Archive for September, 2010

Sent from my brain via the power of hamsters

September 15th, 2010

I do a lot of shopping on line.

In fact just about everything I buy comes from the Interweb with the exception of my baccy, my booze, vegetables and fruit and my meat. 

I buy my groceries, clothes, books and all the shit that makes life reasonably tolerable. 

I mentioned recently that I had had some trouble with a piece of kit, and I thought it was about time to replace it.  I went on line and found that the yoke I was looking for wasn’t that common.  Undeterred, I sniffed around and eventually found a seller in Ireland on eBay.  I like to get stuff from Ireland because the postage usually isn’t so high and it tends to be quicker.

The seller I found had a rather unusual name.  I don’t know how many parents who, when searching for a name for their new offspring come up with Holymaryjoe, but this chap’s parents obviously did.  The poor bloke must have had one hell of a time in school?

Anyhow, to cut a long story into a slightly longer one, I ordered my kit and it duly arrived on a Friday.  Fucking sweet!

I used it on Friday evening, and a bit on Saturday.  I went to switch it on on Sunday and the fucking thing was as dead as Mary Coughlan’s intelligence.  It was quite like Mary Coughlan in fact – it looked reasonably good, but on closer inspection was just a useless piece of junk. 

I wrote to Holymaryjoe and explained what had happened.

No reply.

Then I realised that his yoke on eBay clearly said ‘no returns’.

Fuck!

I chalked it up to experience and wend down the pub for a few pints and a smoke.

When I got home, there was a mail waiting for me.  Holymaryjoe was very concerned that my purchase wasn’t up to scratch.  Despite his no returns policy, he said he was going to sort me out if it killed him.  I’m not sure whether this was a physical threat against me or against himself, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt anyway.  He said he would start sending me replacement parts, bit by bit until we found the problem.

Two days later a package arrived.  Using the new parts I got to work and soon my kit was less like Mary Coughlan and more like Sharon – looking good and working perfectly.

If ever I come across his name again when searching on eBay, I will definitely give him my business.

 

And if you are wondering where I got the title of this ramble?

It is how he signed one of his emails.

I like!

A glimpse of reality

September 14th, 2010

We are fucked.

You have heard me mention Our Illustrious Biffo in the past.  For those of you who are foreign to our shores, the name Biffo is an acronym – Big Ignorant Fucker From Offaly, AKA Brian Cowen, our Great Leader.  He lives up to his name well, and it is about his only successful achievement in life.  He royally fucked up the country when, as Minister for Finance he let his pals in the banks run riot.  Now, as unelected leader he is putting this country in debt for generations to come in order to save those same pals in the banks.

The government are having a “think in” at the moment.  Having made a series of disastrous decisions in an attempt to get us out of the mess they themselves created, they are in a blind panic about what to do next.  They haven’t a fucking clue and are lurching from crisis to crisis.  Their answer for the moment is to gather in a huddle and get pissed.

Our Glorious Leader was interviewed this morning on radio.

There are some who say he was drunk.  I couldn’t give a shit whether he was drunk or not, as he makes little sense either way.  One of the telling hints as to his sobriety was a comment from one of his colleagues who was asked about the interview – ‘There is always a social dimension to occasions such as this week’s Fianna Fáil gathering, but no more than that.‘  So yes, I think we can safely say he was pissed [first thing in the morning, note].

Do you think I am being harsh?

Do you think I am being disrespectful?

I would ask you to listen to the interview and judge for yourselves.

Just remember – this is the man who is supposed to be in charge.  This is the man who is making the decisions that affect every man, woman and child for generations to come.  This is the man who is supposed to have complete and clear control of the situation.

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Would you buy a second hand car from this man?

Would you trust this man with your wallet while you went swimming?

Would you even trust this man to give you the right time of day?

We truly are fucked.

-oOo-

Our K8 has just suggested I should have called this post “Rectal Fistitude”.

Shit!

Why didn’t I think of that?

Know thine enemy

September 13th, 2010

I came across a definition recently.

“Has no problem lying coolly and easily and it is almost impossible for them to be truthful on a consistent basis. Can create, and get caught up in, a complex belief about their own powers and abilities. Extremely convincing and even able to pass lie detector tests.”

That could be anyone in ASH or any of the other Anti-smoking Nazi groups?

Or how about

“A deep seated rage, which is split off and repressed, is at their core. Does not see others around them as people, but only as targets and opportunities. Instead of friends, they have victims and accomplices who end up as victims. The end always justifies the means and they let nothing stand in their way. ”

Sound familiar?

“Not concerned about wrecking others’ lives and dreams. Oblivious or indifferent to the devastation they cause. Does not accept blame themselves, but blames others, even for acts they obviously committed. ”

That pretty much sums ‘em up?

“Unable to empathize with the pain of their victims, having only contempt for others’ feelings of distress and readily taking advantage of them.”

Check!

In fact, these are all part of the profile of a sociopath.

Most of the profile is symptomatic of the Anti-smoker.

It explains a lot.

The Paedo Road Show

September 12th, 2010

I see Ratzo is visiting Britain.

They are fucking welcome to him.

You want to see him?  It’ll cost you a mere £25.  Mind you, you do get a CD, a booklet and a bus ride for your cash.

I see the taxpayer is picking up a large chunk of the tab too.  And what’s £12 million when you are broke?  Sure, ‘tis only loose change?

I’ll tell you what.

Slip me a brown envelope with just one million in it.

I’ll bring him on a trip to the landfill.

Everybody wins.

Time to move on

September 11th, 2010

I always feel a sense of unease about this date.

Nine years ago I was at work when the word spread of the events in New York.  I was horrified at the time, as was the rest of the world.  Like everyone else, I mourned for the dead and was disgusted at the perpetrators of the mass slaughter.

I have since discovered that a namesake of mine was killed in the tragedy, which somehow made it more personal.

But that was nine years ago.  Since then, a futile and bloody war has been fought and lost and countless more have been killed in the name of retribution.  The casualties since that day in 2001 far outnumber the original victim count.

Back in 1974, Ireland had its own terrorist attack.  Thirty three died when bombs exploded in Dublin and Monaghan without any warning.  Thirty three may not sound very many, but in proportion to the population, it was a significant number.  If you scale the number up it would be equivalent to around 2,700 Americans, so the parallels are quite close.  Did the Irish demand war on the North, or the UK?  No.  We grieved for the dead, and have not forgotten them, but we carry on our lives.  We didn’t give the event a tacky name – it is just remembered as the Dublin Monaghan Bombings.  I doubt that the majority of Irish could even hazard a guess at the date.

I abhor the American habit of giving military sounding names to events.  In particular I abhor the expression “Ground Zero”.  It is born out of the nuclear tests of the last war, and should be confined to that period.  The expression “911” has always irritated me too.  Apart from the fact that in Europe, 9, 11 is the ninth day of November, it has become a rallying cry for America’s own fundamentalists and fanatics.

Constantly harping on about an event that is now history only serves to stir up hatred and desire for revenge.  Quietly remember the victims and mourn, but stop this fucking flag waving, sabre rattling and hyped up patriotism.  It only serves to incite hatred.

I wonder what my namesake and the other victims would think of all this hype?  Would they be happy with those thousands that were killed in their name?

I doubt it.

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