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Wouldn’t it be…

Wouldn’t it be just super if they actually put celebrities on these celebrity jungle shows? And even better if they released actual wildlife into the mix? And if they actually filmed it in an actual jungle? I want to see people puking blood, cuts becoming gangrenous, large jungle predators dragging a Q- lister into the trees, quicksand, man eating ants, velociraptors, those traps they make with stakes and big fooking logs, random celebs falling victim to “the squirts”, I want to see fooking… Predator (“What da fawk are yoooo?”) off them movies, Bear Grylls cooking lunch and the obligatory pistol with one bullet when it all becomes too much. THAT’S entertainment. Not some bird, famous for being famous, eating a few bugs, ffs.
I’ve probably eaten more bugs cycling down big hills.


Good old George had a more realistic set of rules than, in my view, the hocus pocus of organised crime. Sorry, I meant organised religion. Oh… same thing really. Enjoy…….

That Friday Feeling….

I’m off out.

Sure, I might get caught in the heaviest shower of the month, giving me pneumonia, and forcing me to barf up pints of blood next week, and perhaps get stabbed in the eye by some disgruntled citizen with an umbrella, who has reached the end of their tether because of the crap weather and even crappier cornholing by the powers that be. I might even get lamped by a bad driver (ie speeder) whilst crawling around looking for my popped eyeball.

Sure, I might even get mugged by some hood wearing chav (and his mates) with a forehead cratered with zit marks and with the intellect and vocabulary of a freshly dropped pile of steaming horseshit. And as he punctures my lung on the way to my wallet, which, basically, is nothing more than a retired home for burnt out moths, I’ll be spitting out the chunk of flesh I removed from his ear/cheek during the battle for Moth Central. Followed by that really blackish-brown-deep-inside sort of blood that you see in the movies.

I might even get run over by a stolen car, that just ram raided a few stores. Driven by some halfwit listening to Jedward, because that’s how deep their interest in music goes. The same sort of guy that takes a dump in your shoes when he burgles your house.

There’s even the possibility I could be struck by space rock, no bigger than a peanut, but travelling fast enough to tear a hole through me from shoulder to heel. And dragging the best part of my internal organs ten feet into the ground, through my foot, like some sort of bizarre partial burial.

But I’m still going out.

It’s Friday.


In a time when leaders are few and far between,

good leadership is the key to any successful endevor,

like sheep without a sheppardor a footsoilder’s without a General!

When Leadership is bad or nonexistent,

it can lead to downfall and disaster.

In recent time’s we have seen bad leadership bring the country

and Fianna Fail to it’s kneees.

When you see sitting T.D.s taking massive pensions early

and abandoning their post’s prior to a general election,

it’s clear that strong and honest leadership is one thing this country

                                                                                                                                      Is Seriously Lacking

Dawn Visit

Jolt awake.
The dead weight,
Ribs pressed tight,
Shrinking to take her form.
Eyes wide open,
Looking, searching,
But not quite seeing.
Pale light silouhettes her, the entity still mysterious,
A thousand visits has shed no light, but will a thousand more?

The stillness of the room,
The strokes of time echo in the darkness,
Her fingers touching hair and skin.
As breath grows shallow,
The burden on the soul’s temple,
Heavier now,
And closer still she moves.

I stare at her,
Like stone, unmoving,
The dying night shrouding her.
This unknown hand maps the contours of my face,
Sometimes soft, sometimes cold,
The finger seals my will to speak.
My dead weight now surrendered.

The body rises, as it’s engine pounds,
The limbs grow strong.
A soul’s siege ends.
Eyes wide open,
Looking, searching,
Panic stricken,
But no company do I keep,
As morning whispers through the room.
The Dawn Visit has shed no light, but will a thousand more?

Dear Zachary…

18 Zebbedee Lane,



2nd February 2011


Dear Zachary,

How have you been these last few months?  Time has flown since the last time since you were here, and a lot has happened. I was forced to give up drinking locally, for two reasons. The first being that the local bar and music venue, “The Rock Joint”, collapsed. I think it had something to do with the obscene number of people who turned up on the night to see The Ramones Tribute Band. Two hundred people was maybe a little bit of a strain on a venue that holds just fifty.

The other reason, and one that is of greater significance, is the passing away of Uncle Ted. It was a shock to us all. Well, not really, when I think about it. We did warn him of the dangers of distilling his own hooch in the garden shed. The shed is now part of everyone’s garden since it exploded three days ago. And poor Uncle Ted just happened to be in it when it took off.

The funeral should be in two or three days time, just as soon as they find enough of Ted’s body parts. As it happens, his left leg, from the knee down, was found in the neighbour’s yard, where their Jack Russell was claiming it as his “girlfriend”, so to speak.

Being as you are on the other side of the world, I just thought I’d let you know about the sad events of the last week. Coming for the funeral will probably not be possible for you, but if you do decide to come around in the next month or so, bring some booze – it would be greatly appreciated.

Take care,


P.S. You’ve been cleared of that dangerous driving charge. It seems the police have pulled someone else for driving that kerosene truck into the local paint factory.

All Joking Aside…

Let’s start with an Irish Winter joke: What goes up the road, down the road, but never touches the road? The County Council.

Now, I’m not sure what the sole reason was for the road clearing fiasco during the cold snap. Was it lack of money? Was it lack of grit and salt? Was it a lack of interest from the powers that be who run… badly… the country?

One thing is certain… there wasn’t a lack of manpower. We could all name a few hundred thousand with time on their hands.

But as bad as we had it, think of the unfortunate people down under in Australia. It’s almost like there was a Polar flip that we weren’t notified about. Australian Winters are now Irish Summers, and Irish Winters are now fully equipped with brand spanking new snow clouds, to give it that Antarctic feel. The weather all over is a lottery – I’m off to Paddy Powers bookmakers to see what odds I’ll get on getting a Greek style bronze this Summer, whilst sitting in my back yard, drinking cans of Dutch Gold – the creme de la creme of daytime lager – and Tesco brand vodka.

We’ll wait and see. It’s not like I’m going anywhere else this Summer.