Sky News

by Twenty Major on June 16th, 2007

Everytime you think Sky News has reached its nadir it manages to surprise you.

After spending hours covering the car chase slow procession of vehicles taking Paris Hilton to jail last week today they have outdone themselves. Live coverage of the wedding of Gary Neville, one of the most unctuous, rat-faced, despicable little cunts to have ever played the game of football.

Beckham’s wedding I can understand to a point. He’s a good looking bloke and he was marrying a Spice Girl, but Gary fucking Neville?

Fuck off.

Stupid rain

by Twenty Major on June 15th, 2007

What the fuck is going on today? I’m expecting to see someone round up two of every animal any minute now.

If God asked me to build a big ship and take two of every animal I’d make sure not to take any owls, because they are cunts. Or maybe I’d just take one owl to make the fucker lonely.

Terry Wogan

by Twenty Major on June 15th, 2007

I love Terry Wogan. An old rogue, a charmer, a velvet voiced picaroon so he is. He’s back in Ireland to be given the freedom of his home town of Limerick which, as we all know, is the greatest town in Ireland. It even has hotels.

He absolutely deserves it though. A man who took the BBC by storm and makes the Eurovision song contest watchable for straight people. Over the years his commentary has been as bitchy as a pack of bitchy bitches and generally what he does is drink pints of Baileys, get steadily more squiffy as the night progresses and generally take the piss out of the artists, the presenters, the host nation, the people who give the results for each country and the winners.

The man should be given the freedom of Ireland. Terry Wogan is so awesome I would even suggest we introduce a monarchy so he can be made a knight. Not just a title like they do in England but a real life, fuck off, stick my lance up your hole knight. He could roam Ireland on a massive black horse wearing a suit of armour with one of those pointy helmets and every bar he stopped into would serve him free booze and he would hold court by telling stories from his days at the Beeb such as ‘Why I never want to see Anne Diamond’s flaps again’, ‘Des Lynam’s debauched majirjuana sessions’, ‘What really happened with me, John Noakes and John Craven in the Algarve’ and ‘The truth about Scaryduck‘.

I heard a story recently when Chris Tarrant was talking about the time he was doing a breakfast show on Capital Radio in London and the Wogster was doing his breakfast show on BBC Radio 2. At some awards they got to talking and to drinking and then more drinking. When the bars were closed they retired to the hotel lobby where, as guests, they took advantage of the hotel bar until something like 4am. Tarrant eventually crawled off to bed only to have to get up an hour later to go and do his show.

He felt some solace though knowing that his drinking buddy would be feeling just a wretched. A couple of weeks later he ran into Wogan again.

“Jesus christ”, said Tarrant, “that was some fucking session the other week. I felt like shit doing my show. The only small comfort I had was knowing you were suffering the same way.”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you?”, said Terry, “I had that entire week off. Must have slipped my mind.”

Legend.

Days go by

by Twenty Major on June 14th, 2007

Obviously everyone knows that time speeds up as you get older. A year when you’re 25 goes by much quicker that when you’re a child because your only point of reference is one birthday or christmas to the next. Similarly at 45 and at 65 the days and weeks speed by much faster. So it’s important to make the most of the time we have. Get out and do things and see people, even if it is just argue with them and call them filthy names.

So it struck me as rather surprising when I realised I hadn’t been outside the house, bar the nearby shops for milk, bread and delicious cool filtered Major cigarettes, since Monday.

I find I’m working all day on my great novel (which is an entirely different novel than the one that’s going to be published) and generally getting caught up in work and things. I’ll pad into the kitchen in my bare feet (it’s summer) and make some food. And as much as I love food, and I do love food, what I’m making at the moment is entirely functional. Beans on toast, Heinz tomato soup, a steak pie from Marks and Spencer, a pizza or a toasted cheese sandwich.

There’s no ‘cooking’ as such. No sweating over a sauce (I find using my own sweat in my bolognese sauce makes all the difference but don’t tell anyone), no stirring, reducing, seasoning, simmering or anything else.

My beard remains untrimmed, the pints that have my name on it on Ron’s have been replaced by a fridge full of bottled beer I got from the off licence (at a very nice price, pubs beware. Why would you spend €5 on a bottle of beer in a bar when you can get it for €1 in the offy? Eventually people will cop on), me talking to Bastardface and, ocassionally the lunatic cat, has taken the place of the witty and hilarious banter with the lads. Only for the fact I had a two minute conversation with the posty the other morning and I wouldn’t have had any human contact all week. And it’s Thursday already! Last time I looked at my watch it was Monday morning.

I need to get out more.

What will the Greens bring to government

by Twenty Major on June 13th, 2007

So the Green Party has done a deal with Fianna Fail and will form part of the new government, but what will they bring to the new administration.

• From now on any Fianna Fail member who wishes to have their house painted free of charge must use environmentally friendly, lead free paint.
• When green zone land is rezoned to allow Fianna Fail’s builder friends to lash up houses and enormous shopping centres the bribes must be presented in envelopes made from recycled paper.
• All ministerial Mercedes are to be swapped for those gay hybrid cars that run half on electricity and half on the reconstituted poo of cattle.
• In order to reduce the carbon footprint the government jet is to be scrapped and all foreign trips are to be made on Ryanair or by glider.
• Solar panels are to be installed on the top of Dail Eireann and sandals must be worn at all times in government buildings.
• Brian Cowen must wear a special device which captures his flatulence which is responsible for 47% of Ireland’s gaseous emissions.
• A referendum is to be held on Mary Harney and whether she should be allowed outside in the daytime as she blocks out the sun, the enormous beast.
• Criminals are to be put to work on US style chain gangs where they will lay new tracks for public transport systems and plant lots and lots and lots of new trees.
• State functions will now be catered for by the Green Party’s own chefs and will provide delicious alternatives such as tofu and soya based dishes as well as all kinds of organically grown vegetables.
• Children will be banned from receiving the MMR vaccine because they’ll go all autistic and stuff. Oh, no they won’t. Yes they will. No they won’t. Whatever.

Should be fun. Any more you can think of?

Virtual Guinness? Fuck off.

by Twenty Major on June 12th, 2007

EirePreneur reports on ‘virtual Guinness’ in Second Life.

Fuck me. Does it have a virtually creamy head? Does it taste virtually delicious? I don’t mind people pretending to be knights or elves or flying avatars or whatever the fuck they’re called, to each their own, but what is the fucking point of virtual booze?

Why stand around pretending to be someone you’re not and having that character drink pixellated stout when you could, you know, actually go out and talk to real people and drink the real thing?

No wonder the world is so fucked up.

I blame the parents

by Twenty Major on June 12th, 2007

I do hope that if the shocking case of that young lad being attacked and savaged by two Rottweilers has taught us, as a society, anything at all it’s that children should be kept off the streets and in attics and poorly lit basements where they belong.

Parents need to accept responsibility for their children. That lad might as well have been a ring of sausages running around the street, it’s no wonder the dogs tried to eat him.

Look at what happens when parents leave their children unattended. They get savaged by dogs, kidnapped from hotel rooms, molested by clergy and raped by swimming coaches, run over by cars, injured getting up to high jinks. And then the parents have the temerity to blame other people for what’s happened to them.

You’re the ones that left them alone, brainiacs. If children up to the age of 18 were required to be under adult supervision at all times the majority of these bad things would not happen. It’s so fucking obvious.

From now on I don’t want to hear any more namby-pamby, hand-wringing from parents or cunts who call up radio shows when another child gets themselves involved in something that hurts, maims or kills them. If you let them out of your sight, even for a second, you get exactly what you deserve, you shoddy, irresponsible bastards.

Addiction

by Twenty Major on June 11th, 2007

I was readin this morning about the number of people looking for help for cocaine use has increased a huge amount in the last couple of years. 482 people were treated in 2005, compared to 48 in 1999.

Obviously that has a lot to do with the increased availability of the drug. I’m pretty sure you can get it in most supermarkets these days.

Panadol. Hedex. Anadin. Calpol. Cocaine.

Still, I do wonder about people who abuse drugs like cocaine, or even alcohol. I don’t really understand anyone who goes out, gets absolutely battered and then does it all over again with the same stuff the next day.

Now, I’m as fond of a drink as the next man but there are times when I’ve had rather too much the night before and the thoughts of another drink makes me want to vomit out of my arse, back into my mouth then dribble it out of my nose in a cup before glugging it all down again. That’s the whole point of the hangover, isn’t it? It’s your body saying “FUCK YOU, FUCKER. GIVE ME A BREAK.”

Why is it that some people can ignore that or choose to ignore it? Are they like weird people that don’t feel any pain? Is it some kind of genetic defect that they can simply carry on doing the thing that makes them feel so shit and as such they become an alcoholic or a cocaine addict? Do they lack common sense?

Shouldn’t we, as a society, not be concentrating on finding out why people are addicts rather than trying to treat them? Anyone who becomes addicted to drugs or alcohol should be rounded up and brought to a special camp of some kind where all manner of experiments could be carried out until we have discovered why it is they are addicted and other people are not.

Then we can simply create a vaccine which can be administered to all children (and after a few years we’ll have streamlined it so the side effects and physical mutations it causes are minimised) and lo and behold you have no more addicts which means safer streets, less crime and less witless, boring cunts waffling non-stop in your ear at parties.

I have failed you

by Twenty Major on June 9th, 2007

There I was sitting, drinking beer in the glorious afternoon sun yesterday in the centre of town.

In the middle of the conversation who should walk by but Barry Egan. It didn’t register with me for about 20 seconds though and by the time I had got up and gone after him to smash his hideous fucking face in he had disappeared.

I really hope you can forgive me. I’m so, so sorry.

Summertime and the livin’ is easy

by Twenty Major on June 8th, 2007

Ahh, I love summer, I have to say.

Winter is completely gay, what with its cold, rain, damp and frost. Also, there are Albanians everywhere in winter and that vexes me greatly.

Spring, it’s sort of like winter’s bitch. One day you think you’re escaping its clutches and the next it’s fucking horrible again.

Autumn isn’t too bad. It’s like summer’s bitch and often we get these ‘Indian’ summers with hot days in September although the emergence from the woods of Apaches and Navajos having at each other with tomahawks and the like can make the Phoenix Park a more dangerous place.

Is there anything nicer than sitting out in the sun drinking beer watching the world go by. We tried to get Ron to install a beer garden but he told us to fuck off and called us ponces. In hindsight sitting at the back of Ron’s staring a concrete wall rather than overlooking the sea probably wouldn’t have been much fun.

The other day I went up to the Blue Light, a place Adam Clayton knows well, but it was all a bit Deliverance and fearing for my bottom I went elsewhere.

This weekend I think I might find a pub with views of the snot green sea and drink pints until I fall over. How about you?