One life. Live it

like the selfish, wasteful bollix that you are…

The slogan fits the car so well.
You’ve never been snowed in. Not in Blackrock, no. You’ve never had to gather cattle in the Wicklow mountains.
You’ve never needed a big shaggin petrol guzzling 4×4.

95% of your mileage is done in the city center.

You have one life, and boy you are living it.

Like a tumor.

I don’t quite believe that you belong to the same species as the guys who built Newgrange.
You are one stage of evolution further.

On the path to oblivion.

Orange warning

Keep your pants on Met Eireann…
It’s January after all. Temperatures between 2 degrees (Celsius…) and minus 1 degree do not warrant getting your knickers in a twist.
I am getting really tired of this sensationalist-scare-mongering-we’ve-got-fuck-all-better-to-do weather forecasting…

The ironic side of irony

A numbered print by Banksy.
Depicting a long line of alternative types queuing to buy the Destroy Capitalism t-shirt.

With a price guide of EUR15,000 to EUR20,000…

Someone pass me the bucket

An in-depth analysis of the 2016 US election by mememe2U

There is a majority of people in society who fit into at least one of these categories: angry, disillusioned, scared, moronic, misogynistic, believing in fairy tales. Some truly gifted specimens fit them all.
The majority of the adult population are eligible to vote in the US (of A)
A large proportion of angry people voted
Someone was democratically elected yesterday in the US (of A)

Reality TV, lazy journalism and Facepuke (both supporters and opponents) made he-who-shall-not-be-named omnipresent. 

Vox populi has spoken. 
The alternative is a coup by the multicutural, egalitarian, so-called educated middle-class, to put an enlightened despot in place, someone who will know best what’s good for society at large (with its inconvenient large proportion of neds/skangers/rednecks). But let’s face it, we are better equipped for rolling sushi or reviewing Ken Loach fillums than go on a rampage with AK47s for the greater good. 

So, what can we say? That democracy is beautiful. Too beautiful to make accessible to everyone?   
 
Now, where did I put that bucket of sand, see if my head will fit in it for the next four years. Possibly eight (there’s bound to be a war/terror situation in three years’ time that will further boost the scared vote). 

Shite in a bag

Jim was so impressed with Barky’s offering today that he thought better than to live it behind, in danger of being gradually dissolved by the rain.
He bagged it.
But rather than bin it, or dump it in a bush or down a gutter, he opted to leave it at head’s height for the walkers of the Metals to admire.
Thank you Jim. It is indeed a thing of beauty. If there was a nobel prize for doggy turds, Barky would be humming a Bob Dylan tune right now, on his way back from the awards ceremony.
And the non-biodegradable bag means that we will get a chance to admire this chef d’oeuvre for weeks to come.

That Thursday feeling…

A day of back to back meetings.
Mostly to provide progress reports on extremely urgent stuff.
That I will get done when I am done with the back to back meetings to provide progress reports.

Divine intervention

Out of nowhere, the almighty bolt of lightning struck.
The selfie stick was instantly vaporised.
So was its holder.

The roll of thunder echoed through the valley. And faded away.

The puff of smoke over the burnt patch of heather dissipated in a matter of seconds.

The other tourists rapidly lost interest and headed for the mini-coach, in search of new thrills*.

The selfie never got posted on Facebook.

One done, 4.76 billion to go…

* They would soon discover that a very hungover Padraic behind the wheel would deliver many of these between Sally Gap and Johnny Fox’s Pub…

 

 

Spring has sprung

March is a busy period for the Kilbarrack stray mattress.
It is indeed the time of the year when the old males temporarily abandon their solitary lifestyle in search of mating partners.
There is a spring in their step as they roam for miles and miles in search of a suitable female (the suitability requirements are pretty lax to be honest).
These otherwise shy creatures throw all caution to the gale force wind and can be seen copulating with gay abandon in broad daylight and in very public places.

In a few weeks, these bouts of unbridled passion will bear their fruits: numerous litters of feral pillows and cushions will be seen playing under the loving gaze of their mattress mum, as if to flaunt the No Litter signs.

Endangered species

Things are tough for Ryan.
He finds it harder every week to make a dishonest living.
He is a Payphone-vandal-scumbag like his dad before him, and his dad before that.
But the disappearance of his main source of subsistence means that he has to travel further afield to keep the family trade alive.
His dad John-Paul retired 5 years ago.
Ryan now fears that the trade will die when he himself is forced into early retirement.
He is quite certain that by the time his little Calum is old enough to hurl a building brick at a payphone, the latter will have well and truly become extinct.

Ryan and Calum, and the few remaining Payphone-vandal-scumbags out there need your help.

For the modest sum of EUR12.75 per minute (subject to a connection fee of EUR25), you too could use the few remaining examples of a proud tradition of antique telephony devices, instead of your boring smartphone, and make Eircom rethink their phasing out of the old payphones.

The future of little Calum depends on you.

The mentalist detector

Every beach in every corner of the planet has one…
The treasure hunter with his metal detector. Spending weeks on end digging up Heineken bottle capsules in search of the elusive gold Rolex…

Mentalists…

Talking about mentalists. And gold diggers. And dreamers… 
I stopped playing the lotto years ago. It has finally dawned on me that the odds of picking 6 numbers out of 45 are similar to that of having a stimulating conversation with a Jehovah Witness. 
But I play a tenner on the Daily Million once a month (2 lines for 5 consecutive days). 
The odds are a doddle. It’s much easier to get 6 numbers out of 39. 
Or so I thought.
Yesterday I got five. 
Statistically, the chances are pretty pretty pretty pretty slim (on par with finding a philanthropic insurance broker). 
Yesterday was the closest I’ll ever get to being in possession of a million euros. 
I should be glad with those five hundred euros I did not have on Friday. 
We’ll get a special treat for the family. 
Still, I can’t stop the little voice in my head… So close, yet so far…