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”!.