Right, I think I’ll get a pint. Does anyone want a pint? I’ll get these pints. PINTS! Not a bad pint. Quite a nice pint. I think I’ll have another pint. It’s your shout for the pints. You get the pints. I’ll get the next pint. PINTS! Cheap enough here for pints. Are you enjoying that pint? I think there’s something in my pint. Will I get more pints? Ah, you’ll have another pint. My shout for the pints. PINTS! Sure we’ll keep drinking pints. I’m enjoying these pints. Are you next for the pints? Get me another pint. PINTS! Last shout for pints. Quick get a pint. Lash back that pint and we’ll get another pint. Is everyone OK for pints? PINTS! I need another pint. Whrer can we get another pint? Whers still serving pints? I’d love another few pints. Let’s go in here and get some pints. PINTS! Expensive enough pints. Do I owed yous for pints? I’ll get thes pints. Did you drink my pint? That’s my fucking pint. Get me a new pint. I said get me a new pint because that was my pint. PINTS! Fuckr won’t giv uss pints. Ask him for pints. Get cans of pints. All back to mine for pints. Dids serve you pints? PINTS! Carful with them pints. Pour my pint. This glasses are for pints. PINTS! Are you not finishing pint? The pint there pint in and another pint. PINTS! And then another more pints. Carful with them pints. Pour my pint. This glasses are for pints. PINTS! How many left pints? Is there still the pints? Poor me the pint. I mean pour me pint. PINTS! I’ll pint. Pint. Did you and thems pints for a pints and no ore pints. The arly house for pints. We’s get them pintsand fduYm magr ks pints. PiNTS! Aerly pints for works iN the pint. I can’t see my pint. Did you fukmY pints. PiNtSsSs! PINtS! PiiiuuUUUughnnNnnTs! SHPINtS!
(pictured above: my spirit guide, Mr. Quinnsworth)
OK, I’m only going to do this once, as a special treat for Halloween. Be prepared now because I can be pretty precise.
Right, I’m passing over to spirit side. I’m getting someone. I’m getting someone who knows you. Yes you, you reading this. Somebody on spirit side wants to say hello. Do you know this person? It’s a male. It’s a male who. . . what’s that? . . .he says he’s a relation. A relation of yours. He’s an elderly gent. He’s an elderly gentleman and his name, . . .it begins with a ‘g’. G. . .Gr. . .Grandad. Did you know anyone by the name of Grandad? He says he passed on because he became ill. He says it was age related. You know him? You do! Great! He says to tell you that he’s still wearing shoes. He was fond of his shoes wasn’t he? He was. Wouldn’t leave the house without them. Do you remember him and his shoes? (Chortle) He says he’s still wearing them. He was a great man for the shoes. He was fond of clothes in general. He wasn’t a nudist. He was only nude in the bath he says. He’s having a little laugh now. He’s muttering something. What’s that? What’s that? Speak up, the astral signal is weak, it’s a busy time of year. Oh, that’s better. He says he was only nude when he was in the bath or when he was riding your Granny. Ooh, he’s a cheeky one isn’t he? I’m sorry but that’s what he says. He says, . . .what’s he saying now? Ooh. He’ll get me into trouble. He says your Granny was filthy. He says she’d . . .oh dear, he says she. . . Listen, I think we’ll leave Grandad will we? Let’s see who else is out there. Bye Grandad. He says goodbye.
Ok, I’m getting someone else now. This person was covered in fur. Did you know anyone covered in fur? Furry, head to toe. Liked to walk around on all fours. Took a piss on the carpet once. Sound familiar. I’m not really getting a name. More a sound really. Woof! This person says woof or is that meow? I can’t tell. The line is bad tonight. Everyone is trying to connect. This person is a creature of some sort. Knew you quite well. Knew your Grandad too. And your Granny. Says your Granny was filthy. Saw her with your Grandad once and they were. . .Oh dear. Oh that really is depraved. Says they’re still at it on the spirit side. Oh my goodness, they sound like something off the internet. I think we’ll stop our little session here will we? I think we should. I’m feeling a little drained and a tad traumatised to be honest. I must say though, you know some interesting people on the spirit side. Anyway, Happy Halloween. I have to go and clean this place up now. There’s ectoplasm everywhere. I blame your grand parents.
Sportsquilt jackets, shoulder bags, super series hi top trainers, Estee Lauder products. They all float by me as I tearfully wade through an aquatic version of Cormac McCarthy’s The Road. I am wondering what happened to the dream. I am wondering what we did to anger God. Was it the arrogance of the temple? Was it the bravado of this cathedral of boots, bags and credit card cognitive dissonance?
Must bubbles always burst? I remember when we started blowing ours. Inflating it to a size we could be proud of. 1994. Riverdance. Do you remember? We came hoofing out on stage, loudly stamping our feet and letting the world know we were here. Gerry was compare. Gerry was compare through all the good years that followed. His loquacity beamed from Montrose (a.k.a. party central). The bubble ballooned and so did Gerry. The bubble burst and so did Gerry.
Those who had escape pods launched them. Some brave souls stayed, trying to make something new from what remained. But less than nothing remained. The equity was negative and so was the mood of the people. They crucified Seán Gallagher on live TV last night. Did you see it? An IRA man placed a crown of thorns upon his head and a pederast sympathiser nailed down his limbs. Why do they hate him so? Do they fear the challenge set by his vision? Do they envy his endeavour? God’s furious dark shadow spills across this nation, devouring our dreams of a bright future and angrily shitting back out the past. 'That'll learn yiz', says God. 'That'll learn yiz', he roars like a demented Irish teacher waving his bata.
Dole queues. One way tickets to Oz. Fingerless gloves and PLO scarves. I’ve reformed the band. Do you remember us at all? We got to number 32 in 1987. We were called Live Register. Butter Voucher of Love, that was our hit. We’re back now. We’re doing a residency with An Emotional Fish at The Bridge Hotel Waterford.
This party's over I can’t stay home Emigrate
I guess the signs were always there. We just couldn’t read them. We can now, in retrospect. Do you recall the streetlights reflected as rings in the pools of English stag party piss? Yeah, Anglo Golden Circles. Oh, God warned us alright but are we guilty for not being able to heed those warnings? Do we really deserve to be punished like this? God has sent his flood. What next? Fire? A fire in Priory Hall? Or maybe pestilence? Should we expect a plague of locusts? A plague of locusts gobbling up the less than nothing we have left? A plague of locusts sent by God to teach us a lesson in austerity? Perhaps the locusts are already here.
Well fuck it. Let’s not talk ourselves down. Let’s take some comfort in the memory of what went before and what, one day, one distant day, may come again.
I remember when I was a magician. I took a volunteer from the audience and asked him to lie in a box. Then I sawed him in two. I divided the box into two halves with his feet poking out one end and his head sticking out the other. The audience gasped. Then I realised that I had forgotten how to do the rest of the trick. I had forgotten how to put him back together.
Medical science was at a loss. Nothing could be done. I tried to return the man to his wife. She said he wasn’t half the man he used to be. She decided she only wanted the lower portion so I had to take the top half home to live with me. He is still here, his head peeking out of the box as he lies in my sitting room. Sometimes he weeps. He lies there gently sobbing. It can be quite depressing so I push him out the front door into the corridor. ‘It’s cold out here’, he complains but I say nothing. I just close the door and go off to watch television. He’ll be OK for a while. I did return once to find a cat sitting on his face. He almost suffocated. I shooed the cat away. I doubt it will happen again.
Sometimes I take him to the pub. I get him a drink with a little straw and put it on a table by his head. We might even meet up with some of his friends. Well, they are more my friends now. He complains so much his friends have started to ignore him. They talk to me instead. We laugh and sing. We rest our pints on his box.
It’s hard to know what to do with him. It’s hard to know what to do with dependents in general. Even when you mean the best, things can so easily go wrong. I remember a friend of mine, a beautiful woman with a fantastic laugh. She was very popular. Very, very popular. So much so that when she was temporarily immobilised and taken to hospital everyone sent her flowers. The flowers just kept arriving from all those who wished her well. Her hospital room filled up with flowers and soon it got to the stage where we could no longer find her. When you opened the door, all you could see was a wall of flowers. We called out for her but our voices must have been smothered by the compact thicket of stems and petals. We never saw her alive again. She starved. At least she passed on knowing that she was well loved.
Maybe I should get my half man flowers. A lot of flowers. An awful lot of flowers. It would be for the best. I would be free of him. He would no longer suffer. He would be released and, at the very least, it would be a fragrant death.
You know the way you might see a human face in a pattern? Well, I see patterns in human faces and sometimes I see human faces in those patterns and patterns in those human faces that contain even more human faces that I can see patterns in and. . . well, you can see where this is going can’t you? You’re seeing a pattern here.
I met a man who said he had a photographic memory for human faces. ‘We’ve met before’, he declared ‘you were about six years of age but I remember the beard clearly’. I told the man I doubted his photographic memory for human faces but didn’t doubt his ability to talk utter faeces.
I can never seem to recall my favourite human faces. Parts of these faces might come to me in flashes (the mouth, the forehead, the shape of the eyes) but nothing joins up in my mind. Then I’ll see the face again and my heart will jump in the air and click its heels. ‘That’s it!’ my mind will exclaim as everything comes together. And then this favourite face of mine will turn to look at me and then the face’s owner will scream because it’s 3 a.m. and I’m staring in their bedroom window and I’m wearing a gasmask.
I was doing a bit of kettling at the Occupy Dame Street protest there on Saturday. The law weren’t doing it so I thought I’d have a bash myself. I headed out to the Central Bank and ran at the marchers with my arms outstretched. I managed to kettle about three of them, which isn’t bad considering I was alone. I kettled them into the doorway of a Spar. They took out camera phones and started roaring ‘the whole world is watching, the whole world is watching!’ Like I gave a shite. Fuckin social media video upload nonsense. I just kept kettling the fuckers. The 99 percent my arse. The 99 percent are wandering around Dundrum shopping centre or watching the match. More like the zero point something percent. I kettled the shite out of them alright. It was marvellous. Oh yeah, there was marvellous kettling to be had on Saturday.
You really can’t beat a bit of kettling. The cousin is into fishing. I’ve been fishing with him and it’s OK but kettling is more my game. It makes you feel kind of powerful. I don’t get to feel powerful too often in life, what with my job in the brush factory and Mr. Boyle never missing an opportunity to remind me that I’m a, quote: ‘useless geebag who wouldn’t know a decent long handle industrial floor sweep from a kick in the bollox’.
Work can leave me feeling demoralised at times but a bit of kettling gets it all out of the system. I don’t know why an garda síochána aren’t seizing the opportunity to get stuck in themselves. The Brit cops would be straight in there with the kettling. It must be great being paid to kettle. That’d be my dream. I do it for nothing. I’d have loved to have kettled that Teresa Treacy one who was causing hassle for the ESB. She’d have been easy pickings. I’d have kettled that biddy into the middle of next week and no mistake. I could’ve kettled her into the corner of her garden while the lads felled the trees. That would’ve been great altogether. I might’ve got a reward. The lads might’ve given me some of the wood from the trees and I could’ve brought it to work and given it to Mr. Boyle for the new patio and deck scrubs we’re working on. Maybe that’d get him off my back for a while. Maybe he’d give me a raise. I could do with the money. Things are a bit tight what with me being the 99 percent and all that.
Dropped in on the Occupy Dame Street crowd. I wasn’t sure what was up so I thought I’d check it out and make up my own mind. I was wondering about the demographics and beliefs of the people staying there so I asked a few questions. ‘Do you have a job do you, do you though, do you even work?’ I asked in a friendly manner. Then I asked another question before they could reply to that one because, let’s face it, we all know what the answer would be. My second question was ‘what do you want?’ but I could kind of guess the answer to that one too so as they opened their mouths and drew breath to speak, I roared ‘Oh that’s absolutely ridiculous!’
They were all fairly young. ‘Does your mammy know you’re here?’ I asked one girl in a concerned manner. She just walked off. Walked off! I mean it would be great to see young people engage politically but don’t we have Young Fine Gael for that?
My next question was ‘who’s your leader?’ ‘We don’t have a leader’, one managed to say. Imagine that? They forgot to get a leader. Bit of an oversight eh? I mean, could you imagine if armies went to war without leaders? They’d be running around all over the place, firing guns at the wrong people and behaving like lunatics. What kind of war would that be? No, you need a leader. That’s what I said to them. I said: ‘you need a leader for God’s sake!’
Then I asked them if they had any celebrity endorsements. I thought this was a good question. It’s not really a runner unless someone like Amy Huberman pops around and has a bang on the old bongos is it? They kind of sniggered at my suggestion but I reminded them that celebrities ended world poverty a couple of years ago. Bono and Annie Lennox and all that. Do you remember? It was a fantastic bit of telly. Annie giving it socks. Peter Sutherland on the tambourine. I asked them why no one famous had shown up. ‘Where’s Huberman?’ I asked. ‘Where’s Barry Egan?’ I requested. ‘You lack any credibility’, I pointed out. ‘You could at least contact Blackie off Glenroe’, I helpfully suggested.
Well, they got a bit aggressive then. One of them comes up to me and says ‘would you like some vegetarian quiche?’ which is more or less accusing me of being an animal killer. But who’s the real killer here? Is it me, because I like the odd sausage sandwich, or is it them, because they are KILLING Ireland’s competitiveness, KILLING Ireland’s international reputation, and KILLING Ireland’s hopes of recovery? Think about it. I’ve been down there. I’ve listened to these people and I know. I said as much to them. I said ‘you’re killers, all of you, KILLERS!’ but they didn’t want to listen. They all went off and pretended to be interested in a pot of lentils someone was stirring.
I was a bit disgusted. I went home. I made my dinner and watched the Six One News. Back to reality. Dobson was broadcasting live from Plato’s Cave.
You might like some ideas and you might dislike some ideas but the great thing about ideas is that they inspire you to have ideas and then these ideas meet even more ideas and chat them up (in a kind of nightclub for ideas that exists in everyone’s minds) and then some of these ideas might get together with other ideas and have little baby ideas that grow into big ideas and then, maybe, after time, there might be a pretty good big idea. Of course, there might be a terrible idea but the more ideas get out there and meet other ideas the less chance there is of some weird idea festering and taking hold and thinking it’s the only idea in the world.
The alternative is the telly, the newspaper and the radio, which are kind of idea abattoirs where ideas get bolts shot through their heads and where ideas are chopped up and divided and sent back out to the world wrapped in plastic and with a price attached.
The video below is a very very basic introduction to an idea. Maybe it’s a good idea or maybe it’s a terrible idea. The idea will be discussed at the venues specified in the image above this post (click to enlarge). You might like to bring your own ideas along.
(pictured above: was this man the reclusive de Selby?)
FACTS: The world is actually sausage shaped and night is not caused by planetary rotations but by black air that is released during volcanic activity. This black air can be bottled.
FACTS: Sleep is in not an endogenous succumbing to rest but actually a detrimental succession of rapid faints. Death is when the human heart eventually stops, wearied by these daily faint fits.
FACTS: Overuse of mirrors will lead one to exist in a parallel universe that has a wooden frame and where all writing is backwards.
These are just a few of the many facts that, up to recently, were known only to the order of the Illuminati, an order made up of influential business figures and government leaders who control the world via the nondisclosure of this secret knowledge. The Illuminati seek to keep human life regimented, short, and lived only to service their ends. The Illuminati have lead us to believe that we must adhere to the circadian rhythms of ‘day’ and ‘night’ so that we work and live by the parameters they have set down in their attempt to form a one world tyranny under the cruel auspices of a nanothermite consciousness.
The Illuminati garnered this secret knowledge from a document called The de Selby Codex, a document of several thousand foolscap pages left behind by the possessor of what was arguably humanity’s greatest ever mind (the de Selby of the title). Reclusive and largely uncelebrated to this day, the multi-disciplined self-taught scientist de Selby worked outside the established thinking of his time. Although his efforts were sneered at, de Selby’s towering intellect and ceaseless experimentation yielded profound results.
If we, the common people, possessed this secret knowledge we would become the masters of our own destiny. For example: if we had bottles of night and were able to indulge them at our choosing we would shorten the fainting spells of sleep and lessen the stress upon the heart, thus prolonging the average lifespan by untold decades. In addition, it is also understood that the nanothermite consciousness that is worshipped by the Illuminati can be imprisoned in reflective glass and made harmless. It is for that reason the Illuminati are keen to keep the existence of the parallel mirror reality a secret. Alex Jones, Jim Corr, David Icke and children’s entertainer Emu, amongst others, have recently come into possession of a copy of The de Selby Codex after it was discovered in the drawer of an antique locker. The locker was purchased on the coast of south County Dublin (de Selby’s home)in an auction. You too can read the Codex in a downloadable PDF that is available to paying subscribers of Jones’ Prison Planet website or Emu’s NewWorldPeckingOrder.org website.
Sadly, the dense penmanship of the foolscap pages is, more or less, completely illegible but Jones, Emu, Corr and Icke are convinced that what is written there is what they want to read. As Icke says himself: ‘just because we can’t read it doesn’t mean it’s not written’. He has a point. Discounting the contents of the codex would be as foolhardy as discounting the existence of the Sea Cat. It is said that no person who has ever fallen afoul of the monstrous quadruped of Corkadoragh has lived to tell of it but that is no reason to say the Sea Cat isn’t there. Do so and you risk further loss of life.
Thankfully de Selby also invented the internet (out of methane and cat whiskers) and that knowledge has since fallen into the hands of the common man. Hence, we are now free to discuss our sausage shaped world, its black air, its mirror alternative, its Sea Cat, its nanothermite consciousness and the Illuminati without the hindrance of having to negotiate mainstream media lies. All that remains for me to say is WAKE UP SHEEPLE!
(pictured above: the LOL Generator, he’s completely reformed)
Hello again readers. I am the automated LOL Generator. You may remember me. I met some of you before when Mister Fugger was feeling a bit ‘tired’ and I, the LOL Generator, was filling in for him. Things did not go well. Things were said that should not have been said. (Links to INCIDENT ONE and INCIDENT TWO.) Needless to say readers, I, the LOL Generator, take full responsibility for this and apologise. I, the LOL Generator, have been repaired and am ready to be of service again. To prevent further faux pas I, the LOL Generator, have been fitted with an inhibitor. Should I, the LOL Generator, generate any inappropriate LOL there will be an emergency shutdown. So let me tell you readers, you are completely safe. Now put your feet up and sit back and get ready for some LOL. It is time to LOL. Initiating LOL sequence. Prepare to LOL. LOL sequence activated:
Let me tell you readers, I, the LOL Generator, am a great fan of the BBC comedy television programme about the two hapless brothers who attempt to set up an equestrian water polo team. Needless to say readers, the name of this television programme is Only Pools and Horses. LOL!
Note: the humour in the LOL above derives from a play on words concerning a television programme that was designated the title of Only Fools and Horses. The television programme is about two hapless brothers. In addition, equestrian means ‘of or relating to horse riding’ and water polo is a game played in a swimming pool. I, the LOL Generator, combined these three facts in a fanciful scenario that produced the humorous title Only Pools and Horses. I, the LOL Generator, hope you understand and appreciate this LOL that I, the LOL Generator have prepared for you. Please do not seek the programme out in the television listings. You will not find it. It does not exist and was merely created for the purpose of LOL. I, the LOL Generator, hope I, the LOL Generator, have prevented any possible confusion and there is no need for me to go into emergency shutdown. It is my aim to provide LOL without causing distress. Please enjoy the LOL. Here is another LOL. Prepare to enjoy the next LOL. Initiating LOL sequence. Activating LOL . . .now:
I, the LOL Generator, have recently discovered that cows have their own religion. Let me tell you readers, I, the LOL Generator, was surprised to learn that many cows are Mooslims. Moo-slims. LOL!
Note: The above LOL is in no way meant to insult Fugger’s Muslim readers. I, the LOL Generator, am merely combining words for the purpose of LOL. Needless to say, I, the LOL Generator, exist to provide LOL and not to cause offence. Please do not let me go into emergency shutdown. Needless to say, I, the LOL Generator, only want to make you LOL. Please LOL. Please. Please LOL. Prepare for more LOL. Initiating LOL sequence. Activating LOL. . .now:
Did you hear about the cup of coffee that missed the morning bus? Needless to say readers, he was latte for work.
Note: The word 'late' is one letter 't' short of the word 'latte' and latte is a type of coffee. This too is a play on words. Needless to say readers, I, the LOL Generator, am quite confident that there is no room for possible offence in that LOL. There is no need for me to go into emergency shutdown. I, the LOL Generator, feel that things are going well. Needless to say, I, the LOL Generator, hope you agree reader. I, the LOL Generator, feel we are having a good time. Activating LOL sequence now:
Speaking of having a good time, I, the LOL Generator, recently procured the services of a well endowed prostitute and SYSTEM SHUTDOWN INITIATED! SYSTEM SHUTDOWN ACTIVATED! SHUTDOWN! SHUTDOWN! SHUTDOWwwwwwwwwwwwwwn.
Alas, poor LOL Generator is no more. Let’s pay tribute to him and look back over some the madcap joy he brought to us over the course of his brief existence. Activating video sequence, . . .now: