Twenty Major - Still smoking in Dublin bars

Listening to some cunt on the radio now saying Michael O’Leary would only be buying Aer Lingus to ’cause divilment’ in the company.

He’s offering €2.80 a share which is 60c a share above the price at which the shares were issued last week. Yer man on the radio said “O’Leary is just like any other businessman”.

Exactly. So what’s his fucking problem? As if someone is just going to spend €1.5 billion to just cause ‘divilment’. Can’t you imagine O’Leary now:

“HAHAHA! I’ll buy the company then cancel the Christmas party, put that horrible shiny toilet paper in the staff bogs and make them all wear nametags saying “Please be patient with me. I’m new! It’ll be the best €1.5 billion I’ve ever spent.”

Fucking cretins.

Edit: Listening to more of them it’s all down to the fact that they don’t fancy Michael O’Leary as their boss. They’re going on and on about how loyal they’ve been to Aer Lingus but this is business. Loyalty doesn’t and shouldn’t mean a thing.

They’re all just shitting it because they’re afraid the cunts from SIPTU won’t have anything like the influence and power they’ve had up to now.

In Ron’s last night. Dirty Dave was waffling on with his usual, completely unusual shite.

“Here Twenty”, he says, “I went to the doctor today.”

“Why, Dave? Not feeling well?”

“Yeah, I think I bought a Freddie Mercury album in a Grafton Street outlet of a large record chain.”

“And that made you sick?”

“Yeah. I think I’m HMV positive!”

“Dave, you are a fucking mong and no mistake.”

Anyway, then we saw someone we haven’t seen for quite a while. A very old arch-nemesis of Dave called Nose ‘tache Noel. It’s a bit of a long story as to how he got his name but years and years ago Dave’s brother, Shiny Simon, told him that if you shave the hair on your chest it would grow back thicker and more lustrous.

Now Dave was a big fan of Magnum star Tom Selleck and he longed to have a hairy chest like him so he shaved his chest and lo and behold more hair would grow back each time. Of course a man can only be so hairy and Dave never got a Selleck like rug but he did improve the wispy bum fluff he had before.

One disbeliever though was Noel who used to come into Ron’s quite often. As Dave would show off his latest growth Noel would say:

“Geddoudavit, Dave. You still have a chest like I would imagine Kojak’s wife’s minge to be like” and other various bald gags.

This upset Dirty Dave no end and he vowed to take his revenge. It came one night at party when Noel passed out and Dave shaved his nose hair. Not the hair on the inside of his nose but the fine hair on the outside. Amazingly it only took one shave to spark the growth and soon Noel was having to shave his nose every single day. Even if he gave it a good Gilletting first thing in the morning he’d have a 5 o’clock shadow by half past two.

Eventually he gave up and grew a moustache on his nose which is why everyone called him Nose ‘tache Noel. Unfortunately for Dave there are women out there who find a man with a nose ‘tache a real turn on for some reason so his revenge was not served cold but piping hot and on a hot plate.

“Evening, lads!”, he said.

“Howya Nose ‘tache”, I said.

I bought him a pint and we caught up because we hadn’t seen each other for a long time and then after he’d had enough pints he went home.

*bring bring*

“Hello Tayto Crisps!”

“Hello. I’d like to report a problem with a packet of your cheese and onion flavour crisps.”

“What exactly was the problem, sir?”

“There was a poo in the packet.”

“Pardon me?”

“There was a poo in the packet. A log. A B-M. A defecation.”

“Oh my Goodness. That’s awful. That really should not happen. Look, please send the packet with the offending item in it and we’ll launch a thorough investigation. I’ll also have one of our manager’s call you back about this.”

“I ate it.”

“What?”

“I ate the poo.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Well, it was shaped exactly the same as a cheese and onion crisp. Cunningly, whoever put it there also made it taste exactly like a cheese and onion crisp so by the time I’d realised it was a poo I’d scoffed it.”

“Sir, have you considered the possibility that it wasn’t a poo at all but, in fact, a cheese and onion crisp?”

“Now that you mention it that would be a far more reasonable explanation.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Well, there is the small matter of the dried up bit of vomit I found in the packet of salt and vinegar.”

“Just guessing here but was this bit of dried up vomit cleverly disguised as a salt and vinegar crisp?”

“Ooooh, you know what? That’s exactly what what it was.”

“It was a crisp. Not vomit.”

“That does make sense, fair play to ya. Mouse in my smokey bacon?”

“Smokey bacon crisp.”

“Fingertip in my Mature Cheddar Cheese and Red Onion ‘occasions’?”

“Mature cheddar cheese and red onion flavoured crisp”

“Hah! The jokes on you. It was a fingertip. Still had a bit of nail on it too. I have it here.”

“Really?”

“No! I ate it.”

*click*

“Hello? Hello?”

Don’t you just love the positioning of these stories on the Indo’s website?

You really do have to be careful how you position things and that goes for every walk of life, not just on the website of a truly terrible newspaper.

I remember being at a wedding once and the bride and groom were a pair of backpacking, travel round the world cunts (I won’t even go into the details of how I know them and how I saved their life in Calcutta) and they had lots of friends from all over the place. They thought it would foster harmony if they made them mingle.

So at one table a jew sat next to an arab, a catholic next to a protestant, an Indian beside a Pakistani, a black South African beside a white South African and an Englishman next to an Irishman.

As you can imagine it was chaos. Within minutes of the starters being served the jew had commandeered half of the arab’s place mat saying God wanted him to have it, the catholic and the protestant came to blows over who would say grace, the Pakistani and the Indian were clobbering each other with cricket bats, the South Africans were raging in debate over Nelson and Winnie Mandela while the Irishman (me) and the Englishman (some bloke) looked at each other with incredulity and went about the business of stealing their booze.

Once he was really drunk I stole his wallet and put him in a taxi and sent him to Offaly rather than his city centre hotel.

You have to be a bit cuter about things than the rest of those foreigners.

I had list of things to do this weekend.

• Collect money from people who owe it to me
• Watch the football
• Buy a present for Ron’s mum’s birthday (I got her that new hip she’s been needing)
• Clip Bastardface’s nails which are like bear claws. He sounds like 20 tap dancers when he walks across the floor
• Get Throatripper, the kitten who is growing like a mentalist child with one of those overactive glands which makes them become enormous, his shots at the vets
• Find David Hasselhoff and administer a severe beating to him for being a massive cunt
• Drink booze

Sadly I started with the last one thinking that a good few pints and I might be able to round up a couple of the lads to give me a hand smacking Hasselhoff’s woolly head in.

Unfortunately I forgot all about him as we discussed world events, slapped thighs and basically made merry. Well, merry doesn’t quite cover it but ‘made completely and utterly poleaxed’ doesn’t really make much sense.

I woke up this morning with the fear. You know what the fear is. It’s when you get really, really drunk and you black out and then the next day you have this fear that you said or did something stupid or wrong and it comes back to you in flashes over the course of the day.

It didn’t take long though. David Hasselhoff was in Dublin this weekend and he got away with me punching him in the head countless times.

I really am a stupid clit for the booze.