Well Holy God. Holy Coffins.

Judging by the size of the boxes Jaysus was only the size of a leprechaun!

Claims that the limestone coffin of Jesus Christ has been identified in Jerusalem were rubbished last night by a senior Catholic prelate. The Bishop of Cork and Ross, Dr John Buckley, predicted that Christians will treat the claims by Hollywood director, James Cameron, with well justified suspicion and listen, instead, to the acknowledged experts. "I don't think too many Christians will buy into it," said Dr Buckley...

Christians won't buy into it eh.

Christians will buy into the idea of a man living in the sky, God, having made the world in six days. Dinosaurs? What dinosaurs?

Christians will buy into the idea that this God sent his only son Jaysus down to earth to save us, God said he would have used DHL but they couldn’t guarantee virginal delivery.

Christians will buy into the idea that God’s son was conceived without any human interaction. She just hiccupped and there he was.

Christians will buy into the idea that Jausys was able to raise the dead, walk on water, make blind people see by throwing sand in their eyes and turn water into wine. Apparently he was a dab hand at the fitted kitchens too.

Christians will buy into the idea of Jaysus being killed and raising himself from the dead a neat trick in any religion.

Christians, well at the very least Catholics, will buy into the idea that a priest can turn wine and bread into the body and blood of Jaysus, transubstantiation. Some Christians believe that when the rapture comes all the good little Christians will be raised, quiet literally, into heaven. Be a bit of a shock if you’re having a dump or on the job at the time.

Christians will buy into the idea that their God is the only God and a lack of faith in their God will send you to hell. Oddly enough Muslims believe there is no God but their God and Mohammed is his prophet. I think Mohammed picked spuds with Jaysus's father once, or they had turnips in the same field or something. Muslims believe infidels, and that includes Christians, are going straight to hell. So we're all going to hell apparently, it could get busy down there, no need for an overcoat.

Christians will buy into the idea that if we're really really good, when we die, we'll go to heaven and live on a little fluffy cloud and dance with bunny rabbits and unicorns and shit.

But the idea that Christians might believe this same Jaysus was buried in a box in a hole in the ground, sure that’s feckin’ mental.

Max, hand me my fouling piece!

Gaybo? Spot On!

So Gaybo wants to legalise drugs, the deputy lord mayor agrees but the international president of the Europe Against Drugs Network (Euraid), Gráinne Kenny, the bint, thinks he should step away from the crack pipe. I don’t know who this Kenny woman is but she is also the chairwoman of the EU-wide Stupified Driving Committee.

For those who don’t know the Stupified Driving Committee organise events across Europe where they get spazers and mongoloids and load them up with alcohol, goofballs and grass. Put them behind the wheel of a car and send them away off down the road at high speed to mill into oncoming cars, or Garda or Firemen or whatever.

Then Kenny and her coven of dusty crotched EU swamp donkeys can complain that all drugs are bad and that innocent, honest, intelligent people like our Gaybo should be shot with balls of his own shite. She’s all wrong I tells ya, Gaybo for Taoiseach or president or whatever.

Advertising His Ignorance

Taken outside Croke Park before Ireland v England six nations rugby match.

You have to love this guy. I'd like to think he selected his outfit with careful consideration but somehow I doubt it. He'd be out of his depth in a car park puddle. Absolute classic!

Why didn't these same gobshites protest outside Croker when the English anthem was played during the special olympics? Stable door closed, horse, already bolted!

Hot Fuzz

I went to see Hot Fuzz the other night. It's the funniest damned thing I've seen since that time I saw a tee shirt with "I've eaten more pussy than cervical cancer" written on it, or another one that stated "50,000 battered wives but I still eat mine plain". Anyway Hot Fuzz is great, I laughed so hard a little bit of wee came out.

Super Mechanic Man

Dropped the car in with the mechanic this morning and what an experience that proved to be. Never before have I met a man with such skill at talking absolute shite. All I wanted to do was drop off my car, pick up a courtesy car and leave. But no, it could never be that simple, I wasn’t dealing with any normal mechanic here, no I was dealing with Super Mechanic Man.

The guy gave me a synopsis of almost every car he ever fixed. I heard all about the Porsche mechanics that came over from Germany because the local Porsche garage couldn’t get a new car to start. How they used all their expertise but couldn’t get it to budge. Low and behold they rang Super Mechanic Man and boy Jausys if he didn’t have it sorted within twenty minutes. You see he had to change the ESI sump and then re-route the ferrymagig through the PRS portal using a soldering iron and a piece of chewing gum.

He then told me about the Mercedes boys down in Cork who were struggling to get a car started. Again Super Mechanic Man was called in to save the day, and fuck me what a hero he turned out to be. He told me he made a deal with the garage owner that he would charge him 1000 euro plus expenses i.e. a fancy lunch in a five start hotel. But if he couldn’t get the car fixed he’d only charge him expenses. Anyway Super Mechanic Man went down to Cork and when he got there didn’t the Mercedes mechanics start giving him guff. So he asked the garage owner if he was a betting man and apparently he was. So Super Mechanic Man bet him 2000 euro that he could get the car started using only a Philips screw driver, a lamp, a soldering iron and a length of wire. Not only would he get it started but he would do it within 5 minutes. The other mere mortal mechanics were taken aback by Super Mechanic Man's claim and all wanted a piece of the pie. So no sooner had he arranged a 2000 euro bet when it was bumped up to 6000. Plus the fancy lunch in the 5 start hotel. It was at this point I wanted to develop Botulism and die on the spot. The deal was they would open the bonnet and hang his lamp so he could see what he was at, plus leave the driver’s door wide open so he could get in. As soon as his hands touched the car they were to start the stop watch. So cocky was Super Mechanic Man that he told them to stick the kettle on and he’d have the car started before the kettle was boiled. To cut a long, mind numbingly boring story short he whipped out the soldering iron fiddled about with his Philips re-routed some fucking thing around some other fucking thing. Disabled the satellite navigation, re-programmed the satellite navigation and had the car running before the kettle boiled. Some man for one man! The Mercedes mechanics were in awe of his ability and offered him a job on the spot. But what sort of job could they offer him that would pay more than 6000 euro for two minutes work. None I said, now just give me the keys of a car till I get the fuck out of here. We headed for the road.

I noticed he had a slight limp and like a bollocks I asked him what happened. Well not only is he a Super Mechanic but he’s a fucking doctor too. His GP told him he had torn a ligament in his knee and dislocated his twelfth rib. Super Mechanic Man is a black belt in martial arts and won the European championship three years in a row. His injury, the doctor informed him, was probably a result of his extensive training. He nearly killed a man once you know. Some bloke armed with a sawn off shot gun came into his garage one morning and demanded money. Super Mechanic Man roundhouse kicked him in the neck and broke three of his vertebrae. When the paramedics came he could tell them that he had broken three of the armed burglar’s vertebrae, and boy jaysus if he wasn’t right. That was two year ago now he said, and your man is still above in the hospital in traction. I so desperately wanted to be in a hospital in traction at this point. I was on the verge of tears, I wasn’t sure how much more I could take before I exploded and told him I thought he was a cunt. So up to the hospital went Super Mechanic Man and in to see his victim. He told him if he ever came back near his garage or ever tried to seek retribution for his broken neck that his entire family would be killed. By roundhouse kicks most likely I surmised, putting fuel on his fire. He knew where they all lived you see, names, ages, addresses the lot. Fuck knows how he knew but I didn’t care, he just knew all right!

So anyway the GP told him he had a dislocated rib. He knew he didn’t. He had done biology in school and knew you couldn’t dislocate your twelfth rib. He self diagnosed his condition for the clumsy doctor and prescribed his own medication. His body was a temple, he knew it could heal itself and all he needed was something to kill the pain. I knew how he felt. After nearly an hour of listening to his shite he finally gave me the keys to a car. A clapped out Toyota Starlet with no power steering, I felt let down. I wanted to run him over but then thought twice about it. He’s probably semi bionic and I’d have only ruined the car.

I’ll have to go back and pick up my own car at some point and judging by how fast he is at fixing cars I’m surprised he hasn’t rang me already. I only hope he gets lock jaw between now and then. I’m not sure I want to face any more tales from the wonderful world of Super Mechanic Man.

East Kilbride, Glasgow, Scotland

I’m currently in East Kilbride, Glasgow, Scotland, a soulless lifeless hole of a place if ever there was one. The flight over was full of Scottish school kids who all looked like the bastard children of Rab C Nesbit and Avril Lavigne. Trendy skateboard Avril Lavigne types on the outside, half cut Rab C Nesbit types whenever they opened their mouths. East Kilbride has more roundabouts than you could shake a stick at and was obviously designed by a man who had just received a new ruler and compass set for his birthday. Every where two roads meet there's a roundabout, it must drive the yanks feckin mental. It’s nicknamed polo mint city for a reason.The Scottish diet leaves much to be desired, home to the battered deep fried Mars bar and the square sausage you’d get fat just from reading the menu and you’re arteries clog up just by walking through the restaurant. Every dish seems to come with chips so much so that I’m beginning to think they come out of the ground that way over here. The Glasgow accent is like an assault on the ears, they have fucked up words that make sense only to themselves and often speak like they have a mouth full of testicles. Where the Cork accent could be described as being defensive meaning Cork people sound like you're accusing them of something, the Glasgow accent is the complete opposite, they sound like their accusing you of something.

All that said I'm very fond of Scottish people, sure their practically Irish and at least their not English wha!

On Time

My own relationship with time is a mix of mild curiosity and mind numbing fascination. I seldom wear a watch and yet I’m a punctual man all the same. Indeed some have said too punctual. It is not unlike me to arrive a half hour early for an engagement. I’d rather wait than be late. That said I am of the belief that I never arrive late. I always arrive just when I mean to. It is the bane of our generation to be a slave to time. Watched clocks never tick yet my colleagues here are oft to be found staring absently at the wall where a large quartz time piece records the passing of the seconds. Willing it ever onward as it circumnavigates the face.

Yet how foolish am I to think I can live in a frenzied city and pay no heed to time. Even seemingly mundane actions take careful thought and planning, like going to work for example. It’s a journey of no more than four miles and should be covered in fifteen minutes by car, yet it takes the best part of an hour. But I don’t mind the traffic and I don’t mind the fact that I rarely get the car into third gear. I sometimes sit there watching all the other commuters drift by. Their furrowed brows like neon signs advertising their frustration. Tooting their horns at the car in front the instant the light goes green. As if those two or three seconds will make all the difference. Patience might not be a life saver but in a car the lack of it might just get you killed.

It’s not just travel and the rush to keep appointments that makes us slaves to time. No. Fashion and the battle to remain young and beautiful are equally guilty. I often thank the stars that I was born a male for if not the constant battle against the aging process would surely drive me mad. From anti aging creams to mud packs to revitalift whatsits and rejuvenating thingamajigs it’s enough to make the head spin. Alas it is the age in which we live. We are force fed a diet of time. We buy products that will help us do things faster, get us there quicker, in order to save time, so that we’ll have more time to do various other time saving tasks, fruitlessly trying to beat the years.

In the grand scheme of things, as far time is concerned, man is but a fleeting notion. It has been said the if you stretch your arms out to the side, as far as your wing span will allow, and take the distance from the tip of your left hand to the tip of your right to be the history of our planet. All life on our planet would be cradled in the palm of your right hand. Now if you were to simply file your nails, you’d have wiped out mankind. Such is the insignificance of our species.

Time is relative. But I have become increasingly convinced that time is no longer fixed. A minute in a city goes by in a flash. Where as in rural areas a minute can seem like an eternity. But are we not partly to blame for the swiftness of the years? We all at one time or another have been guilty of wishing time to pass. Hoping the days fly by and the weekends pass in slow motion. Yet time beats us always. Time cannot be beaten nor overcome. Time is immortal. It was here before we were and it will still be here, long after we’ve gone.

Rear Ended

Jaysus I only went and got me motor vehicle rear ended last night. Some cerebrally challenged gobshite with a head like a burst colon slammed into me while I was sitting in traffic. Luckily I was in a car at the time or he would have fuckin’ killed me. Thankfully my automobile has a pull attached so where my vehicle got a dent in the bumper his vehicle got its front end wrecked. He then had the nerve to say to me ‘oh I didn’t see you there’. Didn’t see me there, didn’t see me there, how could he fuckin’ miss me. I was right in front of him surrounded by about two tones of metal. I don’t know what he was doing at the time of the accident but I reckon he was either clubbing baby seals or trying to suck himself off. One of the two it was definitely one of the two.

Those Who Breed

Maybe it’s just me but I often wonder about those who breed. I’ve oft heard it said that you need a licence to own a TV but any fucker can breed. It’s about time we had some sort of law against this rampant spreading of seed. I can’t remember who said it but it’s a terrible arrogant thing to procreate, it’s akin to saying we’re great lets make more of us. I’ve had occasions where I’ve studied a member of the pushchair brigade and as I shook my head I’ve pondered how or why anyone saw fit to impregnate such a yoke. Some of the specimens are so beat down that being under the influence of alcohol just wouldn’t be an excuse; you’d nearly want to have been under an aesthetic. But maybe I'm wrong, maybe it is just me. Right I'll get me coat!

Humpy French Bastards

Jaysus it’s tough being Irish sometimes or at the very least it’s tough being an Irish supporter. Yesterday’s disaster at Croker epitomises what it is to be Irish. The nearly men, always the fucking nearly men. Two minutes from glory yesterday and if it wasn’t for the French winger, Vincent “humpy bastard” Clerc it would have been a great day. Jaysus how I hollered at the tube when he made for the end line, bust him, I shouted, split him in two, crush his chest, puncture his lungs, fracture his skull, break his knee caps or at the very fucking least knock him over. But no, there was to be no breaking of French bones, only of Irish hearts. My only consolation, scant though it is, is that at least it wasn’t the fucking English!!

Too Dumb To Live

Idaho resident Kathy Evans brought humiliation to her friends and family when she set a new standard for stupidity with her appearance on the popular TV show, "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire."It seems that Evans, a 32-year-old wife and mother of two, got stuck on the first question, and proceeded to make what fans of the show are dubbing "the absolute worst use of lifelines ever."After being introduced to the show's host Meredith Vieira, Evans assured her that she was ready to play, whereupon she was posed with an extremely easy $100 question.The question was: "Which of the following is the largest?"A) A PeanutB) An ElephantC) The MoonD) Hey, who you calling large?Immediately Mrs. Evans was struck with an all consuming panic as she realized that this was a question to which she did not readily know the answer."Hmm, oh boy, that's a toughie," said Evans, as Vieira did her level best to hide her disbelief and disgust. "I mean, I'm sure I've heard of some of these things before, but I have no idea how large they would be."Evans made the decision to use the first of her three lifelines, the 50/50. Answers A and D were removed, leaving her to decide which was bigger, an elephant or the moon. However, faced with an incredibly easy question, Evans still remained unsure."Oh! It removed the two I was leaning towards!" exclaimed Evans. "Darn. I think I better phone a friend." Using the second of her two lifelines on the first question, Mrs. Evans asked to be connected with her friend Betsy, who is an office assistant."Hi Betsy! How are you? This is Kathy! I'm on TV!" said Evans, wasting the first seven seconds of her call. "Ok, I got an important question. Which of the following is the largest? B, an elephant, or C, the moon. 15 seconds hun."Betsy quickly replied that the answer was C, the moon. Evans proceeded to argue with her friend for the remaining ten seconds. "Come on Betsy, are you sure?" said Evans. "How sure are you? Puh, that can't be it."To everyone's astonishment, the moronic Evans declined to take her friend's advice and pick 'The Moon.' "I just don't know if I can trust Betsy. She's not all that bright. So I think I'd like to ask the audience," said Evans.Asked to vote on the correct answer, the audience returned 98% in favor of answer C, 'The Moon.' Having used up all her lifelines, Evans then made the dumbest choice of her life."Wow, seems like everybody is against what I'm thinking," said the too-stupid-to-live Evans. "But you know, sometimes you just got to go with your gut. So, let's see. For which is larger, an elephant or the moon, I'm going to have to go with B, an elephant. Final answer."Evans sat before the dumbfounded audience, the only one waiting with bated breath, and was told that she was wrong, and that the answer was in fact, C, 'The Moon.' Too dumb to live? Damn straight, clear evidence that the gene pool could do with some toilet duck.

How Would You Be Well And Your Arse In Two Halves.

I sware to jaysus I'm sick and tired of working in an office with one male jacks shared by five men who eat too much fruit. I'm telling you the smell would knock a fucking horse. If my stomach stank that bad I'd take it out and beat it up against a wall. You'd think something had crawled up inside them and died. Sware to jaysus it's not right. But sure as me ould father was oft to say "how would you be well and your arse in two halves".

Wha ....

Jews Speak Out Against Israel

For too long anti-Zionism has been muddled with anit-Semitism. Now prominent Jews are speaking out against Israel. There is no reason why one cannot be critical of Israel without being anti-Semitic. Zionists have hijacked the term anti-Semitism and have tried, for years, to change the definition to include criticism of the state of Israel.

If any group is to be held accountable for a surge of anti-Semitism it is Zionists.

http://www.commondreams.org/headlines07/0205-04.htm

Local News

Welcome to the local news at 7 past 16. Here are the headlines. A bomb didn't go off in the village today and 117 people are feared still alive. It took no time at all for the emergency crews who didn't arrive to clear the debris which wasn't there off the street after the bomb didn't go off.

Two people have not been arrested in Mickos Bar after the Police never raided a private poker game which as we speak isn't taking place.

A curfew has been placed on all the deer in the Park after it was announced that they were really Sectarian Orange Bastards in disguise out looking for some cheap sucky sucky. A date has yet to be set for their mass execution.

In sports news a local woman from the area driving a 1982 3 door Ford Fiesta has successfully tracked down and crossed 4 old ladies in wheelchairs in just under 8 days. It's the first time the feat has ever been attempted by a local Woman.

There is a nasty wind blowing from somewhere, the Met office is not quite sure from where yet but they will let us know as soon as they find out. Rain has been predicted for sometime in the future with a high probability that it will be somewhere near here. There are some broken clouds over Dublin but the Met office hope to get them fixed by mid evening. It will probably get very dark later on so be sure and bring a flashlight.

Some Short Stories

A BRIEF SYNOPSIS OF THE POINTLESSNESS OF THE COLD FUSION FLASK AND THE EVER INCREASING AND DANGEROUS SPORT THAT IS IT'S INCEPTION.

"Does it work" he said.

"No" she replied as she poured the tea.

A QUICK LOOK AT YOUNG LOVE, THE BUTTERFLY IN THE STOMACH BRIGADE, THAT MIRACLE THAT ONLY COMES DURING THE FIRST FEW MEETINGS WITH THE NEWLY ACQUIRED OBJECT OF YOUR DESIRE.

She rushed up to met him, holding his right hand lightly she arched her back, reached up to kiss him and said, "How are you".

"Grand" he replied.

A FLEETING GLANCE AT THE DUBLIN SUBURBS, THE LOCAL LIFE AND THE PEOPLE WHO DOMICILE IN THE HOUSES OUT THERE.

"Are you going for a pint".

"Eh right, okay".

A TOPIC NOT TO DWELL ON, FOR FEAR THAT IT MIGHT OFFEND THE VEGETARIANS AMONG US, THAT VERY SPECIAL DAY THAT IS CHRISTMAS.

"Can I get a dog for Christmas mammy" the little boy enquired.

"No" she said "We'll get a turkey like every other year".

A SHORT GUIDE TO SOME VERY HELPFUL PHRASES THAT YOU COULD GET BY IN ANY PUB IN IRELAND IF YOU HAPPEN TO END UP SITTING BESIDE THE RESIDENT DRUNK, ALL OF WHICH MUST BE ASKED IN AN INQUISITIVE TONE.

"Go away out of that".

"No way".

"Your not serious".

"Do you fancy another".

"Do you know where Podgers dog was shot".

"Do you know where Sam has the land".

What's in a name?

I wonder would rap bloke 50 cent be as popular if he changed his name to half a euro?

Little People & The Aeroplane

I firmly believe little people aka babies should not be allowed on aeroplanes. I was in London recently and on the 6:30am flight over there were two small people (about 4 or 5) and they screamed the whole way. Little bastards! Then on the flight back there was an even smaller person (about 1 or 2) who cried the whole way back.

Now I know planes can be scary places for kids not to mention the ear popping bit which might cause pain and I accept all that but surely it would be better for everyone concerned if we had a little plane following behind the big plane, we could put all the kids in that one.

The lady sat next to me asked me for one good reason why I didn’t like kids.

So I gave her four

(1) their too small,
(2) their totally unreasonable,
(3) their incontinent
(4) their shite conversationalists!!

Funnily enough she didn’t speak to me after that.

Old People Wha..

Have you ever stood at the bus stop and run a series of events through your head about what you would do or say to the person standing next to you if they decided to annoy you. Well it happened to me yesterday. I was standing waiting for the bus when this big lump of an ould one came and stood next to me. She must have been 80 if she was a day and what she lacked in height she made up for in girth. I sware to jaysus she was every bit as wide as she was tall. As we stood there in cold silence I started to imagine a conversation between us.

Ould one: Have I missed the bus.

Me: Well there's a 30% chance that you haven’t missed the bus. There is a 60% chance that you have and there is a 10% chance that you are at the wrong stop.

You see three buses stop at this particular stop, the 37, 38 and 237. The 37 and 237 had passed but not the 38. Hence I imagined the 60% chance she had missed the bus and the 30% chance she had not. The 10% was based on her advancing years and the possibility of senility.

Had she been more specific, I imagined, and enquired about a particular bus I would have been able to give her a more concise answer. All this went through my head as we stood there in silence. I was feeling rather aggravated at the stupidity of the question she never asked. I was getting annoyed at the old dear for something I imagined she might say.

I turned to face her and as I did she lifted her eyes to meet mine. The 38 had just pulled up. Just then I sowed her with a head butt right on the bridge of her nose. I heard a crisp crack as her nose broke and she went down like a sack of shit.

Was I wrong or is it okay to nut people who you imagine ask stupid questions?