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! Cant impart too much information as I would have to kill you with my bare hands

Friday, December 29, 2006

Quite Nite

Im feeling in a strange mood - mostly because of the last couple of weeks have been a bit of a rollarcoaster for me. I found an old disc that was done a few years back by an old friend of mine with the muse track unintended which I loved but never seen the video so I You tubed it, it would be scary if watching it on drugs, the second one is from my past collection and its proof you dont need a huge budget for a powerful video the third is of Katie Melua and its for Dan O Bannon fans - its quite here My girls are asleep and my chap is gone to collect my stepkids over in the UK I guess you can measure the vulnerabilty here by the music Im Posting/ listening to.. ooops I hear rumblings on the baby monitor.. Enjoy the powerful lyrics if you want to listen..

Thursday, December 28, 2006

Missing off the face of Hogmanay

This is my first time on the net since the 21st and right now my two toddlers are vying for attention to settle down and chill out with the essential cuddles before the sandman comes and does his magic (it better be four scoupefuls of his cement best, Daddy and I want to make some magic of our own before enforced celibacy comes in the shape of 3 other kids staying at ours for about 6 days - the twang of the wah wah peddle will be a merer echo of past) I wish you all a very happy blessed and peaceful new year and look forward to reading all your delightful words next year Im listening to this song at the moment - a beautiful sentiment lyrically and literally (- and the birds on the video are a bit of alright too eh lads?? ;OP)

Thursday, December 21, 2006

Over the Holidays

Dont mix your drink and drugs by all means do it individually or you could end up dicing with death like these unfortunate ones

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

How it should have ended

I am still like a rabbit in headlights having seen the Richard Donner cut of superman II I like them both for different reasons but think Donner should have really been at the helm all the way originally check out the link and the other 3 are just for giggles. Enjoy

Waking the Dead

For those of you who have seen the movie Snatch by Guy Ritchie will know about the sub culture of Pikeys that seems to originate here in Ireland. My Dad absolutely loathes these people and with good reason too as they made his working life a nightmare. Dad up until two years ago was on board manager on a ferry company that sailed from Dublin to Holyhead Wales twice a day. He would spend a week on the ferry and a week on terra firma at home and such was his life for nearly 32 years. Every week I would look forward to hearing his stories about the incidents that happened during his weeks work. Most of the stories where side splittingly funny and always involved the intinerants AKA gyppos, knackers, pikeys , travellers, cream crackers etc

One morning when he arrived home he brought with him the King of stories and its one I tell to this day whenever the subject comes up about irish gypsies. Whenever there is a funeral or a wedding, the gypsies would travel over in droves, their caravans, 'dawgs' and Hiace vans in tow. The would run amok shop lifting in the Duty free area, their kids use the childrens play area like a cess pit and the bar would make for a boxing ring or campsite for the whiskey nosed men and women alike. I am not trying to portray these people badly honestly its hard facts and when I travelled over on the ship I witnessed this myself.

On this particular shift my dad was working on, a galley boy rang him at the main reception to call out a car registration over the tanoy apparently some guy was asleep in the back of the car and for insurance purposes as my dad knew, he could not stay there and all efforts to wake up the guy fell on deaf ears. My Dad announced for the owners of the vehicle to come to reception. He said their shadows fell upon him five minutes before they appeared- two of the biggest pikeys he had ever seen, he said they had fists like christmas hams.
Pikey 1:'whats yer problem baws'? (pikeys call everyone Boss or mister)
Dad : My problem Sir is your friend cant sleep in the car when the ship is at sea, it goes against the health and safety regulations and for insurance purposes he must go up onto the deck, Im sorry but rules are rules
Pikey 2 ' Ahh its okehh baws hes dead
Dad: He's What?!
Pikey 1: He's Dead boss, ysee mister it would cost us eight hundred pound to bring him over in a coffin so we brought him in the keyar as a passanger for sixty
Dad (picking his jaw up)When did he die?
Pikey 2: Three days ago sir, We drove from maidstone to holyhead 3 days ago
Dad : What did he die of?
Pikey 1: A monday sir
Dad No what killed him
Pikey 1: Awhh D'owl drink got him baws
Dad well we have to move him out of the car and put him in the morgue room here in the ship
Pikey 2;well we'll go down and open the car door because hes got a bit of a bang off him sir and we'll have to break his legs too because of the rigger mortis baws
(a bang means smell)
Dad Just do what you have to do Sir
So he was brought up to the morgue in the ship. About an hour later there was a brawl in the bar and the master of arms was called in to 'arrest' the purpatrators, turns out that it was the dead dudes wake.

My Dad did have a one off 'business' deal though with a pikey but it fell through, One saturday morning they called to our house with a horse and cart
Pikey - would you have any scrap for the wagon
Dad; Hang on there (walks into the kitchen to my mother , Monica theres someone at the door for you
Dad behind my mother; Will she do?
Pikey : Ahh throw her up on the back we might get a few bob for her
Fortunately for my father, my mother has a sense of humour otherwise he may have ended up on the knackers cart.

Ho Ho Ho

Tuesday, December 19, 2006

Tag twist

Maybe its the meme virgin in me but I dont mind getting tagged or memed most people around the blogs I visit seems to irk them. General Catz gave me one with a difference.
1. Grab the book closest to you.
2. Open to page 123, go down to the fifth sentence
3. Post the text of next 3 sentences on your blog
4. Name of the book and the author
5. Tag three people

1 Book closest to me is the Demon Hunters handbook - a beautiful illustrated book for my chappy for christmas (hope he does not read this)

2'I beg you again my friend, if you would follow this calling.Do not allow youself the luxury of love! For it will become naught but a weakness for the enemy to prey upon'

3 Strangly there is no author for it just the nom de plume of Armande Van Helsing.. Cracking Illustrations if youre into that kind of stuff

I tag... Hmm Crankster Helene and Slaghammer

Monday, December 18, 2006

Memed by a Cranky Old Bastard

Ive been tagged By crankster, so Ill tag Slaghammer, Stucco, Hammer and General Catz. If you guys have already did this meme please direct me to it in your archives (for proof LOL).
1. Three things that scare me:
-George Bush and His government
-the death of the people I love
-Kondo dragons

2. Three people who make me laugh:
-My Dad
-My Daughters

3. Three things I love:
-My Partner Ryan
-My daughters
-My parents & family

4. Three things I hate:
-celery (tastes like it was watered in the ground with piss)
-Being told to ‘shush’ (I get that pet hate from my mother- do it to her and she’ll go atomic on you)
-lack of compassion

5. Three things I don't understand:
-Poverty in our times
-the unfair treatment of children in the judicial system

6. Three things on my desk (at home)
-A glass pentagram orb
-A wind up walking nun
-A pacifier

7. Three things I'm doing right now:
-Smoking (don’t lecture me please , Im big and hairy enough to know what Im doing- Im giving up SOON)
-Contemplating to put on some face paint because I woke up late and walked into work looking like a banshee
-writing Christmas cards

8. Three things I want to do before I die:
-Write a book and see it published/on film
- Get tattood by Kat Von D
- see my grandchildren graduate

. Three things I can do:
-Sign Language
-Play guitar

10. Three things I can't do:
-Link properly on my blog (cut and paste examples would be appreciated via email - Im a dope at that stuff!)
-Leave things alone in an argument (until things are smoothed out Im like a dog with a bone)
-Bend my left pinky (I severed the tendon in it via a shattered hand basin)

11. Three things you should listen to:
-Bill Hicks
-Mark Thomas
-Dead Can Dance

12. Three things you should never listen to:
-Nails on a blackboard
-George Bush

13. Three things I'd like to learn:
- Special effects make up for movies
-How to shuffle like a croupier
-Play Harp/ Classical Piano

14. Three favorite foods:
-Stir Fried Noodles with beansprouts
-Seafood Chowder
-Spaghetti marinated in Mediterranean tomatoes with basil served on toasted batch Mama Mia!

15. Three beverages I drink regularly:
-Diet Coke
-Lots of water

16. Three shows I watched as a kid
-Wildlife on One
-Flash Gordon
- Roald Dahls Tales of the Unexpected

Tuesday, December 12, 2006

Chemical Warfare

When I moved to the UK it was the first time living on my own. I adapted quite well to my independence although I missed my family like crazy. I went there just for the experience of living in another country, granted it was no great culture shock neither was it exotic but it was familiar ground as I had visited there many times before and it was right in the middle of the uk so if I did gain employment from anywhere else in the uk it Leicester was a good centrepoint of travel.

The first place I lived in was owned by a spectacularly oddly matched couple; Rash and Rose (sounds like a dubious adult DVD), Rash was a thirtysomething lapsed sheik who suffered from some form of polio as a child which hardened him up and was a tough geezer to most but still he had a heart of gold underneath it all, Rose was a walking welsh full time mood swinging lady who I would class as an 'aggressive pacifist' yknow sugar coating her conversations and comments without outwardly portraying the true bitch she was. Anyway the house they owned was in a leafy suburb of Leicester - huge house that boasted about 15 converted ensuite rooms (it used to be a 'hotel') and there were people of all nationalities who moved in all at the one time as it was the couples first foray into the world of landlording capitalism. Every evening most of us would congregate into the aircraft hanger sized living room and just basically abuse our livers. Over the next six months some people moved out what with moving to new cities where their work would take them, Rash and Rose lived in on the ground floor out in the back but they came up every evening to take a drink with us and have a laugh. The fine line between tenant and landlord was crossed and too many comments where made with a couple of people which resulted in a clutch of moving. I did not like the place anymore and it began to feel like I was living with watchful parents. So I moved out with 3 others , Annemarie got her own place and with the other two David, Clare and I moved into a flat. After 8 months of living there their relationship soured and I moved out to a house with Anne Maire (confused? I promise you Ill get to the point of this post)

Now Annemarie was someone who I lived with out of necessity not choice. She was a little bohemian which I liked but she was not the most tidiest of women and scarily she looked like Rose West the serial killer. When I was living in Rash's a clutch of us decided to go to a comedy club together while where waiting on Annemarie to get ready in her room and clare wanted to know where the bin was, surveying the geography and judging by the faint smell I reckoned we where sitting in it. The alarm bell soon rang in me from me thinking she was one unorganised and devil may care bint to when I witnessed her openly cannon balling in the car park of the venue as one nasty habited mare (cannon balling - a phenomena that some men indulge in ie holding down one nostril and projecting pressure to the other to 'clear the tubes' without the aid of cotton or tissue). Like it or not I couldnt afford to live with anyone else so I searched for a place and moved in with the baglady.

There was no washing machine in the house so every sunday Id take the five minute walk to the laundrette and do my sack of laundry. she never really came along to do her own and it would be more like once every 3 months- her bedclothes (which turned from peach to grey) didnt leave her bed for about 7 months and could have easily been used as partitions if needed be.Her Socks looked like plywood on the floor and there was puddles of stain clothes and knickers about the place.There was a joke between my boyfriend and I that there was more skid marks in her room then there was in Le Mans race track (Ewwwh I hear you say but the old saying within every jest lies a grain of truth) It got bad though when my chap started to wince at the idea that he was sharing the same bath as she (which she would take once a week despite there being no shower)

Still all in all I like to see the good in everyone and we had some laughs in the time we did house share. She was a media teacher but she set about a course so she could train to teach English in the Gambia when I was nearing the end of my time in the UK. Determined not to leave all my worldly possesions behind me I decided to drag them back to Ireland on several trips at a time (due to financial restrictions)On the morning of one such trip Anne marie was due to go away on a two week training course also. I emptied the fridge of milk and all other things that I thought would spoil but checked with annemarie if she wanted to dispose of her open can of tuna and sliced ham - she said she would deal with it herself so off I went.

I came back to Leicester a day or two earlier than I had planned. When I opened the door a mountain of Junk mail lay on the floor in the hall - grand I thought , no one home. I went upstairs to open the windows and air the place as it was smelling a bit musty. Nothing and I mean Nothing prepared me for what I was about to discover. We lived in an old victorian terrace house, the upstairs branched one room (the chamber of filth) to the right and to the left was a narrow corridor with my room the bathroom and the spare room respectively. I went into my room and the air stank of like a group of winos had defecated and vomited in there. What was that smell?? Did something crawl in and die when I was gone?? Was someone murdered in here and the smell only permeating now through the floorboards or walls? The smell seemed to seep from the bathroom. Given the hindsight I should have opened the door with a yardstick when wearing a biohazard suit but alas it was not meant to be. It looked like a prisoner had made a 'dirty protest in there.The toilet and the bath looked liked it had been sprayed with excreta and vomit. The smell would have gagged a tramp. I could not believe it, I checked all the rooms thinking someone had broken in and seen nothing of value and decided to violate the john for vengeance. I quickly availed of every detergent, bleach and airfreshner I had, within five minutes of the discovery every room had incense belching out of all corners. It seemed that some pungent beast had been unleashed when I opened the door. I really could not understand or comprehend that someone one, and forgive me for sounding sexist, but possibly some woman had left that kind of filth behind them. It had been there for sometime due to its stubbornness of shifting when I cleaned it, kettles of scalding water where used to 'breakdown' the dried in waste.

How could someone lack such a sense of civility never mind self respect

Later that night I was in my room tinkering with my computer trying to get my mind off the days events when I heard the door key turn. It was Annemarie and she was not alone , her elderly parents where in tow too. I was too incandescent with rage to go down and see her so I decided it best to stay where I was. Her parents left about an hour later and I went downstairs.

She lay on the sofa like a diva. A hospital plastic bracelet hung around her wrist ( I thought 'you might not want to take that off too soon you might be needing in the next 10 minutes') 'Hi darling how was ireland' 'Clean' I replied through gritted teeth to which was swiftly followed with ' what the fuck went on here when I was away' she then proceeded to tell me that she had got back early from her course and ate the tuna and ham that was left in the fridge (I wouldnt mind the ham was beginning to look like an insole when I left god only knows what it looked like when she got at it) and got a touch of toxic poisoning and she was lucky she did not get botulism. She said she had to get an ambulance for herself and could not clean herself up or the bathroom she was in that bad of a way.I pointed out that she had no cell phone, the phone in the house had been disconnected over a week and yet she could drag her septic arse to a call box but left her filth behind her?? She could not answer that one except use the feminine get out clause of using crocodile tears and saying 'you dont know what Ive been through'. Pardon the pun but it wouldn't wash with me. She was cheap - too cheap to buy fresh food and in return she suffered. But one of the greatest mysteries to me was how a strain of bacteria managed to find the chink in her armour.???

The general filth she surrounded herself should have given her an immune system that you would only find in a secret government laboratory. There were more incidents of her general vileness but I guess the funniest one was went we both walked home from the supermarket down the road from us. We stopped at traffic lights and she openly started scratching her 'bits' like a guy while waiting for the lights to turn red when a burly bloke shouted out from his van 'stop that you filthy mare'! I nearly killed myself with the traffic leaping away in dissociation.

Christmas Card

To all who read my blog and all those I comment on this is just an offering to wish you all the best this festive season. Although the video is still loading up as I type ; I chose it for the 'as gaelige'(in irish) version of silent night rather than the vision mixing happy person who made the footage.

So to all of you and yours, from this little corner of the emerald isle have a very happy christmas, happy hanukah etc


Friday, December 8, 2006

The Kringle is out there

Location: 57 Elm Street, Bethlehem, PA.
11:51 pm, December 24

Mulder: We're too late. Its already been here.

Scully: Mulder, I hope you know what you're doing.

Mulder: Look Scully. Just like the other homes. Douglas fir,
truncated, mounted, transformed into some sort of shrine; halls
decked with boughs of holly; stockings hung by the chimney
with care.

Scully: You really think someone's been here?

Mulder: Someone or something.

Scully: Mulder, over here. It's, fruitcake.

Mulder: Don't touch it! Those things can be deadly.

Scully: It's OK. There's a note attached: "Gonna find out who's
naughty and nice."

Mulder: It's judging them, Scully. It's making a list.

Scully: Who? What are you talking about?

Mulder: Ancient mythology tells of an obese humanoid entity
who could travel at great speed in a craft powered by antlered
servants. Once each year, near the winter solstice, this creature
is said to descend from the heavens to reward its followers and
punish its disbelievers with jagged chunks of anthracite.

Scully: But that's legend Mulder. A story told by parents to
frighten children. Surely you don't believe it?

Mulder: Something was here tonight Scully. Check out the bite
marks on this gingerbread man, Whatever tore through this plate
of cookies was massive - and in a hurry.

Scully: It left crumbs everywhere. And look Mulder, this milk
glass has been completely drained.

Mulder: It gorged itself Scully. It fed without remorse.

Scully: But why would they leave it milk and cookies?

Mulder: Appeasement. Tonight is the Eve, and nothing can stop
its wilding.

Scully: But if this thing does exist, how did it get in? The doors
and windows were locked. There's no sign of forced entry.

Mulder: Unless I miss my guess, it came through the fireplace.

Scully: Wait a minute Mulder. If you are saying some huge
creature landed on the roof and came down the chimney you're
crazy. The flue is barely six inches wide. Nothing could get
through there.

Mulder: But what if it could alter its shape, move in all

Scully: You mean, like a bowl full of jelly?

Mulder: Exactly Scully. I've never told anyone this, but when I
was a child my home was visited. I saw the creature. It had
long white strips of fur surrounding its ruddy, misshapen head.
Its bloated torso was red and white. I'll never forget the horror.
I turned away, and when I looked back it had somehow taken on
the facial features of my father.

Scully: Impossible!

Mulder: I know what I saw. And that night it read my mind. It
brought me a Mr. Potato Head. Scully, it knew I wanted a Mr.
Potato Head!

Scully: I'm sorry Mulder, but you're asking me to disregard the
laws of physics. You want me to believe in some supernatural
being who soars across the skies and brings gifts to good little
girls and boys. Listen To what you're saying. Do you
understand the repercussions? If this gets out, they'll close the

Mulder: Scully, listen to me. It knows when you are sleeping.
It knows when you're awake.

Scully: But we have no proof.

Mulder: Last year, on this exact date, S.E.T.I. radio telescopes
detected bogeys in the airspace over twenty-seven states. The
White House ordered a Condition Red.

Scully: But that was a meteor shower.

Mulder: Officially. Two days ago, eight prized Scandinavian
reindeer vanished from the National Zoo in Washington D.C..
Nobody - not even the zoo keeper - was told about it. The
government doesn't want people to know about Project Kringle.
They fear that if this thing is proved to exist, then the public
would stop spending half of its annual income in a holiday
spending frenzy. Retail markets would collapse. Scully, they
cannot let the world believe this creature lives. There's too much
at stake. They'll do whatever it takes to ensure another silent

Scully: Mulder, I ...

Mulder: Sh-h-h! Do you hear what I hear?

Scully: On the roof. It sounds like a ......a clatter.

Mulder: The truth is up there. Let's see what's the matter.

100th Post

I have reached my hundreth post today and it might not seem that significant to those who have been blogging longer than I, but its an achievement for me in my own little way since I had a gap of about three months from one post to another.. At the moment my office heating has given up the ghost , I have a pounding headache and Im shivvvvvvering.

Flicking through a newspaper suppliment this moring and there was a photo article concerning womens shoes for the festive fashion parade. Now I dont know what the fascination that women have with shoes I for one dont have it but I can kind of understand the phenomena but you are more or less likely to find me in a pair of new rocks rather than pumps.One of the many many pairs that was shown in the article hurdled me back to a time and place Id rather forget about.

I was seven years old, and it was a lazy hot summer. The community games where taking place, the usual sack, 3 legged and egg and spoon races took place with tug O war, Soccer and Rounders thrown in for variety and compatability. For the less sporting and more artistic; Art competitions, Talent competitions and a fancy dress competition. The First prize for the fancy dress was voucher for the local toy store and I had my eye on a fair few things there so I was determined it would be mine..

I told my mother I wanted to enter and as it was last minute notice I gave her she was not best prepared. 'What do you want to dress up as?', I thought about it for a minute, we had just returned from my Aunts in Essex in the uk and it was the mid 70s, Punk had exploded in England just as much as the plague of ladybugs and greenfly that summer. 'I want to be a punk rocker' So Mum went about her best , dressing me up like a punk, I remember her ripping the pockets a bit of an old denim skirt and putting a few safety pins in it. She backcombed my hair and put it in a side pony tail, I cant remember very much about the other clothes, the makeup I suppose it no different to what I wear today but the shoes... God the shoes!! High heal stilletos, white - no brilliant white and for some reason was given a small purse.

Instead of looking like the spitting angry youth of the day I ended up looking like a prostitute. When I got to the competition there were a dozen or so kids there, the old classics like Dracula, frankenstein and luke skywalker (someone in their karate suit with a light saber) where on parade but there was another girl there Amanda Mc Carthy who was dressed as another punk. She had it 'going on' in comparision to me saftey pins and chains everywhere , hair in pole spikes and leather jacket. I felt Crestfallen and knew she or either the rubiks cube would be lording it the next day in the toy store. Soon enough it came to 'parade' ourselves in front of the judges and all I can remember was this one guy nearly wetting himself he was laughing so much. Something was very wrong, I knew the kids with me where not dressed that humourously.. Unknownst to me the only person he could be laughing at was me, looking like a whooo -er. I won much to my suprise and in my innocence I thought I did look like a punk albeit a poorly dressed one. It was not until years later when my mother recanted the tale did I realize that I won it on the merits of beating the skywalker with myself being a streetwalker.Looking back it all made sense and the penny drops when I think of my 'costume' and those pole dancer heals.

Thursday, December 7, 2006

A fool and his money

Working in a construction company the reading material around here comes in the form of 'The Sun' tabloid so after Ive read my Gaurdian cover to cover and its a slack day Ill have a flick through. Here is the most cringingly embaressing story Ive read in some time, my question was why tell it to the nation??

JUBILANT car salesman Steve Moseley went berserk and told his boss to stick his job — after MISREADING a £1million scratchcard.
Ecstatic Steve, 36, DANCED on his desk, THREW all the money in his wallet at colleagues and sent a junior out for CHAMPAGNE thinking he had won a fortune.
He then phoned his girlfriend to tell her he had quit and was rushing off to buy an Aston Martin.
But 45 minutes later his celebrations were cruelly cut short when he phoned the National Lottery’s claim hotline — and was told to take another look.
Shocked Steve saw he had mistaken a 16 for a 15 on his 24 Karat Gold scratchcard — meaning he had NOT matched two 15kg ingots.
And instead of becoming an instant millionaire he was broke and jobless.
Steve, of Gosport, Hants, could barely scrape the money together to pay the junior for the £35 bottle of bubbly. He then had to grovel to boss Mike Earle — telling him: “I’ve made a dreadful mistake.”
Red-faced Steve said yesterday: “I went from thinking I had a million quid to having to beg for my job back. I also had to ring the girlfriend and tell her I was a plonker.“I told Mike I loved my job and would he consider re-hiring me because I had just made a total prat of myself.”
Colleagues at used car dealers Fortnums in Fareham, Hants, had watched gobsmacked as jubilant Steve told his boss: “Stick your job — I’m a millionaire!”
Steve, who forked out £5 for his chance at a million, scratched off what he thought were the winning numbers at 10am. He said: “As far as I was concerned all my worries were gone.
“It was pandemonium with me dancing on the desks and screaming and shouting. The ticket looked a winner to everyone who saw it.”
After phoning overjoyed girlfriend Theresa Parsons, 27, he called Camelot — and was given the bad news at 10.45.
Steve said: “I dropped the phone and felt physically sick.
“One of the figures had FFTN under it and the other one had SXTN. But they were in tiny print and the two numbers in big print looked exactly the same.”
Steve WAS given his job back — but got so much ribbing from colleagues that he resigned days later. He now works at another dealers.
Ex-boss Mike said: “You see where people’s loyalties lie when money like that is involved. But I felt sorry for him because I could see the numbers did look genuine on the ticket.”
Camelot admitted it had received “a very small number of calls” about figures on its 24 Karat Gold scratchcard looking similar.
But a spokesman said: “We always advise players to check it is a winner before they take any action. Telling the boss to ‘stick their job’ is not a good idea until we have given you your cheque

Wednesday, December 6, 2006

More Drivel

* =(yay I can show the nice pictures again)
*With blogger refusing to allow me to post pictures Ive amused myself in other ways here at work with furnishing you good people out there with More useless facts to dazzle and delight to the drunks at the Office Christmas Party

Peanuts are one of the ingredients of dynamite.
Clans of long ago that wanted to get rid of their unwanted people
without killing them used to burn their houses down - hence the
expression "to get fired."
The characters Bert and Ernie on Sesame Street were named after Bert the
cop and Ernie the taxi driver in Frank Capra's "Its A Wonderful Life"
Coca-Cola was originally green.
A duck's quack doesn't echo, and no one knows why
The mask used by Michael Myers in the original "Halloween"
was actually a Captain Kirk mask painted white.
If a statue in the park of a person on a horse has both front legs
in the air, the person died in battle; if the horse has one front
leg in the air, the person died as a result of wounds received in
battle; if the horse has all four legs on the ground, the person
died of natural causes.
The name Wendy was made up for the book "Peter Pan."
If you can see a rainbow you must have your back to the sun.
If you don't, you can't see it.
It's rumored that sucking on a copper penny will cause a
breathalyzer to read 0.
A pregnant goldfish is called a twit
Each king in a deck of playing cards represents a great king
Spades - King David,
Clubs - Alexander the Great,
Hearts - Charlemagne,
Diamonds - Julius Caesar

Come and have a go (if you think youre hard enough)

Hurray! (see below)
For some strange reason Blogger wont let me post up any pictures so you will have to wait for the comedic images of victorian drunken women fighting to be pasted on (if you will pardon the pun) here until then my ramblings will lie raw and naked on the screen in front of you.

One of the many things that I hate to see but never the less makes me watch with that infatuated study of the very nature of the act is cat fighting. I’m not talking felines here. Its actually women fighting. Now you don’t tend to see too much of it these days thankfully because in my view its degrading and nasty looking but yet as I said before if a fight broke out in the middle of the street it would stop me in my tracks and I would not look away with distain. I put it in the same category as ‘car crash ‘ television - you want to look away but cant.

When I was younger, there seemed to be quite a lot of it going around where I lived. Children would get into fights with each other , they would come home snotty, tear stained , unkempt and maybe a bloody nose. These women would frogmarch their whimpering child around to the house of the perpetrator and make the parent aware of the child’s wrong doing. Sometimes this was not a wise course of action depending on who’s mother or father you where complaining too. There were two such women that were a bit blood lusty in that department, One happened to live next door to us and the other directly opposite the road.

Liz , who lived next door came from a rough part of inner city Dublin , she had the tongue of an adder when talking to her children and had little or no scruples . My parents where more comfortable than most in our estate in a recession ravaged country my father was in a secure and well paid job which in turn made it affordable for us to have some luxuries for the era in it, which included the front of the house repointed , painted , new wrought iron gates, new driveway and new PVC double glazed windows and front door. Every time we would get something done to the fa├žade of the house Liz seemed to follow suite and get the exact same thing done which pissed my mother off no end and she would vent her grievances to my father. I was eight years old and hearing my mothers frustrations I somehow harboured a hatred for the woman also. After all I loved my mother and was proud of the way our house looked and felt that we where cheated of our originality. Liz had a son called Darren, who although was a year younger than me was incredibly effeminate and to no surprise is gay now but back then, as children do there would be wars of words from time to time. My Dad had just got a new ford Ritmo and one evening I was walking down the driveway to my house when Darren shouted in his common albeit camp accent to me ’ you ‘s think you’s are great with yer nuuu car when its only a piece of shite’ So on the defence I piped up ’ you mam has to copy everything my mam does, look at the state of her new door’ to which Darren replied ’my ma says that yours is the cheap one and ours cost much more’ That was it I seen red, so as I neared my front door and I’m ashamed to say this even now, I leaned over the fencing and spat at the door ’tell yer ma that’s what I think of her new door’ and went inside. I could hear his diva like gasp as I closed my door. I knew there would be trouble so as soon as I got in I told my mother what Darren had said about my dads new car and said he had spat on our door also, no sooner did I have the words out a thunderous knock came on the door. It was Liz.

She was screeching about how I had spat on her door and my mother calmly told her my version of what happened and that of course she would be dealing with me for spitting on someone’s door but that the entire incident was provoked by her son and it would answer her better to take herself away from our doorstep, wash her mouth out and chastise her son for provoking the incident. She went wild as she walked away saying ‘I happen to know you are up to your eyes in debt just to make the rest of us feel you are better that us’ my mother calmly informed her sardonically that it was all paid for with cash and she would show her the receipts but she knew she could not read (Liz was in fact illiterate). I am not sure if that snapped something within her but for the rest of that summer the woman went on a fisticuffs frenzy fighting women physically .

My mothers best friend had decided not to have anymore children due to the fact her youngest had cerebral palsy and she adopted two girls, again darren instigated a fight with one of them and my mothers friend called upon liz to ask her to control her son to which her reply was ‘ at least I lay down and had my kids’ which was when it got physical- the fight lasted a good 15 minutes all the way across the road into my mothers friends garden and when she went into the house and closed the door Liz smashed her fist through the glass and opened the door and went in the house to finish off the fight. A neighbour ran in to stop it . She went on to fight several other neighbours and nearly met her match in one of them which seemed to put a cap on it all. Thing is if it was today the reality of it is that Liz would be sued for slander , breaking and entering and GBH and most likely doing time. She still lives next door to my mother and they both chat now and then .

My mother is not one for holding grudges and am proud to say not one for cat fighting. But as I grew older I somehow understood why Liz was the woman she was; married to a wife beater, had 6 young children estranged from her intimate family and struggled to do something as basic as shopping and her body was ravaged with psoriasis. I am sure there is a lot more that this woman was suffering from but understanding the marquis of queensbury rules was not one of them.

Monday, December 4, 2006

The Satanic Julie Andrews

I posted this last year in January , It made me laugh today , I think having read all the tags and meme's this is a sure fire way not to get memed. I must have been in a foul humour writing with the expletives but they remain here just to display the essence of my then bad mood.....

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens' .. Yeah right - heres my boiling point pissing off factors Maria - Take it to the Mother Superior and the Von Crapp Kids See if you guys can make up a bleedin song about these..

1 Fake smiles - I hate them and seem to be adourned by the skinny vain tea stained tanned bints who throw back there heads so their mouths look like bucket brims and as they bring back their heads to 'toss their hair' in full bounce flirt mode - in all my fucking life Ive never been given any genuine reason to laugh like that and Ive been around some funny people and listened to comic genius such as bill hicks - these people as my father would say (who is a comic genius in his own right) should be dragged out and publicly pissed on.

2. Public toilets - especially the befouled and unflushed variety- I can handle the vague smell of urine hanging in the air, the occasional wet bog roll on the tiled floor and no soap - but please dont piss on the floor, shit on the seat or smear the mixture giving the phone number of your enemies choice on the door infront of me and while Im at it Im not interested in whos a slut - whos got a small one and who loves who. Keep your vile faecal perversions to the confines of your putrid bedrooms please.

3. cars not indicating - this is the reason why I suffer road rage - Im telling you I will wind up in jail over these thoughtless bastards.

4 inanimate objects - everything from tv remote acting possessed , mops and sweeping brushes refusing to comply with resting in the corner, to the george foreman taking the piss and not doing what its supposed to do - working and plotting against you. These objects cultivate the rage of the common man.

5. Small minded people- Do I really need to devote any blog space to these ignorant hicks?

6. Being told to 'shush' - do it to me and Ill snap your neck like a cabbage stalk - you have been warned..

7 drunks with big yaps. I dont care what the booze made you say- if you said it- You'll pay for it when youre sober and have the gait of a rummy after you incur my wrath


Friday, December 1, 2006

Dali & the 80s

The difference between false memories and true ones is the same as for jewels: it is always the false ones that look the most real, the most brilliant.

Salvador Dali

If you remember the music of the 80s with rose tinted spectacles try http://www.1500videos.com you could cringe along to the tunes you thought made you one cool sob