Blah

by Twenty Major on August 21st, 2006

“You, fuck off.

You, look at me like that again and I’m going to fucking break your legs.

You, stop standing their dribbling like a fucking spastic and bring me my beer. It’s there on the table.

You, see you and your buddy wearing the Pringle jumper are going to get taken out round the back and I’m going to fucking stomp on your head.

You, point at me again and I’ll take that finger and shove it up your hole.

You, you stink of piss, you disgusting cunt.

You, get a fucking life and stop fucking asking me if I’m John because I’m not.

You, if I wanted to hear your stories I’d initiate conversation with you. Don’t come up to me and start talking like I’m some kind of long lost relative.

You, get away from me. Your leathery hands make me sick.

You, I’m not going to waltz with you. Your hips will break again”.

Oh, I do love visiting relatives in the old folks home.

Remind me…

by Twenty Major on August 20th, 2006

…never to eat Indian food again. I’m not sure lamb korma sits right on top of a load of beer. It’s too creamy and quite honeslty I can do without getting up at 3.30am to vomit creamy fizzy vomit for half an hour.

I was puking into the toilet, hadn’t spewed anything for about 5 minutes so figured I was finished. I got up to wash my face and brush my teeth. I bent over the sink and ‘Bleeeeeeuuurrrrghhhhh’ I vommed another couple of litres. I think there were bits of tree in it.

I’m really not looking forward to the poo I’m about to have.

Maybe it’s just me…

by Twenty Major on August 18th, 2006

…but was it really necessary for today’s Sun to show pictures from the funeral of Darren Clarke’s wife?

It’s not like some fucking premiere or bullshit, d-list celeb event. It’s a fucking funeral, you cunts. We know the people there are sad. We don’t need to see pictures of his children, who have just lost their mother, looking distraught, crying and looking for comfort from their Dad who feels and looks the same.

Shameless cunts, they really are. I hope they get 10 different kinds of AIDS.

Blog ethics

by Twenty Major on August 18th, 2006

Two guys stopped me yesterday when I was out walking with Bastardface.

“Twenty Major?”, they said.

“Yes”, I said. “Who wants to know?”

“I’m Herzberg, he’s Efroim. We need to talk to you.”

“Well, we’re talking now, aren’t we?”

“Good point. Anyway, let’s walk and talk. It’s less conspicuous that way.”

“Indeed, because three men standing and talking is much more conspicuous than three men walking and talking.”

“Look, we’re with Mossad. We read your blog and we love that bit about you saying Muslims shouldn’t be allowed on commercial flights.”

“Right. And?”

“Well, that would be really, like, sweet, if that happened and we need you to say it again.”

“Muslims shouldn’t be allowed on commercial flights.”

“Not now. On your blog.”

“But I’ve already said it. I really do try, despite what some people might think, not to be repetitive. Why would I say it again?”

“Because we’ll pay you. A large sum of money each month and we’ll ensure you get massive readership through our super-secret computer department which actually controls all the computers in the world. But don’t tell anyone about that.”

“I’m not sure I’m the man you’re looking for really.”

“No, Mr Major. You are. We’ve studied all the blogs in all the world and you’ve got the chutzpah we need to bring about this momumental and absolutely necessary change to modern society. You’re a blog maven.”

“So, what you’re saying is you’ll pay me loads of money to spout the same crap over and over again and boost my readership so I can make a fortune from Google ads and eventually be so enormously popular I might be able to launch my own range of Cafépress merchandise?”

“You’ve got it.”

“Fair enough. I can’t see a downside.”

“Hurrah”, said Herzberg.

“Mazel Tov”, said Efroim. “You won’t regret this. Soon everyone will know your name. You will go down in history. Your Wikipedia entry will be long and full of people disputing its authenticity and its facts. You’ll be in text books. You’ll be right up there with Andrew Sullivan!”

“Andrew Sullivan? Fuck that then.”

I set the dog on them.

A new taboo

by Twenty Major on August 17th, 2006

Not so long ago you rarely, if ever, heard anyone refer to anyone as a cunt. I’m talking about other people because I’ve always been surrounded by my motley crew of cunts and have always referred to them as such.

Still, despite the amount of cunts, cuntbags, cuntfaces and cunticles that exist it’s still kind of not the done thing to refer to a woman’s furry front bottom in that way. It’s just taboo, isn’t it?

If you, in conversation said “That bloke is a complete and utter cunt” and there were some shocked faces you could say “Oh, I’m sorry for my language” and it would be passed over and maybe the prissier of the company might comment on the way home about your potty mouth but there’d be nothing more to it.

However, if you said “I was with this girl last night and she had a gorgeous cunt” it just wouldn’t be glossed over the same way. It’s all right to call someone a cunt but you can’t call a cunt a cunt (if you ladies will pardon my French) and that’s probably right because it’s a much better word to refer someone of opprobrious character than to describe a lady’s genitalia.

Is there any other word in the English language that so divides people? Some people can’t even say the word and if they do have to refer to it use that ‘C U Next Tuesday’ thing.

The only other word I can think of that is so taboo is ‘nigger’ and black people call themselves that all the time so it’s lost some of its impact (which is a good thing) and we’ve been over this one before.

Even the worst racist remark you can think of probably doesn’t come near it. Most of us can laugh them off. Call me a Paddy, a Mick, a spud eating wankhammer all you want. I couldn’t care less.

What we need is a new most offensive word in the world. If new additions can be made to the Oxford English Dictionary all the time then why can’t we invent something new and so vulgar, coarse and disgusting that in time it becomes the most taboo word in the world.

Your suggestions please…

Update: Having scoured the dictionary I came across the word ‘gleet’. It is defined as:

A watery discharge from the urethra caused by gonorrheal infection

It is a good word and I like it, you bunch of gleetfaced gleethounds.

Careful with that

by Twenty Major on August 16th, 2006

What is the most painful thing that can happen to a man?

“Seeing your team lose in a cup final”, some might say.

“Losing the great love of your life when you find out she’s been having it off with the Polish electrician”, others might suggest.

“Having to pretend you like Damien Rice to score with some chick then you realise she’s not going to give you any and all your Damien Rice liking was for nought”, would be the answer from some.

The real answer, beyond heartbreak, a different kind of heartbreak and pure unadulterated misery is, of course, getting your langer caught in your fly.

I once got a phone call from Stinking Pete asking me to come over to his house to help him. It was an emergency he said. He was close to screaming.

I went over and found poor old Pete with a huge chunk of his manhood caught in the zipper of his Levis. The zip would not go up. The zip would not go down. The manhood would not be coaxed, pulled, tugged or otherwise forcibly removed from it’s metal, toothy grasp. In the end I had to use a hacksaw to cut away the bits of the zip, and sadly a part of Pete’s chopper. I’d love to say it grew back but it didn’t. He said it healed over nicely though.

I thought that, as a dick in zip incident, would never be beaten. That was until last night.

Dirty Dave had been out with some of his family and with the greatest respect to them they are all complete and utter alcoholics. One of his uncles was on 4 bottles of Obsession by Calvin Klein a day until an intervention saw him sent to a clinic. Sadly it was an STD clinic and he died from drinking 17 Farenheit and Coca-Colas and a steaming cup of AIDS one night.

So they met in town to go on the piss and when Dave arrived in Ron’s he was absolutely shit-faced. Imagine the drunkest you’ve ever been, then add 50 George Bests, 9 Oliver Reeds, a Tony Adams and 6 wino tramps who live under a bridge.

“Yishar allll me besht maytesh and I love yish yiz cuntsh”.

“Shut up, Stinking Pete”, I said. “I’m trying to listen to Dave”, who was making strange keening noises having come back from the bathroom.

“Erp”, he said fiddling with his fly. “Mnurm. Eeep. Blarf”.

“What’s wrong, Dave?” asked Jimmy the Bollix.

Dave just pointed at Ron who gave him another drink and put down two on Dave’s tab. That didn’t stop him making those strange noises though. After a few minutes he began to cry softly.

“Did a something a happen with a da family?”, asked Lucky Luciano.

A solitary tear ran down Dave’s face.

“Meep”, he said pointing at his crotch.

“Ahh, your first cousin Mary wouldn’t do it with you again!”, said Jimmy thinking he’d solved the riddle.

“Mrar. Meeep, Meeeeeeeeeeeeeeep”, he said, again gesturing at his groinal area.

“Maybe he’s got something wrong with him”, I said. “Lucky, take a look”.

Lucky looked.

“Ooooh mama!”, he said. “Mama mia, Minchia! Porca troia!”

“What is it?”

“Is a his a dick. Is a caught in his a fly. Ooooh mama!”

“Ahh, that kind of thing happens all the time. Easy to fix”, said Jimmy the Bollix moving over to help our mate. He took a look.

“Good sweet holy mother of sacred heart of the crucified Jesus!”, he said.

“Come on you fucking twats. It can’t be that bad”, I said as I went to have a gander.

“Fucking hell”, I managed to exclaim before I vomited out of my nose.

Poor old Dave had got his mickey caught all right but the cunt was wearing Levi 501s with a button fly and he’d managed to button part of his lad through three of the button holes. And not just a little bit. Great chunks of Dirty Dave’s shaft and helmet were caught in his fly with the buttons pressing and twisting the flesh all over the place.

There was only one thing to do. We took him back to his house, fished out his keys, gave him a couple of shots of Jamesons and laid him on his back on his bed. Jimmy took put on the surgical gloves he always carries with him and said a little prayer before going to work. It wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t easy and there was a lot of blood.

All we could do was douse his bollocks with alcohol and leave him sleep it off.

He came into Ron’s then this evening. We all winced.

“Howya, Dave?”, I asked.

“Fucking rotten hangover, Twenty. I’m never going out with my family again. I get too drunk. And another thing. I think I ended up with buck-toothed Betty last night an’ all”.

If we took a holiday…

by Twenty Major on August 15th, 2006

*bring bring*

“Hello, Budget Travel. How can I help you?”

“Ah hello, how are ya? I’m looking to go on holidays please.”

“Of course, anywhere in particular?”

“Well, I’m thinking of something a bit out of the ordinary, you know? I’m not into the whole sitting by the pool drinking cocktails this year. I want some action. Some adventure. Some thrills and to compliment the thrills some spills as well.”

“A man after my own heart. Weekends are for sitting on your arse. Holidays are for having fun. We have some brilliant white water rafting trips on which you can do rock climbing, base jumping and that thing where you parachute behind a speed boat.”

“All rather clichéd though, isn’t it? I’m thinking somewhere hot but not your run of the mill stuff. What’s the hotel situation like in Beirut at the moment? I’d say with all that’s going on you could get a 5 star hotel for fuck all.”

“Erm, we’re not really doing any trips to Lebanon at the moment.”

“Why not? That’s where the action is. What about Haifa then?”

“Er… no. We don’t go there either?”

“Baghdad?”

“Nope.”

“Kabul?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Somalia?”

“Afraid not.”

“Uganda?”

“Not on the list here.”

“Chechnya?”

“Sorry.”

“I have to say I’m disappointed. Being Ireland’s premier travel agent I thought you’d be able to find something for me.”

“Well, it strikes me you’re looking for more than action sports. You want danger. You want action. You want to feel the rush of adrenalin as you go out at night not knowing if you’re coming back in one piece. You want to be surrounded by scum and people with no sense of morality. People who would slit your throat just because you were who you are. You want filth, degradation, barbarity and bloodshed.”

“Exactly!”

How does two weeks in Torremolinos sound?”

“When do I leave?!”

Sleep deprivation

by Twenty Major on August 14th, 2006

For one reason and another I had stay up all night the other night and it had nothing to do with booze or drugs or anything fun.

It is funny how you react though when you haven’t slept for 36 hours. Everything seems to be kind of dirty and when you close your eyes it’s almost like you go off into another world.

At one point I dozed for a few minutes, ten maximum, but had the most vivid, awake but not awake style dreams I’ve ever had. Can’t for the life of me remember what they were about it but I was glad when I woke up. For a second. Then I realised I wasn’t in bed but on an uncomfortable chair. But it was worth it.

I remember years ago not sleeping for about 48 hours due to being on the piss and doing loads of acid. Then I had to get a bus to go work in a radio station for the day.

On the bus everybody had a sunflower for a head and they bobbed like the flowers were being blown by the wind. I’m sure the acid had something to do with it, although it had worn off by then, but you can properly hallucinate by not sleeping. It’s cheaper than drugs but takes a lot longer to kick in.

I remember reading somewhere that you can die from lack of sleep. Is that true? Wouldn’t you just fall asleep?

Is there some reason…

by Twenty Major on August 12th, 2006

…why we can’t have a toothpaste that fights bacteria, whitens your teeth, counters plaque, prevents gum disease, staves off cavities, helps those with sensitive teeth and leaves your mouth minty fresh all in one tube?

Will the skies ever be safe again?

by Twenty Major on August 11th, 2006

If the events of yesterday at the UK’s airports have taught us anything, it’s that we need to find a different way to travel long distances in a short period of time.

Now, there are some obvious ways to travel long distances at high-speed. Spaceships are the most obvious but still the Islamic threat would apply as they could crash us into an asteroid or something.

Futurama style tubes are another but you’re talking massive investments in infrastructure and what’s to stop a terrorist from going in with a machine gun or going in with an open bag of poo so all the people flying through the tube behind him get covered with his brown baby boys? Nothing, that’s what. Unless you make bags of poo like iPods and laptops and prevent people from bringing them on board.

Then there’s the Rentaghost method (or for you Merkins the ‘Charmed’ method) where you hold your nose and reappear elsewhere. Sadly that requires everyone to be either a ghost or a witch and seeing as the terrorists are trying to turn us all into ghosts anyway let’s not do their work for them.

Given that it’s now 2006 teleportation really should be an option by now and if it takes something like this to buck up those teleportation scientists who’ve been sitting on their arses playing Yahtzee all day well then that’s fine. Teleportation is surely the best way. You go in. They twiddle the zeeble, punch in the coordinates on the wotsit and in seconds you’re where you wanted to go with no threat of being blown up or crashed into the side of a tall building.

It wouldn’t surprise me if we did get that up and running and the terrorists sabotaged it by putting lots of flies in the machines so the human race would be overrun by half-man, half-fly creatures like in that film about the man who was teleported and got his DNA spliced with a fly. I think it was called ‘Jeff Goldblum looks like that in real life’.

Could evolution be the way to go? If those fuckers won’t let us fly in planes then maybe we have to learn to fly ourselves. It’ll probably take some thousands of years to evolve fully but even then there’s no reason why the they couldn’t interbreed and flood the sky with beardy, swooping suicide terrorists.

“15 people were killed today when a 48 year old businessman on his way to work was clubbed out of the sky and landed on a bus full of orphans.”

Oh, the humanity!

It’s not easy, is it? Everything we can think of they’ll be able to fuck it up in some way.

Alternatively you could just ban all Muslims from commercial flights until they learn that blowing things up is naughty.