In Dublins Fair Shitty....

I rode the big silver snake thing into town last night, the Luas it’s called, and it reaffirmed my utter hatred and contempt for people in general. It was full of them. Cunts to the right of me cunts to the left here I am stuck in the Luas with cunts. That’s how the song should go. I sat across from a heap big woman, so big in fact she had smaller women orbiting around her. She was wearing a poncho which gave her the appearance of a fat man looking out of a tent. But fair play to her she was engaged in conversation with two young mingers, munters, bints, howayas whatever you call them, cunts anyway. One of the young mingers was telling the fat tent lady all about her boyfriend. He’s homeless apparently and has two holes in his arm from jacking up gear, you can put your finger into one hole and out the other she said. Sounds lovely doesn’t it. I warmed to her straight away. Herself and her fella (that’s how she referred to him) sometimes stay in the Phoenix Park B&B and she loves the breakfast. They have napkins on the tables and everything. Junky boy doesn’t do breakfast but she never misses it. The man sleeps on the street so I reckon when he gets a bed he fuckin stays in it. She wraps up some toast and a tomato in a napkin and brings it up to him. Fat tent lady was very concerned and interested and spoke to them in a motherly fashion. I too was interested but only in the thought of them spontaneously combusting. The young minger was shovelling crisps into her to beat the band and she offered some to fat tent lady. She declined initially but I knew by the saucepan head on her that she was mad for crisps. On the second offer she accepted a bag telling the minger that she’d give them to her grandchild. Aye like fuck she would. Fat tent lady has one of those loud booming voices and I’d say every other cunt on the Luas could hear her clearly. She sings carols for the Simon Community too. When the young minger offered her another bag of crisps (she had one of those big variety packets) she accepted three of them saying she’d give them to the homeless as she shoved them into her bag. Aye like fuck she would. She didn’t get to that size from eating lettuce. As the Luas approached Heuston station the other minger, the silent one, said she felt funny. Then she grabbed the big empty crisp bag and vomited into it. If the quality of the vomit is any way proportional to the speed at which people dispersed then I’d say she was vomiting pure aids into that crisp bag. When the Luas got to Museum the two mingers disembarked leaving the bag, and subsequent puddle, of vomit behind. Fat tent lady looked disgusted, having placed some sort of faith in these mingers and treating them with respect she now realised what I had realised as soon as I saw them. They were cunts and she was a cunt for not realising it. When I got to Nealons there was a guy standing outside the door talking into his fist. I think he had a phone in it. He was telling his friend that he was getting three grams for eighty euro. His friend must have asked what he was buying and your man said critical mass. He was buying three grams of something called critical mass. It might have been cocaine or it could have been a small amount of uranium what the fuck do I know. His friend didn’t sound thrilled at the prospect but your man reassured him by telling him that that’s what the dealer was selling so that’s what he bought. I wonder if the dealer offered him three grams of botulism would he have bought that too. Jaysus this botulism is fuckin mighty me face is melting….

From Carl Sagan To God ....

I spent the morning trying to locate a book for my Father which went out of print many moons ago. The book that is, not my father. It’s called “Knocknagow Or The Homes Of Tipperary”. This led to no end of problems when most shops I rang thought I had given them two separate book titles. My grandmother use to read it to my father and his siblings when they were young. Back before they had the electric light running water and inside toilets, back when God was a gossin’. He regaled me with snippets one of which was about an old man who gave a scutty wren a swipe of his cap and knocked a hat full of feathers out of him. This amused them no end when they were young laughing heartily at the notion of a scutty wren having sufficient feathers to fill a hat. Oh the crack they must have had. I found the book, well not so much found as ordered, good old Hodges Figgis. I’ve just finished reading “The Varieties Of Scientific Experience” by Carl Sagan which put the whole Christmas thing into perspective. We live on a pale blue dot, no more than a spec on a spec on a spec at the very outward edge of a vastly expanding universe which is mostly full of emptiness. It’s a wonderfully sobering and liberating realisation. I’m currently reading “Lamb – The Gospel According To Biff Christ’s Childhood Pal” which is very good and I’d highly recommend it. I bought the special edition which is leather bound, gold leaf edged and looks for all in the world like a brand new bible. When people see me reading it and laughing they tend to stare, I just look at them point at the book and say “fuck me this Jesus fella is as mad as a box of frogs”. If they continue to stare I tell them to “fuck away off or I’ll cunt you in the bastard”.

Not To Be Out Foxed.

On Saturday evening last I was driving up the country in the ninja mobile when I was unexpectedly held up by a fox. There I was motoring along the N3 just passing the church in Newcastle only hitting the road in spots when this little red tailed fucker jumps out of the ditch carrying what looked like a rat in his mouth. It was dark and the headlights seemed to offer him some solace as he ran along, right in my lane, right between the beams of light. I pressed my foot on the stopping mechanism i.e. the brakes and the vehicle slowly reduced its speed to match that of the fox, roughly ten miles per hour. The sound of the car swiftly approaching his ass didn’t seem to deter him. On he galloped head and tail bobbing as if heading into town and only too delighted to have his way lit by my headlights. I figured perhaps he was mesmerized by the lights, like something caught in a tractor beam on star trek, so I switched the lights off in the hope that he’d be freed and go back into the ditch from whence he came. It took me no time at all to realize I couldn’t see a fucking thing so I turned them back on and sure enough the little cunt was still there. Onward we went, him running for all he was worth and me tailing behind. I tried to overtake him but as I moved to the right he too moved to the right. I tried blowing the horn but this only served to speed him up a tad but once the horn stopped he resumed his original speed. What to do I pondered and I quickly calculated how long it would take to get to town at our current velocity. Five full miles at ten miles per hour would be half an hour I estimated; I was always good at the sums. I rolled down my window and hollered the figures at the fox, “It’ll take us half an hour to get to town at this rate so speed up a bit or get out of the fucking road”. He ignored me completely. It was as if I wasn’t even there. He never missed his stride no turn of the head in acknowledgement, nothing, nada, zilch. The nerve of the little cunt, take over my road and then pretend I’m not there. I thought about tipping him with the car, nothing sinister mind, just a little nudge like, just enough to put a hitch in his giddy up. I slammed my foot on the go faster mechanism i.e. the accelerator, forgetting for an instant that my car is turbocharged and barrelled right over the little fella. There was a rattle and a thump and shit and snot everywhere then silence. The road was clear. I felt sick and somewhat crippled with remorse, then I belched and realised it was only wind. As I rolled up the window I hollered back “top of the food chain baby top of the food chain”!.

What You Reading For ....

So do I fancy myself as a bit of a writer? No. I fancy myself as a bit of a reader. I can read the fuck out of a book. In fact I’ve read the shit out of loads of books. I’ve read loads of books and got loads of shit out of them. Some were good and some were not so good, some were memorable and others were instantly forgettable. I’ve read books I understood and books I wasn’t sure if I understood. I’ve read books I thought I understood but on reflection probably didn’t. But I read them all anyway. Sometimes you read a book and you think you get what the author is saying. You think you understand. Sometimes you think perhaps there’s a hidden meaning like a parable or perhaps you feel you understand what the author is trying to say, more by what is not being said, rather than what is being said. Then maybe there’s no hidden meaning at all. Maybe you’re looking for something that just isn’t there. Some books are great because you follow the flow, you catch the drift and it’s great from start to finish. You swallow it whole in a few brief sittings. Other times you struggle with the concepts or get lost in the detail but read on anyway because you like the way it’s written. I’ve read fascinating things in books, things that made me stop and think and go wow. But I have forgotten most of them now. But does that really matter? Maybe the author was whacked out of their gord when they wrote it, drunk or on drugs, and maybe they can’t remember it either. They had a thought, an instant or an instance and they thought it worthy of inclusion. Maybe they had that thought and experienced it and said wow and wrote it down and forgot it. Years later I read that thought and experienced it and went wow and forgot it. Maybe we had the same experience with the same thought. We’ll never now for sure for how could we measure it. If the author read that thought again who’s to say they would have the same experience. Have you ever looked at a picture and registered the image in your head. Then looked at it again and saw something that you didn’t notice the first time. It’s the same picture. It hasn’t actually changed. Reading is often like that. So two people, author and reader, may well have an identical experience when first encountering that initial thought. But on subsequent re-experiencing of that same initial thought the experience could be completely different. Like the picture or the text it has changed without actually changing. On revisiting the text it appears to have evolved without actually evolving. The words are the same it is only your interpretation nay understanding of them that may have changed. Books and pictures do not evolve, we do evolve, and they seem to evolve. I see reading as a measurement of my ongoing self evolution and that, is why I read.

On The Road

Saw a woman on my way to work. I know it’s just mental isn’t it. So there I was stopped in traffic and this woman was stopped alongside, going in the other direction. She was in a car too by the way. She wasn’t just standing there in the middle of the road, pretending like. I happened to absentmindedly glance in her direction and what she was doing really caught my attention. As she sat there she was intently passing a set of Rosary beads through her fingers like she was mid Rosary or something and she had another set dangling from the rear view mirror. I let my window down wondering if I could hear her but alas I could not. She looked wide eyed and nervous like she was jacked up on Jesus, juiced up on the Lord, pumped full of piety. There she was sitting in traffic practically mainlining Christianity into her. Now I’m no shrinking violet but the very thought of a nervous woman, full to the gills with God, coming toward me in a car, Rosary beads in hand, lips all a flutter made me pause for a moment. Then a blonde chick passed by on a bike, and I strained to see her ass, and the moment passed.

What You Eating For ?

I’ve been busier than a Baghdad brickie of late. The powers that be here at ‘Masters-Of-The-Dark-Arts-Inc’ have been working me like a fuckin pit pony. In the last fortnight I’ve been in Sheffield for a few days then back here for a day then I was in Ballina for a week, got back last night and tomorrow I’m off to Boston for a week. The rock and roll lifestyle of a travelling software engineer, it’s like being famous only shite. Sheffield’s not up to much, big University town, lots of unwashed students and fuck all else. The drive from Sheffield to Manchester along the Snake Path over the Pennines is very pretty though. It’s very similar to Glendalough in terms of lakes, trees and hills and shit but on a much bigger scale. Ballina is a stereotypical Irish town, old and decrepit in places, all new and shiny in others. It has the appearence of a place that has a higher than average amount of inbreeding but more bars than you can shake a ham sandwich at. So it all works out. Apparently there are 99 licensed premises in Ballina but I doubt somehow that they are all still operating. It has some good restaurants too, such as Dillon’s, Murphy’s and Crocket’s. The hotel restaurant was terribly over priced though with a steak costing a massive 39.00 Euro. At that price I expected the whole fucking bullock but all I got was an admittedly succulent fillet about the size of my fist and at that price I truly felt fisted. Crocket’s is the sort of place where you have to catch your own Racoon and they fashion a hat out of whatever you don’t eat. Murphy’s had a huge fish tank just inside the door and on closer inspection one could find lobster arseing about at the bottom of it. The menu proudly offered live lobster at the top of its fish list, I glanced at the fish tank, sizing them up, I might have had a go at a dead one but I’d be fucked if I was putting a live one into my gob. They could fuck away off with their live lobster, I was in a restaurant dagnamit and at the very least I had expected the cunts to cook.

Humans To Bang Robots By 2050!

Humans could marry robots within the century. And consummate those vows.

"My forecast is that around 2050, the state of Massachusetts will be the first jurisdiction to legalize marriages with robots," artificial intelligence researcher David Levy at the University of Maastricht in the Netherlands told LiveScience.

Levy recently completed his Ph.D. work on the subject of human-robot relationships, covering many of the privileges and practices that generally come with marriage as well as outside of it.

At first, sex with robots might be considered geeky, "but once you have a story like 'I had sex with a robot, and it was great!' appear someplace like Cosmo magazine, I'd expect many people to jump on the bandwagon," Levy said.

Pygmalion to Roomba

The idea of romance between humanity and our artistic and/or mechanical creations dates back to ancient times, with the Greek myth of the sculptor Pygmalion falling in love with the ivory statue he made named Galatea, to which the goddess Venus eventually granted life.

Well now. I guess so long as you don't have the thing plugged in and charging while your filling it with love muck it might just work. Of course shoving your knob between two electric sanders would work just as well. Or so I'm told .....

In other news. This was e-mailed to me today ....



I'm thinking of signing up. Imagine having a cock the size of a small lady. It's no ordinary cock either. It's a throbbing varicose veined cartoon comic cock that is. You could impregnate women from 50 yards with a cock like that. Of course carrying it around would be murder on your back. Still it’s a small price to pay for an atomic cock....

Max hand me the magic mouthpiece I've a new cock to order....

‘I hate All Iranians,’ US Aide Tells British MPs

by Simon Walters

Britsh MPs visiting the Pentagon to discuss America’s stance on Iran and Iraq were shocked to be told by one of President Bush’s senior women officials: “I hate all Iranians.”

And she also accused Britain of “dismantling” the Anglo-US-led coalition in Iraq by pulling troops out of Basra too soon.

The all-party group of MPs say Debra Cagan, Deputy Assistant Secretary for Coalition Affairs to Defence Secretary Robert Gates, made the comments this month.

The six MPs were taken aback by the hardline approach of the Pentagon and in particular Ms Cagan, one of Mr Bush’s foreign policy advisers.

She made it clear that although the US had no plans to attack Iran, it did not rule out doing so if the Iranians ignored warnings not to develop a nuclear bomb.

It was her tone when they met her on September 11 that shocked them most.

The MPs say that at one point she said: “In any case, I hate all Iranians.”

Although it was an aside, it was not out of keeping with her general demeanour.

“She seemed more keen on saying she didn’t like Iranians than that the US had no plans to attack Iran,” said one MP. “She did say there were no plans for an attack but the tone did not fit the words.”

Another MP said: “I formed the impression that some in America are looking for an excuse to attack Iran. It was very alarming.”

Tory Stuart Graham, who was on the ten-day trip, would not discuss Ms Cagan but said: “It was very sobering to hear from the horse’s mouth how the US sees the situation.”

Ms Cagan, whose job involves keeping the coalition in Iraq together, also criticised Britain for pulling out troops.

“She said if we leave the south of Iraq, the Iranians will take it over,” said one MP.

Another said: “She is very forceful and some of my colleagues were intimidated by her muscular style.”

The MPs also saw Henry Worcester, Deputy Director of the Office of Iranian Affairs, who said he favoured talks with Iran.

The Pentagon denied Ms Cagan said she “hated” Iranians.

“She doesn’t speak that way,” said an official.

But when The Mail on Sunday spoke to four of the six MPs, three confirmed privately that she made the remark and one declined to comment. The other two could not be contacted.

© 2007 The Daily Mail

If ever a woman had a cock this bitch surely does!

Poll: Most Israelis Support Using Nukes

Published on Monday, October 1, 2007 by The Jerusalem Post/Israel

Poll: Most Israelis Support Using Nukes

Staff Writers

Approximately 72 percent of Israelis support the use of nuclear weapons in certain circumstances, according to a Canadian survey released recently. The survey - conducted jointly at the end of July by the Simons Foundation and Angus Reid Strategies - was answered by adults in six countries and showed that 37% of Israelis believed the use of nuclear weapons to prevent a war would be justified, while 35% believed the weapons could be justifiably used during a war.

In addition, the survey found that Israel had the lowest public support for destroying nuclear weapons out of all the countries questioned.

Israel also had the highest percentage in favour of the country using its “power and influence in a way that serves its own interests” - approximately 55% - as opposed to “coordinat[ing] with other countries to do what’s best for the world as a whole.”

Nearly 72% also agreed that “nuclear weapons place Israel in a unique position, so it is not in our interest to participate in treaties that would reduce or eliminate our purported nuclear arsenal.”

About three-quarters of Israelis also said they would feel safer if they knew for certain that Israel had nuclear weapons. Israel has thus far maintained its policy of nuclear ambiguity.

The organizers of the study suggested that Israel accorded greater importance to the nuclear form of defence due to the Iranian threat, Army Radio reported.

The study spanned a sample of 1,000 adults in Britain, France, Italy, Germany and the US along with Israel.

Dangerous news indeed. These Zionist cunts are about as safe a jewish African gayer at a Klan rally.




Strange how the Zionists become more like the Nazis every day. Both words have the letters Z,N,I,S. Coincidence? I think not!

Mud On The Tracks

I had just returned from Scotland, which was not unusual in itself as I’d been over and back at least once a week for the previous few months, but this time I took the train instead of hiring a car.

Having visited Edinburgh, Dundee & Aberdeen I have come to the conclusion that the English language is well and truly dead. Either that or it has evolved or devolved into a series of grunts and nods that my untrained eyes and ears are unable to fathom.

The Scottish rail system is really rather good, it was privatised a few years back and since then the standard of care given to passengers is fairly high. Well being from Ireland if the train can go faster than thirty miles an hour then it’s an improvement.

The carriage I ended up sitting in was quiet, the air of silence only disturbed by the humming of the tracks. This calm silence lasted for about thirty minutes, when at one of the lesser stops, a small gathering of English males, from Newcastle I derived, boarded the train, and as the mother of bad luck would have it, decided on my carriage to sit.

These guys having settled down for the trip, which lasts roughly two and half hours, then decided to while away the time by drinking cans of Stella and annoying everybody who happened to be within shouting distance, myself included. After the initial excitement of seeing two young girls pass by in short skirts had subsided, one of the guys opted to start a conversation with myself. He got the annoying formality of finding out my name out of the way by addressing me as "Hippie". I can only surmise that he decided on the name because of the long hair and beard I was sporting at the time.

I of course smiled as best I could, what else was to I do? There was only one of me and four of them. I answered politely and continued with my examination of floor which had been occupying me since these gentlemen boarded the train. Best not to make eye contact I thought.

On hearing my Irish accent the group got a bit excited. Not rowdy excited, just excited. Comments started drifting my way, everybody in the group had a go, and I just smiled, not because they were funny, but because I couldn't understand a bloody word they were saying.

This is when I became deeply interested in the group as a whole. I could no longer view them as normal men; they had grown, developed into something much more interesting. The thought kept crossing my mind, these guys are from England, the birth place of English as a language, and they can't speak a word of it.

The rest of the journey passed by in a haze, they continued to speak at me and I continued to glare and answer as best I could. The scene never got ugly or menacing but I couldn't shake the feeling that these guys weren't like me. They had their own tongue, slang, cuss words and I kept thinking what it must be like in their world. They can all talk to and understand each other, but as soon as they speak to anybody, not from their little community, their comments must always be met with blank stares and hurried responses, they must feel so misunderstood.

The journey ended, eventually, we all disembarked, said our goodbyes and parted. It wasn't all that exciting, my train journey, but I did discover something on the way. The English language is dead, and it's the English that killed it.

Orange Cunts.

What’s the fucking point of an orange? I fucking hate oranges. It’s like wrapping Kevlar around a soft shite. What’s so fucking extraordinary about a bastard orange that it has to have a flak jacket anyway? Look at peaches, peaches are soft and easily bruised and exceptionally easy to eat. No helmets, no Kevlar, just a big fuck off nut in the centre and instantly ready to savour. But not oranges, oh no, you have to wrestle with the fucker. Scratch at it with your fingernails, squirting citrus acidic muck into your eye and all over the shop. Then when you finally get purchase on the skin and have it half way off the thing starts to fall apart and there’s shit and snot everywhere. You have orange finger nails, the sticky juice has ruined your hands and run half way up your arm and the good is completely gone out of it. They have pips too, imagine the absolute nerve of the bastards to have a Kevlar coat and then pips to boot, the pompous awkward little cunts. I should have bought an apple.

Max hand me a napkin I'm dying over here ....

MoreShiteThanYouCanShakeaBigAshPlantAt

Well it was dark when I woke up and I lay there with me arse hole cocked up in the air like a dead cow, I had a bedamndable pain in me stomach and it felt like I had a four stone bag of half eaten rotten supds stuck up inside me. I stumbled through the dark like Phil MacMucksavage stumbles through a sentence, I was looking for something to eat and I found a bag of big green and blue things that were all covered in pock marks. So after eatin all that was in the bag I opened me eyes and bejaysus it was birght. Right says I enough of the messin, I put on me best pair of Billy Dolans y-fronts and headed for Bakers. Now these y-fronts were not very fashionable but christ were they comfortable, they had a lovely long stain of Jisim down the front which was obviously a result of a good night Billy had spent with the SugerBills from BrokeHill. On the back I was sporting a fine collection of small holes which can only have appeared after fifteen years of wear & tear while drinking ten gallons of white spirits and milk, now if that won't make ya piss napalm and shite nails nothin will. Anyway on me way into town I meet the one and only Clogger Malone, he was sittin in the back yard with his lad in his hand beatin off the side of Phils car. "Bejaysus howya gon on" said I, the reply was very abrupt and as mad as a small to medium sized bucket of dogs mickies, "Go way or I'll beat the face of ya with the end me tool ya feckless rouge". "Right" says I "no pints for you then Cloggy", "Ahh bejaysus hould on" says he "I'm sorry". So meself and the bould Colggy Malone got his ould one to drive us into town in that clapped out banger she has the nerve to call a car. Now ould Malone is no F1 driver, jaysus I never even knew you could get to Bakers through the fields but christ when we came round the corner at the back of the mill I nearly ruined me best pair of Billy Dolans y-fronts. You should have seen her, she had her face squashed up against the windscreen, the feckin accelerator floored in second gear and the whole lot been done with the hand break on. Well I grabbed Cloggy by the two ears for safety and held on for dear life, and it wasn't until we stopped or should I say landed at Bakers that I realised why we were in second gear the whole time. Jaysus sure didn't oul Malone have the gear stick stuck to the hilt in her ould scabby guther and her moaning for Vincy Buntty the whole time. Into Bakers we went, I being as intelligent as I am bought the first round ... " Hows that carabunkle you have on your left testicle Baker" says I ... "Gout" says he "ya had your chance " ... so we went to the White Star ... And thats a story for another day ...

God Sued In Nebraska

From Sky News

God has apparently replied to a terror lawsuit against him in the States - by claiming he is immune to Earth's laws. A lawyer in Omaha, Nebraska, has filed an injunction against the supreme being - claiming he has made terrorist threats against him and his constituents. Ernie Chambers, a prominent civil rights leader and a member of the state legislature, claimed the Almighty had inspired fear and caused "widespread death, destruction and terrorisation of millions upon millions of the Earth's inhabitants". The self-proclaimed agnostic is seeking a permanent injunction against God. But now it seems the creator has responded to the lawsuit after a file apparently dropped in from the heavens. "This one miraculously appeared on the counter. It just all of a sudden was here, poof!" said John Friend, clerk of the Douglas County District Court in Omaha. Signed by "God" the response argues that the defendant is immune from our planet's laws and that the US court lacks jurisdiction over God. Blaming the Almighty for human oppression and suffering misses an important point, it says. "I created man and woman with free will and next to the promise of immortal life, free will is my greatest gift to you," claims the response. St Michael the Archangel is listed as a witness, Mr Friend noted.

A case is also being put together by Ernie crazier-than-a-shithouse-rat Chambers to sue Santa for stress caused by not bringing the fucking bike he asked for when he was six. The Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny are said to have gone into hiding as romours abound that Mr. Chambers has been less than impressed by their respective performances over the years. 'The Easter Bunny is a jummped up fuckpig' said Mr. Chambers 'and as for that cuntbubble the Tooth Fairy I estimate I'm owed somewhere in the region of one and a half million dollars what with interest, inflation and what not after I knocked all my teeth out with a lump hammer to try and help pay my way through college.'

Clearly there is a village somehwere being deprived of an idiot!

In other news check this guy out .....

Julien Dupont Stunt Rider

Support The Troops

Some sound advice on supporting troops!

Supporting The Troops # 1

Supporting The Troops # 2

Tough Being Irish

Sometimes it's tough being Irish. We have a shite soccer team who couldn't kick doors on a Halloween night. We have a shite manager who would be out of his depth in a car park puddle and the whole shitting shooting gallery being lorded over by a punctured faced cunt with a head like a burst colon. Will we never learn?

On top of the soccer woes our much lauded and talked up rugby team struggled to beat two of the lesser rugby nations, though you wouldn't think them lesser on our performance. I've applied more pressure passing wind than our players managed in two games. Where is the pride and passion that was talked about? Maybe the poor lads can’t breathe in those S&M jerseys they now have to wear. The Bull John Hayes must be fucking wrecked after getting poured into his. It must take a half an acre of cloth to cover his vast bulk. Whatever the reasons or excuses, and there have been plenty of both, our lads need to cop themselves on and get a good dose of wake the fuck up if they intend beating France. I hate losing to France, the dirty talking frog eating surrender monkeys; it’s almost as bad as losing to England, almost now I did say almost.

Would You Get This Cab? Taken On Dawson Street.

ArseBook

Like FaceBook only for cunts you don't like.

Arsebook is an anti-social utility that connects you with the people YOU HATE.

Go ahead and sign up.

Arse Book

Black Cunt Calls White Uber Cunt A Fat White Bastard

Chris Tryhorn
Monday September 10, 2007
MediaGuardian.co.uk

ITV has been cleared of racism by TV watchdog Ofcom after Sir Trevor McDonald (the cunt) called the late controversial comic Bernard Manning (uber cunt) a "fat, white bastard".

A total of 112 viewers complained that the remark, made on Sir Trevor's ITV1 Sunday night news comedy programme News Knight the week Manning died, was inappropriate or racist.

But Ofcom said Sir Trevor "clearly intended to parody" Manning's own brand of comedy, which played on racial stereotypes and was often denounced as racist.

The regulator cleared ITV of breaching broadcasting guidelines, ruling that "any offence that may have been caused was justified by the context".

During the June 24 edition of News Knight, less than a week after Manning's death aged 76, Sir Trevor introduced an item as "Racist and Dead".

"This week, it's the turn of corpulent, narrow-minded northerner Bernard Manning," he said. "Personally, I never thought of Bernard Manning as a racist comic... just a fat, white bastard...".

"The comments were clearly intended to parody Manning's own comedy, where he claimed he was not himself racist, but simply made 'jokes' based on racial stereotypes," Ofcom said.


News On Other Fat Bastards


In the US plans have been unveiled to update the Statue of Liberty and bring it into the 21st century. A spokesman for the local borough council has stated that for too long the statue has been a relic of the past, “for too ling the statue has been a relic of the past”, he said. “It’s about time she got a makeover or a face lift. Americans can no longer relate to the image she portrays and we are hoping the new image will be more in keeping with current US values”.

He could be onto something here.

Correspondance With The Penguins ....

My fellow penguins,

We stand upon a great threshold! It’s perfectly okay to be frightened; most of you won’t be coming back. But, thanks to the success of the Batman movies, the time has come to punish all humans! Not just the first born either, second, third and fourth born too. Why be biased? Male and female! The sexes are equal so let’s treat them as such. Blow them all sky high! Forward march! The liberation of the penguin nation has begun!

The Penguins.


My dear penguins,

We have, through our contacts in the penguin underworld, intercepted the aforementioned letter. It would seem clear to us that you and yours intend to cause harm to the people in general. Please note that you are a penguin and as such are rather restricted in movement and let’s be honest a bit on the short side too. Being the benevolent species that we are it has been decided to let your initial threats slide for now. Please bear in mind however that if your threats continue or if indeed you attempt to follow through on said threats we the people shall be left with no alternative than to use all the force at our disposal. Now waddle along there and go warm an egg.

The People.


Dear People,

We scoff at your ignorance. Small and restricted in movement we may be but underestimate us at your peril. We were chilling out and knocking back cold ones in the Antarctic while your ape like ancestors were still sucking their mother’s tit and picking fleas from their asses. Through no fault of ours the ice caps are melting and our habitat has come under direct threat. We the penguins view this as an act of war and as such have declared war on you the people. Lets be honest here it isn’t our SUV’s that are causing the damage now is it.

The Penguins.


Dear Penguins,

Don’t make us open a can of whoop ass on you!

The People.


Dear People,

Don’t make us get the polar bears involved!

The Penguins.

Pie Bald Paddy

Pie Bald Paddy they came to call him which was a real stroke of genius seeing as it was his name. He’s a traveller by trade having spent many a long year studying maps and atlases and globes. Eventually he graduated and was given a bus pass but soon he had acquired enough money to buy his own set of wheels. Well he bought an ould van and the wheels he stole. But it was an expected surprise to everyone when they heard who it was and I’m sure I suppose no more of a surprise to anyone more than those who were surprised the most. Pie Bald Paddy was an existential traveller vigilante, travelling from halting site to halting site fighting crimes such as horse thieving, inter family feuding, inter family fornication, rationalism and positivism. There wasn’t many who could best him at the slash hook or the pick axe handle. He was a familiar figure of that there’s little doubt both loved and loathed in equal measure. His bruised and battered van a frequent fixture at irregular intervals on the flat barren undulating countryside here in the city, and if it wasn’t for his regular visits to the halting site sure nobody would have seen him at all. I’d almost nearly never see him only when he’d call over on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays to fix a saucepan or steal a gate or fix a gate and steal a saucepan or sometimes both and sometimes neither. Sometimes he wouldn’t come over at all and other times he’d be here all along. Sure you couldn’t be up to him he was an awful character and full of beans. Jaysus the smell out of him at times would kill a horse, at other times the horse wouldn’t notice it at all, but he could shite for Ireland, your man now, not the horse. I one time hear tell of a tale of a lad of the size of your man who ate a horrid feed of beans and they had to get the fire brigade out to get him down of a pile of shite that he let rip out of his hole. He had only intended to fart but the clutch slipped and before he knew it he couldn’t get stopped. The chief inspector with the fire brigade said that if it wasn’t for the saving grace of having some bad stitching in the seat of his pants he’d likely have backed up and most probably exploded and killed all in the place. Or maybe not all in the place but some, and likely most, or if not exploded he would most certainly have bloated and farted and most likely have killed the horse or at the very least he’d have creased his shirt and embarrassed the animal. Well he came round the corner like a whore on wheels grabbed me by the scruff of the ankles and demanded to know why I didn’t think human beings created the meaning of their own destinies. I have to admit at the time I was in a bit of a pickle and emitted a small noise of the very sort a dolphin makes when it’s been caught committing adultery. I figured there was little point in arguing and stated my case that although I may have stood accused of being a logical positivist I saw myself more as somewhere between an apathetic agnostic and an agnostic atheist. He dropped me, jumped into his van and fled. It was a close one.

Max pull over the gate before the fucker comes back ....

Damn Cyclists....

God damn and blast to all fuckers on bikes. Twice this week I’ve been forced to drive at ten miles an hour because the dozy bint in the car in front refused to overtake a cyclist. Yes it may be a narrow road and yes there may be cars coming in the opposite direction but if you are so lacking in spatial awareness not to realise you could safely navigate the cyclist then you shouldn’t be driving a car. As for the fuckers on bikes, if you want to be green then cross the fucking fields. Then over the wireless a sultry voiced woman said "as Christmas is just around the corner isn’t it time you started thinking about…" I said NO. I wanted to rip the radio out of the dashboard and roar fuck you and the horse you rode in on into it. Christmas my hole I’m still waiting for summer. I got chatting at a tourist the other day and he asked me in all seriousness when summer was in Ireland, I said it’s hard to tell, last year it was a Wednesday. There is a grand smell of slurry in the air here today. It's the kind of smell that makes your toes curl and burns all the hair out of your nostrils. It reminds me of my childhood when my father use to make us shite into buckets and then spread them across his vegetable patch. Organic he called it. I've never been able to look a carrot in the face since...

Max close the porthole there's an awful smell of shite ...

Fancy A Drink ...

A recent magazine survey, interviewed fifty bartenders and they were asked if they could identify a customer's personality on what drinks they ordered? Although interviewed separately, they concurred on almost all counts.

The results:


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
IF WOMEN DRINK THESE DRINKS IN A PUB (not at home).

BEER
Personality: Casual, low maintenance; down to earth.
Approach: Challenge her to a game of pool.

COCKTAILS OR BLENDER DRINKS WITH UMBRELLA
Personality: Flaky, annoying, dizzy, and a pain in the ass.
Approach: Avoid her, unless you want to be her cabin boy.

MIXED DRINKS - NO UMBRELLAS E.G.; GIN AND TONIC / SCOTCH AND SODA
Personality: Mature, has picky taste; knows what she wants
Approach: If she wants you, she'll send YOU a drink.

WATER
Personality: Pretentious and is looking for a serious relationship.
Approach: Don't.

WINE - (BOTTLED, NOT 4 LITRE CASK)
Personality: Conservative and classy, sophisticated.
Approach: Try and weave Paris and clothing into the conversation.

BACARDI BREEZER, RED SQUARE, ARCHERS COOLER, SMIRNOFF ICE, MUDSHAKE ETC.
Personality: Easy; thinks she is trendy and sophisticated actually has no clue.
Approach: Make her feel smarter than she is... and you're in.

SPIRITS SUCH AS CC, WILD TURKEY, SOUTHERN COMFORT

Personality: Watch out, they are unique! A real mixture of personalities. Love to be laid!
Approach: Talk dirty to them whilst challenging them intellectually - you're in!

CAPE VELVET
Personality: Annoying voice, bit of a tart.
Approach: Stand close and mention the alley next to the pub.

SHOTS AND SLAMMERS (TEQUILA, VODKA, COWBOYS, AFTERSHOCK ETC.)
Personality: Hangs around with male work pals or looking to get drunk.
Approach: Easiest hit in the pub, nothing to do but wait...

SPIRITS SUCH AS JACKS, BEAM & BUNDY
Personality: Enjoys male company more than females, loves to party hard
Approach: Keep buying them drinks, they'll think you're a nice bloke and they are probably trying to work out how to get you to bed!



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
IF MEN DRINK in a PUB (as always, very simple and clear cut).

CIDER
He's probably under-aged and wants to get laid.

CHEAP DOMESTIC BEER
He's poor / student and wants to get laid.

CASTLE LAGER BEER
He likes good beer and wants to get laid.

IMPORTED BEER
He's old; he likes good beer and wants to get laid.

GUINNESS
The man is a rapist and will get laid one way or another.

WATER
He just threw up and is trying to wash the taste out of his mouth so that he can still get laid

WINE
He's hoping that the wine thing will give him a sophisticated image and help him get laid.

VODKA OR BRANDY
Extremely horny hound, would shag a warm scarf. Desperate to get laid.

PORT
Thinks he's sophisticated, secretly likes men and wants to get laid.

WHISKY/JACK DANIELS
He doesn't give two $hits about anything and will hit anyone who will get in his way of getting laid.

JIM BEAM
Not as masculine as the whisky drinker, knows all about feminine activities (knitting, crochet etc.) to weasel himself into getting laid.

RUM OR TEQUILA
Likes fighting almost as much as getting laid.

BACARDI BREEZER, RED SQUARE, ARCHERS COOLER, SMIRNOFF ICE, ETC
He's gay (blatantly) - don't turn your back or pick up any dropped change.


REMEMBER DON'T DRINK AND DRIVE ....

Canada Land

I have recently returned from an excursion to CanadaLand and a friendlier more hospitable place you’d be hard pressed to find. We rented a car to assist us in getting about and when I booked it over the interweb I opted for a Yaris or similar thinking a small car would be easier to navigate through unfamiliar city streets. After going through the bits and pieces with the Avis girl and collecting the keys we were surprised to see that our car was much larger than we had anticipated. It wasn’t a Yaris it was a mahoosive Dodge Charger and only similar to a Yaris in so much as it had four wheels an engine and people could sit in it. I’d never driven a car so big and quickly developed a pain in my neck from trying to keep an eye on both wing mirrors. It was more akin to sailing a boat than driving a car. Thankfully we also rented a satellite navigation system, which I christened Brigit, so I only had to point the bow and steer.

Toronto is a great city, a big city, and much like any other big city there is plenty to see and do. We went to see Casa Loma which was built by the infamous Canadian architect E. J. Lennox, who was the two ends of a bastard by all accounts. He was commissioned by Sir Henry Pellatt who made his fortune from hydro power and wanted a house fit for a king so Lennox built him a castle on the proviso that Lennox could build a house out of whatever materials were left. Lennox being the cute hoor that he was put himself in charge of purchasing the materials and low and behold he had enough left over to build a wee mansion for himself. In the end Pellatt lost all his money, and his big house, and ended up living in squalor in a basement flat with his driver. A sad story no doubt but I found it very difficult to give a fuck. Casa Loma is now used as a movie set being most famed for being the school for gifted mutants in the X Men movies. I saw no mutants when I was there I’m sad to report although there was one guy with a clubbed foot.

I met this delightful old gentleman in a hotel bar in Toronto. I had just popped in for some much needed libation after a visit to the Bata Shoe Museum only to be treated to some excellent piano playing from a 92 year old man. I was in the bar on my own or so I thought and gave the music very little attention until the bar man wandered off with a glass of orange juice and as my gaze followed him I noticed two things. The first thing I noticed was the piano and the second thing I noticed was the aged gentleman’s hands splayed across the keys. I gave him my full attention for the duration of his set and when he finished he joined me at the bar. He was originally from Switzerland and had moved to Canada in the early fifties. He had lived alone all his life and loved playing the piano. He was currently domiciled in a retirement home round the corner and liked to come out of an evening and play the piano. The bar we were in was one of only two bars in Toronto that had a piano and would let him play. He was a fascinating old man who in his own words had spent far too long alone but hadn’t yet given up the search for a wife.

From Toronto we headed to Niagara Falls via Niagara On The Lake and the Whirlpool on the advice of an Irish bus driver we had met. He wasn’t wrong it was a lovely drive and beat the hell out of driving on the expressway. The Falls are amazing but the town not so much. On leaving Niagara Falls heading for Montreal we put our trust in Brigit but the sleek electronic omnipotent bitch has no comprehension of visas. As I sailed the Dodge onto the bridge we could see the American Flag fluttering at the far end. We knew we were in trouble, Brigit knew all about borders we could see on her screen that the USA was on the far end of the bridge but could we fuck turn the car around and go back the way we came. The US border patrol man who stopped us made us feel as welcome as a bad bout of botulism. He cared not for our excuses nor our accusatorial pointing towards Brigit. He told us to park the car and enter the immigration building and wait to be processed which we did. As we entered the building a big sign detailing the border patrol mission statement stated that everybody would be treated with dignity and respect. It quickly became apparent that the border patrol men working here had never read this mission statement. I never met such a spectacular shower of cunts in my life and I have met some cunts. Fat shaven headed power tripping donut eating fuck pigs the lot of them. I have no time for the American establishment and these festering fucktards only served to bolster that opinion. It was over three hours before we were allowed to turn around and go back to Canada. The Canadians on the other hand were only delighted to see us and it took less than five minutes to explain our situation and get moving again.

We eventually arrived in Montreal many hours later, moored the Dodge and fell asleep. On waking and wandering through the early morning city streets the hassle of the previous day seemed a distant memory. Montreal is a wonderful place with an eclectic mix of old and new, of French and Canadian a veritable Hodge-Podge of styles and cultures. Where everyone greets you in French and when met with my blank thousand yard stare quickly switch to English. Where the locals converse in both languages constantly and with such ease, often asking questions in French and answering questions in English. It’s a great city for just sitting back in a café or restaurant and listening and watching. There is a vivid sense of self in Montreal it has a feeling of being entirely self actualised. It knows what it is and the people who live there are obviously very proud of their bilingual heritage but not in the least bit force full with it. If you can speak French they’ll speak French if you can’t then English is just fine too.

On reflection we should have spent longer in Montreal and less time in Toronto and if we ever go back which is very possible I think we’ll skip Toronto altogether and head straight to Montreal. The Canadian people we met were accommodating, friendly, quick witted and open and seemed genuinely thrilled that someone had taken the trouble to holiday in their fine country. But hey why wouldn’t we sure it’s just like America but without the Americans!

You Can Love Your Mom, Just Don't LOVE Your Mom...

AN OHIO teen was severely traumatized after discovering the stars of a downloaded porno flick were none other than his own parents.

Timmy Shannon, 17, recalls the moment that scarred him for life. "I was like five minutes into this porno called Horny House Wives 4, when I thought to myself, 'Hey, that couch looks exactly like the one I'm sitting on. Oh crap, it is!' I remember the horror overcoming me when I realized the woman bent over that couch was my mother, and the guy giving it to her was my father. I instantly pulled my pants back up and vomited."

Christ on a bike can you imagine that. There you are happily tugging away walloping the head of your micky off the top of your knee when all of a sudden the flange you've been staring at is none other than your mothers ould winyagog. Jaysus can you imagine sitting there staring at your mothers glory hole, limp cock in hand, thinking "wow I crawled out of that...."

CHRIST ON A BIKE ....

Waking Life

I watched Richard Linklater’s Waking Life the other night and what a seminal head fuck that proved to be. I was never really quiet sure if I was being drawn into the animated philosophical ramblings because of the unsteady rotoscope animation or because of the steady stream of consciousness and existential lyrical waxings of the characters or if indeed I was just slowly but surely dying of boredom. On the one hand it was a pretentious slap on the back to all involved, well done, come on us, sure we is well educated we is. One cunt trying to out cunt some other cunt. On the other hand it was like someone setting off fizz bombs in your cranium, there's only one instant, and it's right now, and its eternity.

The ongoing WOW is happening right NOW. The trick is to combine your waking rational abilities with the infinite possibilities of your dreams. Because, if you can do that, you can do anything. Life is a matter of a miracle that is collected over time by moments flabbergasted to be in each others presence. The worst mistake that you can make is to think you're alive when really you're asleep in life's waiting room. They say that dreams are only real as long as they last. Couldn't you say the same thing about life? The idea is to remain in a state of constant departure while always arriving.

Like the guy in movie said, I'm not saying that they don't know what their talking about, but I sure as fuck didn’t know what they were talking about.

Then again I was rather stoned at the time.

In fact, writer/director Linklater himself was quoted as saying these words before the film's premiere at Sundance: "How many of you out there are on drugs?" When a number of hands went up, he added, "Good. This is for you. The rest of you, just bear with me."

So like I said I'm not sure if I really enjoyed it or hated it immensely I think I’ll have to give it another spin and see where it takes me. It could be a subversive tool to twist my mind. At least I hope so. Although watching it twice can often prove dangerous, here is an image of what happens when you watch the movie in the wrong frame of mind ….

Rodent Wars Engulf World Hotspots

The Iran-Irag War II has already started! But this time it's between woodland critters. Evil, ferocious honey badgers are taking over Basra while Iran's state news agency has claimed that their intelligence service has arrested 14 squirrels, who were spying just inside Iran's borders. They were apparently carrying "spy gear of foreign agencies". My money's on the honey badgers though. Their fur is so loose if you were to grab it by the scruff of it's neck, it could still turn round in its own skin and rape the face off ya.

Max the whole world has gone mad I tells ya....

Independence Day or Insurgents Day?

The US are continuing to badger and mount pressure on Iran for what the US perceives to be Iran’s meddling in Iraq. The US has blamed Iran for supplying both technology and expertise to their Iraqi neighbours. The US are also accusing the Iraqi people of continuing to attempt to destabilise the current US legitimised government in Iraq by their continuing support for an illegal insurgency coupled with outside support from foreign fighters namely Iran and Syria. The US government seems unable to fathom or comprehend why the Iraqi people are so willing to support any and all attempts at removing the US from their sphere of influence in the area. Yet today of all days should make it blatantly obvious. It’s Independence Day in Yankeeland and it was on this day that a band of insurgents overthrew the legitimate government through acts of sabotage, propaganda, guerrilla warfare and civil unrest. Not only that but they were aided by foreign fighters, the French. The hypocrisy is staggering.


Max hand me the semtex ...

English Smoking Ban …

While I was over in Britland they introduced the smoking ban, not for my benefit mind you, I think they had it planned, but introduced it was and to much furore, coughing and thumping of chests. Not that I noticed much difference in the hotel bar. There were ashtrays on the tables on Saturday and they were gone on Sunday but there were no fucking people either day so it hardly registered. I watched Central News on the idiot box on Sunday afternoon and they were showing pubs in the area who had hosted all night smoking parties. The images were voiced over by a health anal-ist and it was all hazy pictures of pasty skinned people puffing away like it cured cancer and all the while the anal-ist droned on. One half dying fellow who closely resembled something a crow shit during the famine puffed away on two cigarettes at the same time. Hardcore! Then the clock struck 6:00am and they were all extinguished, the cigarettes that is, not the smokers. The news clip then cut to some waxen faced bint landlady of the Cock and Tickle or the Hole n Bush or whatever the fuck it was called. There she was all tits and ass wiping the counter while a bodiless voice asked her opinion on the smoking ban. Oh it’s awful she intoned, just awful, I’m already noticing a loss in business. What the fuck! Loss in business my hole, it was just after midday the place had only been open a fucking hour.


In Other News:

Pete Doherty discovers Cork ....

Brain Fart ....

Another busy few days in the life and times of one OhBeJoe and no word of a lie. Was over in Manchester last Tuesday which in and of itself was rather uneventful. On Wednesday morning the yellow oil light started flashing on the dash of me motor so I had a brain fart and put too much oil in my car. I just kept on pouring and day dreaming and then the oil can was empty. The car didn’t like it, nope not one little bit. It went from sounding like a smooth petrol car to sounding like a clapped out diesel after about two miles. The yellow oil light went out all right, but it was the appearance of the violently flashing red oil light that caused me some concern. I had to organise a garage and get a car rescue type person to pick up the sick motor and bring it to the hospital. When I spoke to the mechanic I explained that I suspected there might be too much oil in the engine. How much is too much he asked. About five litres I replied. Sure that’s way too much he said. I knew right away that I had contacted the right man for the job. I was back in England again on Saturday so I had to leave said motor with him all weekend. I just picked it up and all is well with the world again.

So there I was over in Newcastle-Under-Lyme, again, and low and behold if the place wasn’t all abuzz with the news that one of the would-be terrorist suspects was arrested in the area and house raids followed. I think the guys name was Dr. Bashavan or something and his bestist pal was called Sinjin Jeep. Someone mentioned that they weren’t terrorists but rather they were just celebrating Ramavan in the traditional fashion. Whatever happened, the people in Newcastle have already tried and convicted them. Guilty as charged your honour I knew by the colour of his skin that he was up to no good.

Between floods on Monday and extra security I thought I’d never get the fuck out of Britland. I swiftly exited Dublin airport and due to my car being sick I had to get a taxi home. I hate taxis and their know-it-all-sure-the-worlds-gone-mad-no-money-in-taxi’s-anymore-cos-of-all-the-johnny-foreigners drivers but the driver I had was a rather pleasant fellow who was made out of the night time. He tried to feed me dry crackers as we breezed down the M50, I wasn’t all that hungry but boy did he enjoy his crackers. If eating crackers ever becomes an Olympic sport this fucker could represent Ireland. He took out three at a time, one for his mouth and two for the dash board, for later you understand. His English wasn’t great and my Nigerian is a little rusty but we shared pleasantries all they same. Then fuck me if he didn’t flip open the compartment between the two seats and produce a 2 litre carton of pineapple juice. Again I was offered, I wasn’t thirsty but it was the cracker remnants left around the cartons mouthpiece that sealed it for me. As he gunned the car round a roundabout there was shit and snot and crackers and pineapple juice all over the shop. He apologised profusely through a mouthful of dry crackers which only added to my mirth. I swear to jaysus he must have ate a half a packet of crackers between the airport and my home and when he wasn’t crunching he was singing wee ditties to himself and you know what, I’d travel with a mental dry cracker eating Nigerian taxi driver any day. He never complained once and when I gave him a five euro tip he blessed me, my family and anybody else who I might happen to bump into.

Max hand me the Jacobs ….

The Zorse The Bomb And The Gypsies

Sounds like an eastern European remake of ‘The Lion The Witch And The Wardrobe’ but it aint.

The Zorse:



A more bastardised looking breed of animal you’d be hard pressed to find. Half horse and half zebra and coloured a bit of both. Other animals in the equine family interbreed with success too. Such as the donkey and the mule giving rise to the jinnet one of the few animals in the known world that could go extinct in the morning and yet in a few years there could be thousands again. I know lots of jinnets but not all of the equine variety. But the Zorse now that’s something you don’t see every day. Wouldn’t it be great if the human pigmentation was like that too. Most Americans would look like wibbly wobbly wonders.

The Bomb:

A Mercedes car packed with propane gas cylinders, fuel and lots of nails was discovered last night in London. The driver apparently crashed into some bins and then fled. Not exactly a brains kind of operation if you ask me. It was either Al Qeada or a carpenter in a hurry to an industrial barbeque. You’d imagine he would have been careful with his driving considering his cargo. Jaysus the IRA managed to bomb the fuck out of London for years with no such slip ups. Me thinks this guys heart wasn’t really in it. It was nice of Sky News to add that it probably wasn’t the Irish. Bunch of jumped up hairy arsed swamp donkeys.

The Gypsies:

Did you know that there are a bunch of gypsies, proper gypsies, Romanian gypsies, living on a roundabout in Ballymun. Fifty of these poor Romanian unfortunates have set up camp in the very middle of a large roundabout. You can’t see them from the road but their in there. The government issued a statement saying they were monitoring them. Monitoring them? For what one wonders? The thing that surprised me was when the head of their clan was interviewed he said that the conditions were bad but at least they were better than back in Romania. So where the fuck did these people live in Romania? In a sewer, in a hole in the ground, or in the sweaty hairy armpit of a Romanian lesbetron shot put thrower. Or perhaps at the bottom of this guys mouth, half man, half hippo.

Stab Victim Keeps Wanking .....

No shit this came from an Aussie paper.

A Brisbane woman stabbed a male friend twice in the shower after he refused to stop masturbating in front of her children. Defense lawyers for Kylie Louise Wilson, 28, said the mother of two "lost it" when her friend of six years, Daniel Peter Blair, went on a masturbation marathon on April 6 last year. Brisbane's District Court this morning heard Mr. Blair had showed up at Wilson's unit at Birkdale unit, in Redland Shire, where he took amphetamines before having a shower. Whilst in the bathroom, Mr Blair, 32, began pleasuring himself, before moving to Wilson's bedroom, where he rolled around naked on her bed and continued his lewd conduct. He returned to the bathroom for more and was busted by Wilson, who was attempting to bath her three-and-a-half year-old daughter. The court heard Mr. Blair refused her repeated requests to stop, prompting her to fetch a knife from the kitchen which she used to stab him twice in the left shoulder. Crown prosecutors said Mr. Blair paused only to put on his shorts and flee outside to wait for police to arrive, but was again overcome by the urge. "Despite his injury, it seems (Mr. Blair) continued to masturbate while in the garage," the prosecutor said. Police took him to hospital where he received treatment for the minor stab wounds. Wilson pleaded guilty to one count each of unlawful wounding and willful damage. Her defense barrister, Mark Johnson, said Wilson regarded Mr Blair as a "tolerably decent person" when he was not using drugs, but had become "extremely protective" of her daughter under the circumstances. "He was in and out and round about, doing this sort of thing all over the house, " Mr. Johnson said. "She just lost it, to put it crudely." Senior Judge Gilbert Trafford Walker accepted the Crown's submission that Wilson had been subjected to "grossly offensive conduct ... which in a moral sense amounts to extreme provocation." He sentenced her to nine months' jail but ordered that she be immediately released on parole.

Seriously though you couldn't make that shit up. What the fuck was he on anyway? We've all had occasions when we've succumbed to carnal pressures and just raped the fuck out of ourselves have we not? But to just plough on regardless of being stabbed and shit is just plain mental.

On a much lighter note ....

Best 5 Second Video On The InterWeb

Poor The Kevin Myers

Kevin Myers wrote an article in today’s Indo rebuking certain people for not giving him sufficient praise and credit for his work in highlighting Irelands involvement in the Great War. Some of which is posted below ...

On Wednesday last, the Second Glucksman Memorial Symposium opened at Trinity College Dublin. Its subject was 'Commemorating the Unthinkable: Europe, Ireland and the Great War.' Chaired by Terence Brown, participants included Gerald Dawe, John Horne, Jane Leonard, with readings from Sebastian Barry and Michael Longley. To be sure, I was invited to be present, but merely as a mute journalist, not as a contributor.

Last week, before a large gathering of official guests, the President laid a wreath at Messines Ridge, to commemorate the joint attack by the 16th Irish and the 36th Ulster Divisions 90 years ago. I learnt about this only from the news, which is also how, two days earlier, I had heard of a similar official wreath-laying by the Minister for Foreign Affairs, Dermot Ahern.

How delightful, how utterly delightful, that others who came to the field so long after I had begun to plough my lonely furrow are included in such events, and I am not.....

As an 'Irish Times' columnist, I made it my business, ceaselessly, year upon year, to write on this topic, causing many threats and much abuse, with the vile 'Phoenix' magazine christening me "Colonel Myers". But I persisted, because I felt Ireland owed a duty to those tens of thousands of its sons who fell on the Western front and Gallipoli, and were then written out of history......

He continues ...


But once official Ireland woke up to the subject, I began to be marginalised. When the memorial tower at Messines Ridge was opened by the President and Queen Elizabeth in 1998, I was not invited to the ceremony. However, an Army friend arranged a pass for me into the viewing stand, and to the reception afterwards.

It was here that Paddy Harte TD, who had been a driving force in the creation of the tower, rose and said there was one man in the room to whom they were all indebted for their knowledge of the Great War: he then named someone I had never heard of. And for 1998, now read 2007.


Poor the Kevin Myers, poor the misunderstood, overlooked, marginalised, ceaseless Kevin Myers. If I had time to rush into town and give him a medal and a hug I would.

Sausages n Domestic Violence

Well it’s all happening today. I just saw a man pull a knife on two blokes who were trying to stop him from robbing their jeep. They had him wrestled to the ground and when he pulled the knife they let him go. He pulled his hood over his head and strolled off but kept facing them the entire time. He didn’t run, he didn’t panic, he never looked like using the knife but his point was made, so to speak. Then about ten minutes later the hair salon across the street went on fire. Apparently one of the orange people who work there dropped some nail polish remover on a candle, then knocked the candle over and tried to put the subsequent blaze out with some nice dry towels. Judging by the thick black smoke that was billowing out the doors and windows I’d say she failed quite spectacularly. The salon staff watched the scene unfold amid sobbing and whaling and there was much running of mascara and flashes of French nails.

I was in Stoke on Trent for the past couple of days. It was recently voted the most depressing place in the UK. I quiet like the place though. I was over there with my boss. When we went to collect the car from Avis he was trying to examine the car and put his case in the boot at the same time. This resulted in him falling over backwards into a hedge. I laughed so hard a little bit of wee came out. He didn’t fall straight away. No he teetered and swayed and I stood there thinking he’s going, he’s going and there he goes. Middle aged man decked out in a suit, legs akimbo in the middle of a hedge. I could have tried to catch him but where’s the craic in that.

Stoke is a small place, with a rural feel and has a fair selection of pubs and restaurants. I was staying in a place called the Clayhanger, the Dangleberry I like to call it, a place I’ve stayed many times before. It’s run by two nice blokes who I think are in the gays. My only quibble about the place is that they don’t serve sausages with the cooked breakfast. I reckon there’s something in that but I’m a bit reluctant to ask them for some sausage action.

As I was waiting for breakfast yesterday morning I was accosted by a middle aged woman who wanted to know where I came from. When I said Ireland she was delighted. Her people came over from Ireland in the 1850’s she said, after the potato blight. She went on to tell me that she was a local woman who had just recently been divorced and was staying in the Dangleberry until she got sorted with a flat. Her husband had been abusive she said. It was her third husband in fact. She had been single for 25 years and then married three abusive and violent men. A bit greedy I thought, surely one is enough for any woman. She surmised that she should have stayed single and what could I do but agree. I learned all about Stoke and the Potteries, much more than I ever wanted to. She met her latest husband when he was in recovery, this peeked my interest. In recovery for what I enquired. A head injury she offered. He had fractured his skull quiet badly and had suffered some brain damage. They met during his recovery and were married a few days later. He wasn’t the only one with brain damage I thought. He swept me off my feet she said. How romantic a man with brain damage can be is not for me to say. He was prone to fits of violence. She suffered 22 instances of domestic abuse in 10 months.

It was half seven in the morning, the door to the breakfast room opened, I held it open for her and we entered together. This woman had given me more personal information in those ten minutes than anyone I’ve ever met. I’m not very good with sensitivity and feelings and stuff. She was obviously lonely or maybe I have a big hey talk to me head on me. We stood side by side at the cereal counter. I was almost afraid to pick a table first in case she sat next to me. All I wanted was breakfast, coffee and nothing more. She sat first and I chose a different table. One where she wasn’t facing me, and thus couldn’t make eye contact. I stared at her big round back and pondered her lot for a few seconds. I felt sorry for this woman. Life had obviously dealt her a series of shit hands. She was pleasant though, and seemed happy enough. Either that or she was crazier than a shithouse rat. Either way there was little I could do. All I wanted was some breakfast and why oh why is there never any sausages.

Trousers.

Was in england again yesterday, God I hate english people, not all of them mind, just some of them, well lots of them. Especially those types you see in plane stations, waiting to go to Benidorm or some other brit infested shite hole. Those english cunts with their english jerseys and their opened toed sandals and their british bulldog tattoos. With their bald shiny heads, their ham fisted wives and their gut busting, raised on fish n’ chips, beans is a vegetable init’ spawn. Singing shite english holiday songs as they swill cheap flat beer in a brightly lit airport bar. I shan’t even grace thee with capital letters. As the fella said do you know why the sun never set on the english empire? Because even God didn’t trust the cunts in the dark.

So there I was happily sleeping on my flight yesterday when the Excuse-Me-Sir-Yes-I-Am-A-Bastard stewardess woke me up to get me to open the window blind. It’s for safety reasons she assured me as I scowled at her big round puffy caked in six inches of cheap stinky make up head that I wished I could punch her in. The same bastard thing happened on the return flight. I pondered this as the plane battered its way to a halt. Why does it matter if the blind is up or down? It can’t be air pressure can it? Or perhaps it’s for psychological reasons. Perhaps we die better when we can see the ground coming hurtling at us through our little window pane. “Hey Nora what’s that greyish green stuff that seems to be coming towards our window? Oh wait it’s the groun’….”. If the blind were shut perhaps it would be more like "Hey Nora what was that thud, Nora, hey Nora why has your head exploded ...".

So I decided I’d try and find out and here is the closest thing I found to a plausible excuse.

It’s for safety reasons in case of a mishap. The vast majority of all aircraft accidents happen during takeoff and landing. If something were to happen, you would not want to exit the aircraft into a burning pool of jet fuel following a crash landing. Additionally it gives rescuers a view of the inside of the aircraft. They wouldn't want to cut through the side of the aircraft into a fire inside the aircraft or use a Sawzall through the side of the fuselage and cut into an injured passenger.

The cabin lights are usually dimmed or shut off entirely to minimize the sources of ignition in case of a mishap. The fewer circuits that are electrically live, the less chance of a short-circuit induced fire.

The Mongrel Cunts List

Some Dumb Fucks In Yankee Land

We Are A Pale Blue Dot

Funny Prank Call

A Corker In Croker

I went to the Meath Dublin game on Sunday in Croke Park and witnessed a thrilling display of football by both teams and a fascinating display of muck savagery by the supporters. It had been a while since I’d watched Meath play in Croker and I’d forgotten how many experts there are amongst GAA supporters and all seemed oblivious of just how hypocritical and contradictory they were. At one stage Geraghty was leaning back into the Dublin defender and the guy behind me kept shouting “ref for fucks sake he’s riding Geraghty” and then in the same breath, once the ref had blown for a foul on Geraghty, he turned to his friend and said “sure that’s not a foul at all Geraghty was lying into him”. The same man criticised Coyle the Meath manager for not telling someone to just stay inside the 14 yard line and then when Geraghty took on that roll they criticised him for not getting further out the field. These are the same kind of muck savages who would finish the dinner and say “jaysus missus I didn’t think much of the chicken but damn blast the hen was lovely”. The match finished in a draw and I was reminded of the marathon matches in 91, Meath can play a bit once again and it felt good having a decent team to shout for after years of poor performances.

When the game ended we retired to Kavanaghs on Dorset Street for the post match analysis and a feed of bad pints. On forcing our way through the door we were greeted by the smell of stale alcohol, damp and body odour. Ah the memories, a veritable assault on the senses. Having had our fill of below par beer we headed for McGowans. A regular watering hole for nurses and guards and not one of my favourite places it has to be said. As it happened we were refused entry based entirely on the fact that we were smiling when we approached the door. It’s a miserable fuck of a place and you have to look like a miserable fuck to gain entry. Not to be deterred by the cunt of shit on the door we left and headed for Flannery’s on Camden Street, again not my decision. After more bad beer and some fine whisky we lost one of our number, the last we saw of him he was buried to the shoulders in some young one with a head on her like BB Baskin.

When Flannery’s shut we made our way to The Gigs Place, a late night diner, for more bloody drink. I’ve been in the place once or twice before and I’m starting to think it doesn’t really exist on this plane of reality at all. I reckon it only appears out of a shimmering mist when I’ve had more than enough to drink. It looks an awful kip from the outside and not much better when you get in. But they serve food and wine until 6:00am so it’s a palace of a place in my estimations. Two bottles of wine and some burgers later we staggered out of it and some how managed to get home, minus my jacket it has to be said. I regained consciousness yesterday afternoon with the mother and father of a pair of headaches. I didn’t know if I wanted to shite or have a stroke. I went back to try and retrieve my jacket but the place was all locked up like it hadn’t been open in years. Alas I’m now thinking that the only way I’ll get my jacket back is to go out and do it all again, but not for a while you understand, I’m not sure my system can take it. The replay is in a fortnight I might be better by then.

The Very Bits

I have been very busy of late, sheering spiders, milking motorcycles, and pruning bunions that sort of thing. Actually no I was flat out busy campaigning for the national elections. I ran using a stealth strategy which included no posters, no ad campaigns, no radio or television broadcasts and I only canvassed at night without knocking. I’d stand at the door for fifteen minutes and if nobody opened it I’d go to the next door. I saw some lovely knockers, and door bells and the like, but no people. I was wrecked after it and I never got a vote.

In other news:

MANCHESTER has beaten London, Dublin and Los Angeles in a league table of the world's best places to live.

But the top 10 most desirable cities, according to a survey by the Economist Intelligence Unit, are virtually all in Canada and Australia, because they are seen as safe from terror attacks.

The place has come on leaps and bounds since the IRA bombed the fuck out of it in the 90’s. I've spent quiet some time there in recent years and I can assure you it has just as many cunts as London or Dublin.

Check out the Beetham Tower below, clearly designed by a fucktard with a ruler and I’m convinced they built it upside down.

Podge and Rodge Quotes of 2006!!

These come courtesy of one Mr. Sheridan an avid fan of firing himself down mountains on a gate ....

My mouth's as dry as a nun's crack

He's so camp, he shites tent pegs

I'm as sick as a plane to Lourdes

I feel like a boiled shite (hungover)

(when leaving) I'm off like a debs dress

She had a face on her that would drive rats from a barn

Sweatin' like a paedophile in a Barney suit

I'd crawl a million miles across broken glass to kiss the exhaust of the van that took her dirty knickers to the laundry.

No show pony but would do for a ride around the house

I left her with a face like a painters radio <<(I nearly wet myself reading this one!)

She's got more chins than a Chinese phone book

A sniper wouldn't take her out

Jaysus, ya wouldn't ride her into battle

She has a face on her like a bulldog that's just licked p*ss off a nettle.

She had a fanny like a badly packed kebab

If I'd a garden full of mickeys I wouldn't let her look over the wall

Give her a boot in the hole and a bucket of mickeys would fall out of her fanny


Feckin' classics the lot ...

Jail The Bitch For Life

To: Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger

Dear Governor Schwarzenegger,

We hereby request that Paris Hilton is jailed for life without chance of parole for her crimes of driving while drunk, breaking the terms of her probation and also for the equally unforgivable crime against humanity which was her acting in House of Wax.

Furthermore, by encouraging a petition aimed at getting her pardoned for her obvious stupidity we believe that her prison term should be served in Guantanamo Bay, as putting her in a shapeless orange jumpsuit with a black bag over her head would be a welcome relief for most right-thinking people.

We also request that those people who have signed the petition asking for her to be pardoned should be given immediate psychiatric help as they are clearly not well.
Sincerely,

Jail The Bitch For Life

Bird Hid Bird In Bush

Ireland’s maximum security prison in Portlaoise was raided recently by prison guards in search of various forms of contraband. They found a substantial quantity of smuggled mobile phones, drugs, needles - and a budgie. The prison houses notorious criminals including members of the Dublin and Limerick drug-trafficking gangs and a couple of disaffected terrorist inmates. Officers seized at least eight smuggled mobile phones, three SIM cards, around 150 tablets, including ecstasy, a significant quantity of powdered drugs, a large amount of homemade alcohol, known as hooch, and 30 syringes. When I heard that the haul also included a budgie I wondered what the notorious criminal had actually asked for when he received the budgie. Imagining some hard nosed Limerick gangster asking his cronies to send him some company you know, a bird, and not being graced with brains they’d sent him a budgie. Then I found out it had been smuggled into the jail by a female visitor who concealed the bird internally in her body. Internally in her body no less, that’s one fucked up budgie that’s probably in need of some serious counselling. Historically budgies were used by miners to detect dangerous levels of gas i.e. if the budgie keeled over and died it was time to get the fuck out of dodge. So how does one hide a budgie internally? I suppose if you put into your rectum head first it would kick the shit out of you. If you put it in feet first it would bite the finger off you when you wiped your ass, and how the fuck did she get it back out again without causing a fuss. Sorry warden it’s me growler it’s whacking out a right pong! Never mind the pong how did you get it to say pretty Polly?


Lawyer lodges $67m legal claim

It gives the phrase "taking someone to the cleaners" new meaning. A Washington judge who says his local dry cleaners lost his pants is suing them for $67m (€49.3m). Even in the world's most litigious society, the case has dismayed many in the legal community. The dispute began in 2002, when lawyer Roy Pearson took a pair of trousers into Custom Cleaners in his Fort Lincoln neighbourhood of the capital. They were lost. The owners, Jim and Soo Chung - Korean immigrants like many in the business - offered $150 (€110) in compensation, which was accepted. There are suggestions of a row, which involved Mr Pearson being barred. Those trousers are not part of the writ. Relations were patched up and three years later, after being appointed a tribunal judge, Mr Pearson took a pair of trousers to the Chungs for alteration. In court papers, he claims this pair too were lost. The Chungs insist they were found a week later and say they can prove it. Mr Pearson's first letter of complaint to the Chungs sought $1,150 (€846) so he could buy a new suit. Then lawyers got involved. The Chungs offered Pearson $3,000, then $4,600 and, finally, their lawyer, Chris Manning, offered $12,000 (€8,820) to settle the case. But Mr Pearson, who sits on government tribunals, refused to back down. He based his writ on the cleaners' failure to fulfil two signs in their window: 'Satisfaction Guaranteed', and 'Same Day Service'. He reached the figure of $67m as follows: Washington's consumer protection law provides for damages of $1,500 (€1,100) per violation per day. Mr Pearson started multiplying: 12 violations over 1,200 days, times three defendants (the Chungs and their son). He included $15,000 (€11,000) to rent a car every weekend for 10 years, arguing that he didn't own a car and had to drive to a different cleaner. He seeks $500,000 (€368,000) in emotional damages and $542,000 (€399,000) in legal fees, though he is representing himself. According to the 'Washington Post', Mr Pearson has set the Chungs and their lawyers a long list of questions and requests, such as: 'Please identify by name, full address and telephone number, all cleaners known to you on May 1, 2005 in the District of Columbia, the United States and the world that advertise 'Satisfaction Guaranteed'. The Chungs have removed the signs upon which Mr Pearson's case rests. Soo Chung, speaking through an interpreter to ABC News yesterday, broke down in tears. "It's been so difficult. I just want to go home, go back to Korea."

If ever anyone was in need of a battery acid enema and contracting the bad aids and dying it is surely this cunt wha?

Boom !!

Third World Bomb Squad

Car Bomb (1)

Car Bomb (2)

Car Bomb (3)

Car Bomb (4)

Car Bomb (5)

Things That Made Me Go Hmmm......

Pussy On LSD

Proof That God Exists

Man Ripped In Half By Motorcycle

Knob Jockey

Jonathan “Stands-Too-Close-To-You” Ryhs Meyers has entered rehab. Well their all doing it now aren’t they dahling. Although his publicist has said the stint in rehab is to aid his recovery from alcohol addiction I reckon it’s to try and take that stupid fuckin look off his face. He always has eyes on him like a crow looking into a jam pot but it’s nothing a belt of a shovel wouldn’t fix. I saw him on the Late Late Shite one night being interviewed by that vacuous waste of space that is Pat “The-Plank” Kenney, I’m not proud of it but I was fascinated by his utter cuntishness, anyway Meyers said he spent an absolute fortune getting his teeth done i.e. taken out, beat into shape and hammered back in. I think he should have spent a bit extra getting his eyes fully opened, his gob straightened and that poker taken out of his arse.


Max hand me the sledge ….

For Fuck Sake.

Two things made me stop and say for fuck sake today.


OLDBOY



ONE of the photographs in the Virginia Tech killer's "multimedia manifesto" may have been inspired by a bloody South Korean movie.

Pictures of Cho Seung-Hui brandishing weapons, released by NBC, seem straight from the film 'Oldboy' which its tagline: "15 years of imprisonment . . . five days of vengeance".

'Oldboy' (right), from the respected director Chan-woo Park, is about a man, Dae-Su, unjustly imprisoned for 15 years. After escaping, he goes on a rampage against his captor. In one scene, he dispatches more than a dozen henchmen with the aid of a hammer.

Dae-Su embarks on a rampage of violence and bizarre torture. He extracts teeth with a claw-hammer, consumes a live octopus, and has live ants creeping all over him. He even goes so far as to chop off his own tongue. In the package of materials that Cho sent to NBC News, one photo shows the killer brandishing a hammer in a pose similar to one from the film. 'Oldboy' the second film in Park's Vengeance Trilogy won the Grand Prix at the 2004 Cannes Film Festival.

The connection was spotted by Professor Paul Harris of Virginia Tech, who alerted authorities. The similarities have prompted speculation, especially in online forums, that Cho's entire massacre may have been inspired by 'Oldboy'.

Notorious killers are commonly linked to movies or music. Some have dismissed the connection as "the most ridiculous hypothesis yet" saying there was no apparent link between Cho and 'Oldboy' besides the lone photograph among the 28 video clips, 23-page written message and 43 self-portrait photos that he sent to NBC. Cho did not seem to reference the film in any of his notes or messages.

Derek Malcolm, of the Evening Standard, said of the film, "It makes Kill Bill look like the proverbial vicarage tea party." (© Independent News Service)


For fuck sake! So it had nothing to do with the ease of access to weapons and ammunition but may be related to the fact that Cho Seung-Hui may have seen Oldboy. Goway and shite you daft yankee fucktards. I've seen Oldboy numerous times and regard it as cinematic masterpiece, no bubblegum American happy endings. But never have I wanted to kill people afterwards. Besides in the end of Oldboy your man cuts off his own tongue did Cho Seunf-Hui cut out his tongue? I think not! If movies are the root of all evil why don't obese big heap Americans sue the makers of Willie Wonka?


BUSH

PRESIDENT George W Bush said yesterday he was concerned that Iran's nuclear ambitions will trigger an atomic arms race in the Middle East.
He expressed his concern after 'The New York Times' reported that the leaders of Saudi Arabia, Turkey, Egypt and Jordan, among other Middle Eastern states, were seeking to develop nuclear programmes for electricity.
The Times said that while interest in nuclear energy is rising globally, it is unusually strong in the Middle East and that the rush of activity appeared intended to counter the threat of a nuclear Iran.

For fuck sake! So its Iran’s fault that there may be an atomic arms race in the Middle East is it? Nothing to do with the fact that Israel has atomic weapons and has threatened to bomb Iran on behalf of the US, who as it happens also has atomic weapons. It has nothing to do with the fact that the US, among others, has never fully honoured the agreements of the non proliferation treaty i.e. dismantling their existing nuclear arsenal. It could certainly have nothing to do with the fact the current US administration has earmarked billions of dollars in the defence budget to the continued development of low yield tactical nuclear weapons. No of course not, sure it’s all Iran’s fault.


Max hand me my fouling piece ....