Grandad July 27th, 2007
So Bertie is thinking of introducing an honours list?
Am I in with a chance? Who else is in with a chance?
Of course the first batch to go down will be the politicians themselves.
Lord Bertie of the Cayman Islands [or wherever the cash is stashed]?
Lord Gormley of the Gormless?
Harney becomes Baroness McDonalds?
Then we have to wade through the sports crowd, who have done nothing for Ireland except play with their balls, or run around a bit.
And there are all the people who have “helped Bertie out” financially. There’s going to be a lot of them. But a lot will be afraid of future tribunals, so they may keep quiet.
Eventually, he will get down to The Plain People of Ireland. You and me.
There will be Sir Grandad MBE [Master of the Blogging Empire]
Lord Twenty VC [Vicious C*nt]
Baroness Grannymar MP [Master Podcaster]
Dame Granny LTP [Lost The Plot, of course...]
Dammit! I can’t go through everyone. You can nominate yourselves.
I wonder how much the honours will cost?
Grandad July 27th, 2007
I know I said the 70′s, but why not the 60′s too?
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Grandad July 26th, 2007
I was browsing around a few blogs a while ago.
I came across a link on Damien Mulley’s site.
It shows a world clock that shows people dying and being born and how they are dying.
What worries me is the Birth line. Somewhere in the world, there is a woman who is firing out babies faster than an Uzi fires bullets.
We must find this woman and tell her about birth control. Or we can set Dr Michael Neary on her?
Grandad July 26th, 2007
She was young. She was beautiful. She had long blond hair, and a figure that any Irishman would drool into his pint over.
She stroked my head.
“Are you comfortable?” she asked.
“Very.” said I.
“You just lie back and relax” she said softly as she pulled the sheets up.
She started caressing me. I could feel her fingers massaging me. It was very pleasant.
“Is that all right for you?” she said softly in my ear.
“Lovely!” said I.
I could feel myself getting wet and hot.
Her hands moved faster. Her fingertips did wonders.
She was working herself up into a frenzy.
“Is it too hot for you?” she said, huskily.
“It’s lovely” I said again.
All too soon it was over.
“Right” said she. “That’s your wash done. If you’d like to sit over here, Jenny will be over in a minute to cut your hair.”
Grandad July 25th, 2007
“Are you going down to the village today” says Herself.
“Nah. I’m not going out at all today. I have a very bad feeling.”
“What do you mean? Feeling?”
“I just know something very bad is going to happen if I go out.”
“Like what?”
“I just know that if I drive down to the village I am going to be killed.”
“What??”
“If I drive today, I am going to come to the crossroads. There will be a woman driving a BMW on the other road. She will be talking on her mobile, and as she comes to the crossroads, she will drop her lipstick that she’s applying using the rear-view mirror. She will bend down to pick it up and will drive straight past the stop sign and into me. I’ll be pushed into the path of an oncoming bus and will be mangled against the wall. Dead. Or a vegetable for the rest of my life.”
” That’s stupid.”
“Why? It can happen.”
“But the odds on that happening are ridiculously small. One in a thousand. Or more like one in a million.”
“But it could happen?”
“Look,” says Herself patiently “with those odds, it just isn’t going to happen. Forget about it. You have a higher chance of being struck by lightning.”
“I suppose you’re right. What did you want in the village anyway?
“I wanted to buy a lottery ticket.”
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