Morning dilemma

by Twenty Major on August 28th, 2008

“I’ll be there at 9!”, he said.

Now it’s half-nine and he still hasn’t arrived. I am now in the precarious position that I very much need to have a poo but I know that the moment I sit down and begin the unfurling the doorbell will go. And as I am a man who believes that a good movement is one which involves reading some pages of a book, or at least a couple of games of Solitaire on my phone, I will open the door some minutes later (for nothing will hurry my ablutions) he will be gone.

Then I sit here and think ‘You know, if you’d actually gone for a poo instead of writing this post then it’d be over and done with by now and this wouldn’t be an issue’.

However, that kind of thinking is flawed. The man simply will not arrive mid-blog post, he will certainly arrive mid-plop.

The worst part is that he’ll occupy so much of my time when he does arrive, what with his incessant talking and stuff, that soon my bowels will be crying out like an Austrian girl in a cellar and the meeting will become essentially useless. I will hurry him from the house without a satisfactory outcome and the whole thing will become utterly pointless.

What to do?

Fuck it. I’m off to the bathroom. A man cannot be expected to wait, especially by somebody who lacks the manners and basic decency to be punctual. In fact, I might keep a clump so I can smear it into his hair to teach him a lesson in the aforementioned traits.

Recession? What recession?

by Twenty Major on August 27th, 2008

Spotted in Superquinn.

It should be legal to smash the face in of anyone who buys this. The ultimate cunt accessory.

They don’t come true, mostly

by Twenty Major on August 27th, 2008

Stinking Pete claims his is when he’s violated by loveable alien Alf who then proceedes to tell everyone what had happened. This causes many people to point and laugh at him and then he gives birth to alien babies from his anus.

Jimmy the Bollix says for him it’s when his mother is killed before his very eyes and the people who do it promise to pursue him to the ends of the earth to kill him as well. He spends years on the run and eventually thinks he’s safe but in the end they find him.

Splodge says it’s when he’s forced to audition for Boyzone on the Late, Late show, except instead of dungarees he’s wearing a pink g-string and all his ex-girlfriends are in the audience.

For me it’s when I stay in my grandfather’s house and I wake up in the middle of the night. In the room there are two beds and as I turn over I can see my grandfather’s skelton, still covered in skin and bone, lying on the bed. The light coming through the window makes all the bloody tissue glisten and then, slowly, he turns his head towards me, his eyes staring right at me, and I can hear the chatter of his skeleton teeth but no words come from his mouth.

Another one is when I’m about five or six. Outside my window is a big tree and to the right of the tree is the garage of the house where my mother is working on fixing a bicycle. I can see the light shining out. It’s yellow and warm. Then, at the bottom of the tree, I see the light reflect on the eye of a tiger (no, really) and it’s moving slowly towards the garage. I try to shout but I just can’t make a sound. Then I generally wake up.

Recurring dreams. What’s yours?

Missed calls

by Twenty Major on August 26th, 2008

This morning I rang a wrong number. It went to the answering machine and I hung up when I realised it was the wrong number.

A couple of hours later the phone rang.

“Hello”, I said.

“What?”, said a voice.

“What do you mean, what?”

“What do you want?”

“Erm, you rang me”.

“I got a missed call from this number this morning”.

“Oh, sorry about that. My fault, I rang the wrong number”.

“Yeah, but I got a missed call from this number this morning”.

“I just told you, I dialled the wrong number”.

“So you didn’t want anything?”

“No. Goodbye”.

Now, who the fuck rings a number back when they miss a call? Weirdos, that’s who. If I see I’ve missed a call from a number I don’t recognise then the last thing I’d do is call it back. I figure if it’s important they’ll call again, or at least leave a message.

I wouldn’t call back. What if it was someone you really didn’t want to talk to? So I figure the bloke this morning was either really lonely and desperate for human contact or a glutton for punishment.

Lend me your ears

by Twenty Major on August 26th, 2008

“Twenty”, said Dirty Dave, “did you see they found a huge statue of a Roman ruler in Turkey?”

“No, I did not”.

“It’s odd though, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“That they would make a statue like that?”

“Is it?”

“I mean, a statue of a great emporer is one thing but a simple measuring device hardly deserves such acclaim”.

“Jesus. Did you know that it was Roman emperor who invented the concept of deja-vu?”

“Really?”

“Yes”.

“Goodness”.

“Also, without the Romans there would be such thing as Playstations”.

“You’re kidding”.

“No”.

“That’s fascinating”.

“And they came up with the idea of unmanned space flight, suggesting that monkeys could be used to test it before we sent people up there. They predated the efforts of the Americans by centuries”.

“I’m staggered”.

“Of course they didn’t suggest dogs like the Russians used because that would have been unspeakably cruel”.

“Exactly, how is a dog supposed to go for a walk when he’s that far up in a space capsule. Those Romans, no wonder they died out”.

Speckled eyeballs

by Twenty Major on August 25th, 2008

I have spent the day painting ceilings (they get a bit yellowed with all the smoke, don’t you know). However, I believe I should have worn some kind of goggles as my previously captivating hazel eyes are now splattered with white bits.

I’m going to let the paint dry then scratch it off with a pin.

A green solution

by Twenty Major on August 25th, 2008

A guy came into Ron’s Bar last night and tried to shoot a customer in the head. He missed but I have to say we were outraged.

You can’t just walk into a bar and start shooting at people. What kind of animals are they? I don’t give a fuck if you want to kill somebody but if you know what bar he drinks in then you know where he lives and shooting somebody in a bar is hugely disruptive.

People start screaming (Dirty Dave) and running around with their hands in the air bemoaning the lack of manners and principles today (Stinking Pete) and generally getting over excited. People go to bars to have some beer or other booze and forget about their troubles. If these scumbag knackers are so determined to shoot somebody they should just wait until the person has finished their hooch. It’s basic manners, let’s be realistic about it.

The guy they were trying to shoot in Ron’s was a nobody. They got him mixed up with his brother who is a cunt. Thankfully no innocent people were hurt in this savage attack but the guy who shot the gun is now pulp and at the bottom of Ron’s green bin.

Recycling is good, sometimes.

Reasons to love iPods - part 345

by Twenty Major on August 22nd, 2008

Sitting on a bus today. In front of me were a couple of teenagers, we’ll call them Deco and Antoinette. They proceed to wear the faces off each other for the duration of the journey.

The book I was reading ensured that my eyes were kept away from the gruesome scene but the iPod and the quite excellent album I was listening to meant I didn’t hear any of the terrible slurping and smacking sounds which, by the reaction of other people around me, I’m quite sure they were making.

God bless you, iPod.

Fight for your right …

by Twenty Major on August 22nd, 2008

“Twenty”, said Dirty Dave. “I read your post during the week about people being put down like dogs when they get really sick”.

“I see”.

“If I got really sick would you put me out my misery?”

“Chances are killing you would put us out of our misery so, yeah. I don’t think that would be a problem”.

“I suppose now’s as good a time as any to tell you then”.

“Tell me what?”

“I went to the doctor’s yesterday as I haven’t been feeling too well and well … I … uhm …”

“What is it?”

“This is hard, Twenty”

“I understand … heart disease? Cancer of the anus? Suicidal tendencies? Parkinson’s disease?”

“No, worse that that”.

“Worse. Jesus. What’s worse than that?”

“Scurvy”

“Scurvy?!”

“Not just ordinary scurvy either. I’ve got purulent explosive scurvy”.

“But surely that’s not fatal. All you need to do is get some vitamin C into you”.

“That’s easy for you to say. I’ve gone off vitamin C since I ate that entire bag of satsumas last month and spent three days shooting brown Tropicana out of my arse”.

“What about those little orange flavoured vitamin C tablets?”

“No, can’t do it. I cannot have anything orangey. Not juice, not tablets, not a Terry’s chocolate orange, not a protestant’s quim”.

“I’m not sure scurvy is fatal though-”

“I appreciate what you’re doing, trying to keep my spirits up, but this is the end for poor old Dave. Will you help me? Will you assist me?”

“Sure”.

“I think I’d like to go peacefully in my bed, with the light shining through the window, surrounded by my friends with my favourite Giorgio Moroder & Philip Oakey song playing. As I slowly slip into the eternal darkness I’ll be comforted by your sobs”.

“I’m willing to help but the only way I’ll do it is to cave your head in with a shovel out the back of the bar here”.

“Hmmmm. Vitamin C, you say?”

How come Jamaicans can run so fast all of a sudden?

by Twenty Major on August 21st, 2008

Classic Christmas cracker joke.

Man - My wife’s gone on holidays.

Man 2 - Jamaica?

Man - No, she went of her own accord.

Hilarious. However, I am interested to not that that Jamaica has been sweeping the medals in sprinting events at the Olympics. For a country with a smaller population than Ireland they’re creaming them in. The awesome Usain Bolt broke both the 100m and 200m world records. The Jamaican women are flying too finishing 1, 2 and 3 in the 100m to go along with the three finalists in the men’s event.

It’s fairly remarkable, isn’t it? That a country whose stereotypical drug of choice is one that makes you lie down and eat biscuits and talk shite.

Do they just have the best trainers? They surely don’t have the best facilities. Is there something in the air in Jamaica that produces these wonderful athletes?

Or should we be suspicious that someone like Usain Bolt can beat the 100m world record without even trying?

It’s not difficult to be cynical about professional athletes. I’d love to think all the Jamaicans are doing it without any artificial help but the suspicious part of me says there’s something going on.