Irish gangsters are fucking crap

by Twenty Major on January 27th, 2008

It was interesting reading about Martin “The Viper” Foley being shot on Saturday. Apparently the gunman got off 9 shots, hit him with 5 or 6, and still didn’t kill him.

Seriously, how fucking crap do you have to be to shoot somebody 6 times and not kill him? Was he using a fucking water pistol, or something?

Grump

by Twenty Major on January 25th, 2008

I am in a grump today.

I woke up feeling grumpy, I drank coffee grumpily, I ate a grumpy breakfast and I’ve been doing some grumpy work.

I suspect later I’m going to have some grumpy pints, make some grumpy comments about some cunts, grump my way home, perhaps stopping for a grumpy bag of chips on the way home, before having a grumpy nightcap and going grumpaciously to bed.

I do not expect to be so grumpy tomorrow.

I think I’ll be grouchy instead.

Bloggers and blogging and stuff

by Twenty Major on January 25th, 2008

With all the recent talk about blogs v traditional media I think it’s probably time to chuck my two cents in.

People accuse blogs of all kinds of things, such as being reactionary, aggressive, hate-filled, cruel, cynical, bitter and probably a little bit twisted. And they’re right. Sometimes blogs can be some of those things, all of those things in fact, and I don’t think too many bloggers would disagree. If John Waters had said “Lego is stupid and everyone who ever used Lego is stupid”, I bet he’d still have gotten a load of grief from bloggers. Lego is fucking cool, after all. It’s the ability to counter what is peddled in the media that makes blogging so interesting to me. All we had before was the letters page in a newspaper where your brilliant 2000 word riposte was cut down to 150 words making you look like a chump.

Now anyone can set themselves up in minutes and start responding to the stuff they hear on the radio or read in the newspapers. It gives a voice to anyone who wants one and yes, some of it is OTT and not always as considered as it might be.

It’s the ‘instant’ part of publishing blogs that gives rise to it. You see a story, it gets your goat or grinds your gears, and you can bash out a thousand words, call a few people ‘cunts’ and it’s up and running and there for the world to see in moments. There’s no question many bloggers could do with ‘count to 10 before you blog’ philosophy. I’m sure I’m one of them but the very nature of blogging is that you can publish and be damned straight away. There’s no sub-editor to say ‘Erm, you might want to reconsider this particular section where you talk about this politician/famous person/crook’. There’s no deadline which has you reading over your work again, wondering if that wasn’t perhaps a bit harsh.

You write. You publish. You blog.

On the other hand you don’t as often hear people talking of blogs being funny, witty, entertaining, well-written, informative, investigative, emotional and honest. Which is a shame, because a lot of blogs are. Blogs give people a chance to showcase their talents as writers, it gives people a chance to read the writing of people they would never have had the chance to come across in print form. Magazines, pamphlets, rag mags etc, all cost money to produce which means your average Joe or Joette doesn’t get involved.

There are, without question, some really shit bloggers but then there are some really shit journalists too. Being in newsprint does not make any guarantee of quality.

Do some bloggers take themselves too seriously? Unquestionably. But then some amateur footballers take themselves too seriously, it’s just human nature.

Blogging is a medium which, in Ireland at least, is slowly becoming more accepted as something that does have merit and isn’t just a tech-nerd’s pastime. Newspapers, like the Irish Times, have seen that having quality blogs on their site adds value to their service. The two things can compliment each other, they don’t need to be directly opposed. I managed to wangle a book deal, for fuck’s sake, so for people to still consider blogging as a irrelevance is wrong. Without the blog I’d most likely never have been on the brink of having a novel published (it’s in shops soon!!!!), nor would Grandad or any of the others who, through their blogs, have convinced tradtional publishers that what they write can make the jump to paper and ink and a more traditional audience.

Now, I’m not suggesting that blogs are the future and the greatest thing since sliced bread. If you like writing, why not blog? If you like reading stuff, why not read blogs? If you don’t like blogs then all you have to do is not read them. It’s fairly fucking simple. You don’t like the Sun, don’t read it. Buy a different paper instead. You don’t like Cecilia Ahern, buy a different book. Don’t like all the sex on TV, switch off, but don’t fucking be Mary Whitehouse.

The last thing I’d say in defence of blogs v traditional print is that all this great content - once you’ve sifted through the crap - is, for the most part, being produced and handed to you for free. People take time and effort every day to write something for their audience, they do not expect to be paid for it, most of them are writing just for the pleasure of writing or engaging with their readers in the comments. You’re not being asked to shell out €2 every time you want to read a blog.

And that’s the incredible thing. That people are so willing to spend so much of their time producing original, innovative and interesting content for absolutely no reward on a financial level. How many journalists/columnists would spend as much time writing for free? So, all these blogs are there for you every single day and all you have to do is click around and read the ones you want.

And even still, if you don’t like a blog you can leave a comment saying ‘This is shit’ or ‘You are a fucking cunt’, if that’s what you’re into. And most likely the blogger will engage with you. Probably to tell you to fuck off, quite rightly, but that option is there for you.

I completely and utterly understand people who may not like blogs, who don’t like blogging, but to harp on constantly about the negative aspects of blogging, or anything else for that matter, without even trying to see the positives is a blinkered, short-sighted view.

The bottom line is if you like something, read it. If you don’t like it, don’t read it. It’s not like blogs are going to take over the world, is it?

Well, not yet.

It just never stops

by Twenty Major on January 24th, 2008

“Here, I was reading your blog last night”, said Dirty Dave.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve got one for your celebrity names thing.”

“Go on then.”

“Ron the Carman - he’ll look after your automobile!”

“Erm…”

“Timmy the Bollix - the Famous Five dog is a bit of a hard bastard!”

“Uhm…”

“Stinking Pepe - smelly French barfly!”

“Guh…”

“Dirty Cave - with one letter I become Oprah’s anal passage!”

“That’s enough now.”

“Splodgi - birthmarked bloke becomes famous Dingle dolphin.”

“That doesn’t even work, you twat.”

“Mucky Luciano - mud covered compassionate assassin!”

“That one’s not bad.”

“Twenty Manor - chain smoking, Guinness drinking, white-beared country estate!”

“Capital work. But really, that’s enough.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right, I’d best head off anyway. I’ve rented a DVD to watch.”

“Oh yeah? What did you get?”

“That one about the yiddish speaking shark.”

“Eh?”

“Jews!

Ch-ch-change, not changes

by Twenty Major on January 23rd, 2008

Actors - what a bunch of self-indulgent, up their own arses cunts. I think you have to be a bit of a lunatic to want to be an actor anyway, which is probably why so many of them take the River Phoenix option.

Like yer man from that new Batman film, Heath Ledger. Then I was thinking if you changed just one letter in his name he becomes Death Ledger. Spooky, or what? Then I was thinking further what fun, relatively speaking, you could have by changing one letter of a person’s name to make another word. Or something.

Shane Hogarty - Irish Times columnist and man who likes to roll around in filth on farms

Willie O’Pea - gun toting government minister, fistcuffs seeker and little round green fuckwit

Cock the Robber - Limerick blogger who will steal from you with his big, red helmet

Daniel Gay Lewis - Actor and huge Streisand fan

Enda - haunting vocals, crayon drawn videos and perfectl elevator music from one of Donegal’s favourite sons

Wavin Friday - A shit hanger-on in pipe form

Toy Keane - a little plastic ex-Man United footballer. Batteries not included.

Oral Barry - radio presenter and fellatio expert

And that’s just Irish people. Go worldwide and it’s even better.

Uri Yeller - loudmouthed celebrity ‘psychic’.

Lenny Truce - Comic who can always find a conciliatory tone during any conflict

Jane Honda - Vietnam hating actress and easy ride

Nicole Kidmap - ex-Ginger who you can open out to find out where your children are and how to get there

Sarah Jessica Barker - Dog

You see, the possibilities are almost endless. Let’s have yours.

Time for some payback

by Twenty Major on January 22nd, 2008

You know so much about me. Where I drink, who I drink with, what I drink, how often I drink, in which places I drink, the company I keep when I drink, which particular drinks I drink, and so on.

But I feel I know nothing about you. And this disturbs me. So, I have posed 5 questions which will allow me to get to you know you just that little bit better. Feel free to answer only the questions that apply to you. If you don’t feel comfortable answering a particular question then simply ignore it. There’s no pressure here.

Right then, here we go.

1 - How many sugars do you take in a cup of tea?

2 - What is your favourite biscuit?

3 - What’s the worst place on earth you’ve ever been to?

4 - Do you like cucumber?

5 - What was the first book you ever read?

Let the answerening beginitise.

The saga continues

by Twenty Major on January 22nd, 2008

“Twenty”, said Dirty Dave last night, “I’m out of my mind with worry.”

“About anything in particular?”

“Oh, nothing much. JUST MY MISSING LOVECHILD.”

“Ahh, that. I’m sure he’ll turn up. Look, there he is coming through the door now.”

“Is it? Felipe? Oh, you cunt, Twenty. That’s just old Larry who sleeps down in the Blackpits who Ron gives a cup-a-soup to every night.”

“Sorry, it’s hard to tell. He’s a rancid old fucker and Flithy Felipe is rancid fucker too.”

“Shut up, he’s only half-rancid.”

“Why don’t you ask some of his friends if they’ve seen him?”

“I would but I don’t speak whatever language it is they speak in Spain, plus his mother has already done that. Nobody has seen him at all.”

“What if he murdered somebody and has gone on the run?!”

“Don’t say that.”

“Or what if he got raped by a confused child molester who mistook him for a child but bummed him all the same then disposed of his body in an incinerator?!”

“Oh Jesus.”

“It could be worse than that even.”

“It could?”

“Yeah, he might have joined a circus and that would mean that he’s surrounded by clowns and dwarves and sometimes dwarf clowns. There’d be no way back for him then.”

“Well at least he’d be safe.”

“Safe? Within days he’d have caught the small from the dwarves and before you know it he’d be painting his face like Bobo or Chuckles. If he ever did come back the only kind thing to do would be to put him out of his misery. It’d have to be done from a distance though in case you got Clown AIDS from the splatter.”

Just then Dave’s phone rang.

“Hello?”, he said. “You what? They have? Where? You’re joking? What the fuck was he doing there? Right, I see. Thanks for letting me know.”

“Well, where was he?”

“Who?”

“Felipe, you mong.”

“I’ve got no idea, that was my neighbour Mick who said he saw that cunt from the Manic Street Preachers working behind the counter in a deli in Stoneybatter.”

“I hate talking to you sometimes, Dave. I really do.”

I know it’s old…

by Twenty Major on January 21st, 2008

…but which one of the three do you reckon has taken the most pills?

No dice

by Twenty Major on January 21st, 2008

Stinking Pete and Dirty Dave sat playing a popular board game one evening.

“You know”, said Stinking Pete, “I think there’s something wrong with this game. I can’t get up to slide back down.”

“You’re not wrong there”, said Dirty Dave, “I’ve noticed the same thing.”

After some hours of playing they grew thoroughly frustrated with the whole endeavor until Dirty Dave discovered the reason for the game’s unplayability. A simple spelling mistake on the box had meant that nobody could possibly win a game of Snakes and Adders.

Stop fucking calling on people

by Twenty Major on January 21st, 2008

Enda Kenny has repeated his call for the Taoiseach to resign because of the controversy surrounding his bank accounts/loans/cash in safes/savings/dig-outs/whip-arounds and tax situation.

But hasn’t he learned by now that calling on someone to do something generally never works. For example, if at some stage tomorrow Enda Kenny called on me to do something I’d be inclined to do just the opposite, simply because he called on me to do it.

“I call on Twenty Major to not kill any puppies”, he might say, and as much as I like puppies I’m afraid I would have to seriously consider killing one just to teach Enda a lesson.

Hasn’t Enda ever heard of a little thing called ‘reverse pyschology’? That would surely be a better idea than constantly going on at him to resign.

“I think Bertie is great”, he could opine, “and fair play to him for doing such a great old job. I call on him to stay in office for another 15 years.”

And Bertie would be thinking “Jaysus, what’s dat fecker up to? I’m resigning straight away, right after I cash dis cheque I got from me muddor”.

And that’s not the only kind of calling on people that’s crap. What about people that call on you when you’re enjoying a relaxing day at home? One moment you’re sitting there as happy as can be and the next the doorbell rings and you have to go rushing around to find some pants and when you open the door it’s some cunt who you don’t want to see who was just passing and thought they’d drop in to say hello.

That is why we invented letter writing, cuntos. If you want to say hello to somebody a hand-written missive is the way to go.

It certainly makes me regret Dublin Corporation turning down my request to keep a panther lair in my front garden. They thought it might be dangerous for passers-by as panthers like nothing more than to eat passers-by (novelty you see, you don’t get many where they come from) but I’ll tell you this much - there’d be far fewer cunts calling to my door if the garden was patroled by Archie and Gunther Panther (I had the names picked out already).

It was a strange weekend just gone. Dirty Dave had some bad news from Spain. His lovechild, Filthy Felipe, has gone missing. His mother, Yolanda, called up Dave to see if he’d made his way to Ireland but Dave hasn’t seen sight nor sound of him. Apparently he left home a week ago and nobody has seen him since. Obviously Dave is frantic with worry but I’ve been helping.

I explained that as Dave was particularly dim and any woman that would breed with him had to be even dimmer then the chances are the poor fucker has just gotten lost somewhere. Stinking Pete reckons he should go to Sky News so he can get publicity and make friends with the McCanns so Pete can try and get his hole with Kate but I told him that was unlikely to happen what with him being a disugsting old cunt and all.

Anyway, if you see a half-Irish, half-Spanish filthbag wandering the streets near you it’s probably Dave’s idiot son.