New World Corrder

by Twenty Major on May 30th, 2008

And so it was that The Corrs career in America ended. Good work, Jim!

via MC Mulley.

What would it be?

by Twenty Major on May 30th, 2008

If aliens came down to earth and surveyed our planet, its people, cultures, customs and habits, what do you think the thing they’d be most impressed with would be?

Writing, perhaps? Our ability to create stories that live in people’s minds for their whole lives?

Art? Beautiful paintings, sculptures, etchings and such. That some people have such wonderful ability to create real art (and not some spunk covered sheets like that old geebag Emin) would be impressive to them, no?

Architecture? From simple cave dwellings we have progressed to making enormous buildings that reach high into the sky. Some are ugly, some are rather sleek and wonderful, but it’s an achievement of mankind.

Maybe it’d just be the fact we have developed, most of us anyway, a moral compass by which we try to live our lives. We don’t always succeed but the fact that most of us try and do the right thing most of the time, albeit on the back of a primitive fear of Gods, must be an interesting concept.

Me, I think it’s music. It’s something we take for granted but is there anything else that can cheer us up, make us sad, send shivers down our spines, put a spring in your step or just be so emotive? You don’t need to understand the lyrics necessarily, the melody, the chord change can be just as powerful as whatever the singer’s singing about. And, of course, not every piece of music has singing.

If you could choose one piece of music to beam into space to say ‘Here we are - this is what we have created’, what would it be?

For me it’s got to be the end music from the Incredible Hulk.

Your favourite joke

by Twenty Major on May 29th, 2008

Seeing as it’s all going wrong in the comments below, what is your favourite joke of all time?

Me, I’m terrible at remembering jokes. I get that from my mother who would eagerly regale us at the dinner table with often longwinded stories until she forgot the punchline. Every. Single. Time.

The only one I can ever remember is one I got in a cracker a couple of Christmases ago:

Q: “What’s the smallest pub in the world?”

A: The Thalidomide Arms

Blame it on the weather, man

by Twenty Major on May 29th, 2008

You know people think the Irish are a bunch of fun loving, craicoholics, always quick with a joke or a smile or a yarn.

But that’s only when we’re pissed. The rest of the time we’re a pack of miserable, grumpy, doleful begrduging cunts. And it’s all down to the weather. You live somewhere where it’s grey and damp 320 days a year and your psyche would be tuned in to that grey, gloomy oppression.

This morning I was out and about early, rather unsual for me I have to say but there you go. Sometimes I have errands to run. I walked out the front door and the sun was shining. I went into the shop next door.

“Good morning, shopkeep!”, I said.

“Ahh, good morning, Twenty. The usual?”, he smiled, beaming like the very sun itself.

“You know it, pal!”, I replied, warmed by his beaming.

So he gave me twenty Major, a packet of Swan Vestas and a Texan bar from the box he keeps specially for me. I bade him good day and continued along my way.

“Good morning, Milky”, I said to Milky, the local postman.

“Good morning to you, Twenty”, he said, turning that frown upside down. “Nothing for you today. No bills!”

“Keep those no bills coming”, I replied.

Normally he’s the crankiest bastard in all the kingdom. I saw a woman struggling to get off a bus with a child trolley, or whatever those things are called, and somebody on the bus actually helped her instead of standing their tutting at how long it was taking to disembark.

When I got to where I needed to go the person I needed to see was in tremendous form, remarking that the day was indeed a fine one to carry out the errand that needed to be carried out. And so it was. There is nothing like extracting money from someone while the sun is shining, warming the back of your neck like a farmer.

Imagine what a friendly nation we’d be if we had this kind of weather all the time. I may found the ‘Let’s invent a massive outboard motor to drive us down to just south of the Algrave Party’. You’d vote for me, I know you would.

Extreme skydiving

by Twenty Major on May 28th, 2008

Did you see the story about the bloke who was going to skydive from the edge of space? He was going to go up in a hot air balloon, then jump.

Because he was so high up he’d reach the speed of sound within seconds, it would have been like jumping into a vacuum.

However, the jump had to be cancelled because the balloon drifted away just before he was due to go up. It might be a blessing in disguise. If his team can’t pin a hot air balloon to the ground who knows what else might have gone wrong.

‘Oh look, we forgot to put the glass in his helmet and there’s a big hole for him to have a slash on the way down’.

He’s better off firing the lot of them and starting again. Although I was looking forward to seeing the footage of him burning up on re-entry.

Pipe bombs

by Twenty Major on May 28th, 2008

Pipe bombs. Everywhere you go these days people are talking about pipe bombs.

I bet come Hallowe’en the old ladies down in Moore Street (who I assume are still the only people you can get fireworks from) will be going around with their big coats on shouting “Bangers! Rockets! Sparklers!” and then when you get up close they’ll say “Lookin’ for any pipe bombs, luv?”

Last night two pipe bombs were left in different parts of Dublin but army bomb squad experts were called to the scenes and dismissed them as ‘elaborate hoaxes’.

Now, I can imagine someone having to elaborately hoax a nuclear bomb or one of those ones where it has a spirit level trigger and if the level moves too much it goes off or a bomb where if you’re on a bus and the speed of the bus goes over 50mph then the bomb is armed. But how elaborate does a pipe bomb hoax have to be?

A length of pipe closed up at both ends with the word ‘pype bom’ written on it?

Or maybe there was a series of clues sent to the Gardai.

“Look Jarleth, what does this mean at all?”

“Well, it’s a picture, Tadgh”.

“I know that, ya clown, but what does it mean?”

“Well, that’s a picture of a block of Cavendish tobacco and a great big arse”.

“Jaysus, this is quite the conundrum.”

*some hours later*

“You know, the tobacco could be used for a pipe”.

“Pipe, you say”.

“But what about this arse?”

“Hmmm….”

*many hours later*

“So Peter Sellers was Inspector Clouseau and an arse is a bum and when he said ‘bum’ he meant ‘bomb’!”

“Jesus wept, there’s a pipe bomb somewhere!!”

Anyway, they do seem a bit crap, these pipe bombs. But if they’re 10 for a fiver I’ll get a few down Moore Street.

Dundrum

by Twenty Major on May 27th, 2008

Nowadays when you mention Dundrum people think of the big shopping centre with its bars, restaurants, cinema complex and even a nightclub.

It’s a shame because it used to be that when you thought of Dundrum you thought of mentalists all locked up in the madhouse. Political correctness has seen it renamed the ‘Central Mental Hospital’.

“Haha!”, we’d laugh while pointing at little Joey Ryan, “your Dad’s in Dundrum!”

You didn’t even need to say where in Dundrum he was. Once you mentioned the name of the place everyone knew it was the lunatic asylum. The government has been planning to move the Central Mental Hospital to some site on the northside of Dublin but a new report says it’d be cheaper to just sell off some land and rebuild the hospital where it is now.

I welcome that. Dundrum needs to be known for its mentalness again. Sadly it seems thousands of people flocking to a shopping centre on a Sunday for a family day out to buy shite they just don’t need isn’t mad enough to keep up the tradition.

The old man

by Twenty Major on May 27th, 2008

The old man walked slowly along the road, the soles of his shoes barely skimming the surface, making a scraping swish as he went.

Nobody paid too much attention to him. He was just another old man going slowly from one place to another, his overcoat non-descript, the cap pulled down over his eyes. His life was mostly over, he knew that. The majority of it was behind him, the best days certainly. His limbs ached first thing in the morning. When he was in his forties that ache drifted away with the first cup of coffee, now he was lucky if it left him before he went back to bed at night.

He had kind eyes that still had a bit of sparkle to them. He smiled to himself as he looked back and remembered how intently people had looked into those eyes. They wanted reassurance, they sought answers, hoping to see that twinkle and not the change that came about when what he told them was the last thing they wanted to hear.

He’d retired almost ten years ago now. It had been a tough decision to make. All those years doing what he loved the most. Some of it, naturally, had been heartbreaking. But those times when they came panicked, shaking, crying, desperate and he could turn around afterwards, smile his smile and tell them that everything would be fine were almost priceless. As old age killed so many memories he clung to those like a frightened child to a parent’s hand in a crowded place.

“Your cat is going to be ok”, he’d say and the young lady would visibly relax in front his eyes.

“Rover’s going to have to wear a cast for a while, and he’s going to be sore, but he’ll survive”, and the poor man who had accidentally backed over the family pet might weep in front of him. Tears of relief but always borne out of love for the animals we share our homes with.

You got used to breaking the bad news, comforted by the fact you knew you had done your best for the animal. Often putting it out of its misery brought solace, taking away the pain, treating the poor creature better than humans treat each other. He thought about how we try our best for our own but many times we prolong the agony, for the sufferer and those who have to watch. How it would be best to simply put them to sleep like he did so many times.

The wind blew as he made his way home. He pulled the lapels of his coat tighter around his neck, wishing he’d remembered to wear a scarf. The chill made his eyes water a little and he wiped at them with his sleeve. The street was busy with pedestrians, schools had just come out, youngsters, shouting and laughing, headed towards home. So vibrant, so physical, pushing and pulling each other, mock fights, so much energy. He felt the pain in his lower back as he thought about it. Jealousy was never an emotion he had time for but he longed for their sheer ignorance of the far side of life. Death was not even on their radar though some of them would fall by the wayside. Accidents, drugs, illnesses, murder - the last thing they would ever expect.

He stopped, scanned the traffic, moving surprisingly well. He saw the bus from a distance. While every other part of him had felt the effects of time his eyesight remained good. He saw the number. How many times had he taken that route? He couldn’t even count. It came closer, closer, the roar of the engine dominating the sounds that echoed off the wall on the far side of the road. He stopped at the very edge of the path, cracked his neck from left to right, closed his eyes.

He felt the wind blast his face as it sped by. It was enough. For now.

Typewriting legends

by Twenty Major on May 26th, 2008

I have developed a great admiration for anybody that every wrote anything above 1000 words using a typewriter.

The best thing about a computer is that you can’t go ‘arrrrrrggghhhh!’ and scrunch up the shite you’ve just written. Or maybe that’s the worst thing.

Stuff

by Twenty Major on May 26th, 2008

There are two types of people in this world. Those that think that alcoholics have a disease and people that aren’t fucking morons.

What celebrity names can you combine to make a more apt name for one of the celebrities? Elton John and Marvin Gaye becoming Elton Gaye is the only one I can think of. I haven’t given this much thought.

People are often shocked when you walk past them at 3.30am, pleasantly drunk, and you wish them a ‘good evening’.

Listening to an album for the first time is often a chore and you secretly wish for the familarity of something older but the ennui with the older stuff is what’s making you listen to something new in the first place.

It should be legal to have torpedos on the front of cars so you can blow the fuck out of cunts on horses and carts poodling along at 5mph.

Painkillers are humanity’s greatest invention.

Stinking Pete claims he went to a ‘lesbian party’ last week. He said it was much the same as any other party he’s been to but there were more lesbians.

Throatripper’s scratches take fucking ages to heal.

Sometimes there’s just too much stuff to do and not enough time to do it.