UNBELIEVABLE EH?

People believe what they want to believe even if they know, deep down, that what they believe is entirely unbelievable and that they don't actually believe it at all. I'm not sure why this is. Maybe it is more efficient to believe the unbelievable or perhaps it is advantageous. Either way, belief seems largely to be a matter of choice.

Let me explain why I (choose to) believe this:

A few months ago myself and a few mates (Corbo, Duggie, Phlegmo, Aine Manning and her fat sister whose name escapes me right now) staged a chemical attack. We rented the gymnasium at the local recreation centre and took footage of ourselves weeping and wailing over sheets with bunched up coats, bags and cushions arranged under them so as to make the sheets look like shrouds draped over dead bodies. We made it so that some of the 'bodies' were smaller than others, like little kids. We put on a pretty good performance. Then we uploaded the footage to the internet saying that it was a recording of a chemical weapon attack in some hot country. I'm not sure what hot country we picked but it was one of those places they mention a lot on the telly.

Well, let me tell you, there was a right 'to do' altogether. Our video went viral and got on the news. Some people said that the footage was staged and didn't even originate in the hot country, pointing out that two of the people in the video were wearing O'Neills Dublin tops (oops, messed up there). Luckily these doubters also suspected that we were members of the Illuminati or giant lizards or something so no one took their suspicions seriously. In fact, most people chose to consider the footage genuine so as not to be associated with the nutters that didn't. World leaders bought it too and went on the telly saying that it was unacceptable for such a thing to happen and threatening to bomb the hot country in question, which I'm not sure would have helped but anyway...

Next came phase two of our experiment. We released a second video on the net that featured us pulling back the sheets to reveal that there were no bodies under them and just a load of bags and cushions and that. It was always our aim to demonstrate to the world how easily it could be duped – for the LOLs like, you know - and this is where it got interesting. Imagine our surprise the next day when the world's media reported that the hot country in question had developed a weapon that could transform people into bunched up coats and bags and cushions. The 'international community' (whoever the fuck that is) demanded that the hot country surrender its 'Clothes/Bag/Cushion Tranformo Weapons', which, of course, the hot country couldn't do because it didn't have any such weapons and no such things even exist. Inevitably the hot country was bombed to shit and lots of other videos appeared online featuring the grieving citizens of the hot country weeping and wailing over shrouds. This time no one was wearing O'Neills tops and this time there weren't bunched up coats and bags and cushions under the sheets, no, there were actual bodies under there. These videos didn't get anywhere near as many hits as our original one did. That's when I realised that people believe what they want to believe.

The hot country was continually bombed to such an extent that the entire place was turned to dust and then the searing heat of further bombings melted that dust into glass and then that glass cooled and the whole place was turned into a gigantic skating rink, the largest ever, and people from all over the world travelled there and paid top dollar to enjoy themselves and myself, Corbo, Duggie, Phlegmo, Aine Manning and her fat sister whose name escapes me right now bought shares in the skating rink going forward. Oh, and I got a job with a massive public relations firm.

Unbelievable eh?

Join me next time for more of this compulsive bullshit.

THE RETURN OF THE LATE LATE

Great to see the Late Late back on our screens after the Montrose holidays. Tubbs got things off to a cracking start when he interviewed the essence of Amy Huberman. Amy couldn’t actually make it herself but in her place was an ethereal avatar that was released, genie like, from a bottle. It formed into a sort of solid shape, almost like the real Amy, and it spoke in this weird echoey voice. It seemed really lovely though and Tubbs reminded viewers that it is available from all good perfumeries now. He actually used the word ‘perfumeries’.

Next Tubbs covered the talk of Dublin 13. I am of course referring to the astonishing discovery that is Clongriffin Man – recently unearthed from pyrite and said to be at least several years old - or thereabouts. An expert Tubbs was talking to said the well-preserved corpse might have met its end as some sort of sacrifice or maybe after leaping in front of the DART. ‘Either way’, said the expert, ‘he’s had it’.

Then Tubbs had a child on and interviewed her. She said her schoolbag was very heavy and that she was very fond of sweets. Tubbs asked the child what she wanted to be when she grew up and the child replied that she was only eight and had no idea. She suggested that maybe Tubbs could give her a break.

After the child came the dogs. A fella from Meath was breeding invisible dogs. They couldn’t be seen and they didn’t make any sound either. The breeder said that this made them perfect pets – no hairs on the furniture or late night barking. Someone in the audience roared out that the invisible dogs were an abomination against God but Tubbs got the boom mic away from that nutter quick enough. Then Tubbs awarded an invisible puppy to everyone in the audience. Some people said that they couldn’t feel any weight or fur or anything and then the breeder said that the puppies were not just silent and unseeable but also intangible. ‘For a while there I was worried we’d been sold a pup’, quipped Tubbs and everyone pretended to hold and stroke the non-existent puppies for the rest of the show, such is the power of the telly – peace be upon it.

Finally, Tubbs had someone on who had undergone a terrible ordeal of some sort and come out the other side with a few observations about life and a publishing deal. As Tubbs spoke to this person his voice was gentle and deferent. Then, when that interview was over, Tubbs called someone on the phone and gave them a car. The person on the other end of the line said he was over the moon with his new car and that he was going to bundle the whole family into it and, I quote, ‘drive it straight off the nearest fucking pier’.

Then, to close the show, The Knights of Saint Columbanus House Band performed the following song and everyone started moshing about and absolutely wrecked the place as the credits rolled.

THE STORY OF THE HUMAN BRAIN PART TWO

Continued from the Previous Post. . .
Chapter Three:
The human brain is mainly concerned with two things. The survival of the human body is the first and making the human body’s survival an enjoyable experience is the second. The human brain learns how to do the latter with the information it receives from the telly. The telly knows how to make the human body’s survival an enjoyable experience because it was told how to by the shops. The shops are collectively known as The Market and The Market is controlled by a collection of human brains that have gone insane because they have taken in too much information simultaneously (see chapter two in the previous post).
Chapter Four:
Sane human brains being guided by the insanity of The Market is one of the many paradoxes the human brain must endure in its search for ways to make the survival of the human body enjoyable. Another paradox is found in the existence of consciousness and indeed conscience. Conscience is a by-product of consciousness and serves to create moral and philosophical reasoning that may or may not be reasonable. Different human brains will favour different reasonings and often find themselves in disagreement.
An example:
Wife:
I think the people of the world would find contentment in a non-merchant capitalist society based on a principle of direct and inclusive democracy. What do you think?
Husband:
I think you should quit yer yapping coz I’m trying to watch the golf.
Wife:
I think you’re a monster.
Husband:
I think that cat you adopted is a monster. Now make me a sandwich.
Disagreements like the above can lead to the survival of the human body being a less enjoyable experience. To prevent this, human brains, once again, resort to the information filter known as the telly for guidance and the telly resorts to the shops which are collectively known as The Market and The Market is controlled by a collection of human brains that have gone insane because they have taken in too much information simultaneously (see chapter two in the previous post).
But:
There
Is
No
Alternative!
And that is the story of the human brain.
The End.

THE STORY OF THE HUMAN BRAIN PART ONE

Introduction:
The human brain is the most important organ in the human body. This is because it tells the other organs what to do. The human brain tells the whole human body what to do. The human body is just a vehicle and the human brain is its driver. The human brain tells the human body to do things like sit down or get up or stand up, stand up for your rights, get up, stand up, don't give up the fight. Ah no. That last part is a joke. I’m only having a little joke. The human brain doesn’t tell the human body to do things like that. No. Most of the time the human brain will just tell the human body to do things like get out of bed, go to work, make a cup of tea, insult the wife, and all that sort of thing.
Chapter One:
The human brain decides everything. The human brain decides what is nice and what is not nice. The human brain decides what is scary and what is funny.
An example:
The human brain uses the human eyes to watch the human body’s wife coming in the door with a large bag of groceries. She suddenly trips over a mangy stray cat that she insisted on adopting even though it is unfriendly and ugly. The human body’s wife lets out a yelp before landing flat on her ass. The groceries fall out of the bag and roll about on the floor around her. The cat hisses and runs away. The human brain decides that this is funny and laughs. ‘Ha Ha Ha!’ goes the human brain and then the human mouth copies the human brain and says ‘Ha Ha Ha!’ Then the human body’s wife nurses her sprained ankle as her human brain wonders how her human body came to be married to someone so inhuman.
Chapter Two:
The human brain makes decisions based on information it receives. The human brain is designed to take in information. The Universe is huge and full of incredible events and observable phenomena, all unfolding and taking place at once. If the human brain was to absorb the events and phenomena of the Universe all at once then the human brain would cease to function properly. This is called going insane. To make sure it does not go insane, the human brain absorbs information in small doses and places that information in context. The human brain does this by using a filter and that filter is called the telly.

Please return for the rest of the story of the human brain in the next post.
To be continued but, for now, here’s a song. . .

More Shite About the Telly

I loved writing about the telly in the last post. You can’t beat a bit of telly. I’m always sitting down for a dose telly myself. I’d go mad without it. Are you the same? I bet you are. Some people prefer the radio or books to the telly but you know what they call those people don’t you? They call them perverts. Other people say they spend their time online but sure what’s the internet for only discussing the telly?

There’s great stuff to be had on the telly. Did you see that thing the other night where the lads went mad and started shooting guns at each other? It was great. They were having some kind of disagreement about money or something and one of them pulls out a gun and off they went. They crashed a car in it too and an actress took off her blouse. It wasn’t the actress whose blouse I was hoping would come off, that was a different actress, but you can’t have everything.

There’s some rubbish on the telly of course. You can’t deny that. All those documentaries about countries that can’t get their act together or historical things about old kings who died of gout or something. I hate all that but at least it’s in the minority. Most telly is great. I love the shows where the people get their hopes and dreams crushed. Reality shows they call them because they actually took place in reality (whatever that is LOL!). I love the reality shows. I love seeing the hurt in the eyes of the contestants.

I like the soaps too. The soaps are great aren‘t they? I love the one where they stand around talking to each other angrily. That’s brilliant. They all live on this road and there have been so many murders, explosions and rapes on the road you’d think the police would have just permanently cordoned it off by now. I can’t remember what that particular soap is called. It might be called Balamory or maybe it’s The News. Either way it’s bloody good stuff. It’s mayhem on that road. Seriously bad vibes. But, y’know, that’s what life is like now isn’t it? It’s all a load of shite. Unless, you’re watching telly of course. The telly is great. The telly is absolutely fantastic. I prefer telly to my friends. My friends are a nice enough crowd but they’re a bit dull. They never fire guns or anything. Though, in fairness, one did take her blouse off once but I didn’t even notice. I was too busy watching the telly.

Click the link to read the comic I did with Ms. PureDaft de Barra. It’s about the tellies you can get now that make you feel like you’re actually in the shows and not sat at home on a crap old sofa eating stale digestives and wishing you were dead.
Here’s the link: DIMENSION 5!

Oh, and here’s a lovely song about how great the telly is: TV PARTY

. . .right, you can go now.

George Lee State Funeral

George Lee TD (2009 - 2010)

George Lee’s state funeral took place today. People who compulsively write to the Irish Times and the middleclass burghers of Dundrum solemnly lined the streets as the cortège passed by the ‘Town Centre’*. The procession then turned up the Kilmacud road, travelled on to Stillorgan before pausing a while in Donnybrook so Mark Little could say a few words on ‘dedication’ and ‘prescience’. ‘He was our Cassandra, our Obama, our latter day Collins on the battlefield of economics but he was taken from us. Like ‘the Big Fellow’ was, like Obama undoubtedly will be, George Lee was taken from us too soon, . . .too soon,’ said Mark before breaking down. ‘Too soon, too soon’, echoed those gathered in a plaintive refrain. ‘Why did he have to go? He’d have brought change. He was on the telly for God’s sake’, sobbed Mark before finding consolation in the embrace of an equally distraught Sharon Ni Bheolain. Also overcome with emotion, Olivia O’Leary darted from the crowd. Clutching George’s vestments, O’Leary collapsed onto the roadside wailing. She was then joined by Miriam O’Callaghan, Bryan Dobson, a metrosexual that presents The Den, Twink and someone off The Clinic. Combined, these garment grasping grovelling mourners made for an emotionally wrought tableaux worthy of Caravaggio.

The proceedings concluded with George arising from the back of the hearse, waving a final farewell to the assembled throng and ascending through the gates of Montrose. Amen.

(*now a subsidiary of Community Hubs TM: . . .Because We’re Watching You!)