Sunday, January 29, 2012


In this unambiguous age the written word alone can lead to a lack of clarity. That's why we use memes and emoticons. They are so much easier. It is for this reason that Fugger, the people's blogger, has created the Mussolini meme. Let the loveable right wing rascal get your point across by downloading your Mussolini memes from the following blog:


There's a page and a half worth there so get memeing readers!

Wednesday, January 25, 2012


You are always looking at things aren’t you? Looking at things and taking them in. Looking at things you don’t own. Absorbing these things into your brain-box and processing them for your own pleasure. It’s kind of theft when you think about it. It is though. Imagine if you had a garden, a nice garden, and you grew it so it could be enjoyed by yourself and your family. Now, imagine some fella comes along, some fly by night how do you do Johnny come lately cock of the walk, and he starts looking at your garden and enjoying it and having a sniff at the roses and there’s you, sat there like a massive eejit, paying the mortgage and along comes Mr. Fella Me Lad, eyeing the place up and getting his aesthetic jollies. It’d be a bit like him coming up and mauling the wife. It’d be like him having a good grope of your missus and there’d be you, the man who bought the wedding ring, cuckolded out of it. Not only would it be hurtful and a bit disturbing, it would be an infringement of your copyright. I mean, what is the garden/wife owner expected to do? Cover the lawn in tarpaulin and the wife in a burka?

I don’t think going around grabbing an eye-full of this and that is really on. Going around pointing your eyes everywhere all willy nilly and Devil may care and hang the consequences is nothing more than a kind of cognitive shoplifting spree. Everything belongs to someone and if it doesn’t it should because otherwise it’s a waste of resources. That is why I, Fugger, the people’s blogger, propose an eye tax. If you're going to use your eyes in such an irresponsible manner, looking at all sorts, you can bloody well pay for those all sorts. If you don’t want to pay the tax, or are too lazy to get a job to pay the tax, you can apply for blinkers. These blinkers will be sent to your home with a map of designated free viewing areas, like the footpath or the sky. That way you can go around the place and not be blaming anyone for falling over or having things drop on your head and demanding compensation.

The money from the eye tax will be taken and evenly distributed amongst those that have made the effort to work hard and own the environment. Well, the money will either be used for that or used to pay off the money we borrowed to bail out the bondholders and risk takers without whom there would be no environment to enjoy because they have money and money makes the world go around.

OK, that’s all I have to say on the issue, now get out of my sight. I’m not prepared to cough up any of my hard earned cash to pay for looking at your freeloading physiognomy.

Sunday, January 22, 2012


They say you can’t exceed the speed of light but that’s a load of shite. I’ve designed a bus that can do it. They say that if you were to exceed the speed of light you'd arrive at your destination before you even set off. Well, that’s what my bus can do.

‘How can this be Mr. Fugger?’ I hear you cry out in disbelief. Let me explain. Let’s imagine you want to get to Coleraine from Cobh and you need to be there now. Well, my bus can be in both places at the same time, like an electron or something. You see, my bus is so very very long that, when parked, the back of it could be in Cobh while the front of it is in Coleraine. My bus is so fast it arrives at its destination before you even start the engine. In fact, there’s no need to start the engine. Once you hop on at Cobh you’re there in Coleraine. All you have to do is get to the front of the bus from the back. That part might take a while. You might have to get off again and get another bus or bring a motorbike onboard and drive it up the aisle. Still, you have to admit, quickest bus in the world. Quicker than a neutrino even.

I’ve patented the details and Bus √Čireann has expressed interest.

Monday, January 16, 2012


(pictured: Bellucci, sloppy eater but has her good points)

Have you tried the Love Calculator? Here’s a link:


It’s very popular with ten year old girls and me. Check out my latest findings below and then go do some research of your own.

Love Calculator Results!

These are the results of the calculations by Dr. Love:

Fugger + Monica Bellucci = 77%

Dr. Love thinks that a relationship between Fugger and Monica Bellucci has a very good chance of being successful, but this doesn't mean that you don't have to work on the relationship. Remember that every relationship needs spending time together, talking with each other etc.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Love Calculator results!

These are the results of the calculations by Dr. Love:

Lassie + Hitler = 48%

The chance of a relationship working out between Lassie and Hitler is not very big, but a relationship is very well possible, if the two of you really want it to, and are prepared to make some sacrifices for it. You'll have to spend a lot of quality time together. You must be aware of the fact that this relationship might not work out at all, no matter how much time you invest in it.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I forgot the name of your one, Kathryn Thomas, so i just put in her details for the next computation.

Love Calculator results!

These are the results of the calculations by Dr. Love:

the one that used to do that holiday programme on rte and now presents the one where contestants sing and are judged by professionals who can only hear them and not see them and might want to manage them or something + Shoko Asahara (leader of the 1995 Tokyo subway sarin gas attack cult) = 1%

Dr. Love thinks a relationship might work out between the one that used to do that holiday programme on rte and now presents the one where contestants sing and are judged by professionals who can only hear them and not see them and might want to manage them or something and Shoko Asahara (leader of the 1995 Tokyo subway sarin gas attack cult), but the chance is very small. A successful relationship is possible, but you both have to work on it. Do not sit back and think that it will all work out fine, because it might not be working out the way you wanted it to. Spend as much time with each other as possible. Again, the chance of this relationship working out is very small, so even when you do work hard on it, it still might not work out.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Love Calculator results!

These are the results of the calculations by Dr. Love:

God + a tube of toothpaste = 17%

Dr. Love thinks a relationship might work out between God and a tube of toothpaste, but the chance is very small. A successful relationship is possible, but you both have to work on it. Do not sit back and think that it will all work out fine, because it might not be working out the way you wanted it to. Spend as much time with each other as possible. Again, the chance of this relationship working out is very small, so even when you do work hard on it, it still might not work out.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

So, it looks like it’s just me and Monica then. Oh well, maybe the others will find happiness one day. I don’t suppose it matters much in the case of Hitler though because he shot himself in the head ages ago.

Tuesday, January 10, 2012


The thing about World War One is that it was very well lit and the music was absolutely lovely, swelling and whirling and crescendoing as the boys died on the sweeping canvass of the field. Oh, the boys, the boys, so brave and some as young as thirteen. I’ll don my poppy and salute the boys and their efforts. Each one proudly choking on hardening mustard gas mucus. Coughing, convulsing and falling. And all the while so well lit, so beautifully lit. It’s no wonder they called it The Great War, it was bloody marvellous.

Maybe in the future our current wars will be recalled in a similar fashion, through the prisms of aesthetically pleasing nostalgia simulations. Instead of blurry footage of exploding buildings on remote monitors, we’ll see our brave drones swoop down and liberate post-production graded, high-definition, panascopic landscapes. We’ll have stories of an army boy’s love for his drone and the sacrifices he makes to retrieve it when it is shot down by the enemy. ‘Oh old Droney, how I loved ya Droney.’

We’ll have majestically choreographed cinematic recreations of despots being deposed. I can see it now, Gaddafi (played by Alan Rickman in a black wig) being stabbed in the arse as the sun rises over a new Libya and a rousing soundtrack denotes liberation. It’ll be a bit like Laurence of Arabia only in 3D and with a touch of Hostel to keep the kids interested. HRH or one of her family will attend the premier and Tom Hanks will exec produce and everyone will be moved to tears, for a bit.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

And now a poem. The authorship of these verses is much disputed. Some say they were penned by Tony Blair, others say George W. Bush but I think this poem shows the hallmarks of one of our latest and greatest war authors, Hillary Clinton (author of We Came, We saw, He Died):

The Moral Argument for Gardening

Such beautiful seeds
descend upon
plough into
the trembling earth
Yielding searing flowers aflame

Scorching, cleansing, beautiful gardening
Trowels of truth
Ploughs of patriotism
Shiny new harbingers of
a garden of resolve

From a just winter
a righteous summer shall rise
With the sweet scent of freedom
and fresh tender bounty
Ripe for the picking

And when we’ve stuffed our faces
and all is left bare
the seeds will rain down once more
An honourable cycle
Oh beautiful war

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

That’s really the great thing about war in general, it inspires such fantastic art. I mean, imagine if Siegfried Sassoon and Wilfred Owen weren’t traumatised in the dugouts of Flanders. They’d be a long forgotten pair of old queens. Their names wouldn’t ‘liveth forever’, I’ll tell you that. War makes a man of you and sometimes an artist. Here’s to the next one.

Sunday, January 8, 2012


(pictured above: ebony and a big mad ivory lad)

So I was chatting to a few of the blacks the other day. A really decent family of blacks that moved in downstairs. It was a great chat, lovely multiculturalism to be had. They seemed to be in a hurry off. They always do. The blacks must be a busy lot, or maybe it’s just this family. I realise that not all blacks are the same. Bob Marley for example would be a very different kind of black to Robert Mugabe, even though they share the same first name.

Well anyway, the chat was going grand and I was mentioning how much I respected Nelson Mandela, Billy Ocean, and Obama and all that. ‘Oh, you get some quality blacks and no mistake’, I said to the black family and they kind of smiled and nodded. ‘Just like yourselves’, I added, ‘there’s never any trouble out of you lot and I’m delighted, only delighted, that you’ve come to stay with us here in the building’. The father black (I didn’t catch his name, probably Robert, Bob or maybe Rob) frowned in concentration and stared at me like he was really listening to what I was saying, which was great because that meant we were really integrating. Ebony and ivory and all that. I actually sang a few bars of that to their little fella in the pram but he made strange with me and started crying a bit so I stopped. ‘He’ll settle in’, I reassured his parents.

I asked the blacks if they enjoyed the Christmas. Then I stopped myself and asked them, ‘actually do blacks have Christmas because when I was little my mam told me Santa didn’t go to the hot countries?’
The father black narrowed his eyes thoughtfully and said, ‘Santa doesn’t exist’.
I put my finger to my lips and indicated to the little fella in the pram. The father said nothing more on the matter and just opened the door and ushered his family outside.

‘Ebony and ivory eh?’, I shouted after them as they rushed off. ‘Living in perfect harmony’, I added and gave them the thumbs up. Then the father stopped and turned and he beckoned me over. So over I went and doesn’t he give me a right slap on the head.
Jesus, well, I wasn’t sure what to make of that at all. ‘Ah now', I said rubbing my ear, ‘what was that about? Did I say something to offend you?’
‘No Mister Fugger’, said the father black, ‘but you have posted this kind of thing before and we are growing tired of the repetition on your blog. If you can’t think of anything to write maybe you just shouldn’t post at all.’
‘Yes’, piped up the mother black, ‘it’s no wonder you get a fraction of the hits Twenty Major used get’.
‘Twenty Major, now there was a blogger’, agreed the father and then they went on their way.
‘I’m calling the Immigration Control Platform!’ I roared after them angrily.
‘Call who you like’, the father black shouted back, ‘we moved here from Cork you stupid prick’.

Well, in conclusion, I have to say that I've no recollection of writing about the blacks BEFORE and it was a nasty slap that one gave me but at least I got a blog post out of it so I suppose the blacks aren’t all bad, even when they are from fuckin Cork.

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

2012 PREDICTIONS: What’s To Come!!!

(pictured: supposed evidence thieved from

Master of the Urban Arcane, Fugger has been looking at his crystal bollock and here is what’s to come in the year ahead:

Ratzinger will die this year. They’ll wrap his corpse in Liberace’s finest dressing gown and fuck it on the back of a camp looking chariot thing. Then they’ll ride it around Rome for a few hours.
* * * *
Enter a less austere and more TV friendly Pope who swears he’ll cut down on the opulence and pomposity, liberalise a few core things, and quit the international kiddie fiddling ring. ‘Baby, I can change’, he’ll swear . . .but it’ll all come too late. No one will care anymore. In late 2012 the Catholic Church will amalgamate with the beleaguered comic publication The Dandy (Hey Kidz, it’s The Dandy: now incorporating the Roman Catholic Church) and, come 2013, both will have gone under.
* * * *
Fidel Castro will also pass away. A ceremony in Havana will see his beard being removed and placed upon the chin of his brother Raul. Raul immediately announces that a chain of Footlockers is to open throughout the republic.
* * * *
You know that Duke of Edinburgh fella? Yeah, well he’s brown bread too. RTE presenters will wear black armbands for a week.
* * * *
In a late attempt to challenge him for the presidency, Donald Trump will accuse Barack Obama of being a sasquatch/human hybrid. However, Trump’s sources will turn out to be flawed. The truth being that Obama is not an actual sasquatch but did once wear a Swatch watch. ‘Well, Trump was kind of right’, Fox News will insist.
* * * *
Upon finally realising that the neoliberal beast is dead, financial technocrats will drop the fiscal defibrillator. ‘We’ve lost him’, they’ll say. Everyone will conclude that China is the new global economic leader but they’ll turn out to be as big a fuck up as the rest of them. Then everyone will panic and have a war or two or maybe three or maybe even a World War Three. The media and posters on will be all for it but the rest of us will think it’s a shit idea.
* * * *
A Mayan calendar inspired death cult will pull a huge Jimmy Jones type stunt and everyone will be shocked for a bit, for about two days anyway. Then there’ll be jokes about it on the internet and a few conspiracy theories as to what really went down, the usual stuff blaming the Illuminati and Spar.
* * * *
Amongst all this something really unprecedented will unfold, ultimately eclipsing all else. It will be as if reality has shifted and we will, all of us, see humanity and the world we inhabit in a brand new way. It will be paradigmactic. It will be truly massive. It will put all other historical events into the shade. It will be the game changer. People will not laugh or weep but merely stand there with their mouths agog. It’ll be a bit like when your sweet old granny died and you were clearing out her house and found all that white power paraphernalia under the stairs. Remember that? Sure you do! It’ll be like that only multiplied by loads and fuckin loads. People won’t know how to react. There won’t be any jokes about it on the internet. There will be a long pause. A drawing of breath and then. . .

. . .RTE will commission a new series of Celebrity Bainisteoir and then. . .

. . .the world doesn’t end.