make the burglars fancy their chances. Zero tolerance would be much better but some people believe these people have rights.

I bet you any money none of those 15% have ever been burgled.