Hello internet, it’s been a while.
Let’s get straight into the things that are wrong with the world. No small talk.
Straight in, no kissing.
1. The presence of the ‘n’-word in most rap songs ruins my dreams of someday performing them in karaoke.
I’m not sure if I’m alone in doing this, but usually when I’m walking around with my earphones in, I’m applying some sort of scenario to the music I’m listening to.
Sometimes I’m the lead guitarist in the band, performing the song in some big stadium.
Sometimes I’m the bassist, if it’s a really good bassline.
I’m never the drummer.
I’m never really the singer either, because I can’t sing.
Sometimes it’s the music they play before I go onstage to accept some great award.
Sometimes it’s the soundtrack being played in the final scene of a film I’ve written and gotten loads of success, money and blowjobs from.
I said before that I can’t sing, but this doesn’t mean I can’t rap.
Sadly, I could never actually be a rapper.
I’ve never been in a fight and don’t particularly enjoy being in da club, so unless it becomes acceptable for rapping to be about having a blog and longing for the return of old Nickelodeon cartoons, it’s safe to say my rap career won’t be kicking off anytime soon.
However, this doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t be able to have a little fantasy about doing some rap songs in karaoke sometime.
I actually know the words to a surprising amount of rap songs. Take for example, my rap lyric-deciphering post. After writing that post, I’ve never forgotten the words (or at least my version of the words) to In Da Club by 50 Cent.
Imagine I got up and did a rap on karaoke.
It’d be so good.
I’m a very white man, both figuratively and literally.
I’m pale.
I sunburn easily.
I can’t dance.
So me doing rap on karaoke would be funny.
But I can’t.
Why?
Because almost every rap song includes the ‘N’-word in there somewhere.
You know the one I’m talking about.
I couldn’t say that word and not sound like a total loser and/or racist.
The dream is over.
Fuck you, rappers. Using words in your songs that render them un-karaokeable to honkies like me. Selfish and inconsiderate.
And I know what they’d say to me in response.
“Hey Walsho, why you gotta be such a nagger?”
And I know what I’d say in return.
“Hey Fifty/Dre/Snoop/Puff Daddy/P. Diddy/Popadiddypop, if I’m being a nagger, then maybe you should stop being something that sounds very much like the word ‘nagger’! That’s right, a blagger! Stop being such a blagger. Talking about your bitches and your hoes and drugs and guns. You pick your nose and eat beans on toast just like the rest of us!”
Maybe that wouldn’t be a good idea.
I wouldn’t want to hurt the feelings of any rapper.
Getting into a ‘beef’ sounds very time-consuming.
Fuck it, I’ll just do a Will Smith song.
2. Lettuce is a rip-off
I don’t actually know how much lettuce costs.
But I know it’s a rip-off.
See, what happens is you buy a thing of lettuce in the shop. A whole thing.
“That’ll be nice”, you think to yourself. “I’ll do a nice salad or something healthy with that lettuce I’m buying now.”
People buy lettuce to put it in salads or sandwiches.
The problem here is that once I have a helping of lettuce, I never really want to eat it again over the next few days. I feel like I’ve paid my lettuce dues. So then it rots in the fridge. Goes all brown and minging. Takes up loads of space too, so you throw it out as soon as you have the chance.
I reckon lettuce is one of the most wasted foods going.
You should be able to buy properly-sized portions of lettuce.
Head into a shop and make a personalised lettuce order.
“Hiya, I’ll take a salad and two sandwiches’ worth of lettuce please.”
- “Good choice sir, here you are.”
“Thank you shopkeep.”
Perfect.
3. There is no correct way to eat a muffin
I like eating muffins. They’re delicious.
But I very rarely buy them.
This is because I don’t know the correct way to eat them.
There’s two methods I’ve tried and both have flaws.
The first way is to just lash into the muffin as if it were an apple. Roughly a half a second after doing this, you realise what an awful idea it is. You’ll get muffin crumbs on your face. The thing will fall apart. Crumbs will start falling everywhere, and you’ll place your hand below the muffin in order to catch the suicidal crumbs, but to no avail. It’s a fucking mess. What do you do with the crumbs you do collect in your hand? They stick to your hand so if you want to eat them you have to sort of hoover them up with your mouth. Or else just brush them into a bin or onto the ground. Either way, you’re losing.
The second way, which seems to be more popular, is to just pick pieces of muffin off with your hand. It’s almost eating the muffin as if it were a packet of crisps. This is stupid and shit and annoying. Firstly, you get loads of muffin on your fingers. Then, the muffin-to-mouth journey always has some crumb casualties. I reckon the journey from the muffin to your mouth is about a foot in distance. How then, do I manage to let loads of crumbs fall with every little bite?
Muffins are probably the second most wasted food. You finish a muffin and realise half the fucking thing is on your face, fingers, or in a little trail of crumbs on the table. If you’re not in public you can lick or suck the muffin that’s on your fingers, but if you’re in public you can forget about it. It’s collateral damage. I just know I’d make eye contact with a little boy and his mother when I’m doing the finger sucking.
“Mammy, why’s that man sucking his finger and looking at me?”
“He’s doing that because he’s clearly a pervert, son.”
Nightmare.
4. Sometimes I accidentally make a bubble with my mouth
This happens quite rarely. I’d say maybe even as rare as once a year. But still, it bothers me so much when it does happen.
Basically I’ll be talking, or about to talk, and as I open my mouth, a saliva-bubble forms between my lips and expands as I open my mouth. It disappears almost instantly obviously, and is probably not even noticeable, but good Christ I hate when it happens. It never happens when I’m chatting with my Dad or something. It’ll be right before I try say something cool and suave before going for a kiss. A kiss with a girl, like. Not my Dad.
Sometimes I worry it’ll happen right before my award-accepting speech I mentioned above.
And the winner of the award for outstanding achievements in the field of excellence is… Mark Walsh!
The music starts.
The crowd rises and applauds.
Walsho stands up and gives his supermodel girlfriend a kiss on the cheek and a slap on the arse.
He strides to the stage. Along the way, men pat him on the back and try to shake his hand. Women swoon and try to show him their breasts.
He approaches the podium, taking his award in hand, and the camera zooms in on him as he begins his speech.
He opens his mouth AND THEN A MASSIVE SALIVA BUBBLE FORMS BETWEEN HIS LIPS, before popping like a gentle hymen.
The audience are aghast, the award is retracted, and Walsho spends the remainder of his life on the streets, forever ruing his salivary glands and their unfortunate timing, not to mention fucking HD camera technology.
Disaster.
I mean, how am I supposed to carry on living my life when I’ve got problems like this to worry about?
5. Some people I know still some times spell ‘come’ as ‘cum’
I’m not going to get into people using txtspk, or generally being morons with spelling and grammar. There’s not enough time.
But one particular thing that really bothers me is when people spell the word ‘come’ as ‘cum’.
‘Cum’ is acceptable only when referring to an orgasm, or the product of a male orgasm.
I see things on Facebook like:
“U cumin out 2nite?”
Or “ah wud you cum off it”
Or maybe “too cold to be cumin into collage today”
Comments like that conjure up many images for me.
And every single one of them is absolutely dripping in hot jizz.
For me it’s like if “fanny batter” was also a commonly misspelled version of a verb.
“Hey, having a party tonight, hope you can all fanny batter!”
“Yeah, I saw him last week and he was fanny battering all over the shop.”
It’s a wonder I manage to get up in the morning when I’ve got things like this to complain about every minute of every day.
But then I remember that for every overpriced lettuce, or awkward-to-eat muffin, there’s a warm shower, a cold beer, or a lovely arse walking up some stairs in front of you, right in your face.
Swings and roundabouts, eh?
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6 December 2011 ‧ For The Lolz, Life etc., Ranting ‧ 3 Comments
Two nights ago I returned from a holiday.
This was the first time I’d left the country in about two years, and although I had a great time and really enjoyed myself, I was also reminded why I don’t make a habit of leaving the country.
I am utterly useless at being on holiday.
I know many people who always seem to be living anywhere except the country that they actually live in. Studying abroad, working abroad, going abroad for no other reason except to be abroad, all that stuff.
Those people are excellent at being abroad. They enjoy it and have a good time living in places that aren’t their home.
I excel at living at home. Probably one of my finest talents.
You see, from beginning to end, there’s always a little nagging in my mind when it comes to holidays.
Most people say how excited they are about their holidays and how they can’t wait to be lying in the sun and having a good time and getting away from it all.
I just have a little voice in my mind telling me how long it’s going to take me to pack my bag, how I’m going to forget something anyway, how I’m going to beep in the airport security thing and how my plane is going to crash anyway and in my final few seconds I’ll be thinking to myself how I should have just stayed at home and watched Arrested Development all day instead of trying to go off galavanting somewhere all sunny with a different language to the one I speak.
And then even if I get through the holiday, I’ll still have to return to face the unending stream of bullshit life likes to throw at you. Loads of emails to respond to. Back to work. Back to college. Back to talking to people all the time.
This year I made a list of things to pack, which helped alleviate the feeling of forgetting something. I recommend doing this a few days prior to leaving. This way you have plenty of time to remember little things and add them to the list. Then when you pack, you just tick off the list.
Naturally I beeped when going through airport security and they frisked me. I always fucking beep. It doesn’t matter what I do or wear, I always fucking beep.
Then the woman asks me if I have anything sharp in my hand luggage.
“Nope” I tell her.
She opens the bag. I was just using my laptop bag, which I carry to college every day.
Little did I know I’d forgotten to take out the scissors that I had in there for some reason.
I’d been looking for those fucking scissors a few days ago and everything, when I needed to take the tags off my new holiday clothes.
She confiscated my scissors.
Fair decision.
On the plane, my ears suffer terrible pain. Taking off is a little sore but usually landing is far worse. One year I was about 12 years old and on holiday with my family and it was excruciatingly bad. Worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life, and that includes broken bones etc.
I’ve never suffered quite as badly as that since, but I’m always afraid of it.
So this year I took some painkillers onto the plane with me.
When I thought we’d be landing soon, I decided to pop my painkillers.
I had no drink with me, so just had to swallow them dry. This isn’t so pleasant, so when I did it, I accidentally made a weird noise which was a mixture of choking and coughing. I would spell the noise I made as “Achuchok”.
This would have only been a little bit embarrassing if the flight attendant guy wasn’t passing as I did it. I made the noise and he turned and looked at me.
I began to apologise and explain.
“Sorry, I was just -”
He interrupts me with “Would you like anything from the Sky Trolley?”
“Oh, no thank you.”
He looks at me and gestures that I should continue what I was about to say before he asked me about the fucking Sky Trolley.
“I was swallowing a painkiller without any water just then… that’s why I made that noise.”
“Oh right.”
“So eh… just carry on with the flight!”
I tried to make a joke at the end there, but he didn’t react at all. Instead my mate beside me just turned to me with a look of disgust and remarked “…Carry on with the flight? Who says that?”
I do, apparently. I also say “that’s why I made that noise.”
I’m starting a new trend of explaining why you make the noises that you make.
I really enjoyed that sexual act you just performed on me… that’s why I made that noise.
Joke’s on him anyway, because my ears only suffered minor twinges of pain.
Then you arrive and get through more security checks. This pisses me off. I couldn’t have gotten this far if everything wasn’t alright with me. Just let me roam free in your country where I can be ignorant and not know anything about your culture.
Then you have the heat.
The insufferable, unbearable, searing, burning heat of a Mediterranean country… in September.
I burn like an absolute bastard.
My skin doesn’t know what the sun is.
He feels a bit of sun and instantly turns red and stings for the next few days and stops me sleeping. It doesn’t matter how much sun protection I apply. I will burn. I will burn instantly. And it won’t “turn into tan” like some people say it will. That doesn’t fucking happen.
My skin burns, turns red, then gets itchy and peels and is pale again, like it should be.
I don’t know why everyone thinks a tan suits them.
Some people look great with a tan and it can be incredibly attractive.
Not everyone though.
I’m alright with my pale skin thanks.
I don’t look good in sunglasses either. No matter what sunglasses I try on, they somehow never fit me properly and rather than looking cool and suave, I look like a blind man.
Shorts. You have to wear shorts. But I’m fucked if I’m wearing those shorts with the flowers on them that everyone seems to be wearing these days. When did these shorts become alright to wear? Give me nice plain aul’ shorts, thanks.
Worst of all though, is footwear when on holidays. Flip-flops. Fucking flip-flops.
Whenever I wear flip-flops I just think to myself that there HAS to be a better invention than flip-flops. I also feel this way about umbrellas.
Us humans have created the internet for fuck’s sake. Why can’t we invent some footwear that suits the heat but doesn’t require shitloads of effort just to keep on your foot? And don’t get me started on the toe notch thing digging into the space between your toes the whole time. There simply has to be something better.
Same goes for umbrellas. Rain is a huge problem in the world. Yet the best weapon we have to fight it is this flimsy little thing that can’t stand any wind and you have to hold the entire time? Bollocks. Even make umbrellas that you can slot onto your shoulders so you don’t have to hold the whole time.
Fucking flip-flop and umbrella companies are living it up, rolling in dosh from their useless, shitty and overwhelmingly awkward products, and I’ve had enough.
And now the food.
When I go abroad I’m not expecting the food to be the same. Trying different foods is interesting and exciting, so I’m not expecting spuds and beans every meal when I’m away.
What bothers me is when I can’t get little things I want, and I don’t understand why.
I brought over my own teabags over to Spain, because Irish teabags are infinitely better than Spanish teabags. But alright, maybe the Spanish like their tea a different way than the Irish, so fair enough.
But then I wanted to buy biscuits for my tea. I had to get substandard digestives and rubbish chocolate chip cookies.
They just don’t have nice biscuits on the continent.
Why is this?
And don’t tell me it’s a taste or cultural thing. Those biscuits were fucking shite.
Is anyone seriously going to tell me that the Spanish wouldn’t enjoy a chocolate Hobnob?
Not a fucking chance.
Everyone likes Hobnobs.
I then wonder if a Spanish person came to Ireland and had a Hobnob, would they be amazed and want to bring boxes of them home?
That’s how I feel when I get to try different flavours of Calippo icepops when I’m abroad.
I like to think of myself as a fairly competent person, but being on holidays really makes me doubt this. Really basic tasks suddenly make me confused and unsettled.
Take for example, opening the door of the new place you’re staying.
When I’m at home, I can open my front door very easily. I have the key, I’ve been using it for years, and I do it without a second of hesitation.
On holiday though, I can’t open a door to save my life.
It doesn’t matter how many times I jiggle the key or try to force it to turn, I just don’t have the knack for doing it. Give that key to a three-fingered three year old child and he’d manage it before I would.
Then you have hotels that have swipe cards. You better believe that I’ll swipe that card the wrong way several times before the light goes green and I can get in.
Then you go down to the pool and have to pick up a sunbed and pick your sunbathing spot.
Does anyone in the world know the best way to pick up and carry a sunbed?
I tried several different approaches and none of them looked or felt comfortable, and when it came to placing the sunbed down in my desired spot, I couldn’t have been more awkward. Trying not to drop my towel or knock my stupid sunglasses off or get the sunbed caught in my flip-flops. Nightmare.
It always takes me so long to find the appropriate temperature in the shower when I’m away.
Likewise, I don’t understand why the toilet has two flush buttons. They both seem to perform the same function.
Then I feel like such an arsehole when I go abroad and don’t speak the local language. When foreign people are in Ireland we expect them to speak English.
But me, learn some Spanish before going to Spain? Fuck that shit. I’ll just be an ignorant, uncouth moron who says things a little bit slower and with more hand gestures and hope that everything works out alright.
But then I feel like such a fraud when I try throwing in a “Gracias” or a “Por favor”. And often they respond in English anyway, almost as if they’re telling me not to even bother tainting their language with my stupid Irish accent.
On the last day of a holiday I usually get pretty excited about being at home again.
You can’t beat your own bed.
Your own toilet.
Your own cupboards of junk food.
Waking up and not being covered in sweat.
Not having to worry about strange bugs biting you and leaving red itchy bumps on your skin.
I got home and had a cup of tea and some soda bread and went on the internet in my bed until 4am.
Today it has been raining all day.
There’s no place like home.
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16 September 2011 ‧ For The Lolz, Life etc., Ranting ‧ 1 Comment
I think it’s time to share a few pearls of wisdom.
I bitch and moan on this blog a lot, and I feel it’s high time I offered you readers something constructive.
So here are ways to improve your life.
1. Start taking your tea without sugar
I know this seems a bit inconsiderate, but let me explain.
I used to take two sugars in my tea.
Then I had a tea-maker in work who never even asked about sugars, he just gave you sugarless tea. So I drank it.
Soon I got used to it and now I couldn’t bear to have a single grain of sugar in my tea.
It doesn’t take long to get used to it, and you get a better taste of the glorious, life-giving tea.
If everyone stopped taking sugar, it would make the tea-making process so much easier. The problem with making tea for a group of people is remembering the orders.
“Anyone for tea?”
“Oh yes please. Milk, no sugar”
“Grand.”
“Ooh me too. Milk and one and a half sugars.”
“Ah sure I’ll have one aswell. Milk, two sugars, some more milk, and stir clockwise please”
“40 grains of sugar in mine please, no more, no less”
EVERYONE FUCK OFF AND MAKE YOUR OWN FUCKING TEA SO.
If everyone could please just grow up, and take your tea with a drop of milk and no sugar, that’d be great. It’s one less thing to worry about in the tea process. When you’re out in a café somewhere having a cup of tea, you won’t have to worry about locating sugar. Your life will be better. And it’s healthier. I’m an unhealthy man, so if I can make a little healthy change in my life without much effort, I’m pleased.
If you currently take sugar in tea, I reckon having your next five cups of tea without any sugar will convert you. The first one will be strange and probably not too nice. But stick with it.
Additionally, if I’m going to make tea and I offer around if anyone else wants one, I really only expect a maximum of two people to say yes.
Carrying any more than three cups requires a tray of some kind.
So two people can say yes.
After that, the rest of the room should feel obliged to make up an obvious lie such as “Ah no, not just yet, might make one myself in a bit”
I guess I’m asking the world to make a collective effort when it comes to tea-rounds.
Let’s not be selfish.
There’s no ‘I’ in ‘tea’.
2. Road-crossing tips
If you’re waiting at pedestrian lights to cross a road, try and sneak a peek at the traffic lights that the cars are following.
In my experience there is a two second gap between the traffic lights turning red, and the pedestrian lights turning green.
So you watch the traffic lights, see them turn red, and saunter out onto the road amid gasps from other road-crossers.
Then they see the traffic stop and the pedestrian lights go green, and they’re all following you, probably a whole metre or two behind you, bowing down to your psychic ability and trying to give you blowjobs.
And you’re all like “Hey, stop trying to give me so many blowjobs all at once, I’ve got roads to cross!”
Another bit of advice is, if you’re struggling to cross a road without pedestrian lights, but that has several sources of traffic (ie. some traffic coming from one direction, more from around a corner etc), simply wait for someone more competent to come along and cross the road, and make sure you stand on the inside of them, such that if any cars were to come flying around a corner, they’d hit the other person first.
As you do this, think something funny to yourself like “Thank you as ever, my loyal human shield” and have a wry smile.
3. Adjusting eyebrows
Every so often, I feel the need to adjust my eyebrows. You know, just give them a little sweeping groom with my fingers, to make sure they’re in good shape.
I have noticed that you cannot adjust both eyebrows with the same hand. You must use your left hand to adjust your left eyebrow and right hand to adjust your right eyebrow.
Sure, you can break this rule and it might look fine. But it won’t feel fine. I can guarantee you that.
4. Keyboard shortcuts
Keyboard shortcuts not only make your life easier and your computing more efficient, but they can look impressive and baffling to people who don’t know many.
If you’re browsing the internet and see a link that isn’t clickable, highlight it and hold down CTRL and press C, T, V, in that order, and hit enter.
Copy, New Tab, Paste. I’m sure everyone knows these commands, but using them in that sequence all quick and slick is awesome.
Other shortcuts include:
Win Key + D = minimises all windows. Easy to remember this as it shows your desktop. ‘D’ for desktop.
Highlight text in a windows program and press SHIFT + F3. This toggles the text between upper and lower case. Sometimes you have to copy something and it’s all in capitals and you don’t want that.
If you have trouble remembering the shortcuts for Cut, Copy and Paste, just remember, CTRL + X for Cut, because the letter ‘X’ looks like an open scissors. ‘C’ for Copy, because ‘copy’ begins with a ‘C’ and doesn’t look like a scissors. And ‘V’ for Paste. You should just be able to remember that one without any magical methods.
CTRL + Click = Opens a link in a new tab.
CTRL + Z to undo. This works in internet browsers too, which is very handy as I’ve often accidentally deleted a whole paragraph of text when writing in forums etc.
Accidentally closed an internet tab? CTRL + SHIFT + T.
CTRL + W to close a tab. (These might just be for Google Chrome, but you should be using Google Chrome anyway)
ALT + F4 to close the window.
When browsing the internet, hit F6 to highlight the address bar, to save yourself clicking there to type in a new URL.
F3 to search a page. Works the same as CTRL + F.
I’ve also noticed that on my laptop (Which is Windows Vista, not sure if this’ll work on other OS), if I click (just once) on any desktop item, and then start typing the name of another folder/program that I want to find on the desktop, it will become selected after I’ve typed the first few letters. I usually have a fair amount of icons and folders on my desktop, so this is really handy if I’m having a stupid moment and can’t find the one I’m looking for.
5. Learn to deal with the ‘cold’
Lately I find myself getting more and more frustrated with people who announce that they’re cold, when there’s no way in hell they should be cold.
You’re out having a drink, sitting outside as a sunny day draws to a close. The sun starts to set. It’s no longer warm, but it isn’t cold either. Someone pipes up with “God it’s freezing, let’s go inside”.
It’s not fucking freezing.
It’s not cold.
It’s just less warm than it was earlier.
Slightly less warm.
Then you have to go inside. We’re inside all the time. If I have a chance to be outside and not get rained on, I wanted to take it.
These are the same people that close the windows on a bus.
Sometimes I’m on a horrible packed bus, and think to myself that the only good thing about the journey is that there’s a lovely little breeze coming in the window, caressing and cooling my handsome face.
I smile and think to myself how great life can be when something so simple and natural can make me happy.
Then some stupid fucking bint marches up and slams the window shut with this air of self-righteousness and a face like a smacked arse.
Then a minute later the overwhelming stuffiness on the bus is getting to you and you start to sweat a bit. Not proper sweat, but just enough that your face feels moist. Usually just above the upper lip.
Why do people think it’s better to be uncomfortably warm than uncomfortably cold?
The thing about being a little too warm is that it has physical impact.
You sweat.
Your face might get a bit flushed.
But being a bit cool?
Nothing wrong with that. Nothing happens. You feel clean and refreshed.
I think people mistake fresh air for cold air.
People are too used to being in horrible places that are too hot and stuffy. When they’re lucky enough to have a bit of fresh air hit them they automatically dub it “freezing” and do something annoying like say “brrr” or rub their hands together and blow on them.
So everyone should man the fuck up and try to appreciate being a bit cool now and again.
You’ll be a much less annoying person.
That’s my advice.
I’m thinking about becoming an Agony Uncle.
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11 August 2011 ‧ For The Lolz, Life etc., Ranting ‧ 2 Comments
Takes all sorts to make the world. Sadly, some of these are the annoying cunt sort.
And everyone knows that cunts need to be blogged about.
1. The Jobsworth
I’ve had a long day. It’s been raining for most of it. My shoes are wet. My socks are wet. My feet are wet.
All I want to do is go home and go to bed.
But no. I have to get the bus home, shovel some food in my mouth, shower, put on clothes, then get the bus back out for a birthday party.
Not in the mood at all, but you can’t miss these things unless you have a really good reason.
Before I get on the bus I drop into an off licence in town to pick up a bottle of booze as a birthday present. It’s one of those shitty little shops where they keep the good booze behind the counter. So then you have that horrible moment where you’re trying to look at the stuff behind the counter and the counter dude is just staring at you like a moron.
STOP LOOKING AT ME WHEN I’M LOOKING AT SOMETHING ELSE.
PRETEND TO BE BUSY FOR A FEW SECONDS BEFORE I’M READY TO ASK YOU FOR WHAT I WANT.
“Can I get a big bottle of Captain Morgan’s please?”
-”This one?”
“No. Captain Morgan’s. At the bottom.”
-”Oh right, this one?”
“Yeah, just, the bigger one on the left there. Yep. That’s the one, thanks.”
-”Have you got any ID?”
No. No, I don’t have any fucking ID I’m afraid, you massive bellend. Look at me. Look at how wet my clothes and skin are. Just give me the booze. Look at the toll life has taken on me. Look at my face. Look at how worn it is from my twenty one years on this fucking planet that’s crawling with arseholes like you that ask me silly questions like that. Just give me the fucking booze. I buy drink all the fucking time, and nearly always have my fucking ID on me, and they never fucking ask for it anymore, so I’ve stopped bringing it around with me. Tonight I’ll go to a club and won’t need ID because the people on the door will be reasonable and see that I’m clearly over the fucking age of 18. Just give me the shitting booze. I’m 21 years of age. I’ve been buying alcohol for the last three years. Sometimes I wonder why I bother drinking anymore, but then I remember it’s the only fucking legal thing that’ll numb the pain of having to endure people like you nearly every fucking day of my life. So just give me the fucking booze. Scan the fucking booze, take my money, and we’ll both be fucking happy and life will go on and everything will be fine.
“Ah I actually don’t, sorry.”
- “Sorry, I can’t serve you.”
“Ah okay, no problem then mate, bye now.”
You have made a very powerful enemy today, my friend. Later on I will return and murder you. I will then celebrate your death by weighing you so I could make sure I drank your exact body weight in booze, just to be extra weird and creepy.
Yes I know he’s just doing his job and technically he’s in the right. But fuck that. If I want to bitch and moan despite being in the wrong then I’ll go right ahead and do it. It’s my blog and I’ll do what I like.
2. The immovable object
You get on the bus and there’s no completely free seats left, so you have to sit beside someone. You look around for the one who’s least likely to start talking to you or be weird in any way.
You sit next to some guy.
You wait for him to scooch over a little bit so you can sit comfortably.
He doesn’t scooch.
Not a single bit of scooching.
If it were a scooching competition he’d be dead last. Maybe even disqualified for lack of participation. It’d be like France at the 2010 World Cup. You’d be thinking to yourself, ‘why are you even in this competition if you’re not even going to bother?’.
So now you’ve to perch uncomfortably on the edge of the seat. Perching like a timid little bird on a brittle branch.
What an absolute bastard.
I bet his mother hates him.
He beats his wife.
His children wish he was dead.
Worst person in the world.
3. The early goodbyers
This is a silly one that shouldn’t bother me.
I find this happens most often in a work environment.
You’re in the office, or wherever it is you work.
It’s time for one person to go home.
- “Right so, I’ll talk to you later Mark, see you soon”
Then they start packing up their things and getting ready to leave.
We both know that they’re going to be there for another few minutes, but I have to respond to their goodbye, knowing full well that I’m going to have to say it again in a bit.
“See ya now, all the best”
- “Jaysus I wonder what I’ll have for dinner”
“Yeah”
- “Pasta I suppose, so handy to make.”
“Yeah Pasta’s good alright.”
-”It is, isn’t it?
“Yeah.”
-”Yeah, maybe pasta.”
“Mmm.”
Another few minutes pass as they gather their things and take a fucking eternity to actually leave.
Then the second goodbye.
-”Right then, that’s me done. Talk to you soon”
“Yep. Bye now. Enjoy your pasta!”
I hate that first goodbye so much.
JUST SAY GOODBYE WHEN YOU’RE ACTUALLY WALKING OUT.
Worse still when they come back for something they’ve forgotten.
Oho, you forgot that thing that you forgot there did you? Oh well you’ve come back in and picked it up now. That was so funny when you forgot that thing. God, head like a sieve, you! Anyway, for the third and I hope to fucking God final time today, GOODBYE.
4. The bearded guy on ASOS
Worse than all of the above, is the bearded model on ASOS.
As a really fashionable guy, I sometimes shop online for clothes. So sometimes I go on ASOS.
The male models on there are all reasonably handsome or trendy looking men and I can understand why they were given the job of modelling.
All of them except one guy.
One bearded cunt of a model that I despise beyond belief.
This guy.
Look at him.
Look at his stupid hair.
Look at his even stupider beard.
This man is a model.
He looks like a homeless man who just got given a comb.
And it might be alright if he looked like a happy-go-lucky cheeky chappy. But no. He looks dour and miserable.
I’m convinced they always give him the shittest clothes to model too.
Regardless, I will never buy an ASOS item that he’s modelling because of how much I hate him. Never.
Look at this fucking thing that they had him wear.
I mean, it’s a nun’s blouse.
And how much?
Two hundred and eighty pounds.
For that.
Well, in the words of Alan Partridge, butter my arse.
Butter my arse right up.
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27 June 2011 ‧ For The Lolz, Life etc., Ranting ‧ 5 Comments
I wrote this article for the last issue of The Spanner magazine, of which I was editor. If you didn’t manage to get a copy, you can read the magazine in full here, and here’s the Spanner homepage, where you’ll find the weekly ezine and other stuff ‘n’ all.
I was pleased to get both a Morrissey and a Peep Show quote in this.
Enjoy.
The Top 10 Things Bitches Love
Lads, we know how tough it is. You shave and shower, stick on your best shirt and head out to a club in the hope of meeting a lovely girl and getting a nice harmless shift. Alas, you go and you stand on your own, and you leave on your own, and you go home and you crywank. Fear not. We’re here to tell you the things that women really want you to do. They may not even know that they love these things, but always remember, bitches be crazy, and here’s the top ten things they love.
10. Being treated like porn stars
Everyone knows that women love porn and find it really empowering. Women say that they want men to treat them like Disney princesses. Horseshit. They want you to slap them around and call them horrible names. Why else would they do it in porn films? You can do some research by watching films such as “Alice in Underpants” or “Shaving Ryan’s Privates”, along with any old porn fodder you can find online. Don’t bother with roses and chocolates. Tie a ribbon around your penis, grow a horrible little moustache, put on some sleazy music and watch the women flock to you.
9. Spitting
Sometimes a man just has too much saliva in his mouth. Etiquette and social convention would tell you to swallow this excess saliva. Fuck that shit. Bitches love it when you make a guttural noise in your throat and spit it out as messily as you possibly can. It shows that you’re manly and don’t care what others think of you, and also that your saliva glands are sufficiently active – which is a trait every woman wants in her man.
8. Talking about ex-girlfriends
We all have our past. Hopefully you have an interesting and fruitful history with women. Even if you haven’t, make it up. Women love a man with experience, so always remember to tell your current other half all about your previous girlfriends and exploits. Meaningless one night stands are important to throw in there too. Women also love passion, so be sure to describe how good those women all were, in great detail and with a voice full of lust and longing. She’ll be dripping.
7. Not making eye contact
Eye contact is a tricky subject. Some people encourage it, but as we all know, people like Coldplay and voted for the Nazis, so you can’t trust people. The safest way here is, when talking to a woman, just avoid eye contact altogether. This will show her how you have lots of other things on your mind and are a thinker. Women love intelligent men, and what better way to display your intelligence than by constantly drifting off, thinking about life and stuff? Get your coat son, you’ve pulled.
6. Wearing trousers down below your arse
Have you seen all those rap videos where the rappers are surrounded by beautiful women? You’ve probably wondered to yourself – how do those guys get all those women? It’s not because of the wealth, fame or talent. It’s because they all wear their trousers down really low, showing off their boxers shorts and arse. Get the arse out and enjoy drowning in a sea of clunge.
5. Flirting with other women
At a social event with your girl? Lots of other attractive women around? Women who are possibly better looking than your woman? Conditions are ripe to turn on your woman, so. Find the nearest good looking woman. Commence flirting with her in the most obvious way. Crack jokes, and laugh way too loudly at her jokes, loudly exclaiming that she’s the funniest girl you’ve ever met, and that she’s so pretty. Touch her body as much as you possibly can. Do all this as closely as possible to your woman. It works better if the girl you’re flirting with is related to your girlfriend. This way she’ll see how lucky she is to have you, and will be impressed by your social skills.
4. Unwillingness to compromise
If you’re going to get yourself a woman and hold onto her, you’ll need to be a strong character. Women need to know that their man can take care of himself and won’t let anyone mess with him. She needs to know she’ll have a big manly shoulder to cry on when she’s feeling sad, or on her period or some other girly bullshit. The best way to let her know this is by refusing to compromise on anything – even the most trivial matters. You’re the man. You pick the films – you’re watching Die Hard, not The fucking Notebook. You choose the restaurant. You choose the brand of ketchup for the house. You choose it all. She’ll have no choice but to love you.
3. Frugality
Above all else, women seek a man who can look after them and their future children. A massive part of this is managing your finances. So you’ll want to show your woman how clever you are with your money. The best way to do this will be by being thrifty and demonstrating financial care at all times. Don’t bother paying for her. Ever. If you can, get her to pay for you. Steal things – from the shop, from your friends, from the homeless – she’ll love your bad boy image.
2. Showing your over-enthusiasm immediately
Met a nice girl? Think she’s the one? Only ever spoken to her once or twice but are certain that she’s your future wife? Perfect! The best thing to do is lay your cards on the table and tell her exactly how you feel, and include every single detail. Let her know that you want to marry her, and that your mother will love her. She’ll find it really romantic and reassuring if you tell her how many times you’ve fantasised about her and masturbated, and let her know exactly what you two got up to in your dirty little mind. Text her all the time. At least once every ten minutes. Don’t worry if she doesn’t reply, because she’s only playing hard to get. The more you text, the more she’ll want you.
1. Articles about what bitches love
Why do you think I’m writing this? So I can show it to bitches and watch them foam at the gash. Bring it on, girls.
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I’ve taken a while to get around to writing this. Soz. Been trying to cope with the ennui brought about by having the best day ever and fearing life has peaked.
Here is the outcome.
I woke up, and for the first time in many weeks, I didn’t have to get up and study for exams, or get up and actually do an exam. They were over. I was finished.
So I looked something like this when I woke:
First things first. Cup of tea. Get it inteyeh Cynthia.
You may have noticed that I have a Smiths mug. I like The Smiths. I also like other music and shit. Just so you know, ladies.
No better way to follow this up than by playing some Crash Bandicoot 3: Warped. I’d forgotten just how good this game was. Just listen to the music and let the memories come flooding back. Anyway, I played five levels and beat the first boss. Tried to save the game and put my name as ‘Thrillhouse’, but it only let me put in eight letters, so I really only got to write ‘Thrillho’ – just like in this scene.
All that jumping around, spinning, killing weird creatures and collecting apples made me pretty hungry. I decided the best way to remedy my hunger was by eating something.
Some of you may question the lack of sausages there. I’ve really gone off sausages lately. I got one recently with a chewy bit in it. You know a little lump of fat or something, and it’s like rubber, and you just have to spit it out. Never been the same since.
Then I had the first beer of the day. Here is a picture of that beer. You’ll also see my Twitter feed on my laptop in the background, proudly topped by a tweet from Jedward.
Then I went into town to meet a mate so we could drink, eat more food (I estimated that I would soon become hungry again, see) then go to the match.
We went to a pub. When ordering drinks, a group of men walked in. They were all wearing nice suits, except for one of them. The man not wearing a suit was the man I recognised as Paddy Power. As an avid gambler, this excited me.
We sat outside and basked in sunshine and happiness, and soon the suited lads and Paddy Power sat at the table next to us.
Some of the lads then started smoking cigars. I could only describe them as Fat Cats. Just as we were finishing our pints, a couple more guys came to join the Fat Cats. They asked if they could have the spare seats next to us. We said yes, and that we were just leaving, so they could also have our table.
So then as the pleasantries were exchanged, I asked Paddy Power if he was Paddy Power.
He said he was. We had a chat. He asked me about Porto (I was wearing a Porto jersey). Lovely man. Got a photo.
This was also the first time in at least five years that I’ve worn a football jersey outside of the house.
Just as we were leaving, the Fat Cats (who were also very nice, I must say. Don’t let their Fat Cat name mislead you) asked us if we knew who Shaun Goater was.
I responded with a lovely “Of course! Feed The Goat and he will score!”
For anyone who doesn’t know, Shaun Goater was a footballer who played for Manchester City. ‘Feed The Goat and he will score’ was something City fans would say a lot.
The Fat Cats laughed and said he was inside getting a pint and would be out in a second.
So then we met Shaun Goater and got a photo. He was asking me about the Porto manager and remarking about how young he was. This photo was taken by Paddy Power.
YES I KNOW I’M DOING THE CAMPEST POSE IN THE HISTORY OF MANKIND.
I don’t know what came over me. Maybe it was meeting Paddy Power and a famous former footballer and having the best day of my life, but something at that moment made me adopt the physicality of Graham Norton for a couple of seconds.
You may also recognise the jeans, jumper and shoes from my fashion post. Funnily enough, Paddy Power features in that too. I swear I have no affiliation with Paddy Power. I do however, highly recommend gambling.
We said our goodbyes and went and got a burrito next door in Pablo Picante’s. My favourite thing to eat in the whole world is a Pablo’s burrito.
I didn’t take a photo of my burrito because I couldn’t bear to spend a few seconds with a burrito in front of me and not eat it.
We then made our way to the Aviva Stadium for the match. Stopped for drinks at different locations en route.
I won’t bore you with the details of the match, but Porto won 1-0 thanks to a Falcao header. I can’t express my love for Falcao. To see him score the most typical Falcao goal, an awesome header, in the flesh, was a great moment.
When leaving the stadium, a Braga (Porto’s opposition) fan kept looking at me and my mate. We didn’t take too much notice until he popped up in our faces shouting at us in Portugese and gesturing angrily. It was a really bizarre moment. His mates grabbed him and took him away and apologised. We became aware at that point that we were surrounded by Braga fans, and that if that situation had gotten any worse, the best day ever may well have been my last day ever.
Alas, everything was grand.
Everything is usually grand.
Back into town.
Went to my university’s pub, The Pav.
Then Workman’s Club.
Here I got to act all Billy Big Bollocks, buying drinks willy nilly, because of all the money Porto had won me.
Got plenty drunk.
On the way home, your mother made me let her give me a blowjob.
Somewhat ruined the day because she’s rubbish, but still.
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Tomorrow is going to be the best day ever.
I recently realised that I can’t think of a best day of my life.
It’s actually quite an interesting thing to think about.
You’d like to think the best day of your life is when you did something all momentous and your life was changed, but really it’s probably just a day you hung out with your mates in a park, had no real concerns, and got a cheeky handjob in the bushes before going home and getting a good sleep.
So then, operation best day ever.
I finished my exams today, so tomorrow will be the first morning in quite a while that I’ll be waking up without that horrible feeling of worry and self-hatred for being so shit at studying.
I shaved on Monday night, intentionally timing it so my facial hair would be at its optimal level on Wednesday morning.
I also put my favourite clothes in the wash so I can take my pick of whatever I want to wear.
Cup of tea.
Either an egg-based breakfast, or a Superquinn roll.
Bottle of beer.
A few levels of Crash Bandicoot.
I recently dug out my old playstation, and bought this game on ebay:
I’ve been wanting to play it for weeks, but have been so busy with exams and everything that I haven’t had a chance.
So now I’m going to play it and I’m going to complete it.
And nothing’s going to stop me – not college, not exams, not work, and certainly not that dastardly Doctor Neo Cortex.
So a few levels of that.
Let’s be honest, probably a wank.
Must be noted that this will in no way be related to Crash Bandicoot. Although his sister Coco is a bit of a lash.
Shower.
Shower will include a shower beer.
Into town to meet mates.
Pints.
A burrito at the mighty Pablo Picante‘s.
Pints.
THEN.
THEN.
THEN.
To the Europa League final in the Aviva Stadium to watch Porto play. I’ve become a big Porto fan this season for the following reasons:
1. I love their coach, 33 year old Andre Villas-Boas
2. Falcao is a beast and a dreamboat.
3. Hulk.
4. They have won me a silly amount of money over the course of the season. I’ve backed them a while ago to win the Europa League, so then when I found out the final was in Dublin, on the day after I finish my exams, I knew it was going to be the best day ever.
So then if Porto win I will be very happy.
Then Falcao will see me in the crowd and invite me to his afterparty where loads of bitches will have sex with me, completing the best day ever.
That’s all I want.
Is it so much to ask?
A few beers, a few bandicoots, a few burritos, a few bets, a few birds. Best day ever.
If you know me, you can help make it the best day ever by texting me loads of compliments about how great I am, and then by being in town in the afternoon to join the drinking. Further methods of complimenting are welcome: including blog comments, emails, tweets, facebook posts, and intercourse.
I’ll try update on Facebook and Twitter over the day BECAUSE I KNOW YOU’RE ALL DYING TO SEE HOW IT TURNS OUT.
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1. I started my day by eating the remaining slices of my pizza from last night, which I had enjoyed with the Eurovision. This was a mistake, because no productive day has ever began with eating slices of pizza. Something about it just puts you in waster mode.
2. I looked at bus timetables, and deemed the 12.40 one ‘much too late’, and decided to get an earlier one. By 12.30 I’d spent hours on the internet looking at comics, I was still unshaved, unshowered, and with no hope of getting the 12.40 bus into town so I could study in the college library.
3. I was wearing uncomfortable clothes, because I’ve put all my nice clothes in the wash in preparation for Wednesday (my planned best day of my life, hoping to blog about this soon). These uncomfortable clothes included my second choice pair of jeans, which never seem to align properly with my testicles, causing constant discomfort, and have pockets that are slightly too small. And also my new shoes, which are fairly heavy and have a very slight heel in them, which I can barely cope with, since I’m so used to regular ol’ flat plimsoles, which I plim around in.
4. I had to take a detour on my journey to the bus stop, to drop keys off to someone. I assumed the whole journey would take less than twenty minutes, which was perfect, because the bus website estimates that I should have 21 minutes before the bus gets to my stop.
It seems I forgot that I had to drop keys to a man who lives on the longest fucking road in Ireland.
5. I missed my bus by about a minute, and couldn’t run for it because I was convinced I’d trip and fall over my non-plimsole shoes.
6. When I finally got on the bus, there was a dirty man trying to chat up the lovely Spanish girls that were on, meaning I couldn’t even fantasise about chatting them up and sexing them, because he’d obviously put them off stranger Irish men on buses.
7. The main entrance to college was closed, presumably because of the fucking Queen and her fucking visit on Tuesday. I’ve got an exam on Tuesday, and have gotten so many emails telling me the arrangements for the day. The problem with these emails is that they’re about a millions words long, and I can’t be arsed reading it all and trying to find the information that’s relevant to me.
8. I’m walking towards the next entrance and everyone’s walking so slow I’m genuinely shocked that there isn’t a coffin being carried a few paces ahead. Worse still, some man decides it’s perfectly alright to stop walking and stand still to look around the place for a second. This is not acceptable. If you’re walking along a busy crowded street, with loads of people walking in front, beside, and behind you, it is not acceptable to simply stop for whatever reason it may be, causing congestion and shit.
In this case I imagine the man was stopping to think about whether or not he felt hungry.
9. I finally get to the entrance that is open, and there’s loads of Gardaí standing around, and a dude checking student cards, interrogating you and letting you in.
I just want to study for my fucking exams. I want to go into the library, to study for my exams that I have to do in order to complete my four years in this college. Just let me into the main fucking entrance of the fucking place, without any bullshit, so I can go in and fucking study. I don’t want to harm anyone. I don’t want to bomb the Queen. I don’t want to assassinate Barack Obama. I just want to scrape through my exams and get a degree and get a shitting job and live my damn life. Why do they need about ten gardai standing around to make sure I’m not in the fucking IRA?
I don’t even litter.
Let alone do terrorist stuff.
10. It’s now three o’clock and all I’ve done today is write a shitty blog post, which I only did because my inane bullshit was too long for a Facebook status or Twitter update.
What’s the big deal with the Queen anyway? She doesn’t even have nice tits.
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I’ve got my exams in less than a month.
I’ve since come to a realisation.
See, I’ve noticed that when I’m sitting in the library trying to study, all I notice is all the women around me. My penis goes into overdrive.
If you’re in the library, and look in any way feminine, I’m going to ogle you and there’s nothing you can do about it.
I’ve done up this graph to demonstrate the level of sexual thoughts I have in the library, compared to other scenarios.
I hope you all agree that this is accurate and indicative of the entire student body.
Mmm… student body.
Bodies have tits.
Mmm… tits.
Anyway, graph:
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This is the last of my Trinity News articles. Possibly also my favourite. I hope you’ve enjoyed them anyway.
The Facebook page reached 150 fans today. Not far off world domination now.
Also, if anyone’s interested, my latest story for The Spanner seems to have gone down well. Check it out by clicking here.
This Charmless Man
I woke up on Wednesday of last week feeling immediately stressed. It was one of those days where there’s so much to do that no matter what time you wake up, it’s already too late and you’re not going to get everything done.
However, it was slightly sunny. Slightly. Every so often the sun would break through the clouds and just for a few minutes at a time, it was a bit bright and a bit warm. And that’s all we ask for really. A little bit of sunshine. I don’t want loads of constant burning sunshine. I burn like a bastard. But a little bit of sun and I’m happy enough. Naturally I don’t change the clothes I wear to suit the good weather, because it’ll only start raining as soon as I leave the house.
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