This is the funniest sketch ever, in my opinion. Which maybe gives you some insight into my writings and the way I try to think...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=92vV3QGagck
Some people might find this just stupid, but the first time I saw it, I literally fell on the floor laughing.
And there's got to be a place in this world for things that make you do that.
There is sound on it, so be warned...
In case you are at work and it will get you in trouble!
Saturday, 31 October 2009
Wednesday, 28 October 2009
Oh no...
Not posted today, and now with the hour being late, I can't think of anything to say!
What to do? Just leave it 'til tomorrow, or try to come up with something off the cuff?
Just something off the cuff, I think.
Okay.
Okay.
Okay.
Even I get writer's block occassionally.
Okay. Here goes.
My brother Mark had to make a speech off the cuff recently, and he told a story about a party that "we" had when our parents were on holiday. Now, I was about sixteen at the time, and Mark was eighteen.
I would just like to say that it wasn't my party. It was all Mark's idea, and I was just implicated in it as his minion.
But now that I think about it, Mark's preparations for the party were short-sighted.
"We'll take all the paintings off the walls and store them somewhere safe." he said.
"Okay. That seems like a good idea.", I said.
"And we'll remove all vases and other breakable items from the party area, and push all the furniture against the walls."
"Okay. That seems like a good idea, too."
Now, I don't know if it was our youthful stupidity, or a natural trusting nature, but for some reason it never seemed to occur to either of us to think...Hmmm? Do you think maybe we should move away that small collection of fine wines that Dad has lovingly built up over the years, or do you think we should just leave them there in full view of everyone? We'll just leave them there in full view of everyone. I mean, what could possibly happen?
I have to say, when Dad got home from holiday, he took it pretty well.
What to do? Just leave it 'til tomorrow, or try to come up with something off the cuff?
Just something off the cuff, I think.
Okay.
Okay.
Okay.
Even I get writer's block occassionally.
Okay. Here goes.
My brother Mark had to make a speech off the cuff recently, and he told a story about a party that "we" had when our parents were on holiday. Now, I was about sixteen at the time, and Mark was eighteen.
I would just like to say that it wasn't my party. It was all Mark's idea, and I was just implicated in it as his minion.
But now that I think about it, Mark's preparations for the party were short-sighted.
"We'll take all the paintings off the walls and store them somewhere safe." he said.
"Okay. That seems like a good idea.", I said.
"And we'll remove all vases and other breakable items from the party area, and push all the furniture against the walls."
"Okay. That seems like a good idea, too."
Now, I don't know if it was our youthful stupidity, or a natural trusting nature, but for some reason it never seemed to occur to either of us to think...Hmmm? Do you think maybe we should move away that small collection of fine wines that Dad has lovingly built up over the years, or do you think we should just leave them there in full view of everyone? We'll just leave them there in full view of everyone. I mean, what could possibly happen?
I have to say, when Dad got home from holiday, he took it pretty well.
Tuesday, 27 October 2009
Countdown
Sorry. I don't have much to do today, so I was watching Countdown (which is always a sign that your life isn't going in the right direction).
I haven't seen it in ages, but while the contestants still look like serial killers, the woman who puts the letters up is quite pretty.
I still sort of have the hots for Suzy Dent, though.
I haven't seen it in ages, but while the contestants still look like serial killers, the woman who puts the letters up is quite pretty.
I still sort of have the hots for Suzy Dent, though.
And I know
"You can take the boy out of Larne, but you can never take Larne out of the boy."
Before you even say it, Jules.
I AM NOT FROM LARNE!
Before you even say it, Jules.
I AM NOT FROM LARNE!
I'm not from Larne
I'm not from Larne.
Just because I was born there doesn't mean that's where I'm from.
I'm not from Larne.
I am definitely not from Larne.
Just because I was born there doesn't mean that's where I'm from.
I'm not from Larne.
I am definitely not from Larne.
War
Today I will talk about war.
Or more particularly, war films. Because I have never actually been in a war, despite effectively living in the middle of one for most of my life. But I have never actually been in a war. No-one has ever shot at me or taken me prisoner and slapped me across the face with a pair of leather gloves, shone a bright light in my face, and said, "We have ways of making you talk."
No. None of that.
But can you think of any war film that doesn't ultimately glamorise war? One that doesn't appeal to young men and make them think, " I would like to go and do that."
Because as someone who will hopefully now never have to go and fight in a war, every time I watch a war film, it always sort of leaves me with the feeling that I have missed out on something. Some great life-changing experience, where you got to bond with your buddies and do something really heroic in the process.
Because that seems to me to be the essential central theme of most war films. Some of them try to show the horror of war, but they always focus on some sort of heroic action, which appeals to young men and makes them think, "I would like to do something like that."
Maybe someone should make a war film from the point of view of a child living in a town somewhere, and one day some soldiers come along and just blow his parents' heads off for no good reason. And then, instead of the child going on some mission to avenge the attrocity, he just spends the rest of his life feeling really bad about it, and not understanding why it happened.
Would that make a good film?
Or more particularly, war films. Because I have never actually been in a war, despite effectively living in the middle of one for most of my life. But I have never actually been in a war. No-one has ever shot at me or taken me prisoner and slapped me across the face with a pair of leather gloves, shone a bright light in my face, and said, "We have ways of making you talk."
No. None of that.
But can you think of any war film that doesn't ultimately glamorise war? One that doesn't appeal to young men and make them think, " I would like to go and do that."
Because as someone who will hopefully now never have to go and fight in a war, every time I watch a war film, it always sort of leaves me with the feeling that I have missed out on something. Some great life-changing experience, where you got to bond with your buddies and do something really heroic in the process.
Because that seems to me to be the essential central theme of most war films. Some of them try to show the horror of war, but they always focus on some sort of heroic action, which appeals to young men and makes them think, "I would like to do something like that."
Maybe someone should make a war film from the point of view of a child living in a town somewhere, and one day some soldiers come along and just blow his parents' heads off for no good reason. And then, instead of the child going on some mission to avenge the attrocity, he just spends the rest of his life feeling really bad about it, and not understanding why it happened.
Would that make a good film?
Monday, 26 October 2009
Oirish
Hard to know how to follow that last post...
But here goes, because this experience was pretty surreal too.
Oirish pubs abroad.They are generally quite bad. Although there was a trend a few years ago for making the bars that were actually in Ireland look more Oirish. What's the point? You're standing in Ireland right now. There's no need for nostalgia. I felt that they were really false, and you sort of felt like you were on a film set or something when you were in one.
The best one ever, though, was in Perth in Western Australia. A work colleague said I would like it.
"What's it called?" I asked him.
"Fenians"
"What's it called?!"
"Fenians."
I thought " I bet there aren't any pubs IN Ireland called that!"
So we went one Friday after work, because he said they did a good pint of Guinness, and to be fair to them, the Guinness wasn't bad.
But you should have seen the hack of the place. It was like Disneyland Ireland, and there was a band singing rebel songs, and a strange assortment of characters dressed in tweed suits and hats. This was in the summer time. It was easily thirty five degrees outside.
So anyway, I got a pint of Guinness, and then this guy comes up to me and says, "So where are you from?"
"I'm actually from Ireland.", I say.
"Aye. Wherabouts?"
I start to get worried at this point, because he says it in a rather threatening way.
"Em. I'm from Newtownabbey, just outside Belfast. Do you know it?"
He looks scornfully at me and says, " Aye. Rathcoole?" Before I can explain that I don't actually come from Rathcoole, be turns and walks away to the other side of the bar, where he glares menacingly at me.
I couldn't believe it. I was thinking, "I came half way round the world to get away from this sort of thing." Then I notice that he is talking to some of his tweed-clad friends, and they are looking at me too. So I got out of there as quickly as possible.
That's a completely true story. It was twenty one years ago, so I don't know what "Fenians" is like now, or even if it is still there. It might be. It was certainly doing a roaring trade the day I was in there. So if you are ever in Perth, go and have a look. But if anyone asks you where you're from, just pretend you're Australian. Or from the Falls.
But here goes, because this experience was pretty surreal too.
Oirish pubs abroad.They are generally quite bad. Although there was a trend a few years ago for making the bars that were actually in Ireland look more Oirish. What's the point? You're standing in Ireland right now. There's no need for nostalgia. I felt that they were really false, and you sort of felt like you were on a film set or something when you were in one.
The best one ever, though, was in Perth in Western Australia. A work colleague said I would like it.
"What's it called?" I asked him.
"Fenians"
"What's it called?!"
"Fenians."
I thought " I bet there aren't any pubs IN Ireland called that!"
So we went one Friday after work, because he said they did a good pint of Guinness, and to be fair to them, the Guinness wasn't bad.
But you should have seen the hack of the place. It was like Disneyland Ireland, and there was a band singing rebel songs, and a strange assortment of characters dressed in tweed suits and hats. This was in the summer time. It was easily thirty five degrees outside.
So anyway, I got a pint of Guinness, and then this guy comes up to me and says, "So where are you from?"
"I'm actually from Ireland.", I say.
"Aye. Wherabouts?"
I start to get worried at this point, because he says it in a rather threatening way.
"Em. I'm from Newtownabbey, just outside Belfast. Do you know it?"
He looks scornfully at me and says, " Aye. Rathcoole?" Before I can explain that I don't actually come from Rathcoole, be turns and walks away to the other side of the bar, where he glares menacingly at me.
I couldn't believe it. I was thinking, "I came half way round the world to get away from this sort of thing." Then I notice that he is talking to some of his tweed-clad friends, and they are looking at me too. So I got out of there as quickly as possible.
That's a completely true story. It was twenty one years ago, so I don't know what "Fenians" is like now, or even if it is still there. It might be. It was certainly doing a roaring trade the day I was in there. So if you are ever in Perth, go and have a look. But if anyone asks you where you're from, just pretend you're Australian. Or from the Falls.
Sunday, 25 October 2009
Lions
This one is so strange I might delete it right after posting it.
But here goes.
We all love Jackie Fullerton, the iconic commentator on BBC Northern Ireland. But I wonder if he has ever used the phrase, " testicles the size of lions"? In the context of, " Oh, can you believe it? He must have testicles the size of lions to have scored from there!"
Now, considering that he ever said it, which he probably didn't, although if you try doing an impression of him and saying it, it does sound like something he MIGHT say. Does he mean each individual testicle is the size of a lion? Or does he mean the testicles are the same size as a lion's? Or is it just a metaphor that suggests the strength and aggressive attacking ability of a lion?
Who knows? But male lions don't really do much attacking. They leave that up to the wives. So testicles don't really come into it.
But never mind that. A far better thing would be lions the size of testicles. Can you imagine? Tiny little testicle-sized lions. They would make great pets. You could just feed them mice or something. Simply construct a miniature reproduction of the Serengeti on your living room floor, paint some stripes on the mice so that they look like zebra, and let the games begin!
It would be great entertainment. You could invite your neighbours round, offer them nibbles and so on. It would be great!
But here goes.
We all love Jackie Fullerton, the iconic commentator on BBC Northern Ireland. But I wonder if he has ever used the phrase, " testicles the size of lions"? In the context of, " Oh, can you believe it? He must have testicles the size of lions to have scored from there!"
Now, considering that he ever said it, which he probably didn't, although if you try doing an impression of him and saying it, it does sound like something he MIGHT say. Does he mean each individual testicle is the size of a lion? Or does he mean the testicles are the same size as a lion's? Or is it just a metaphor that suggests the strength and aggressive attacking ability of a lion?
Who knows? But male lions don't really do much attacking. They leave that up to the wives. So testicles don't really come into it.
But never mind that. A far better thing would be lions the size of testicles. Can you imagine? Tiny little testicle-sized lions. They would make great pets. You could just feed them mice or something. Simply construct a miniature reproduction of the Serengeti on your living room floor, paint some stripes on the mice so that they look like zebra, and let the games begin!
It would be great entertainment. You could invite your neighbours round, offer them nibbles and so on. It would be great!
Saturday, 24 October 2009
Just some pictures
I thought I might as well show some of my pictures on this web log. So here I go.
So there you go. I still have the first one if anyone wants to buy it, and I have quite a lot of others. Most of the ones I don't still have the originals of are available as prints.
Cars and films
What are films if they don't have cars in them?
Without meaning to sound like the rectangular-faced car-bore from Top Gear, they are just not very good.
Here are some top films and the cars that were in them.
Bullit: Ford Mustang... and for a bonus point, the car he was chasing was a Dodge Charger
For Your Eyes Only: Yellow Citroen 2CV
Back to the Future: A De Lorean
Pulp Fiction: A Honda Civic
Pulp Fiction Again: A Ford Malibu. Which some movie fans suggest was "keyed" by the character Butch, in revenge for the character Vincent insulting him in an early part of the movie. But that theory is pure conjecture, and, frankly, I think, comes from the minds of people who analyse the film far too deeply.
The Spy Who Loved Me: A Lotus Esprit that can go under-water.
Herbie: A Volkeswagen Beetle, which was partly designed by Hitler, although I don't think he played any part in the design process that gave the car an ability to talk and have an almost human consciousness.
Knight Rider: Technically a TV programme rather than a movie. But the car is a Pontiac Trans-Am, albeit a slightly modified one that talks with an effeminite voice.
Without meaning to sound like the rectangular-faced car-bore from Top Gear, they are just not very good.
Here are some top films and the cars that were in them.
Bullit: Ford Mustang... and for a bonus point, the car he was chasing was a Dodge Charger
For Your Eyes Only: Yellow Citroen 2CV
Back to the Future: A De Lorean
Pulp Fiction: A Honda Civic
Pulp Fiction Again: A Ford Malibu. Which some movie fans suggest was "keyed" by the character Butch, in revenge for the character Vincent insulting him in an early part of the movie. But that theory is pure conjecture, and, frankly, I think, comes from the minds of people who analyse the film far too deeply.
The Spy Who Loved Me: A Lotus Esprit that can go under-water.
Herbie: A Volkeswagen Beetle, which was partly designed by Hitler, although I don't think he played any part in the design process that gave the car an ability to talk and have an almost human consciousness.
Knight Rider: Technically a TV programme rather than a movie. But the car is a Pontiac Trans-Am, albeit a slightly modified one that talks with an effeminite voice.
Hooray!
I got my first comment! And it was from someone calling themseves "Anonymous". How mysterious! How exciting! Could be a secret admirer. Could be a random psycho killer!
Friday, 23 October 2009
Men and women
I don't want to say anything offensive, but it occurs to me that men are more visually aware than women. If a man looks at an attractive woman, he finds her attractive purely on a visual level. He doesn't have to know anything about her. He will be attracted to her entirely because she looks nice.
Women, it seems to me, think slightly differently. Of course they prefer good looking men in the same way that men prefer good looking women, but they don't seem to put so much emphasis on it. So I am thinking, are men more sensative to visual aesthetics than women, and therefor better in the fields of artistic endeavour?
I know that women can be as good as men at visual art. But consider the history of painting and sculpture. There are very few women who feature as notable artists. One modern example would be Tracy Emmin, but her work is characterised much more by the emotional content of it than by solely the visual impact it makes on the viewer.
Do men and women see differently? Women seem to see nice shoes and be completely smitten by them. Men don't seem that fussed about shoes. That seems to undermine my point, but generally speaking men do seem to excell over women in painting, sculpture, architecture, and most of the creative arts.
So are men instinctavely better at art than women?
I have heard it said that men rarely read novels written by women. But I find I prefer women novelists. They seem to be better at characterising the subjects in their books.
Men are good at coming up with elaborate plots and so on, but I find that they are rarely good at writing believable dialog.
Look at Dan Brown.
I think women probably do think on a different level to us, and maybe you are better at deep emotional things, and we are better at basic straight-forward things, like painting the spare bed room.
Women, it seems to me, think slightly differently. Of course they prefer good looking men in the same way that men prefer good looking women, but they don't seem to put so much emphasis on it. So I am thinking, are men more sensative to visual aesthetics than women, and therefor better in the fields of artistic endeavour?
I know that women can be as good as men at visual art. But consider the history of painting and sculpture. There are very few women who feature as notable artists. One modern example would be Tracy Emmin, but her work is characterised much more by the emotional content of it than by solely the visual impact it makes on the viewer.
Do men and women see differently? Women seem to see nice shoes and be completely smitten by them. Men don't seem that fussed about shoes. That seems to undermine my point, but generally speaking men do seem to excell over women in painting, sculpture, architecture, and most of the creative arts.
So are men instinctavely better at art than women?
I have heard it said that men rarely read novels written by women. But I find I prefer women novelists. They seem to be better at characterising the subjects in their books.
Men are good at coming up with elaborate plots and so on, but I find that they are rarely good at writing believable dialog.
Look at Dan Brown.
I think women probably do think on a different level to us, and maybe you are better at deep emotional things, and we are better at basic straight-forward things, like painting the spare bed room.
Bora Bora
I must apologise for my earlier post, which somehow suggested that Bora Bora was somehow better than Larne.
Larne may not be the best town in the world, as evidenced by the fact that when you go there there is only one postcard available. A rather grim photo of the High Street that looks like it was taken in the late Seventies. But Larne is part of Northern Ireland, and we have a proud footballing history, whereas, as far as I know, Bora Bora has had no particular impact on the world stage in that regard. Northern Ireland are currently ranked second in the world listings of teams who consistently fail to qualify for major world and European events. Bora Bora, as far as I know, don't even have an international team. If David Healy had been born in Bora Bora, he would probably be working as a waiter right now, rather than as a slightly off-form striker for a second rate English club, and the best that Northern Ireland can muster up given that George Best is no longer around.
Larne may not be the best town in the world, as evidenced by the fact that when you go there there is only one postcard available. A rather grim photo of the High Street that looks like it was taken in the late Seventies. But Larne is part of Northern Ireland, and we have a proud footballing history, whereas, as far as I know, Bora Bora has had no particular impact on the world stage in that regard. Northern Ireland are currently ranked second in the world listings of teams who consistently fail to qualify for major world and European events. Bora Bora, as far as I know, don't even have an international team. If David Healy had been born in Bora Bora, he would probably be working as a waiter right now, rather than as a slightly off-form striker for a second rate English club, and the best that Northern Ireland can muster up given that George Best is no longer around.
Thursday, 22 October 2009
Rubber
Hello. I am not feeling very well today, but I will write something anyway because I must. There's no point in having an internet web log if you don't write on it every day. So today I will relate a not particularly interesting incident from my childhood. One day I ate a rubber. For any Americans reading this, that's not what you call a rubber. You call it an eraser. I have never eaten what you call a rubber, although I understand they are available in a range of flavours, which, some knowledgable girls once told me, all just taste like rubber.
No. the rubber I ate was a rubber you use for erasing accidents with your pencil, rather than preventing them.
It all started when I was in school one day, and I had a new rubber in my pencil case. It smelled quite nice, so I ate it. It didn't actually taste very nice, but I ate it anyway. And it didn't make me sick or anything. Not like what I suspect is making me feel a bit sick today, which was, ironically, designed for human consumption, although possibly not as long after being purchased as it took me to get around to eating it. So there you are. Rubber, while perhaps not containing much nutritional value, won't make you violently ill from both ends. Meat bought from the shop over a week ago, which despite looking and smelling okay, will apparently.
Talking of which, while it is fresh in my mind, I will share with you a rather unpleasant incident from earlier today. My digestive system in its infinite wisdom, decided to be sick from one end, and then almost instantaneously afterwards to be sick from the other end. No chance to flush in-between. Well, I am sure you can imagine the sight that was to be held as I leaned my head over the rim of the toilet. It would have been enough, at such close quarters to make anyone vomit, never mind someone who was about to anyway.
I am feeling better now, although I suspect anyone who just read that last sentence is probably feeling worse now. Sorry about that.
No. the rubber I ate was a rubber you use for erasing accidents with your pencil, rather than preventing them.
It all started when I was in school one day, and I had a new rubber in my pencil case. It smelled quite nice, so I ate it. It didn't actually taste very nice, but I ate it anyway. And it didn't make me sick or anything. Not like what I suspect is making me feel a bit sick today, which was, ironically, designed for human consumption, although possibly not as long after being purchased as it took me to get around to eating it. So there you are. Rubber, while perhaps not containing much nutritional value, won't make you violently ill from both ends. Meat bought from the shop over a week ago, which despite looking and smelling okay, will apparently.
Talking of which, while it is fresh in my mind, I will share with you a rather unpleasant incident from earlier today. My digestive system in its infinite wisdom, decided to be sick from one end, and then almost instantaneously afterwards to be sick from the other end. No chance to flush in-between. Well, I am sure you can imagine the sight that was to be held as I leaned my head over the rim of the toilet. It would have been enough, at such close quarters to make anyone vomit, never mind someone who was about to anyway.
I am feeling better now, although I suspect anyone who just read that last sentence is probably feeling worse now. Sorry about that.
Tuesday, 20 October 2009
Time...again.
Just to let (all) my readers know. The time settings on this internetty web loggity doo-da thinngamy-jig, are not right.
Romantic as it may make me appear to be some Jack Kerouac sort of a character, furiously typing in the dead of night for no other reason than to expunge myself of the wild creativity that burns within me, what I actually do is type this stuff during the ad-breaks in Scrubs. Which I have to say I am enjoying the new series of emmensely.
I was quite worried when it looked like they were going to sack the janitor. I was like," No! He's the best guy in it ( apart from Dr. Kelso)." But they were obviously just toying with us and now he is back and brilliant as ever.
Romantic as it may make me appear to be some Jack Kerouac sort of a character, furiously typing in the dead of night for no other reason than to expunge myself of the wild creativity that burns within me, what I actually do is type this stuff during the ad-breaks in Scrubs. Which I have to say I am enjoying the new series of emmensely.
I was quite worried when it looked like they were going to sack the janitor. I was like," No! He's the best guy in it ( apart from Dr. Kelso)." But they were obviously just toying with us and now he is back and brilliant as ever.
Sunday, 18 October 2009
Larne versus Bora Bora
Let's go over live now to our commentary team, Jackie Fulerton and Michael Dunn.
Jackie: Thanks, Mark. Well the teams are lining up, and it looks like Bora Bora are going for a four three three formation, which is the kind of attacking line-up that reflects their confidence coming into this contest.
Michael: Absolutely Jackie. I mean, Larne is a great town, with many shops, and, er, roads leading out of it, but they just don't have the quality in-depth that Bora Bora have a consistent reputation for.
Jackie: Do you think it was the right decision for Larne to go with a lone striker?
Michael: Well, Jackie, they really don't have a lot of other options. The fact that there is a ferry-port to Stranraer, is really Larne's strongest point. If they had the unspoilt beaches, the luxury hotels, the nice weather and the friendly people that Bora Bora have, they might be able to afford to be a little more adventurous in the attacking third of the field.
Jackie: So, yes, then?
Michael: Yes.
Jackie: Well, five minutes gone and it is a cagey affair so far. Neither side seems willing to take the game to the other.
Michael: You're absolutely right, Jackie. But you do have to say that Larne's grim, soulless housing estates have stood up well under the pressure from Bora Bora's exclusive and breath-taking resort hotels.
Jackie: You certainly do. And look at this. Can you believe it? Larne have opened a wine-bar!
Michael: Absolutely amazing, Jackie. Who would have thought we would have seen it in our lifetime? People were skeptical when the management opened a tourist information centre, but this move is quite unprecedented.
Jackie: And in the middle of a recession too.
Michael: And in the middle of a recession too. What were the odds on that, Jackie? 25 to 1?
Jackie: 25 to 1.
Oh, there's been a development. Half the Larne side have been sent off for bigotry!
Michael: That was totally blatant, Jackie. There's no place for that in the modern game, and I applaude the referee for stamping down on it.
Jackie: But were you not saying yesterday that you would prove that Larne is better than Bora Bora?
Michael: I did, Jackie. I did. But now I have revised my point of view in regard to that subject, and
Jackie: Sorry to interrupt you there Michael, because Larne have scored!
They've commissioned a really expensive sculpture to be built in the middle of a round-about, and it's Larne one, Bora Bora nil!
Michael: Unbelievable, Jackie. Unbelievable.
I can't think of anything more to say.
I quite literally can't think of anything more to say.
Jackie: Thanks, Mark. Well the teams are lining up, and it looks like Bora Bora are going for a four three three formation, which is the kind of attacking line-up that reflects their confidence coming into this contest.
Michael: Absolutely Jackie. I mean, Larne is a great town, with many shops, and, er, roads leading out of it, but they just don't have the quality in-depth that Bora Bora have a consistent reputation for.
Jackie: Do you think it was the right decision for Larne to go with a lone striker?
Michael: Well, Jackie, they really don't have a lot of other options. The fact that there is a ferry-port to Stranraer, is really Larne's strongest point. If they had the unspoilt beaches, the luxury hotels, the nice weather and the friendly people that Bora Bora have, they might be able to afford to be a little more adventurous in the attacking third of the field.
Jackie: So, yes, then?
Michael: Yes.
Jackie: Well, five minutes gone and it is a cagey affair so far. Neither side seems willing to take the game to the other.
Michael: You're absolutely right, Jackie. But you do have to say that Larne's grim, soulless housing estates have stood up well under the pressure from Bora Bora's exclusive and breath-taking resort hotels.
Jackie: You certainly do. And look at this. Can you believe it? Larne have opened a wine-bar!
Michael: Absolutely amazing, Jackie. Who would have thought we would have seen it in our lifetime? People were skeptical when the management opened a tourist information centre, but this move is quite unprecedented.
Jackie: And in the middle of a recession too.
Michael: And in the middle of a recession too. What were the odds on that, Jackie? 25 to 1?
Jackie: 25 to 1.
Oh, there's been a development. Half the Larne side have been sent off for bigotry!
Michael: That was totally blatant, Jackie. There's no place for that in the modern game, and I applaude the referee for stamping down on it.
Jackie: But were you not saying yesterday that you would prove that Larne is better than Bora Bora?
Michael: I did, Jackie. I did. But now I have revised my point of view in regard to that subject, and
Jackie: Sorry to interrupt you there Michael, because Larne have scored!
They've commissioned a really expensive sculpture to be built in the middle of a round-about, and it's Larne one, Bora Bora nil!
Michael: Unbelievable, Jackie. Unbelievable.
I can't think of anything more to say.
I quite literally can't think of anything more to say.
That film
There is another scene in that film, where the guy who lost an arm, leg and eye is in a bar with his brother. The guy is a bit drunk and while talking loudly he uses the "n" word.
His brother is aghast, and several black people in the bar turn to look menacingly at them.
"You can't call them that!", says the brother.
"Well what do you call them?", says our hero.
"I call them black people."
"Really? That's not what you called them the time they stole your car."
I wish I could remember what that film was called, because I'd like to see it again, because for some reason those two scenes are all I can really remember about it.
His brother is aghast, and several black people in the bar turn to look menacingly at them.
"You can't call them that!", says the brother.
"Well what do you call them?", says our hero.
"I call them black people."
"Really? That's not what you called them the time they stole your car."
I wish I could remember what that film was called, because I'd like to see it again, because for some reason those two scenes are all I can really remember about it.
Saturday, 17 October 2009
Duty
I saw a film once. Not a particularly well known film, I think.
But there is one scene in it where one of the characters, a Vietnam veteran who has lost an arm, a leg and an eye, is confronted by the police, for deliberately ramming into his next-door neighbour's car. The police can't exactly prove that he did it on purpose, but they do point out that his driving license has expired. And the guy says, "Well. I suppose you have to cite me for that. That's your duty. And duty is something I know a little bit about."
Well, I never lost an arm, a leg and an eye in Vietnam, but duty is still something I know a little bit about.
So tomorrow I will be making a post that expounds (good word) the virtues of Larne, where I was born.
It's the least I can do for the town where I was born.
I can't do it right now, as I have to carry out extensive research and make copious notes.
But I will do it tomorrow. And by the time I have finished, you will be cancelling your honeymoon in Bora Bora, and booking a B&B in Larne, the romance capital of the world.
This momentous post may force Larne council into a whole re-branding exercise, including changing their slogan..."Come to Larne. It's not THAT bad" to something a bit "snappier" as we say in the advertising industry. Something a bit more outside the box. Something a bit more blue-sky thinking. Something a bit more rum and truffles. Something a bit more... oh, I don't know what, something a bit more "Je ne sais quois".
Which is French for, " I don't know what."
Now do you see how clever I am?
I am thinking... we get Carol Decker, the Miss Piggy-faced singer from the Eighties to open a responsible drinking off-licence or something. The off licence could, possibly, sell a low alcohol cider imported from China, and she could perform, while swilling a bottle of it singing, "China in your Hand".
That would work, wouldn't it?
She could use Therapy? as a back up band.
The reason for commissioning Decker would be that Larne is famous for its ferry port, and what do boats have, if not decks?
It's all coming together, and you can tell I've put a lot of thought into it, unlike the bald American who recently won a £200,000 pound commission to build a few badly welded circles of galvinized angle iron in CornMarket in Belfast.
Look at it here...http://images.google.co.uk/imgres?imgurl=http://www.4ni.co.uk/newsimages/Spirit-of-Belfast-web.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.4ni.co.uk/northern_ireland_news.asp%3Fid%3D100131&usg=__YVKEna1Mi_LSWlXfg1mwQGhqY2Y=&h=210&w=181&sz=48&hl=en&start=15&um=1&tbnid=yvGHixme9lijvM:&tbnh=106&tbnw=91&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dspirit%2Bof%2Bbelfast%26hl%3Den%26safe%3Doff%26sa%3DN%26um%3D1
That's a pretty long address!
And "Spirit of Belfast"?
Please, credit me with some sense of knowing that I am being patronised by some know-nothing American.
But there is one scene in it where one of the characters, a Vietnam veteran who has lost an arm, a leg and an eye, is confronted by the police, for deliberately ramming into his next-door neighbour's car. The police can't exactly prove that he did it on purpose, but they do point out that his driving license has expired. And the guy says, "Well. I suppose you have to cite me for that. That's your duty. And duty is something I know a little bit about."
Well, I never lost an arm, a leg and an eye in Vietnam, but duty is still something I know a little bit about.
So tomorrow I will be making a post that expounds (good word) the virtues of Larne, where I was born.
It's the least I can do for the town where I was born.
I can't do it right now, as I have to carry out extensive research and make copious notes.
But I will do it tomorrow. And by the time I have finished, you will be cancelling your honeymoon in Bora Bora, and booking a B&B in Larne, the romance capital of the world.
This momentous post may force Larne council into a whole re-branding exercise, including changing their slogan..."Come to Larne. It's not THAT bad" to something a bit "snappier" as we say in the advertising industry. Something a bit more outside the box. Something a bit more blue-sky thinking. Something a bit more rum and truffles. Something a bit more... oh, I don't know what, something a bit more "Je ne sais quois".
Which is French for, " I don't know what."
Now do you see how clever I am?
I am thinking... we get Carol Decker, the Miss Piggy-faced singer from the Eighties to open a responsible drinking off-licence or something. The off licence could, possibly, sell a low alcohol cider imported from China, and she could perform, while swilling a bottle of it singing, "China in your Hand".
That would work, wouldn't it?
She could use Therapy? as a back up band.
The reason for commissioning Decker would be that Larne is famous for its ferry port, and what do boats have, if not decks?
It's all coming together, and you can tell I've put a lot of thought into it, unlike the bald American who recently won a £200,000 pound commission to build a few badly welded circles of galvinized angle iron in CornMarket in Belfast.
Look at it here...http://images.google.co.uk/imgres?imgurl=http://www.4ni.co.uk/newsimages/Spirit-of-Belfast-web.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.4ni.co.uk/northern_ireland_news.asp%3Fid%3D100131&usg=__YVKEna1Mi_LSWlXfg1mwQGhqY2Y=&h=210&w=181&sz=48&hl=en&start=15&um=1&tbnid=yvGHixme9lijvM:&tbnh=106&tbnw=91&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dspirit%2Bof%2Bbelfast%26hl%3Den%26safe%3Doff%26sa%3DN%26um%3D1
That's a pretty long address!
And "Spirit of Belfast"?
Please, credit me with some sense of knowing that I am being patronised by some know-nothing American.
About that football video yet again
Look at the bit right at the start, as the teams are walking out. The expression on the wee girl's face who is holding David Beckham's hand. It just says, " Ooooh! I can't wait to get to school tomorrow. My friends are going to be SO jealous!"
Friday, 16 October 2009
Hard.
I don't know if anyone else who uses this web log service experiences this, but I have found that it is very hard to log in. It just doesn't recognise your login and password. This may be due to recent changes in the way it works, or it may be due to me having a number of different username and password combinations for various sites, but I usually write them down, and I am sure I am using the right one.
I can always seem to eventually get into my account, but sometimes it is like trying to crack the Enigma Code or something.
Anyone else noticing this?
They don't seem to like you having a non-Google e-mail address.
I can always seem to eventually get into my account, but sometimes it is like trying to crack the Enigma Code or something.
Anyone else noticing this?
They don't seem to like you having a non-Google e-mail address.
Speaking of that football video again.
There is another delightful shot of of the "pundits" in the Northern Ireland outside broadcast studio unit demonstating their professional impartiality after the goal goes in, by jumping about like a bunch of monkeys who have just found a container full of bananas.
There is an even better and more hilarious example here... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j7urlDb9wtA&NR=1 ... I swear, even if you don't like football, this is worth listening to.
Calm down, mate! It's only Denmark. And it's not like we even qualified in the end, anyway.
There is an even better and more hilarious example here... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j7urlDb9wtA&NR=1 ... I swear, even if you don't like football, this is worth listening to.
Calm down, mate! It's only Denmark. And it's not like we even qualified in the end, anyway.
Jumpers for goalposts
Looking at that football video again, I can't help noticing that there is a bit, quite near the start, where the skill and co-ordination of seven year olds would put these World Cup internationals to shame.
Look at them, there. Hacking aimlessly at the ball. Kicking each other on the shins. Falling over gracelessly.
There appears to be precious little in the way of "pin-point passing" going on, or indeed evidence of deserving to earn more money in a week than than many very talented people earn in a year.
I do, though, particularly like the scene where the England goalie picks himself up and looks mournfully at the ball in the net. You can practically read his mind. "Oh no, the boss is going to kill me for this!"
And so he should have. Talk about "crisp bag hands"?
I also like the way when the ball is played through, the only defender close enough to put in a tackle and prevent the goal, chooses instead to take his eye off the ball and look to the linesman, his hand pleadlingly raised, like a primary school child about to pee his pants in class.
But the best thing about that video is, that it really, relentlessly rubs it in.
Anyone who was not familiar with endless action replays could be forgiven for thinking that Northern Ireland won about sixteen-nil.
Look at them, there. Hacking aimlessly at the ball. Kicking each other on the shins. Falling over gracelessly.
There appears to be precious little in the way of "pin-point passing" going on, or indeed evidence of deserving to earn more money in a week than than many very talented people earn in a year.
I do, though, particularly like the scene where the England goalie picks himself up and looks mournfully at the ball in the net. You can practically read his mind. "Oh no, the boss is going to kill me for this!"
And so he should have. Talk about "crisp bag hands"?
I also like the way when the ball is played through, the only defender close enough to put in a tackle and prevent the goal, chooses instead to take his eye off the ball and look to the linesman, his hand pleadlingly raised, like a primary school child about to pee his pants in class.
But the best thing about that video is, that it really, relentlessly rubs it in.
Anyone who was not familiar with endless action replays could be forgiven for thinking that Northern Ireland won about sixteen-nil.
Thursday, 15 October 2009
In praise of nuclear weapons
Nuclear weapons have secured peace in our world since the second world war. Right? Well have they?
They have stopped the countries who have them from initiating all out war on each other. But let's not start sucking each others' d**ks quite yet (to quote Vincent Wolf from Pulp Fiction)
There have been a lot of wars.
Korea, Vietnam, even Northern Ireland was a war, really, even though most people prefer to refer to it as "The Troubles", as if it was nothing more than a minor bun-fight between two neighbours about garden gnomes in their gardens.
Then there is Kosovo, Chechnya, Bosnia, and loads of those other countries who a few years ago were only interested in killing the Bejasus out of each other, but who now seem to be pretty astute at qualifying for the World Cup finals, to the detriment of Northern Ireland ( Slovenia and Slovakia qualified from our group, leaving us in fourth place). No wonder. Half our players play in the domestic league ( and believe me it is very domestic) and the rest play for second rate Scottish teams... Dunfermline, nil... Hamilton Academicals, nil.
I think when the next World Cup comes around, we should target our nuclear weapons (that is if Northern Ireland actually has a share of the UK's nuclear weapons, which I hope they don't... I mean could you imagine Sinn Fein and the DUP with nuclear weapons? The Shankill and the Falls would be decimated) target them on countries in our group with better football teams than us ( ie just about everyone).
Fire the nuclear weapons at them, which would have this dual effect.
We would kill most of their best players.
We would irradiate the area around their stadium, so games couldn't be staged there.
Then they would have to come and play in Belfast, and our home record is far better than our away record, so me might actually win for a change.
I mean you hear a lot of football pundits talk about tactics, and then you hear about tactical nuclear weapons.
I'm just suggesting we combine the two.
Can you imagine Alan Hansen?
" I mean you've got to admire the lad's tactics there. He's steamed in, nuked Sofia, and really, left the Bulgarians with no chance. Their supporters are all dust, and most of the team are suffering with such bad radiation sickness they can offer little resistance to Northern Ireland's otherwise rather weak opposition. Brilliant!"
Oh. Thought I would add this...just in case you're English!
.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i-ajduHx5hc
I would have to warn you then if you are offended by swearing or bigots, do not scroll down the comments, because You Tube don't seem to be very good at editing out that sort of material. Also bear in mind that there is a soundtrack on this link, so if you are browsing this while you are at work, be aware of that.
Also, I would have to say, in this particular footage, Healy does look like he is a mile offside, but I have veiwed other footage of this goal, and, while it is a close thing, and hard to judge, he does look like he is just about onside when the ball is played through to him.
Try looking at this. It is hard to say if he is offside or not...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FpD5SlNs2Ac
They have stopped the countries who have them from initiating all out war on each other. But let's not start sucking each others' d**ks quite yet (to quote Vincent Wolf from Pulp Fiction)
There have been a lot of wars.
Korea, Vietnam, even Northern Ireland was a war, really, even though most people prefer to refer to it as "The Troubles", as if it was nothing more than a minor bun-fight between two neighbours about garden gnomes in their gardens.
Then there is Kosovo, Chechnya, Bosnia, and loads of those other countries who a few years ago were only interested in killing the Bejasus out of each other, but who now seem to be pretty astute at qualifying for the World Cup finals, to the detriment of Northern Ireland ( Slovenia and Slovakia qualified from our group, leaving us in fourth place). No wonder. Half our players play in the domestic league ( and believe me it is very domestic) and the rest play for second rate Scottish teams... Dunfermline, nil... Hamilton Academicals, nil.
I think when the next World Cup comes around, we should target our nuclear weapons (that is if Northern Ireland actually has a share of the UK's nuclear weapons, which I hope they don't... I mean could you imagine Sinn Fein and the DUP with nuclear weapons? The Shankill and the Falls would be decimated) target them on countries in our group with better football teams than us ( ie just about everyone).
Fire the nuclear weapons at them, which would have this dual effect.
We would kill most of their best players.
We would irradiate the area around their stadium, so games couldn't be staged there.
Then they would have to come and play in Belfast, and our home record is far better than our away record, so me might actually win for a change.
I mean you hear a lot of football pundits talk about tactics, and then you hear about tactical nuclear weapons.
I'm just suggesting we combine the two.
Can you imagine Alan Hansen?
" I mean you've got to admire the lad's tactics there. He's steamed in, nuked Sofia, and really, left the Bulgarians with no chance. Their supporters are all dust, and most of the team are suffering with such bad radiation sickness they can offer little resistance to Northern Ireland's otherwise rather weak opposition. Brilliant!"
Oh. Thought I would add this...just in case you're English!
.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i-ajduHx5hc
I would have to warn you then if you are offended by swearing or bigots, do not scroll down the comments, because You Tube don't seem to be very good at editing out that sort of material. Also bear in mind that there is a soundtrack on this link, so if you are browsing this while you are at work, be aware of that.
Also, I would have to say, in this particular footage, Healy does look like he is a mile offside, but I have veiwed other footage of this goal, and, while it is a close thing, and hard to judge, he does look like he is just about onside when the ball is played through to him.
Try looking at this. It is hard to say if he is offside or not...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FpD5SlNs2Ac
Tuesday, 13 October 2009
Skateboarders!
I was walking up to the shop tonight, and instead of gangs of hostile feral children, there were skateboarders.
I thought, "This neighbourhood is getting a bit middle-class."
But I did have to notice that they weren't very good skateboarders. They had all the stuff, you know? Hats, trousers hanging off their arses. That sort of thing. But they just weren't really that good at skateboarding. Every time they tried to do a trick, they just basically completely failed to do it and fell over.
Now I am not about to refuse to pay my rates or anything, but if we are going to have skateboarders, can we not have half-decent ones?
I thought, "This neighbourhood is getting a bit middle-class."
But I did have to notice that they weren't very good skateboarders. They had all the stuff, you know? Hats, trousers hanging off their arses. That sort of thing. But they just weren't really that good at skateboarding. Every time they tried to do a trick, they just basically completely failed to do it and fell over.
Now I am not about to refuse to pay my rates or anything, but if we are going to have skateboarders, can we not have half-decent ones?
Tracy Chapman
Where are you now, Tracy?
Didn't you say that poor people were going to rise up?
Where are these poor people that you so vehemently sang about, who were going to rise up and take what's theirs?
Where are these poor people who are going to rise up and take their share?
Because I don't see any sign of them.
Most of the poor people I see just seem to sit on the street begging for change.
And they aren't talking about a revolution.
Didn't you say that poor people were going to rise up?
Where are these poor people that you so vehemently sang about, who were going to rise up and take what's theirs?
Where are these poor people who are going to rise up and take their share?
Because I don't see any sign of them.
Most of the poor people I see just seem to sit on the street begging for change.
And they aren't talking about a revolution.
Mc Donald's
Because no ranting web log would be complete without banging on about McDonald's. So okay. Here I go.
Sure, their food is probably not the healthiest thing you can eat. They tried a while ago to introduce salads and healthier food. Fair play to them. But it didn't work and they quickly dropped it. And the reason they dropped it was because that's not what people want from McDonald's.
They want a burger and chips. If you don't want a burger and chips, don't go to McDonald's.
Do they destroy rain forests, rip off farmers, exploit the third world, encourage ill-treatment of animals? To be honest, I don't know. I eat meat, so I am not in a position to preach. Because I know that most of the meat that I eat comes from living animals that are treated as a product from the day they are born. That, unfortunately, is an economic necessity in our over-populated world. I would like to think that the chicken I eat led a long and happy life, running about in a farmyard, chasing fat pieces of corn, scattered about by a buxom, red-cheeked farmer's wife who calls them all by name.
But we all know that doesn't happen. What happens is almost too appalling for any of us to contemplate.
If you want to know what really happens, the jobs are quite easily available, if you are willing to work under terrible conditions for minimum wage or less. I guarantee that after a week of this work you will at least consider becoming a vegetarian.
So that's chickens covered. How about cows? I don't know so much about them. They do seem to get to go outside for the day, unlike the poor chickens. But do they really have a good life before they are stunned with a bolt gun and then skinned alive? Hard to say. Maybe they do.
The thing that really annoys me about McDonald's is their insidious advertising.
It is aimed almost entirely at children and is so full of lies! That is not a Happy Burger you are eating. It is a dead cow.
A dead cow.
Now, cows aren't cute like puppies and kittens, but they are living animals, and don't even get me started on pigs, and how they are treated, because that's something I do know about, and believe me, you don't want to hear it.
So, McDonald's, be honest. You kill a load of miserable animals and serve them up as fun food.
I'm not loving it. So I just don't eat there.
Sure, their food is probably not the healthiest thing you can eat. They tried a while ago to introduce salads and healthier food. Fair play to them. But it didn't work and they quickly dropped it. And the reason they dropped it was because that's not what people want from McDonald's.
They want a burger and chips. If you don't want a burger and chips, don't go to McDonald's.
Do they destroy rain forests, rip off farmers, exploit the third world, encourage ill-treatment of animals? To be honest, I don't know. I eat meat, so I am not in a position to preach. Because I know that most of the meat that I eat comes from living animals that are treated as a product from the day they are born. That, unfortunately, is an economic necessity in our over-populated world. I would like to think that the chicken I eat led a long and happy life, running about in a farmyard, chasing fat pieces of corn, scattered about by a buxom, red-cheeked farmer's wife who calls them all by name.
But we all know that doesn't happen. What happens is almost too appalling for any of us to contemplate.
If you want to know what really happens, the jobs are quite easily available, if you are willing to work under terrible conditions for minimum wage or less. I guarantee that after a week of this work you will at least consider becoming a vegetarian.
So that's chickens covered. How about cows? I don't know so much about them. They do seem to get to go outside for the day, unlike the poor chickens. But do they really have a good life before they are stunned with a bolt gun and then skinned alive? Hard to say. Maybe they do.
The thing that really annoys me about McDonald's is their insidious advertising.
It is aimed almost entirely at children and is so full of lies! That is not a Happy Burger you are eating. It is a dead cow.
A dead cow.
Now, cows aren't cute like puppies and kittens, but they are living animals, and don't even get me started on pigs, and how they are treated, because that's something I do know about, and believe me, you don't want to hear it.
So, McDonald's, be honest. You kill a load of miserable animals and serve them up as fun food.
I'm not loving it. So I just don't eat there.
Monday, 12 October 2009
That Obama thing Again.
Okay. That Obama thing again. Because what sort of a raving maniac would I be if I didn't take issue with it?
The Nobel Peace Prize? THE NOBEL FECKING PEACE PRIZE?
I'm sorry but I don't understand it. Why do I not get the Nobel Peace Prize?
Am I waging a pointless war in Afghanistan? No.
Am I waging a pointless war in Iraq? No.
Am I threatening to start yet another war in Iran?
No. I'm not. So where the hell is my bloody Nobel Peace Prize? That's what I'd like to know.
The Nobel Peace Prize? THE NOBEL FECKING PEACE PRIZE?
I'm sorry but I don't understand it. Why do I not get the Nobel Peace Prize?
Am I waging a pointless war in Afghanistan? No.
Am I waging a pointless war in Iraq? No.
Am I threatening to start yet another war in Iran?
No. I'm not. So where the hell is my bloody Nobel Peace Prize? That's what I'd like to know.
More nonsense
I don't work on a Monday, so you can expect a lot of this. On a Monday.
Will anyone even read it? I don't know. I don't care. Will anyone read Dan Brown's new book?
Some people probably will. But they will be people that I put in a particular category of my life that is labelled "Idiots".
You see, Dan Brown while himself being an idiot, doesn't seem to realise that he falls into this category. Whoever the publishers of his "books" are, seem not to realise this either, or perhaps they are idiots too.
Or maybe, unlike me, when they finish reading one of his piles of steaming excrement, they don't, like me, throw it against the wall and shout, "That is the biggest pile of crap I ever read in my entire life!"
Will anyone even read it? I don't know. I don't care. Will anyone read Dan Brown's new book?
Some people probably will. But they will be people that I put in a particular category of my life that is labelled "Idiots".
You see, Dan Brown while himself being an idiot, doesn't seem to realise that he falls into this category. Whoever the publishers of his "books" are, seem not to realise this either, or perhaps they are idiots too.
Or maybe, unlike me, when they finish reading one of his piles of steaming excrement, they don't, like me, throw it against the wall and shout, "That is the biggest pile of crap I ever read in my entire life!"
Astrology
They have posted my star sign on this site without asking my permission.
Don't get me wrong. It's a bit of fun on a Sunday morning. Oh, what does mine say? It says you will get run over by a bus around 2 o'clock. Right, so a twelfth of the population of the entire world are going to get run over by a bus at 2 o'clock on a Sunday?
That's just not feasable. The buses aren't even that regular on a Sunday.
It's bunkum!
Don't get me wrong. It's a bit of fun on a Sunday morning. Oh, what does mine say? It says you will get run over by a bus around 2 o'clock. Right, so a twelfth of the population of the entire world are going to get run over by a bus at 2 o'clock on a Sunday?
That's just not feasable. The buses aren't even that regular on a Sunday.
It's bunkum!
Football versus Bricklaying
Where would we be without football?
It is a question I am frequently asked, to the point where I would say it is a frequently asked question.
I always reply to this question by saying, "bricklaying".
Because ( and kids, it is okay to start a sentence with the word "because", regardless of what your so-called teachers tell you. This is a perfect example of it ) I would contest that bricklaying is more important than football.
I am currently in negotiations with various professional footballers and various professional bricklayers to set up a fight to prove my point. I reckon an even fairly average bricklayer could beat the Bejesus out of even a top class footballer.
Beckham's agent is refusing to take my calls, but Keith Gillespie has been round my house on several occassions, offering me a "fair dig" even though I have explained to him that I am not a bricklayer.
It is a question I am frequently asked, to the point where I would say it is a frequently asked question.
I always reply to this question by saying, "bricklaying".
Because ( and kids, it is okay to start a sentence with the word "because", regardless of what your so-called teachers tell you. This is a perfect example of it ) I would contest that bricklaying is more important than football.
I am currently in negotiations with various professional footballers and various professional bricklayers to set up a fight to prove my point. I reckon an even fairly average bricklayer could beat the Bejesus out of even a top class footballer.
Beckham's agent is refusing to take my calls, but Keith Gillespie has been round my house on several occassions, offering me a "fair dig" even though I have explained to him that I am not a bricklayer.
Useless
It's just one big long useless page of utter nonsense that goes on for ever and ever. Still, it's cheaper than the Sunday Times.
Time (again!)
Well, I have looked at it and can't find a way to change the time setting. You can apparently use "Raw HTML" whatever the Ballyhoo that might be. I presume the time is set to America... the home of the free.
While I am about it I suppose I should rant briefly about Obama's Nobel Peace Prize.
Well, what to say? He seems like a nice enough guy. Has a bit of a bombastic style of oratory, but that's okay, as long as I don't have to live with him in my house.
Can you imagine?
Here he is first thing in the morning...
I WANT EGGS! I WANT EGGS FOR BREAKFAST! AND I WILL NOT STOP UNTIL EVERY AMERICAN, BLACK OR WHITE, HAS THE RIGHT TO HAVE EGGS FOR BREAKFAST! *outrageous applause* THIS GREAT NATION, OF WHICH I AM PROUD NOT ONLY TO BE A CITIZEN OF, BUT ALSO THE FIRST BLACK PRESIDENT OF (like being black is a really big deal in and of itself) WAS BUILT AND CONTINUES TO BE BUILT, BY MEN (and women) BOTH BLACK AND WHITE, STANDING SHOULDER TO SHOULDER AND MAKING THIS THE GREATEST COUNTRY IN THE WORLD (apart from Sweden). AND WHAT WAS THE FUEL THAT FUELLED THE RISE OF THIS GREAT NATION? (Nazi inspired nuclear weapons? No, I'm guessing you're going to say eggs) YES! EGGS!
Then Mrs Obama says, Okay calm down honey. How would you like those eggs?
OVER EASY! (whatever that means)
While I am about it I suppose I should rant briefly about Obama's Nobel Peace Prize.
Well, what to say? He seems like a nice enough guy. Has a bit of a bombastic style of oratory, but that's okay, as long as I don't have to live with him in my house.
Can you imagine?
Here he is first thing in the morning...
I WANT EGGS! I WANT EGGS FOR BREAKFAST! AND I WILL NOT STOP UNTIL EVERY AMERICAN, BLACK OR WHITE, HAS THE RIGHT TO HAVE EGGS FOR BREAKFAST! *outrageous applause* THIS GREAT NATION, OF WHICH I AM PROUD NOT ONLY TO BE A CITIZEN OF, BUT ALSO THE FIRST BLACK PRESIDENT OF (like being black is a really big deal in and of itself) WAS BUILT AND CONTINUES TO BE BUILT, BY MEN (and women) BOTH BLACK AND WHITE, STANDING SHOULDER TO SHOULDER AND MAKING THIS THE GREATEST COUNTRY IN THE WORLD (apart from Sweden). AND WHAT WAS THE FUEL THAT FUELLED THE RISE OF THIS GREAT NATION? (Nazi inspired nuclear weapons? No, I'm guessing you're going to say eggs) YES! EGGS!
Then Mrs Obama says, Okay calm down honey. How would you like those eggs?
OVER EASY! (whatever that means)
Sunday, 11 October 2009
Time?
The times are all messed up on this web log thing. As if I would post stuff at three in the morning.
As if I would!
I am asleep at that time.
I am asleep most of the time.
In fact, I feel a bit tired now.
As if I would!
I am asleep at that time.
I am asleep most of the time.
In fact, I feel a bit tired now.
In the Temple of Love
I quite like the template I have chosen. It is fairly gothic and minimal and moody. And if anyone tries to print out my ramblings, it will use up their black ink like Billy-o. Hah!
Now that I have set up this internet web log, I suddenly can't think of anything to say.
Although.
There was this one guy in Tesco's last night. An over officious little lick-spittle who considered himself a manager. He was about five foot three and wearing a little headphone and microphone affair that was obviously designed to say, "I am really important"
So I was standing in the queue minding my business when he comes up and practically demands that I go to the ten items or less till.
I didn't really want to, as there was only one person in front of me, and they weren't buying that much stuff, but this guy made out like the future of mankind depended on me going to the ten items or less queue, so I was all like, "All right. I'll go to the ten items or less queue if it means that much to you, even though I don't really want to because there is only one person in front of me, and they're not buying that much stuff."
So I went to the ten items or less queue where there was literally a MILLION people waiting to buy ten or less items.
So by the time I got out of there it was dark. There were gangs of feral children roaming about and I began to feel fearful that I might be robbed of my pasta, cat food and modestly priced bottle of Bulgarian, at knife-point.
Luckily, I made it home unassaulted, only to be greeted by the mournful lamentations of the cat and an overwhelming inability to be bothered at this late hour, to make my world famous spaghetti Bolognese, so I just had hot dogs instead.
Now that I have set up this internet web log, I suddenly can't think of anything to say.
Although.
There was this one guy in Tesco's last night. An over officious little lick-spittle who considered himself a manager. He was about five foot three and wearing a little headphone and microphone affair that was obviously designed to say, "I am really important"
So I was standing in the queue minding my business when he comes up and practically demands that I go to the ten items or less till.
I didn't really want to, as there was only one person in front of me, and they weren't buying that much stuff, but this guy made out like the future of mankind depended on me going to the ten items or less queue, so I was all like, "All right. I'll go to the ten items or less queue if it means that much to you, even though I don't really want to because there is only one person in front of me, and they're not buying that much stuff."
So I went to the ten items or less queue where there was literally a MILLION people waiting to buy ten or less items.
So by the time I got out of there it was dark. There were gangs of feral children roaming about and I began to feel fearful that I might be robbed of my pasta, cat food and modestly priced bottle of Bulgarian, at knife-point.
Luckily, I made it home unassaulted, only to be greeted by the mournful lamentations of the cat and an overwhelming inability to be bothered at this late hour, to make my world famous spaghetti Bolognese, so I just had hot dogs instead.
I think I did spell my name wrong.
All the excitement of being a "published writer" must have affected me, or should that be effected? I am all nervous now that my writings are in the public domain. This is so exciting *yawns*.
Anyway, I've fixed it now, although I was getting quite attached to being called Micahel.
Post a comment... go on... post one... do it now!
Anyway, I've fixed it now, although I was getting quite attached to being called Micahel.
Post a comment... go on... post one... do it now!
Hmm? Where did my first message go?
My first message seems to have disappeared.
It went something like this...
Well, Julie, you told me to do it, so here goes. I can't think of anything to rant about right now, so this is just a test to see if it works. If it does, expect another post in a minute that says, "Hooray! It works!"
It went something like this...
Well, Julie, you told me to do it, so here goes. I can't think of anything to rant about right now, so this is just a test to see if it works. If it does, expect another post in a minute that says, "Hooray! It works!"
Did I spell my own name wrong?
Did I? Surely not. I am blaming the internet for that. At least it didn't put an e on the end of Dunn. I hate when people do that.
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