Get out of my way

by Twenty Major on March 30th, 2007

Walking through town earlier when out from a shop emerged a small planet disguised as a very ugly woman. Without even seeing me she stepped into my path and proceeded to walk as slowly as she possibly could.

It all my strength not to start orbiting her, the cunt. Then when I went left to go past she’d go left, when I went right she went right. With people coming the other way in all directions I was utterly trapped.

Eventually I saw a gap in the oncoming traffic and squeezed past. I turned around and, not a word of a lie, I could feel myself turning to stone just at a glimpse of this gigantic Medusa.

It made me wish that her father, all those years ago, had had just one more wank she would never have been born thus leaving me unvexed during my stroll.

What pet would you have

by Twenty Major on March 30th, 2007

“Twenty”, said Dirty Dave, “if you had to choose a pet what would you choose from a Liger (a cross between a lion and a tiger), a talking horse or an Eskimo?”

“Well Dirty Dave”, I replied, “I already have two pets and to be honest Bastardface and Throatripper are more than enough for me.”

“I’m only speaking hypodermically, Twenty”, he said. “I realise your pets are quite enough. They’d be enough for anyone and you’d want to watch that cat. Old Larry Johnson from around the corner was trying to shoot it the other day but the little cunt just caught the shotgun pellets in his mouth and spat them out. Then he eviscerated Larry’s cat just to teach him a lesson.”

“How exactly do you want me to control an animal like that? He seems to like me and the dog so that’s fine by me. I’ll just let nature take its course.”

“Anyway, back to my original question. What’d you have?”

“Well, as I already have a cat that gets off on killing things the Liger, while an attractive option due to its sheer size and guard cat capabilities, wouldn’t do. It’d be cool to take him for a walk though. Like those black guys you see with their hyenas on chains.”

“Yeah, in the townships of Kenya and Nigeria, yeah!”

“No, I meant the ones at the top of O’Connell Street, but there you go. A talking horse? Mr Ed was a bit of a smart mouthed cunt, wasn’t he? And who’s to say he’d ever shut up. If a horse can talk he might also be the kind of animal that stays awake all night and can you imagine what a pain in the arse it would be trying to sleep with a horse outside your window bellowing or simply reciting the poetry of TS Eliot. I would have to say no to the the horse.”

“So you’d take the Eskimos! They’re cute little cunts, aren’t they?”

“Well, you do realise that Eskimos are people who inhabit the circumpolar region, excluding Scandinavia and most of Russia, but including the easternmost portions of Siberia, don’t you? I think you might have gotten them mixed up with something else.”

“Aren’t they those little gerbil things with the ears and the tail and they look like fur covered armadillos?”

“You mean chinchillas.”

“Oh shit.”

“What have you done?”

“Erm. I ordered 6 of them the other day. They’re arriving tomorrow.”

“Where the fuck did you order 6 Eskimos?”

“Buy and sell.”

“How much?”

“€23.99 each.”

“Not bad. Anyway, you’ve made your bed, you have to lie it.”

“This is snow joke, Twenty.”

“Well, I’m finding the whole thing very a-mooseing, now if you’ll excuse ice have to go to the ig-loo.”

Eskimos indeed. They should be arriving this morning. I might take one off his hands. Who knows when you need a spot of ice-fishing done and if I ever need to cook a seal it’ll very handy.

Blogging code of conduct

by Twenty Major on March 29th, 2007

After a high profile blogger in the US received death threats some bloggers stopped blogging in sympathy and others, such as Tim O’Reilly (founder of hilarious image catchphrase O RLY?) have proposed a code of conduct for blogging.

Some people think that’s a load of bollocks but having had some time to think about it I disagree. For too long bloggers have been like internet pirates, sailing the high seas of cyber space in international waters and not subject to any kind of laws or rules, plundering treasure and engaging in below deck shennanigans that would make Elton John blush.

It’s about time we put a leash on some of these and made sure they conform to worldwide standards. It’s like anything - if you want to be a heart surgeon then you’ve got to study for years to learn how to take one heart out, lash all the ventricles and what have you to a machine, then slap in the new heart.

Why should blogging be any different? You wouldn’t let a 14 year old jump into a car and take off without a lesson so why on earth would you give them the freedom to blog willy-nilly? So, here are my suggestions for a blogging code of conduct.

The Blogging 10 Commandments

1 - Thou shalt not LOL. LOL, ROFL, LMAO and other such things should be beyond the average blogger for bloggers are a race defined by high IQs and the ability to laugh in other ways such as ‘haha’ or ‘heh’.

2 - Honour thy father and thy mother. That is, if you’re going to steal someone else’s idea and put it up on your blog at least give a link back to the place you stole it from.

3 - Thou must not discriminate. If you’re going to send death threats to a lady blogger then you must threaten to kill a male blogger too lest you be accused of sexism.

4 - Thou must allow comments. Blogs without comments are like women without boobs and vaginas. Still pretty to look at but how can you interact? Let’s not forget that the most common surname on the internet is ‘Anonymous’ and denying that group of people the ability to comment on your blog is little more than racism and blatant discrimination.

5 - Thou must, at all times, remain calm, considered and without emotion. Blogging is a discipline like any of the greatest martial arts such as Kung-Fu, Ju-Jitsu or Wang Chung. Never post your blog while feeling strongly about something. Always wait until you have calmed down because nobody wants to see headlines like “CADBURYS - YOU KILLED EASTER!” when only one Flake instead of two was found inside your kid’s Easter Egg.

6 - Thou must harp on, at every opportunity, about how complex and stimulating blogging is. Got a new business - a blog will help. Are you a politician struggling to reach your community? Then a blog is what you need. Still trying to figure out how to withdraw your troops from Iraq without looking like a total cunt? Yes, a blog can do all that for you!

7 - Thou shalt not covet they neighbours blog. Jealousy is a negative emotion, something bloggers, like ninjas, should avoid. If you find an excellent blog and you totally want it then simply set up a blog exactly like it using the exact same writing style until the blogosphere is filled with blogs doing exactly the same thing, writing the same stories and using the same 43 expressions to call Paris Hilton a spunk filled geebag.

8 - Thou shalt not worship false blogs. Those in the so-called MSM that have tried to attach themselves to blogging are to be distrusted and scorned. Only bloggers, with their world renowned sense of right and wrong and unquenchable search for the truth (backed up always with sound research and impeccable sources), can be given credence. This is known as the Dan Rather ruling.

9 - Bloggers should not use coarse language as it will corrupt our children’s minds. Bloggers should be aware that what they write is available to everyone and nobody wants their children, after using the internet to help them with their homework and other educational matters, to stumble across a blog filled with expletives. Any blogger that inspires a child to call another child a ‘cock sucking, piss drinking, self-fisting, horse rimming cuntbasher’ shall be excommunicated from the blogosphere at once.

10 - Thou shalt respect the pecking order. Bloggers are all equal but some bloggers are more equal than others. Tech bloggers are unquestionably the kings, and possibly queens (although not really because girl techies are like women footballers), of blogging. Then come the political bloggers, group/community bloggers, rant bloggers, fiction bloggers, photo bloggers, gay/lesbian/transgendered bloggers, zoophiliac bloggers and many, many more until at the very bottom you reach sports bloggers.

So, with those 10 commandments blogging will surely become even more awesome than it already is. If that’s even possible!

I told you they were stupid

by Twenty Major on March 28th, 2007

Back in October, after a series of high profile car crashes which cost people their lives, the hand wringing in the media was something to behold. All kinds of measures were called for to cut down on the deaths on our roads, the whole thing was used as a political opportunity by some people who sought to blame the government. Now, the government are responsible for a lot of things but this really wasn’t something you could pin on them.

My point at the time was that because of human stupidity travelling on the roads was always going to cause a number of deaths each year and no amount of emergency legislation, extra lessons for young drivers, restrictions on the speed of cars etc was going to make any difference.

The problem is that people are stupid, impatient and stupid. Did I mention they were stupid? - October 06

And so it was again. In foggy conditions, with visibility severely restricted (down to 5-10 metres according to Infactah), people travelling on and M7 and M9 dual-carriageways (not motorways) yesterday sped along with no lights, as if they could see for miles, at speeds of up to 120kmh. 27 people ended up in hospital, one seriously injured, as more than 100 vehicles were involved in over 40 separate crashes which caused enormous delays and problems.

Now, I would suggest that very few of these drivers were teenagers out for a jolly. I’d suggest that very few of them, at that time of the morning, had drink on them. They were commuters who travelled that road day in day out. Working people who you would expect to have a modicum of intelligence.

Oh-oh! Not teenagers? Not joyriders? Not drunk drivers? Shit. That must mean people are just fucking stupid and that no matter what you do people will always die on the road.

I mean, what sort of person lacks the common sense to drive more slowly and turn on their lights when the conditions were as bad as they were yesterday? A fucking moron, that’s who.

Again it all boils down to personal responsibility and people’s complete refusal to take any. I bet you in the aftermath of this there’ll be campaigns to have better lights on the roads or some kind of superman to save motorists who find themselves, shock horror, in trouble through no fault of their own. Sure, Superman and some lights might help but wouldn’t simply driving more safely be easier for everyone?

It’s amazing how touchy people get about this subject. Recently, Sarah Carey wrote some pieces about the head on collision in Monaghan which costs the lives of a number of young people. Their deaths were a tragedy and a heartbreak for their families. However, Sarah was not alone at the time in suggesting that their deaths were caused by dangerous and stupid driving. I said exactly the same thing on here. However, because Sarah’s identity is known and perhaps because she’s a lady, she was subjected to a campaign of intimidation and harrassment which culminated in some cowardly cunt actually phoning her to complain about what she’d written.

Here’s a novel idea, anonycunt, if you don’t like what’s written then don’t fucking read it. The report into the crash said that both drivers were drunk and that ‘one car crossed the road, straigtened up and then both cars approached each other at high speed’.

Drunk and playing chicken and now they’re dead. Is it any wonder that people continue to die every week when evidence is ignored, blame is shifted and fingers are pointed anywhere but at the people really at fault? Perhaps phoning up a blogger who has done nothing but speak the truth will make someone feel better but it won’t do anything to prevent further deaths on the roads.

Then you have cunts like the lads featured on Blogorrah and the other lads in Cork whose videos ended up on Bebo. Seriously, you’re dealing with idiots here. Put them in a room full of shovels and tell them to take their pick and they’d stand their scratching their heads until you let them out again.

For a sizeable number of people in this country, and every other country, common sense and basic intelligence goes out the window the minute they get behind the wheel of a car. There is nothing you can do about it. Nothing. The unfortunate thing is that these cunts, far too often (like that man in Louth the other day who was smashed into by a stolen car as he was turning into his house), don’t just take themselves out of the picture when they crash.

What can you do though? People have to travel. You can’t ban cars. Just get a four-leaved clover, rabbits foot and a St Christopher’s medal (if you’re that way inclined) and hope that you don’t encounter one of these fuckers. It’s about as good a solution as any.

Seoige and O’Shea

by Twenty Major on March 27th, 2007

For those of you outside of Ireland this is an afternoon chat show presented by Grainne (Graw-nya) Seoige (Show-igga) and Joe (Boring) O’Shea (Cunt).

Grainne is quite pretty and glamorous and used to be a newsreader and she made the news sexy and attractive. I’ll never forget Stinking Pete going on and on about her.

“Phwoooar!”, he said, “I was watching the news on TV3 earlier and, phwoar, and 8 orphans and a load of puppies were killed in a house fire, HUBBA HUBBA!”, he said rubbing his thighs.

Anyway, RTE are going to commission a second series of their afternoon show despite some concerns over the audience figures. They obviously need to introduce some new features though. Here are some suggestions:

1 - Get yer man O’Shea out and about like some kind of roving reporter. However, instead of merely asking people questions put him in situations where he faces extreme danger. For example, send him to a halting site wearing a ‘Padraig Nally is my hero’ t-shirt or ask him to break into Mary Harney’s lair to try and steal away one piece of her food (she knows, like other monsters with their gold and treasure, exactly how much is there at any time).

2 - Get all the guests drunk before they go on. What are the great chat show moments you can recall off the top of your head? George Best on Wogan. Oliver Reed on any chat show ever. That pissed bloke who broke onto the set of the Late, Late Show a couple of months back and called Pat Kenny an ‘arsehole’. It would certainly liven things up if they had to contend with well-oiled interviewees.

3 - Get a band in. Not just to play music at one certain point in the show but one of those bands that plays the theme tune then interacts wittily with the presenters. Perhaps Tom Dunne from Something Happens and The Rest of Something Happens would be a good name for them. It’s never been done before, you see, so it’d give the show a cutting edge, like a butter knife.

4 - Have Grainne wear a sexy outfit for each show. I asked Stinking Pete and he said if the show runs for five days a week then it should get increasingly sexy as the week goes on. His suggestions were: Monday - Nurse. Tuesday - Ban Garda. Wednesday - Government Minister. Thursday - Astronaut. Friday - Miss Havisham from Great Expectations.

Remind me never to ask that cunt anything ever again.

5 - Have exciting competitions such as inviting people who have become famous for being on reality TV shows onto the show, then kidnapping them, tying them up in a remote location somewhere in the country (without food or water) and giving clues to the public to find them. We can watch them struggle against the ropes and blindfold and Pulp Fiction style mouth gag as the week progresses (and via the RTE website on a webcam!). If they’re found the winner gets a super prize like a TV-VHS combo. If they’re not found they die and in that way everyone’s a winner.

So there you go. No doubt RTE will ignore me, yet again, but if they’re serious about making this show a success they need to listen to the people. Oh yes.

If I had my own radio station - Part 1

by Twenty Major on March 26th, 2007

I’d certainly get somebody like George Cook to present the drivetime show.

Out of the ordinary

by Twenty Major on March 26th, 2007

I don’t normally do those linky types of posts but these two have to be seen.

1 - Lung the Younger nails it like a common carpenter.

2 - What if the Hindenberg disaster had been Twittered (via Linkmachinego)

Get a fucking life

by Twenty Major on March 26th, 2007

Some lady called Grainne Kelly of Europe Against Drugs (Eurad) international has gotten her knickers in a twist over some song played at the Fianna Fail Ard Fheis. The song ( The Chelsea Dagger track by Scottish band The Fratellis - never heard of it, by the way) has a line which says ‘Gave me gear’, an obvious reference to someone giving someone drugs.

Grainne Kelly is appalled though. She says,

It was wholly inappropriate and in very bad taste. And I would go further and say that the party owes an apology to the families that have been affected by drugs. I have just come from a conference in Scotland where I met relatives of victims ravaged by drugs, and I can tell you they wouldn’t be impressed one bit by this.

Ok, firstly, who gives a knacker’s shite about what some families in Scotland think about a song played an Irish political party’s annual conference? In fact, I’m quite sure the families of junkies in Scotland have better things to be worrying about. Like, for example, their crack addict children.

Secondly, whilst I think Bertie Ahern is the most noxious little cunt this country has produced since Napoleon the child rapist terrorised Waterford many years ago, Fianna Fail can play whatever the fuck music they want. Remember the Labour Party in the UK playing ‘Things can only get better’ by D:Ream? Well, things didn’t get better, did they? They got screwed by their own choice of music and if you ask me the FFers have been quite clever here because while things didn’t get better in the UK there will always be somebody here to give somebody else gear.

Anyway, it’s very hard to find any song without any kind of drug reference. Once you go beyond the obvious (The Stranglers - Golden Brown (heroin), The Beatles - Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds (LSD), Cocaine - Eric Clapton (erm…)) you’d think that most songs are clean. They’re not though. Even the most innocent songs are chock full of drug references. Look:

The Green Fields of France - supposedly a song about the military cemeteries in Flanders and Northern France. Look at this though:

Now see how the sun shines o’er the green field of France. There’s a warm summer breeze makes the red poppies dance.

Poppies = opium = heroin. It’s about the Afghan poppy harvest and how a young man called Willie McBride was importing tons of it to sell in Fatima Mansions in the 80s.

Agadoo - Black Lace released this party favourite and most people thought it was harmless fun. But it’s not.

Agadoo-doo-doo, push pineapple, shake the tree,
Agadoo-doo-doo, push pineapple, grind coffee.

Obviously nobody pushes a pineapple, do they? They push drugs. And coffee is brown, it’s obvious they’re talking about hash. Mobile DJs, think about that next time you play it at Granny’s 80th birthday party or some terrible wedding.

And even purer than pure Britney Spears is at it. Everything thinks ‘Hit me baby one more time‘ is about beating up your schoolgirl girlfriend so she doesn’t tell anyone that you’re, you know, doing her and stuff, but that’s just not true. Look:

When Im not with you I lose my mind
Give me a sign, hit me baby one more time!

What happens when you’re a drug addict and you don’t get your drugs? You go mental and see weird looking babies crawling across the ceiling at you. What will stop those crazy visions? That’s right, a hit of your favourite narcotic.

So you see, Grainne Kelly, no matter what song they played at the Ard Fheis there would have been some reference to drugs in it so you need to spend less time listening to music and more time shutting the fuck up.

Bertie and his cronies have a lot to apologise for. The very fucking least of it is some shite song played at their Cunt’s Convention.

Cheers

by Twenty Major on March 24th, 2007

To everyone for their kind words in relation to the book deal thing. There are just too many links to trackback to but let me say here and now that if I manage to secure a multi-million film rights advance which will see me in clover for the rest of my days I will buy each of you at least two pints of your choosing (beer, wine, spirits, angel’s jism - will have to take advance orders for that one) and a packet of scampi fries.

Well don’t have children then

by Twenty Major on March 23rd, 2007

Frivolous law suits are becoming the norm these days. America sets the trend and we follow. The other week we had the guy who sued the newspaper because they took a picture of him with his chopper hanging out of his football shorts. For some reason he didn’t want anyone to know he had a penis.

Now there’s the bloke who fainted while his wife was giving birth and broke his jaw when he hit the ground. He says the hospital failed to notice his jaw was broken but look here mister, if you have a problem with seeing a bloody, alien looking creature emerge slowly from your wife’s vagina then perhaps you should stay in the waiting room and read OK Weekly or something.

Back in the day it was always customary for fathers to wait in the waiting room while the mothers did all the hard work then the fathers would come in, pat both mother and child on the head, say “Well done me auld brood mare”, hand out cigars to everyone then bugger off down the pub to get pissed as a cunt.

Dirty Dave’s father was a revolutionary though. He insisted that childbirth must a joyous, wondrous thing and demanded that he be present at the emergence of his son into the world. It wasn’t a good idea. Poor old Dirty Dave, due his enormous pumpkin shaped head, had a difficult entrance into the world and his poor old mother had to have 98 stitches.

Dave’s father had positioned himself at the end of the bed to get a good look and afterwards was ashen-faced and silent. He said nothing to his wife. He barely looked at his son. The cigars he planned to give out were thrown away and he went down to Ron’s Dad’s bar and sat on his normal stool and drank pints of stout with whiskey chasers till closing time. Despite people’s best efforts to engage him in conversation he said nothing until he left.

He looked at Ron’s Dad and said “The Gee. The Gee”, and walked out.

Nobody ever saw him again.