Archive for October, 2006
I couldn’t be, could I?
by Twenty Major on October 31st, 2006
In the end I decided not to go near the marathon. Anyone that willingly runs over 26 miles is quite obviously deranged and after my deeply unsettling incident with the mad German the other week I’m trying to stay away from those kinds of people.
I went and had bank holiday pints instead but there has been a worrying development. I’m good with a few pints but in recent weeks if I have a skinfull I spend the next day sneezing and woooshing and garumphing (that is the sound of one of my sneezes which are like snowflakes, each one has a unique melody) and it’s worrying me because what if I’m becoming allergic to Guinness? Life just wouldn’t be worth living.
I was slightly cheered by the thought that the sneezing has coincided with the acquisition of Throatripper the kitten. Maybe I’m just allergic to him.
He appears to be very grateful that I rescued him as he brings me gifts. Yesterday I was in the kitchen when I heard a strange mewling noise and he appeared at the door, wandered over to where I was standing and spat a bird at me. Not just any bird though. Somehow he’d taken down an emu. I’m always happy to get presents but what the fuck am I going to do with a dead emu?
I spent ages cutting the fucker up and putting it in bin bags before fucking it into the canal. I’m going to have to teach him to bring home wild boar or suckling pig. Emu just isn’t that tasty.
Anyway, let’s pray, and I’m sure you’ll light a candle or blow up a train (whatever your religion dictates), that this sneezing is not an allergy to Arthur’s finest.
I’m not sure I could cope.
Just a quickie…
by Twenty Major on October 30th, 2006
I’ll be back later. I’m off to the Dublin marathon where I’m going to trip up as many stupid cunts running in costumes as I can.
6 word story
by Twenty Major on October 28th, 2006
For Sinead
Came home drunk. Woke up sober.
My left foot
by Twenty Major on October 27th, 2006
What a disaster befell me yesterday. I put on my favourite pair of runners and discovered that they didn’t fit any more. These runners are more comfortable than the bed in the Presidential suite in the Westbury Hotel. They are to comfort what Guinness is to beer, what Argentinian cows are to beef, what Ricicles are to breakfast cereals.
I couldn’t believe it and it’s not that they’ve gotten too small it’s that one of my feet appears to have shrunk. After years of wear these things fit me like gloves but yesterday my left foot was too small for my left runner.
It’s unlikely that the shoe has gotten bigger so it has to be my foot. It was slipping and sliding around in there like Bambi on ice.
I had to wear three socks on my left foot to make it fit properly. What the fuck is going on here then? Can it be that my foot has shrunk or have some shoe goblins broken into my house and slightly enlarged by footwear just to cause me botheration?
If it’s shoe goblins I’m going to fucking kill them, I swear to God.
Fireworks
by Twenty Major on October 26th, 2006
I heartily endorse Fianna Fail politician Charlie O’Connor who says those who attack fire brigades and ambulances on hallowe’en night should face jail sentences.
There are plenty of other things to blow up and throw eggs at. The list is endless:
Ryan Tubridy, scorpions, German rock group ‘The Scorpions’, TV3’s garden, Cecilia Ahern, Bertie Ahern, Bob Ahern (lives round the corner from, is a cunt), blue cheese, people who drink shots of Jaegermeister in a glass of Red Bull and so many more.
Be creative people, ambulances and fire brigades are the easy targets. They’ve put further restrictions on fireworks again I see. I haven’t been down Henry Street in the last couple of weeks but I assume the same fat old women hiding rockets and bangers in their many body cavities are still doing the business.
A bloke came into Ron’s the other night selling boxes of fireworks that he’d brought over from somewhere. It was an impressive collection and I ended up buying more than I should.
Half a pound of plastic explosives, 4 sticks of TNT, an M72 LAW rocket launcher, an FIM-43 Redeye Anti-aircraft Missile, two cruise missiles and three packets of sparklers.
Watch out, Tubridy…
Healing hands
by Twenty Major on October 25th, 2006
“Well there I was in the Stephen’s Green shopping centre”, said Stinking Pete regaling us with another of his fantastically tedious tales.
“Right…”
“And you know the way I have this affliction.”
“Which particular one? The one that makes you stink? The one that makes you a stupid cunt? The one that makes you get eye-boogers as big as marbles?”
“Now, now, Jimmy! No need for that. I’m talking about my flatulence problem.”
“Oh”, I said.
Stinking Pete has a problem with flatulence when he eats certain kinds of foods. Any meat, anything with vegetables, fruit, wheat, flour, dairy products, fish, rice or herbs makes him fart like a trooper. Sometimes he can’t stop farting. He blasts them out like bullets from an Uzi. Often this happens as he’s walking along splattering the person behind him with the foul air from his behind. The only thing he can eat which doesn’t make him fart are spice burgers as they are made from man-made synthetic foods.
“So I was wandering past Hughes and Hughes, I was going to go in and buy a book about the sinking of the Titanic because I wanted to see if anyone got a picture of Leonardo da Vinci drowning in real life, when all of a sudden I got a fart attack. *blam* *blam* *blam* *blam* they went but there were at least 300 of them in a 10 second period. I had stand still, I couldn’t go forwards or backwards for fear of following through. And the stench? My god, it was I’d eaten a skunk marinaded in cow pats and cat piss.”
“Beautiful, Stinking Pete, just beautiful.”
“Yeah, but this is the strange part. I heard a voice behind me saying ‘I can help you’ and I turned around and there was this familiar little man who told me that he had healing hands and he could cure what ailed me.”
“Is that right?”
“It is. He told me to accompany him to the men’s toilets and he would lay his hands on the afflicted area and after that I would be healed and I would never again suffer the flappy anused farting that has afflicted me for so long.”
“And did you?”
“I certainly did and he laid his hands upon the area in question and amazingly I haven’t farted since. It was only on the way home that I realised the little man in question was Chris de Burgh!”
“Ok, so you went to a public toilets with Chris de Burgh and allowed him to lay his hands upon your arse, is that it?”
“Yes, well…er….yeah, I can see how it might look but he kept his digits to himself, Twenty. It was palms only and I swear to God himself I haven’t let off in…
*THHHSSSSRRRRRRAAAAAAAAARRRRRRPPPP*
…ah fuck, that’s the second time that cunt has done that to me.”
More on the roads
by Twenty Major on October 24th, 2006
While I’m very sorry for the families of the young lads in Monaghan who died at the weekend it’s becoming clear that the whole road safety issue is being sensationalised by the media, used as an political hammer by the opposition and topped off with understandable, but useless, emotion from the families of people involved.
When you read the newspapers calling for ‘draconian measures’ to cut down on the number of the deaths on the road you know we’ve lost sight of the crux of the problem.
The problem is that people are stupid, impatient and stupid. Did I mention they were stupid?
How many times have you been overtaken by some guy going way over the speed limit who weaves in and out of traffic and then you come to the next set of traffic lights and there he is right beside you? What did his speeding get him? 2 seconds, if that? Stupid.
I was involved in a car crash once. Driving through a crossroads. I had a green light. Bloke coming the other way decides he can turn across before I get there. Smash. I was banjaxed but because I wasn’t speeding I was alive. The other bloke? Nothing, not a scratch. Stupid cunt.
The boys in Monaghan at the weekend. I’ll stand to be corrected on this but I can’t imagine it was just an unfortunate turn of events that left two cars looking that this:
Those cars crashed head on. Somebody was being stupid. Without the stupidity those boys would be alive. Harsh, I know, but that’s the reality of it.
Penalty points would not have stopped the crash. More education and a longer process to get your licence would not have stopped the crash. Telling young drivers they can only drive at 80km per hour would not have stopped the crash.
The only thing that would have stopped the crash is not being stupid and while some people will say that greater road education will cut that down I don’t agree. I go back to the point I made yesterday about people doing things that they know are bad for them but they still do them. Young lads who drive badly and dangerously know that it’s bad and it’s dangerous but they still do it. No amount of theory classes or restrictions on their licences and cars will prevent a person from driving dangerously if that’s the kind of person they are.
Minister for Transport Martin Cullen is under intense pressure the news reports and papers say this morning. What do people expect him to do? Do they expect him to instill common sense in young lads who have just got their licences? How can he stop someone from doing stupid when that person knows what they’re doing is stupid but does it anyway?
It’s not that people don’t realise overtaking on blind corners and racing your mates and driving drunk or stoned is wrong. Everyone knows it. Everyone.
Everyone knows it’s wrong to steal a car but still there’ll be some group of young lads who will rob a car, go joyriding and plough into a family on their way home from a great day out. And it’s because they’re stupid or they don’t care what happens. There really is nothing you can do to educate people like that.
I would suggest that 95% of all road accidents are caused through stupidity, whether that’s dangerous driving, drunk driving, falling asleep at the wheel, going too fast when it’s wet etc. Then there’s 5% when a tyre blows out or something else happens. Those are the kinds of accidents you can prevent by improving mechanics or technology but at the end of the day you cannot stop stupid people being stupid. It’s impossible.
I’m no fan or Martin Cullen but to put to him under that much pressure because of the flaws of human nature is just wrong.
Road safety is just the latest cause célèbre. Something else will come along in a few weeks or months at this will all be forgotten.
No matter what happens, no matter how much hand-wringing there is, no matter how often you try and change people’s views people will still die on the roads. It’s a fact of life. The sooner we accept that and get on with dealing with real issues the better.
Road ’safety’
by Twenty Major on October 23rd, 2006
You know what I’m fucking sick of?
Newspapers, TV and radio going on and on and on about road safety and the carnage on our roads. Every fucking expert has an opinion.
- restrict the speed of cars
- make young drivers do extra lessons
- more penalty points
- zero tolerance to drink driving
Yeah, yeah, yawn fucking yawn. The sooner we just accept the fact that travelling on roads is inherently dangerous and that there are always going to be accidents the better.
Yes, people could drive better but everyone knows that. People know smoking can kill you but they still do it. They know murder is wrong but they still do it. They know buying Phil Collins’ music means it encourages him to make more but they still do it.
Trying to make the roads safe is like trying to make the rain dry. Impossible.
Just shut the fuck up and let people get on with it. All your think-tanks, so-called experts and that cunt Gay Byrne (a former TV presenter appointed head of the Road Safety Authority just to show how serious the government was about it) can go fuck themselves because they’re useless.
People will always die on the roads the same way that every so often there’ll be a train crash or someone will break their neck playing rugby.
The only way to make the roads safe is to prohibit all vehicles and install those moving walkways they have in airports. Even then there’d still be some cunt who bumped into some other cunt trying to get past him or someone would drop dead of a heart-attack and cause some kind of a pile up.
Stop wasting your time and newsprint on something you can’t do anything about.
Mad German cunt
by Twenty Major on October 23rd, 2006
Was over the other side of town on Saturday night with Jimmy the Bollix and after our work was done we decided to stop in at a local hostelry for some light refreshments.
It was a busy enough bar and not too many seats. There was one table, a nice table which would have seated 5 or 6, free apart from one bloke sitting there.
“Here, we’ll go over there and sit down beside that bloke. Look his pint is almost gone and once we’re sitting he’ll bugger off.”
I had a look at the bloke. He looked sort of like Rick Moranis from Ghostbusters crossed with Gene Wilder. He looked back at me. I could feel him undress me, flay all my skin off and feast on my organs while listening to some classical opera with his eyes.
“No fucking way am I going anywhere near that cunt, Jimmy. He’s not right.”
“Ahh, stop being such a fucking fanny, Twenty.”
“Fuck off, Jimmy. I’m not going to sit beside him or even near him.”
We stood at the bar for a couple of minutes and then the strange bloke got up and headed towards the door. Jimmy was over like a shot with the two pints and he beckoned me over.
I went over, sat down, rubbed my eyes and Jimmy was no longer there but the fucking mad man was. He’d come back.
“Hello”, he said in a German accent. I think he probably was German but he might just have been mad enough to talk in a German accent.
“Er, hello”, I said thinking of a hundred ways to kill Jimmy, the cunt who ran off as soon as yer man came back.
“I very much to talk to ze people who vill entertain me!”, said the lunatic.
“Oh, very good”, said I looking anxiously around me.
“Yes, I vas going into town to O’Sullivan’s vich is my favourite pub but I missed ze bus and I am soooo laaaaazy I need zat someone pushes me out ze door”, he grinned maniacally.
“Well, there’s plenty more buses at this hour”, I said hoping this would be the push he needed to fuck off and get one.
“Yes, ze buses run until twenty-sree sirty and zen zere are ze nightbuses. I like ze nightbuses. Zey all run on time.”
“Er..yeah.”
He sat there smiling at me. I could tell that he was thinking of how he was going to sauté my brain. Then I saw Jimmy coming back so I grabbed the pints and left him at the table.
“I have to go talk to my friend now”, I said and made haste to the other side of the bar where there was a ledge. I called Jimmy many names, much to the amusement of a group of lads sitting at a table.
The crazy bloke was then talking to one of the lounge boys, who he saw like one of those apes with a big red arse that he could rape before he smothered it with a cushion with a floral pattern on it, and then he came over.
“I am sorry”, he said, “but did you sink you vere taking my place?”
“No, no. Not at all but please excuse us we have important business to discuss.”
“Please, sank you. I vill speak wis you anoser time.”
He went away then and after 5 minutes he left the pub and we took the table he’d been at. Now, Jimmy thought I was overreacting to the loon.
“He’s only a person who was talking to you”, he said.
He doesn’t understand though. Genuinely mad people make me very uncomfortable and this bloke was genuinely mad. He might have looked like a bit of a special needs eccentric but I bet he lives in a house with a basement and in the basement there are corpses and he tells people to rub the lotion on its skin and so forth.
Some mad people are funny because they do funny things like Streaking Steven who would, every couple of months, tear around Superquinn in the nip until the cops came and brought him home.
This one wasn’t a funny mad person. He was a mad mad person. I had a lucky escape folks and don’t let anyone tell you any different.