Tuesday, November 27, 2012


(Advertising feature)
Hey guys, the Fugger Fashions chain has opened a new store in Dundrum. All the usual quality stuff can be found inside: Ralph Lauren, Abercrombie and Fitch, and the best of the rest. The new store is called What Richard Did and is an official tie-in with the movie of the same name. We've got super enlarged stills from the critically acclaimed drama decorating the place and we've even arranged a special shoot for the Sunday Independent glossy supplement where you'll see the glamorous cast donned in our wares. 
Y'know, despite the complex and disturbing events that befell them, the guys and gals of What Richard Did never let their sartorial standards drop. They may have felt bad but they always looked good.
When things seem down, why not let Fugger Fashions dress you up? Drop in and take a look around our new What Richard Did store. The big opening is on Saturday. Oh, and while I have the chance here guys, Fugger Fashions would just like to point out that, like the film of the same name, our new What Richard Did store is in no way associated with the tragic event that took place outside the Burlington Hotel on August 31st, 2000. Fugger Fashions just wants to invite you to take part in a shopping experience where past mistakes are sympathetically revisited in a beautifully lit, non-interrogative, and schadenfreude free environment. We're just trying to bring some truth to the term 'retail therapy'. As it says in our advertising: 'What Richard Did - Just because you have it all, it doesn't mean it's easy – Opens Saturday!!!'
And Hey!!! Check out our new TV commercial. We're like kind of reviving that moody Obsession by Calvin Klein approach:

Sunday, November 25, 2012


Did you hear about the dyslexic guy who got shipwrecked? He wrote ‘LOL’ in the sand to attract the attention of passing planes. Geddit? He wrote ‘L.O.L.’ instead of ‘S.O.S.’

Are you laughing? Are you? I doubt it. I doubt you're laughing and if you are you shouldn’t be. That man died on that island. To make matters worse, after his body was recovered, a stonemason (also dyslexic) engraved the letters ‘L.V.F.’ into his tombstone where ‘R.I.P.’ should be. The grave is in a cemetery that's close to an extremely nationalist housing estate and the tombstone gets defaced on a regular basis. It's very distressing for the poor dyslexic shipwrecked guy’s family and acts as proof, if further proof be needed, that existence is God’s sick joke and we are all the punch line.


Wednesday, November 21, 2012


Stars are ghosts of long dead suns haunting the night above us. They are the echoes of things that once existed and witnessed events beyond the realm of our reason. We don't wonder though, we just proceed. I'm taking the dog out for his evening shite or I'm putting out the bins. It's cold. It's dark. It's dead silent but for distant traffic sighing and the wind quietly sneaking through branches. I'm on the surface of this still planet and I might look up. I might notice these shining spirits in the sky. I may momentarily feel comforted or threatened or ambivalent. Then I will look away and I will do what I need to do or watch the dog do what must be done. Then I will go back inside. I will watch my television and it will erase my mind of wonder and blind me to the infinite. A quiz is on. A woman with nice legs is giving away a big cash prize. I won't bother entering the competition even though I know the answers to all the questions. It's trivia from the small portion of the Universe we continually stare at and think about and measure ourselves by, a small portion of the Universe that concerns itself with fame and fortune. The stars in the sky are eclipsed by the stars on the screen. Marvels roll and burst, are born and die, above us and all around us – further than our eyes can see and our minds can reach - but I'm reaching for the remote control. I'm turning up the volume. Fuck the ineffability of the ineffable ineffableness. I'm going to see if I can win this quiz, this quiz that I couldn't be arsed entering. I'm paying close attention and shouting out the answers in a realm beyond reason.

Tuesday, November 20, 2012


The neighbour was saying that I keep parking my car in his driveway. Fuck that. What does he need the driveway for? He doesn't even have a car, well he does but it's a shitey little banger. He says he can't get his banger out of his drive because my car is in the way but I think that's a bit of a one-sided view. I mean, I have two cars and where am I supposed to park the other one? He should be happy to have my lovely car parked outside his house. People will think he owns it. People might think he isn't some loser, which, let's face it, he is. He went too far the other day though. He went way too far and scratched my car down the side with a set of keys. My car! My lovely new car that I worked hard to buy. My beautiful car; scratched by that philistine!

Anyway, he scratched the car so I went over there to talk with him about it. Just a talk. Reasonable like, as long as it's me doing the talking. I had things to say after all. I was the one that was wronged here. So, I headed over there but he just laughed at me. He refused to do anything about it, to make up for it, to compensate me or anything. Well, I wasn't having that so I barged into his house and put my boot up his arse. Then I booted his wife up the arse. Then I chased his kids around and gave each of them an arse kicking. You should have seen the look on his six year old's face after I gave him a right boot that sent him flying. It was kind of a bewildered look. Not angry or fearful really, just more of a 'what the fuck?' look. I just want a better neighbourhood you see. I just want us to get along. To share things. What's the matter with sharing? That's what I was roaring out as I went around the neighbour's house setting fire to his curtains and throwing his furniture through his windows. 'WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH SHARING?' I roared out over and over again. I was in some danger myself, storming around the blazing rooms like I was, but it was worth it. Like mighty Samson I thought, 'let me die with the philistines'. Anyway, I didn't die and got out of there in time to set up a blockade to prevent the fire brigade from arriving and helping out the car scratching terrorist. A lot of the neighbour's gaff burnt down that night and there was a bit of a to do in the following days. The other neighbours were giving me dirty looks and the U.N. dropped around and said that my actions were disproportionate. I said they weren't and the U.N. said Ok and then they fucked off.

I'm going around there again tonight to set light to his garden shed. Then I'm going to smash down the wall to his living room and drive my car right into his house and park it right in front of his telly. That'll learn him. That'll learn him not to share and live peacefully and in harmony with me on my terms. My reasonable terms. I just want a better neighbourhood you see. For me, for him, for everyone.

I can't seem to shake that look his six year old gave me though. That confused look. Confusion mixed with something else. Confusion mixed with hurt, a profound kind of hurt. I'll try not to dwell on it. I'll think about the scratch on my car instead. I'll think about how justice has been served and will go on being served until there is no one left to serve it to. 

Saturday, November 17, 2012


(pictured: off they go, y'know the type)

Look, I don't know what all the fuss is about. It's quite straightforward, and I quote:

'The State acknowledges the right to life of the unborn and, with due regard to the equal right to life of the mother, guarantees in its laws to respect, and, as far as practicable, by its laws to defend and vindicate that right. The state shall endeavour to probably not convict or maybe convict, as far as practicable and in all probability if aforementioned practicability is indeed practicable or not, as the case may be, any medical practitioner/murdering bastard that performs said probable murder/life saving procedure or whatever you're having yourself but you never really know do you? I mean it's mad like when you think about it and if we have a referendum again everyone will just go mental and it'll be an awful pain in the arse and no one wants to looking at John Waters hyperventilating on the telly.'

Right, I hope that's cleared everything up and we can sweep this matter back under the rug where it belongs for another couple of decades going forward.

Wednesday, November 14, 2012


Despite being instrumental in the eradication of TB and attempting to introduce state funded healthcare for women and children, former minister for health, Noël Browne, is thought by many to have been a terrible, terrible person altogether. 

Hard to work with, an upsetter, an upstart, disrespectful to the considerations of the Archbishop, not a joiner inner, not the kind of fella you'd want to go caravanning with - in any given discussion about the man, these are typical of the traits attributed to Browne.

Even a portion of Browne's wiki entry is dedicated to his unlikeability, with Fergus Finlay describing him as a 'bad tempered and curmudgeonly old man' and Maurice Manning's descriptions of him as 'difficult' and 'self-centred'.

What a terrible, terrible person altogether Noël Browne must have been. I bet he didn't even sit with the lads at lunch or laugh easily at their jokes (...which, y'know, I'm sure were excellent). Ultimately, we can only conclude that Browne must have been an oddball. Unlike the rest of the nation during his times, he must have been a bit weird.

However, the wiki entry does attempt to defend Browne a little from his accusers, generously pointing out that much of the man's unpleasantness could have been due to his partial deafness. I prefer to think that Browne's grouchy aloofness was down to the fact that he considered most of his peers to be a genuflecting shower of cunts. What a terrible, terrible person altogether Noël Browne must have been, to have had such thoughts, to think so little of such great men, to think them nothing more than a genuflecting shower of cunts.

(Addendum: In fairness, Noël Browne did come sixth in RTE's Ireland's Greatest poll of 2010, narrowly beating Stephen Gately into seventh position but being topped by Bono at fifth. It seems some of you silly-billies refuse to forget the achievements of this bad mixer/unsociable monster.)

Saturday, November 10, 2012


And here are the names and faces...

Metal Mickey (named after his evil member)
Dusty Bin (claims accusations are rubbish)

 Wilfred Brambell (you dirty old man)
Captain Birdseye (don't eat his fish stick)
Milky Bar kid (disguised self as child)
Admiral Horatio Nelson (Hardy was a minor)
Saudi Arabia (marry girls at 8 - behead them at any age)
  The constellation of Reticulum (watching your kids from above)
The 70s (they even dressed like nonces) 
HAARP (weather molester)
Kids themselves (not even the children will think of the children)
Badminton (no surprises there)

They say it's a witch hunt but in a witch hunt you hunt witches so that's a silly thing to say. This is a nonce hunt and Fugger is giving a big cash prize, that's right readers, a BIG CASH PRIZE, to whoever can destroy the most reputations/lives. Let's get these probable child worriers before their appetites grow out of all control and they move on to us adults!!!!

Wednesday, November 7, 2012


(pictured: lil' Ebner's first taste of freedom)

Being free, the people of the United States of America had a choice. Which were they going to have for dinner, a bowl of cow shite or a bowl of dog shite? It wasn't much of a choice but it was a choice Goddamit and, at the end of the day, what are we without choice? Arabs, that's what.

Anyway, the debate was in full swing. Some people wanted to eat the bowl of dog shite because they liked dogs but others worried about the average dog's diet, arguing that a dog could have eaten anything whereas a cow would have just been eating grass. 'At least we know what we're getting in the cow shite', was the logic that won out for a 'convincing margin' of the Americans who participated in the choice. A sizeable minority of Americans didn't even bother expressing a preference as they thought that shite was shite no matter what creature's arse it plopped out from. These Americans had the freedom to choose not to choose and so didn't choose, which is freedom because, at end of the day, what are we without choice?

So, the choice was made and a bowl of cow shite was laid before the people of the United States and they all began to tuck in. 'If we can just get this cow shite down us then maybe we can have ice cream for dessert', encouraged newspaper opinion pieces and so on and everyone reluctantly lifted their spoons and put the foul stuff in their gobs.

Well, it was their choice and they made it and there was no other option. What other option could there be? Have a think about it. See? Any other option would be absurd. Fundamentally, this was a choice and choice equals freedom. Like us, Americans are free. Arabs aren't free. Arabs don't get to choose and have to eat camel shite all the time, whether they like it or not. They don't get offered an alternative, like goat shite or something. Arabs don't get a choice and, at the end of the day, what are we without choice? Camel shite eating Arabs that's what!
Ahh, Charlie the silly idealist. To view more of Charlie and one of Mr. Fugger's favourite films ever please CLICK HERE FOR CITY LIGHTS!

Saturday, November 3, 2012


(pictured: Ugger having the craic with his biggest rock)

Did you know that there were bloggers during the Paleolithic age? Yes, there were. Of course, prehistory was pre-internet so Paleolithic bloggers had to engrave their blogposts into the bark of trees or the walls of caves. The following is the last entry of one such Paleolitic blogger, a blogger that went by the name of Ugger (uggthewoods.dryandwarmspot.cave). Ugger's last post provides a fascinating insight into early man's struggle to grasp the existential consequences of chronology and cause and effect. Here is what Mr. Ugger had to say:

'I live in a cave. It's a nice cave and I like it. It is cool and dark and I can hear the dripping water echo and the wind enter and leave. I have lots of nice things in my cave. Things like rocks and stones. I like to place the rocks and stones into little arrangements. It's grand. It's a grand pastime. Sometimes I look out and watch the others. Two of the males fighting over some female or the whole lot of them gathered around the carcass of some creature, gutting it and preparing it for the spit. After they are finished eating, I pop down there to scavenge whatever meat is left on the bones. If there's nothing left then that's fine. I have my berries and they see me through. I get by. I rarely get any trouble from the tribe or the big cats or the bears or anything. I am safe. I just hang out here arranging rocks and stones and thinking about stuff. The others think I'm wasting my time thinking but I enjoy it. Thinking is good. It's interesting. I think about lots of things. I often think about Booglarrr. Ahh, Booglarrr. Booglarrr of the long limbs and swaying hips. Kind Booglarrr. Gentle Booglarrr. Oh sweet Booglarrr. Boooooooooooooogllllllllllllllaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrr. Booglarrr who never gives me a second look. Booglarrr who longs for Kunk. Kunk who has followed the river. Kunk who has seen the far trees and brought back the rare vinyl. Kunk of the decks.

Thinking of Booglarrr takes up a lot of my time but I've recently started thinking about something else a lot too. I've started thinking about something I don't think anyone has ever thought about. I have started thinking about a time. A time that is not Now or Before. I have started thinking about another time. A new time. A time after Now. I call this time Later.

Later confuses me. Why, if I can know what is happening in Now and can recall what happened in Before, can I not know what happens in Later? There must be some way of finding out. If there is a Later then something is happening in this Later. What is it? Are the big cats back in Later, jumping out from the trees? In Later, has Booglarrr finally noticed me and seen Kunk for what he is: a source of complimentary tickets to the tribal ball and not much more. What shape are the clouds in Later?

I look to the clouds Now and imagine them in Later. Do they hint of their Later selves by the way they are changing Now? Can they tell me other things about what is in Later? If I scatter the rocks and stones of my cave, will they land in a shape that depicts Later? Will the random rock arrangement speak of Later? Later has come to absorb me completely. Even when I am thinking of other things, I am not thinking of them in Now or in Before but in Later.

I have come to understand that there are two ways to get a decent idea of what is happening in Later. The first way of getting a better idea of what is happening in Later is by taking part in Now and trying to shape Later. But that thought makes me uncomfortable. That is an uncertain way of finding out what is in Later. If I go messing around with Now in the hopes of shaping Later I might end up not enjoying Now. I might ruin Now. I might make a mess of Now. I might make a fool of myself in Now and Booglarrr might laugh at me. I don't want to risk Now for Later. Now is all I have and Later is not here yet. I really like Now. I like to spend Now thinking. I like to spend Now thinking about Later.

Continuing to spend Now thinking about Later and making sure I remain spending Now thinking about Later is actually the second way of getting a better idea of what happens in Later Now. It's quite easy to predict: In Later, I will be here in my cave, arranging my rocks and stones, and thinking about Later. Booglarrr thinks no less of me in Later. She doesn't think of me at all in Later. The clouds are changing shape in Later as they are changing shape in Now so nothing really changes in Later and Later is the same as Now. To control Later, to keep Later the same as Now, all I have to do in Later is not do anything but think about Later. I am getting by in Later. I am not getting any trouble from the tribe or the big cats or the bears or anything in Later. In Later I am safe. I have my rocks and stones and the echo of the dripping water and the wind entering and leaving...

...argh, who am I kidding? The dripping water and the drafts are driving me crazy. I must've placed these ugging rocks and stones in every arrangement possible. I've got to get the ug out of here. I'm off. I'm getting the ug out of here ...Now!'

The blogpost ends abruptly there. Ugger's well-preserved remains were found scattered about the mouth of a cave in southwestern France. Examining the evidence, we might ascertain that our troglodyte proto-blogger finished his blogpost and departed his den with a new sense of purpose, only to be immediately pounced upon by a saber-tooth tiger and torn apart, alas becoming an artefact of Before that we can study Now.

OK, that's all for today. See you ...Later?