Firstly, I hope you read this. Otherwise I’m just wasting my time and making myself look like a bit of a queer for nothing. Balls.

I’m sorry I shouted at you this morning, it’s not that I was really that mad, you were just doing my head in and I’m not much of a morning person anyway, as you know. I’ve been extra grumpy lately because I’m not getting enough sleep due to working on this blog. For this I apologise. I realise that you are having a tough time at home with the littlest Shitetalker (a real Micro-Satan) and, to be fair, I haven’t been helping like I should be. I’m sorry.

You know by now that I’m not the most romantic person in the world, in fact, I probably don’t even make into the top 6 billion, but I am going to try harder this year. I’m not going to go all mushy here because one of the lads might read it and they’d never let me live it down, (cunts) but I will say that I love you and I’ll see you soon.

Happy Valentine’s Day

I fucking hate Valentine’s Day. Every year it’s the same shit, expensive flowers, expensive chocolates, expensive wine that never seems to taste as good as the cheap shit you normally drink and, worst of all, the feeling that no matter what you do to please your missus, she always seems a little bit disappointed with your efforts. Last year it was the card. After spending the equivalent of East Timor’s GDP on a bunch of poxy roses, I thought I’d save myself a couple of Euro and get her a crude but funny card instead one of those big, flowery, glitterly cards that has a strange way of making you feel like a total sap when you get to the counter.

So when I got home I gave her the flowers and the chocolates and she seemed very happy until she opened the card. Turns out she thought we had “moved on” in our relationship and said I should be able to express my love for her in a mature and articulate way. Obviously, she didn’t see the maturity in buying a card that had a condom stapled to the inside (safe sex, right?)  and felt “let down” by my boyish attitude. We didn’t talk much over dinner but we ate up, drank up and went upstairs. Although we did have sex that night it was only because we felt obligated to. She rolled over to go asleep as soon as we were done and I began to wonder if that was what it felt like to sleep with a hooker. Since she was already snoring I found myself thinking some more about the day and about how much money I spent and I also started thinking about how much it would’ve cost for a half-decent hooker. From what I’ve heard I guessed it would be in and around €150-€200. The cogs in my brain began to turn and I jumped out of bed to call my mate Gumbo who’s a right dirty cunt and would be up for anything, even at 1am.

It didn’t take much persuasion to get Gumbo on board with my plan. He is, it should be noted, an ugly, smelly bastard with a serious weight problem so he doesn’t get it on very often. Actually, as far as I’m aware, you could count his conquests on one finger, and you certainly won’t find him bragging about that “woman” either. Gumbo told us after that he thought he must have inadvertently taken some acid the previous night because he kept getting flashes of what looked like a gorilla in his mind when they had sex. Poor cunt.

Anyway, when I met with Gumbo I explained that I hadn’t any money on me and that my bank account was also cleared out from buying all the Valentines crap.  “Say no more” he said, “Your old pal Gumbo is here to the rescue”. He asked me how much it would be for the sex and I told him it would be around €200. “I’ll tell you what” he said, “I’ll give you €250, but only if I can do her up the ass”.  “It’s a deal”, I said, “that’ll surely cover the cost of the flowers and chocolates I bought her…”

“…And she might learn to be a bit more fucking grateful next year!”

Well I’ll be damned, it seems that the FAI have finally got their man. Fucking took them long enough though, the heel-dragging cunts that they are. A proper organisation would have wrapped up this whole saga ages ago. For that matter, a proper organisation would never have hired Stan in the first fucking place. That decision still beggars belief. Eamon Dunphy is quoted in the Star saying “We’ve traded an Escort for a Ferrari”. When I read it I thought to myself “Christ… Dunphy’s being unusually kind to Staunton”. I would have said “We’ve traded the broken wing mirror off a 1985 Toyota Starlet for a Ferrari”, and even that’s being fairly fucking generous in my opinion.

Thankfully now we can put all that shit behind us and look forward to some good times again under our new World-class manager, Giovanni Trapattoni. Of course, I’m assuming that the FAI don’t fuck the deal up… ah shit.

After a bolloxy long day in work today (13 hours of Monday shite at it’s very worst) I was really looking forward to getting home, putting the feet up and staring at the box for a couple of hours whilst supping on a couple of whiskeys. I got out the Jack Daniels, put a nice drop into a glass with some Coke and ice and turned down the lights. All I needed now was something moderately watchable so that I could go about destroying some brain cells (preferably the ones storing today’s memory) and then pass out on the couch. A small bit of mind-numbing bliss at the end of a shitty day, that’s all I ask for.

But what do I get? Absolute….shite. I don’t know exactly how many channels I can receive, but I suspect it’s close to 500. Now, you would think that with 500 or so channels there would be at least one good program being aired at prime time on a poxy Monday night. For fuck’s sake it can’t be that hard to dig up some good fucking telly shows, can it? The tripe that passes for entertainment these days makes me wonder. I could look at of show about someone taking a shit and it would be more watchable than Desperate Housewives or Lost. Trust me.

Once a year I pay a fucking scandalous TV licence fee despite the fact it’s impossible to receive over-the-air broadcasts where I live. This means I must also pay a 2nd shower of cunts (ie. Sky) to actually receive the channels I’ve already paid for. All in all, I waste over €800 a year on this shit. Not any more. I’m taking my €800 and buying myself a flight to Japan where the media executives know a thing or two about real entertainment, as you can see for yourself:

See what I mean?

SO… another day, another braindead suggestion by an Irish politician. Senator Donie Cassidy thinks that it’s time we abandoned the whole driving on the left lark and start driving on the right for a change. On the face of it (ie. before the brain kicks in some 3 seconds later) this doesn’t sound like such a bad idea. After all, the only places in the world that still drive on the left (with the exception on Japan) are the old British colonies, and we don’t want to be associated with them anymore do we?

*thinking*

3…

2…

1…

At this point, anyone with even the slightest shred of intelligence will have copped on that Donie Cassidy’s “suggestion” will not only require an enormous re-education program for the existing drivers in Ireland who, incidentally, have enough fucking trouble driving properly as it is, but will also mean the replacement of close to 1 million right-hand-drive vehicles and the re-marking of every junction in the country. Not to mention the fact that some existing junctions would be unworkable if driving on the right and every street sign would have to be moved to the opposite side of the road. Then someone will have to figure out a new one-way system for Dublin City centre, assuming they can even figure out the bollocks of a system that’s currently in place.

Wouldn’t it be fun if someone told Donie that it was an “excellent idea, we’re changing over next monday” and watch in wonder as he drives headlong into a stream of traffic on his way to work, blowing the horn and cursing at the non-compliant road users before ploughing into a articulated lorry at 100km an hour?

Now that would be worth watching. Heh heh heh.

Read this. I don’t care how many doctors say it’s possible, this dude has got to be lying his ass off. Although if it is true, and Sexsomnia does actually exist, I wanna know how I can acquire this magical condition. Shit, it’s hard enough to get laid when I’m awake…

Although I’m not exactly long on this Earth (a mere 26 years), I’ve noticed during the course of my working life (a poxy 10 years) that the frequency of staff members showing up for work drunk and/or high has been in steady decline, freefall even. Around the turn of the millennium, it used to be that you weren’t expected to show up sober on a Saturday or Sunday morning, in fact, you’d usually be the odd one out if you did. I can remember (or at least partially remember) many occassions where I would get a taxi from a party straight into work. And I can remember at least two occassions where that taxi was shared with a female member of staff who was also at the same party who also got no sleep because i boned (or attempted to bone) them all night long.

I didn’t realise it at the time, but looking back now I see that this was the golden age of the whole Celtic Tiger thingy. Everyone, including our employer, knew that there was literally thousands of companies crying out for staff, so none of us gave even the slightest bit of consideration to our work and some even relished the prospect of telling the boss to shove his job up his hole. We might have had shit jobs and our employer might have had shit staff, but we had shit jobs that we could act the bollocks in and our employer had shit staff which was somewhat better than having no staff at all. Everyone was happy.

In the intervening years between then and now things have gotten progressively worse. First came the EU expansion which, in effect, meant we had to sober up or face being replaced by the no-nonsense, hard-working Eastern Europeans (Although I must admit the Poles kick our asses when it comes to being drunk in the morning) . Then came the poxy cunt that is the smoking ban and took away our precious fags too. THEN they bring in a drugs-testing policy at work so the fuckers can sack you when they know that you’re still off your head from the previous night. And before you know it, they’ll be looking to get us electronically tagged in case we spend a little longer than we should in the toilet. It’s like having a free gaff for the week when, suddenly, your parents get home early. They stop to have a brief chat with the Gardai that have been stationed outside the house for the last 3 days, kick the passed-out guy off the lawn, puncture the bouncy castle (who’s idea was that anyway?) and plug out the stereo. The party’s over.

But all is not lost, the news that there may be a recession has pricked my ears and, to be honest, I can’t fucking wait for it to happen! It’s been ’socially unacceptable’ to be on the dole at any stage for my generation because if you’re in that 1-2% of Irish nationals that can’t get a job people tend to think that you’re either a lazy, good-for-nothing cunt or that you must be mentally challenged. But, luckily, there’s no shame at all in being part of a 12-15% section of society that can’t get a job. And after I drink a couple of bottles of jack, snort a few lines, pop a few pills then show up for work in a near-maniacal state and proceed to screw the work experience girl, anally, and in full view of the boss whilst telling him that he can mimic the act I’m performing with his job and his own ass, I think it’s safe to say that I’ll find myself in that 12-15% for quite some time. Result.

…I see that Hasbro have set up a website so that people may vote for their favourite cities to appear on the new World Edition of Monopoly. Normally I wouldn’t be at all arsed with this sort of shit, but I actually happen to like Monopoly and it’ll be some load of bollocks if the French fucks get the two best spots on the board (Paris is currently #1, Montreal is #2).

So despite the fact that our Capital is riddled with kippy suburbs on one side, plagued by upper crust fuckwits on the other and has more immigrants than you can shake a stick at in the middle, I’ve (grudgingly) given the Dubs my vote. As it currently stands, Dublin has 2.1% of the vote and is placed in one of those shitty light blue spaces; Ironically, these spaces have the cheapest houses/hotels in the board game.

So come on people, get yer votes in. We could probably all do with seeing Ireland beat the French at something, even if it is only a shitty boardgame.