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.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Friday, June 8, 2007
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.
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.
Some Dumb Fucks In Yankee Land
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
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 ...
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,
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,
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?
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?
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