FUGGER POST 500!

(pictured: an earlier example)

This is it, the 500^th post on Fugger, the people's blog (as long as that person is me). Post 500 is the last post of 2014 and Fugger is rampaging into its sixth year so what better time than now to look back on the classic posts of the past ...and boy what a past. It may be only six years online but let's not the forget the previous several million years during which Fugger told it like it is and raised a few chuckles along the way.

The first ever Fugger blogpost, ever, the first one EVER, was made by me when I was just a primordial mollusc. It was all about the latest craze that had hit the primordial mollusc world. That craze was 'movement'. 'You can go and get food, it's great,' blogged the mollusc me. 'No longer do you have to be stuck on a rock next to the same gobshite for the rest of your existence. With the power of movement you can start to sidle away from him and within a month or so he'll be four or maybe even four and half feet away,' evangelised the blogging mollusc that was I. The comments section beneath my inaugural mollusc post were less than enthusiastic (I used to get comments back then). 'It'll never catch on,' said another mollusc. 'Sorry, I hoped that I'd enjoy your blog but this is ridiculous,' pointed out yet another mollusc, 'movement requires too much energy and you have to eat to get that energy and the very act of eating itself uses up all the energy we get from it.' 'Hmm,' thought the molluscy me, 'Im off to a rough start.'

The blog didn't really pick up until I slithered out from the ocean and started to leave my posts in patterns in wet sand that I made with my franticly wriggling eel like body. Other organisms enjoyed my observations on how the sun came up and went down and how the sea went in and went out and how it's all really boring and we should expect more from existence. Then the limbs came and I started scratching my blogposts on rocks that eventually became cave homes that became rudimentary constructs that then became pyramids. Yes, a lot of those hieroglyphics are Fugger posts. Mainly taking the piss out of pharaohs and that.

Over time, Fugger has charted the follies and triumphs of our species. The invention of the wheel, the invention of the gun, space exploration and shite telly. I've said quite a lot and sometimes I wonder when I'll have said enough but then something comes along and I say something else. There is always more to say and there will be more and more ways to say it and the ways to indulge what is being said will evolve also for we are reaching a new time. A time when things are destroyed and new things are created. A significant time. A time that is already well underway. Everything we know is changing and change is coming faster than ever before and there is more and more and more of it. Soon, before you know it, we will have as much in common with who we are now as who we are now has in common with the primordial molluscs we once were. We are being led somewhere to create something that is currently beyond our comprehension. We were brought about to bring something about and that something really will be quite something.

To find out what that 'something' will be you will have to join me for the next blogpost, Fugger post 501. The first post of 2015. The first post of the new age. I'm going to let you know the destiny of humanity. I'm going to let you know why we are here and what awaits us. Seriously. The time has come. The day is upon us. Steel yourselves. We are emerging from the sea again.

JOHN IS ALONE THIS CHRISTMAS

This Christmas, as you enjoy the cheer and revelry to be found amongst family and friends, please spare a thought for John.

John can usually be found trampling about the coast of south county Dublin in his familiar long black coat. Sometimes he'll stop and chat with other local characters like Eoghan. You might have seen them, lost in discussion in the People's Park. Happily reminiscing over the good governance and moral authority of days gone by. Later in a given afternoon, you might see John in the window of the local Kylemore Cafe, scribbling his thoughts in a notebook whilst enjoying a slice of cake and a pot of tea. Tea for one.

But, what of Christmas day? On Christmas day the Kylemore will be closed and John will have nowhere to go. Eoghan will be ensconced at home with his new bird and the park gates will be chained shut. What will John do then?

Well, John will awake. He will arise. He will wash and he will attend mass, as will many of us. However, instead of spending the rest of the day in the company of loved ones, John will instead pass his time glaring at the few baubles he pinned above the mantle in a desperate nod to the season. No one told him it would be like this. This wasn't the Christmas McQuaid's Ireland envisioned for a man such as he. John will begin to feel a bit cheated. His mood will grow sour and soon he will be in high dudgeon, tapping wildly into the laptop ( ...as I am now ironically) on subjects ranging from the denigration of Dev to the ascendancy of bloody women.

So please spare a thought for John this Christmas as you settle back with family members to play boardgames, watch Doctor Who or enjoy whatever DVD RTE have rented for the evening. Please, spare a thought for John because . . .John is alone this Christmas.

The Future of Comics

I'm really sick of the way superheroes and the excessive use of the imagination debase the medium of sequential arts. So, you can imagine how pleased I was to pick up a copy of the ground breaking indie publication Tales from My Man-Bag. An example of its refreshing down to earthness can be found above. Click to enlarge and empathise.

A Lament...

I wrote this poem as a kind of lament. Like most good poems it doesn’t rhyme and its appeal is hard to determine. In fact, it might seem a bit shite at first but try reading it in a solemn Paul Durkinish kind of way and you’ll soon realise how good it is.

And so, without further ado, I give you:

ORANGE FACED LADY

My orange faced lady
Where did you go?
I used meet you at the close of day
Coming with determined face
From counter or desk among
Dundrum Town Centre resplendent
Kathleen Ni Houlihan dressed in Ralph Lauren
Optimism incarnate
Escalator rider
Nay sayer chider
Your name, was heard in the right places
You knew Conrad Gallagher
He sent you a fondue set for Christmas
And you kept it
Just for fun, for a laugh, a-ha-ha-ha
So look into my face Marie-Claire reader
And remember just who you are
For the light it does fade
The tangerine foundation gives way
A chill wind blows through the House of Fraser
It was all boots and bags
Now its riches back to rags
Don the shawl again and wanly peer from beneath it
Cut your cloth to your measure
For the wonderful dream is over
The kids’ karate lessons are for the chop
It’s Portumna for summer
Oh what a bummer
What could have been
A terrible beauty stillborn
Do you remember the back streets of Naples?
Just for fun, for a laugh, a-ha-ha-ha
Oompa Loompa doompadah dee
If you are wise you'll listen to me
My orange faced lady
Where did you go?

Pope Expresses Shock at Murphy Report Findings

They were at the kids you say? Interfering with them like?


(Falls silent, strokes chin)

That’s Awful. Seriously now, that’s terrible altogether.
. . . I had no idea.
I mean how could you? Who’d have dreamt?
Ah no. It’s very discommoding to hear that.

(Momentarily loses self in thought)

And did no one contact the gardai no? And what happened? Were there arrests? No? That’s awful. The poor kids. No one believed them at all? . . .shocking.

(Another reflective pause. Inhales. Sits up a bit and speaks assertively)

Well, there’ll be words I’m telling you. I’m not having this carry on, oh no. This is a shocking state of affairs. Did they not listen to Jesus at all?

(Sighs. Slumps back into seat. Falls silent again, stroking chin. Mumbles something. Gets to his feet. Wanders to window. Gazes out for a spell. Produces Ten Major from pouch in robe and lights one up. Turns. Quietly asks aide to bring two more sherries. Returns to seat.)

I’ll tell you what. Leave it with me. Give us a bit of elbow room and I’ll get things back ship shape. I’ll get the lads to reconnect with the words of our saviour and that kind of thing. That should stop all the funny business. How does that sound? Have we a deal? I’m as shocked now, . . .seriously, . . .I’ll be needing this sherry I tell you.

(Gulps down sherry. Discretely nods to aide. Aide escorts everyone from the room. Puts feet up. Reaches for digital remote control. Selects Sky Sports. Watches WWE wrestling event.)

Oh yeah, ...comics.

Out of date satire. Click. Enlarge. And sock it to the man daddio.

A word from our sponsor...

BADGER BAITING!
IT'S NOT JUST A TRADITION,
IT'S A HUMAN RIGHT!
GO ON, BATTER A BADGER TODAY!

A RAFT OF SOLUTIONS!

(Pictured: two members of the establishment to the rescue)

I hear the Taoiseach and ministers are awaiting the go ahead from IBEC re: the implementation of profit making flood relief ventures. It is proposed that water charges be introduced as an incentive to those with water logged homes/work-places to return said liquids to their (newly) privately owned places of origin or face financial penalties. This will 'incentivize' floodees to not just spend their time floating around the place on lilos expecting the exchequer to bail (pun unintended) them out. As the Taoiseach put it himself, 'Everyone's a winner'.

In addition to this measure, Cardinal Desmond Connell has been appointed to head up a National Emergency Flood Response Action Force Committee. This committee includes AIB's robust fiscal dynamo Colm Doherty and other luminaries of good governance, such as various members of The Knights of Columbanus and/or Opus Dei. 'It'll be like Thunderbirds but without the actual Thunderbirds', suggested the Taoiseach.

'Legitimate' needs will also be dealt with via the altruistic issuing of vouchers that will go 'some way' toward covering the cost of life-jackets from participating outlets. The vouchers will be awarded to means tested parties after they present the required documentation (utility bills, proof of address etc.). Soggy documentation will not be accepted going forward.

'We've set aside €67 for this now, so we're serious', mumbled the Taoiseach.

FORUM FUN :)

Last night I was online discussing my favourite TV show with my buddies on the forums. It's great the way the net has democratised the communications/cultural landscape going forward. Here's what went down...

THREAD TOPIC: MISSED LAST NIGHT'S SHOW!

SuzyMcQ

Registered User

Posts: 3,710

Hey guys, I missed the show yesterday because my Mom died. Did anyone record it or know where I can download it?
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TrumanTheHuman

Registered User

Posts: 9,675

Try Rapidshare. Should be up by now. Sorry to hear about your Mom. :(
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SuzyMcQ

Registered User

Posts: 3,711

Quote: "Try Rapidshare. Should be up by now. Sorry to hear about your Mom. :("

Got it from Rapidshare, Thanks Tru. Don't be sorry about Mom. She was kind of old and crazy anyways. ;)
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FatGuyJerkingOff

Novice

Posts: 28

I dig pussy!
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TrumanTheHuman

Registered User

Posts: 9,676

Mods, he's back again. Could you please remove the pussy remark?
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HappyCamper

Novice

Posts: 1

Hi, I'm a noob to the forum. Just wanted to say that I really enjoyed the show last night. I thought the bit with the crabs was a tiny bit unoriginal but I really liked the show.
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BigBadBrad

Registered User

Posts: 156,890

Quote: "I thought the bit with the crabs was a tiny bit unoriginal"

WTF??? The bit with the crabs was the best part of the show. I don't think you should come barging onto this forum (a FAN forum!!!) shouting about unoriginality when your post is like the most unoriginal thing I have ever seen IN MY LIFE!
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MidnightRambler

Registered User

Posts: 98,008

Quote: "I thought the bit with the crabs was a tiny bit unoriginal"

I agree with the Bradmeister. If you've gotta criticize the show at least say something constructive. I don't think it's enough to come on here and say it's unoriginal and not make any suggestions or anything.
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BikerGal

Registered User

Posts: 5,256

Quote: "I don't think it's enough to come on here and say it's unoriginal and not make any suggestions or anything."

Yeah. It's kind of cowardly.
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FatGuyJerkingOff

Novice

Posts: 29

Pussy Rocks!
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TrumanTheHuman

Registered User

Posts: 9,677

Mods, could you please do something about this pussy stuff?
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HappyCamper

Novice

Posts: 2

@BigBadBrad, MidnightRambler, BikerGal

Guys, I didn't mean to get you riled. I love the show, I just thought the crab bit was like I've seen on other shows but it's really not a big problem for me. I really love the show :)
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BigBadBrad

Registered User

Posts: 156,891

Quote: @BigBadBrad, MidnightRambler, BikerGal

Guys, I didn't mean to get you riled. I love the show, I just thought the crab bit was like I've seen on other shows but it's really not a big problem for me. I really love the show :)

Jesus H. Why don't you kill yourself or make yourself more intelligent?
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MidnightRambler

Registered User

Posts: 98,009

Quote: "Jesus H. Why don't you kill yourself or make yourself more intelligent?"

LMFAO!
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Necrophile'sValentine

Registered User

Posts: 70,015

Quote: "@BigBadBrad, MidnightRambler, BikerGal

Guys, I didn't mean to get you riled ... I really love the show :)

Faggot.
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StoneColdStunner

Registered User

Posts: 504

My brother used to date a girl who went to college with a guy who roomed with this other guy who had the same barber as a guy who works on the show and the barber told the guy who roomed with the guy who went to college with my bro's ex that the next show is going to be even better!
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BikerGal

Registered User

Posts: 5,257

Quote: "My brother used to date a girl who went to college with a guy who roomed with this other guy who had the same barber as a guy who works on the show and the barber told the guy who roomed with the guy who went to college with my bro's ex that the next show is going to be even better!"

I doubt the veracity of your sources.
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Necrophile'sValentine

Registered User

Posts: 70,016

Quote: "My brother used to date a girl who went to college with a guy who roomed with this other guy who had the same barber as a guy who works on the show and the barber told the guy who roomed with the guy who went to college with my bro's ex that the next show is going to be even better!"

The show's fine as it is. Your bro is full of shit. F**k you and your queer bro.
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FatGuyJerkingOff

Novice

Posts: 30

PUSSY! PUSSY! PUSSY!
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TrumanTheHuman

Registered User

Posts: 9,678

Mods, what's with the pussy stuff getting on here? This is like the hundredth time! }:[
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BikerGal

Registered User

Posts: 5,258

Quote: "Mods, what's with the pussy stuff getting on here? This is like the hundredth time! }:["

Yeah mods, we're trying to discuss the show here.
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FatGuyJerkingOff

Novice

Posts: 31

I'm a big Fat Guy and I'm jerking off!
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TrumanTheHuman

Registered User

Posts: 9,679

MODS!!!!
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FatherOfOne

Registered User

Posts: 445

I find much in life to be disappointing and I take no pleasure in adding last night's episode to that ever lengthening list, which also includes the state of public transport and my pathetic son Glen.
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HappyCamper

Novice

Posts: 3

Do they get the show in Japan? I bet the Japanese would love the show. LOL!
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BigBadBrad

Registered User

Posts: 156,892


Quote: "Do they get the show in Japan? I bet the Japanese would love the show. LOL!"

Seriously dude, are you still here?
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Necrophile'sValentine

Registered User

Posts: 70,017


Quote: "Do they get the show in Japan? I bet the Japanese would love the show. LOL!"

I have no doubt the Japs would love the show but think that you are a faggot.
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HappyCamper

Novice

Posts: 4

It's no wonder pepole find the net an unfriendly place with pepole like you guys on it.
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Necrophile'sValentine

Registered User

Posts: 70,018

Quote: "It's no wonder pepole find the net an unfriendly place with pepole like you guys on it."

Sure, but what's a 'pepole' exactly?
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HappyCamper

Novice

Posts: 5

Quote: "Sure, but what's a 'pepole' exactly?"

You know what I mean.
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Necrophile'sValentine

Registered User

Posts: 70,019

"Quote: You know what I mean."

I doubt anyone knows what you mean. You are meaningless.
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HappyCamper

Novice

Posts: 6

You make this forum an unfriendly place.
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Necrophile'sValentine

Registered User

Posts: 70,020

"Quote: You make this forum an unfriendly place."

For you buddy, the world must be an unfriendly place.
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HappyCamper

Novice

Posts: 7

I'm never posting here again.
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Necrophile'sValentine

Registered User

Posts: 70,021

"Quote: I'm never posting here again."

My work is done.
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PrivateSectorEmployee

Registered User

Posts: 657

I'm happy with the show the way it is but my wife says she wishes it was a little longer. What do you guys think?
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Necrophile'sValentine

Registered User

Posts: 70,022

"Quote: I'm happy with the show the way it is but my wife says she wishes it was a little longer. What do you guys think?."

I think that's your wife's way of saying she wishes your cock was a little longer.
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PrivateSectorEmployee

Registered User

Posts: 658

Quote: "I think that's your wife's way of saying she wishes your cock was a little longer."

Believe me pal, my wife's pretty happy on that score. ;)
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Necrophile'sValentine

Registered User

Posts: 70,023

Quote: "Believe me pal, my wife's pretty happy on that score. ;)"

That's because your wife is imaginary.
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PrivateSectorEmployee

Registered User

Posts: 659

I'm putting you on my ignore list NV. I didn't come here to be insulted.
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Necrophile'sValentine

Registered User

Posts: 70,024

Quote: "I didn't come here to be insulted."

That's what you think. Humming bird dick.
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Necrophile'sValentine

Registered User

Posts: 70,025

Wifeless dirtwad.
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Necrophile'sValentine

Registered User

Posts: 70,026

Dirtwad, you there?
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Necrophile'sValentine

Registered User

Posts: 70,027

Hello. . .
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Necrophile'sValentine

Registered User

Posts: 70,028

Hey Assholes!
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Necrophile'sValentine

Registered User

Posts: 70,029

Hello, guys, where you all at?
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Necrophile'sValentine

Registered User

Posts: 70,030

F**k you guys.
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Necrophile'sValentine

Registered User

Posts: 70,031

Hello? Anyone there?
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Necrophile'sValentine

Registered User

Posts: 70,032

Hello?
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FatGuyJerkingOff

Novice

Posts: 32

PUUUUUSSSSSSSAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYY!
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MODERATOR - THREAD LOCKED.

FOR THE LADS!

Thought it was about time this blog was put to some practical use so here are reviews of some recent releases from the world of adult entertainment.

BUKAKE KNIGHTS:

A medieval theme to this one. Problematic ex-child look-a-like Sasha Grey adopts attire akin to a tarty wench circa 1200AD. She is loaded into a large catapult device, launched from a turret over battlement walls and lands in a moat of man juice.

Overall Verdict - Disconcerting.

GANG BANG, THANK YOU MA'AM:

It's hard to know if there's actually a woman in most of this one. It's really just a sea of undulating gonads and what have you. The camera man seems happy enough but all the wobbling hairy arses etc. put me off my dinner (I like to eat in front of the laptop, which guests and family members find anti-social but, y'know, it saves time). I think I saw a girl's toe amongst the scrum at one stage but it's hard to be sure. The toe may have belonged to the girl who featured at the start of the movie. She was very pretty but seemed a touch slow. I may have heard her a few times during the action too. She was saying something about being a 'naughty slut'. Strangely, Popeye's laughter also seemed to permeate the soundtrack???

Overall Verdict - Discombobulating.

STRICT BIAATCHES:

Daphne and Monica (two of my favourites) whack the crap out of each other with an assortment of objects that include table tennis bats (good), yard brushes (disturbing) and dustbin lids (quite sexy). There is also a bit where Daphne fires a flare gun at Monica, which is downright irresponsible behaviour when you think about it. The film seems to be in Dutch with Lithuanian subtitles which is odd as both Daphne Delites and Monica Havens are American ladies.

Overall Verdict - Harmless Fun.

Closing Statement:

When people complain about adult entertainment being 'exploitative' they should bear in mind the amount of people that go on from this genre to make something of their lives. Did you know that 32% of practising marine biologists are former porn stars? Also, both the world of orthodontics and the legal profession are chock-a-block with familiar faces that got their start in adult entertainment. Gives new meaning to the phrases 'open wide' and 'send him down' doesn't it? (Insert 'LOL' here)

P.S.: I also watched THIS ONE recently. It's awful. I couldn't even get anything going at half mast.

Have a Happy and Safe Halloween!

Halloween is a fun time but it is important to be safe. Remember, fireworks are dangerous and can cause serious injury. Attend only supervised professional firework displays and always stand at a safe and considerable distance. Risk of accidents aside, it is also worth bearing in mind that the unsanctioned possession/use of fireworks is illegal, the penalties for which include a large fine and/or custodial sentence.

Children must also Play Safe on the night. Dressing up and calling to the doors of complete strangers is a big 'No No' and can result in assault by child molesters and/or abduction by other demented individuals - such as crazed spinsters who never had children of their own. In addition, we have all heard the stories about the poisoned 'treats' that are so often provided to youngsters during this holiday. Try not to contribute to the escalating rate of child mortality caused by these odious deeds. Instead, arrange an organised activity programme for your children in a secure environment. This is far safer than permitting minors to stray around the neighbourhood, leaving them vulnerable to 'Stranger Danger'. Also, the Department of Justice has introduced anti-begging legislation so donning masks and looking for 'treats' could well result in penalties such as large fines and/or custodial sentences.

Having arranged your programme of activities in a secure venue of choice, ensure that all attendees are checked for swine flu. Also, have a basin of regularly refreshed clean warm water and a dispenser of disinfectant handwash at the entrance to your Halloween party.

Have party attendees checked for criminal records before issuing invites. This can be done by contacting the gardai, explaining the situation and providing them with a list of the names and addresses of everyone you want screened. This especially applies to any children's entertainers who may be employed for the evening. Ask yourself, what type of life must a person have led for them to arrive at a point where they have been left with no recourse but to become a children's entertainer? There may well be criminality involved. John Wayne Gacy (pictured above) was a children's entertainer. I rest my case.

Ensure the code to your panic room is learnt by heart or within easy access should any drunken intruders/biker gangs arrive on the scene or should the John Wayne Gacy type turn out to be a 'wrong un'.

Ensure that the kettle is unplugged and that there are no pots of boiling water or bubbling chip pans on the stove. How many more children must we bury because their guardians did not have the foresight to do this? Chip pan related deaths run a close third to poisoned 'treats' and errant fireworks as a major killer of Ireland's youth. THERE IS NO MORE ROOM IN THE CEMETERY!

Last, but not least, under NO circumstances should the offspring of neighbours be permitted to enter your party. Neighbours should be kept at a safe distance lest they start to take liberties, pry into your personal affairs or expect you to maintain a consistent friendly demeanour toward them. Also, John Wayne Gacy (still pictured above, . . .just look at him, . . .Jesus) was someone's neighbour once. You are already running the risk of him gaining access under the guise of a children's entertainer, don't increase his odds. Admit only the offspring of people you respect or who can further your career/social standing. Consider the networking opportunities an added bonus to a Happy Halloween.

So, that's it. Fugger's Halloween safety tips going forward. Oh, before I sign off, there is one last tip: Enjoy yourself, it is Halloween after all.

For a list of festive alternatives to risky Halloween activities please visit PlaySafe.com.

Health is Wealth!

I went to the doctor the other day and he told me I was going to die. When I asked him how, he said 'I don't know, I've just got this feeling'. I asked him if he could at least give me a check up to see if anything could be done but he said he didn't think it would be any use.

I started to get a bit worked up about the whole thing, which I think is understandable, and demanded that he at least tell me how long I had left to live. 'I don't know,' he said 'about half an hour, maybe three quarters'. I began to raise my voice, loudly insisting that he could do more but the doctor just asked me to leave. 'You're freaking me out,' he said, 'and I don't want you dying in here and then all the patients outside thinking I killed you by accident because I'm a crap doctor'.

I was charged €60 as I left.

Speaking of matters health, why not check out this great rediscovered episode of the Windell Comics superhero THE HAT?

BERTIE AHERN

'Ah, lay off now. I did me best by yiz. I'm just a man. A normal Drumcondra fella. Love the rasher sandwiches and the Bass. Did you go see the Dubs? Man U played a blinder there, absolute blinder. The daughter likes writing the stories. Loves the bukes. Makes a few bob from that. Did an old buke meself there. A normal enough few pages. Nothing special. A modest buke of recollections and things. Do you like a buke yourself? Mine is seventeen euro. Rasher sandwiches.

Good times. Good times were had by all. There were a few blips on the landscape but we always had the few euro for the Bass. Don't mind the loopers and the whingers, the failures, failed people. Don't mind them feckin' eejits. Feckin' failures. I'd rivet them! Do you hear me? DO YA? I'd rivet that shower! I'LL RIVET THE LOT OF YE!!!!

Ah no, I'm only coddin'. Love an old cod. I love a cod but I'd prefer a Bass. That's a fish joke. Did you get that? It has a double meaning, you can read it two ways. Man U. Rasher sandwiches. Ash Wednesday. Ash Wednesday's great. Big lump of ash on the noggin there. Smudge. Big smudge of it there and then off we go for rasher sandwiches. Great days. We did right by yiz anyway. Brian's fumbled the ball a bit, not too much. Terrible when that lad painted him doin a shite in the nip. That can't have been easy. Lehmans didn't help either and now there's the uncanny darkness overtaking the place. I'd rivet that darkness. I'd rivet it but I'd rivet Higgins first! I'd rivet that bollix! Rivet him! RIVET!

The future? What of the future you ask? Well, we'll wait and see what comes. I'll still be here, still being Bertie, still watching the matches, drinking the Bass, but I might be doin' it in the Aras. Yiz still love me don't yiz? Yiz still love the Bertie. You'd love to have me up the Aras wouldn't yiz? Oh yeah, yous would n' all. Rasher sandwiches.'

GREENS WILL NEGOTIATE WITH MASSIVE SPIDER GODDESS

In the hopes of implementing some of their policies, the Green Party recently spoke of a possible coalition between themselves and spider Goddess Nyx. 'As it stands Nyx has no mandate, if we make her seem credible then maybe we can get something positive in return,' said John Gormley at the Green Party conference last week. 'Let's face it,' he continued, 'she's hardly any worse for the nation than FF.'

In consultation with the interesting thinkers that comprise their party membership, the Greens have made a list of rock bottom terms which would absolutely have to be included in a programme for government should one be formed with the telekinetic, genocidal, horrifyingly large, arachnid, spectral freak.

The terms are as follows. . .

1: Vending machines that serve organically sourced vegetarian quiche to be installed in all significant locations of social interaction around the country.

2: The state issue an apology to badgers for the part it played in leaving the cruel pastime of baiting go unaddressed.

3: A monument to bikes and the people who cycle them to be erected outside the General Post Office.

4: A proposal be made to European Parliament that harsh economic sanctions be brought against the French for their rampant consumption of escargots.

5: That the constitution be altered so as to recognise creatures and animals as 'forest, field and kennel dwelling individuals of other species'.

6: That loud lorries stop travelling through Dublin South-East.

In response to this proposal, Nyx mummified a Green Party delegation in webbing, sucked them dry of essential fluids and hung their petrified husks from the railings of Government buildings going forward.

The Thing in the Road.

Seeking a solution to the aforementioned supernatural/paranormal tomfoolery/high-jinx that is afoot in my town and spreading throughout the country at large, I have found myself consulting the work of Lady Gregory. In her attempt to assemble an archive of Irish folk beliefs, Lady Gregory spent a large part of the early 20th century travelling the hills of Sligo collecting tales of Fortean phenomena said to have been experienced by the various bog men she found there. It was amongst the folk wisdoms of these first hand accounts that I hoped to find some remedy to our current economic/occult predicament.

Gregory records an odd event that took place late one February night on a muddy road that ran raggedly from the foot of Ben Bulben. The tale of The Thing in the Road became one of the most celebrated paranormal incidents of its time and is even said to have once been referred to by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle himself, during a drunken tirade launched at his wife.

Anyway, without further ado, I will reproduce the accounts, as recorded by Lady Gregory, of the people who were actually there on the night. If you catch sight of anything that may be of assistance amongst the insanity of the garbled rustic parlance below please let me know.

The Thing in the Road: testimonies by boggers of a fiend that they happened upon whilst drunkenly travelling a pitch dark path at four o'clock in the morning (possibly after taking mushies).

Husband: 'There was something in the road that night. You could tell it was there because it wasn't somewhere else. It had a shape but it wasn't like a shape and it rolled forward like a duck doesn't or a goose either for that matter. It was as big as it was small and twice that size again. It wasn't comely, you wouldn't go toward it.'

Wife of Husband: 'I saw it also. At first I thought it was a cow but it wasn't. It was nothing like a cow and there was no reason to think it was a cow at all. It wasn't a cow or anything like that. It wasn't a horse either. I thought it was a cow and it could've been I suppose but for the fact that it wasn't.'

Brother of Wife of Husband: 'It was fierce. It looked fierce and it smelled it also. There was a stench of fierceness in the road and that is all I will say on the matter.'

Wife of Brother of Wife of Husband: 'My heart was above me at the sight of it. My heart was above me and to either side of me and behind and below me and there before me at the sight of it on the road.'

Father of Wife of Brother of Wife of Husband: 'I'll neither confirm nor deny that I saw it but see it I did and it wasn't there at all.'

Brother of Father of Wife of Brother of Wife of Husband: 'I thought it was something the faery ride upon. It had no hooves. It let a tremendous belch. It called me a gee-bag.'

Random Bogger: It was faery but not good faery, not comely, you would be reluctant to make its acquaintance. There was badness to it. You should never cross a faery's path. Never close a gate upon a faery or speak badly of one's footwear. It called us gee-bags. I didn't like it at all. It might have been a protestant. You know, the grass is so thick there you could grease your boots with it.'

The End.

I'm not sure if reading endless streams of this Lady Gregory stuff is helping. Beyond my window I can hear the pitiful wails of a nation being poisoned, paralysed and slowly eaten alive by the hideous scuttling mega-spider that is Nyx. There must be something that can be done, something, . . .going forward.

'Giant Spider Collapsed Housing Market' Claims Councillor

Telekinetic spider Goddess Nyx's continuing rampage has spread into the Irish Midlands causing councillor Gutty (Gut-Bag) O'Gorman (Fianna Fine-a Gael Fail) to claim that the paranormal assault is now the single largest contributor to the collapse of property prices in the area. O'Gorman, a long time advocate of the Jackson Pollock school of land rezoning, said on local radio that 'some minor misjudgements by certain parties in the past may have played a part in the decline of property values but really it's the spider that's to blame. Who'd want to be living in a place overrun by supernatural entities and malignant arachnid demons looming down on you from the heavens? Let's get real on this issue'.

Naturally, Nyx's effect on the locality is also of great concern to people living there. Taking their first step on the property ladder, James and Sorcha Healy moved out to the commuter belt. Now they find themselves deep in negative equity and unable to leave the house for fear of an Old Hag that lays in wait in their front garden. 'Property around here is worth next to nothing what with the goblins coming down everyone's chimneys and the human skeletons hanging from creepy grey webbing in the sky' says James. 'It's so true,' agrees Sorcha, 'the amount of money we've invested in this place, . . .I mean, we may as well have burned all our cash and gone to live on the North Pole in a house made of shit'. Neighbour, Shane Curley, concurs, 'as a private sector employee I find myself thinking of the sacrifices I have made already, I doubt Missus Colossal Spider Goddess out there even cares. Why doesn't she go attack the knackers on some corpo estate or eat one of those over-funded libraries no one goes to?'

Tourism has also been badly effected by the recent transformation of the Midlands into a web strewn supernatural jungle of death. Just listen to this disgruntled visitor from Germany: LINK. I doubt he'll be back.

'The spider will be the ruination of the country, don't we have sprays for this sort of thing?' asked an emotional O'Gorman before his radio interview concluded with the arrival of a Hat Man in the studio and the ensuing sounds of petrified screams, cardiac arrest and soul consumption.

Mummy . . .is . . .HERE!

Tonight, more so than every other night, a great cloak will be thrown over the heavens and darkness will fall. It will be the time of Nyx, the Goddess of night, and she will slide up from the depths of our sleeping minds and crawl like a colossal spider across the land, casting a shadow blacker than a starless night.

Animal headed children will twirl and shriek in the air amongst spinning dead leaves and the psychic transmissions of disturbed rests. 'Mummy is here! Mummy is here!' the children will scream with malign delight and then unmask to reveal themselves to be the offspring of Nyx. The goat faced girl is Lyssa, the Goddess of Madness, the ravager of reason and comprehension. She takes the mind, every individual's only true haven from her expanding realm of unreason. She will slip into your head and stomp and whirl until nothing is where it should be. She will ensure you never again escape the grip of Phobetor, the pig faced boy, her nephew and the God of Nightmares, who bangs remorselessly and senselessly upon the shrill keyboard of rational cognitive processes.

Some of us will perish this night when the rabbit faced Thanatos unmasks, a monstrously deformed child, the God of death, who will drag us forever into a great unknown where science and empirical determination mean less than nothing. Where you are but a frequency in a hissing static discord of paranormal incomprehensibility.

And this night will howl and rage forever and we will all be its victims for the Sun is dead (kicked to death in a shop doorway as it slept a drunken vagrant's sleep). Screaming cats and birds will join every car alarm in the land, singing a panicked song of despair, an eternal cacophonous nocturne, a permanent soundtrack to this Hell on Earth. The agencies of the state will weep. Holy men will plead to a God long since murdered and then, worst of all, Nyx will crack open the Universe like a rotten egg and her summoned army will come oozing out.

Maybe you've seen the foot soldiers of Nyx, creeping from the dark recesses of your room and looming over your frozen bed bound body. The Old Hag, the Shadow People or maybe the Hat Man. Now they are here to stay, released forever from the nocturnal parole of sleep paralysis, defying the left hemisphere of the brain. These Archetypes of Twilight, these members of the Jungian Collective Unconsciousness, will become the new cops, the new teachers, the new doctors, nurses and priests. Un-Civil servants in a new state of infinite chaos.

It is happening in my town and will happen in yours. I warned you all. I wrote letters to both the Irish Times and The Herald, but it did no good. People scoffed, some mocked, Madame editor saw fit not to publish my missive . . . and now it has happened. The Twilight that ruled our pagan past has re-emerged. The shadow of the spider is spreading and soon it will swallow reality whole. We are all to be dead deranged dreamers and Nyx will rule this dominion for eternity.

. . . Eddie Hobbs can't save you now!

You were warned.

A SUNNY TALE.

One day, like every other day, the Sun climbed up over the edge of the Earth, heaved his big burning body into the sky and made it morning. The cats all stood on the rooftops to greet him, the flowers lifted their pretty heads to see him and the birds sang his praises.

As the Sun continued to clamber up higher into the sky, people awoke and the Sun's celestial progress gave temporal cohesion to their lives. 'Now it is time to go to work', said the watches and clocks and they knew this because the Sun told their forefathers, the sundials, and the knowledge was passed down over the generations. 'Now it is time for lunch', said the watches and clocks later that day. 'Now it is time for the news to be on the telly', they said later on ...and so on and so on.

All day the Sun would roll up over everyone's heads until it came time to slide back down the other side of the Earth. What the Sun did when he vanished behind the horizon no one knew but I'll tell you. Every evening, when the Sun's work was done, he went and got pissed out of his mind. 'I'm fucking parched', the Sun would say and tumble like a big scorchy ball toward a hostelry that resides in the gloomy cosmic depths beneath our wonderful flat world. All the planets of the solar system would be there, drinking, playing darts, chatting each other up and complaining about politics. On this night, the Sun glided into the bar and took a seat next to his best pal Jupiter, who the Sun thought was wonderful fun. 'You're a gas planet', the Sun often told Jupiter, causing Jupiter to say, 'tell me something I don't know' and everyone would laugh except Mars who was usually just in the bar to start a fight.

That night, Venus was sitting at a nearby table and the Sun occasionally glanced over at her because he fancied her loads but was a bit shy. Sadly, Venus had no regard for the Sun. 'Mr. Hot Stuff over there thinks the world revolves around him', said Venus of the Sun to Pluto, who was always happy to hear a bad word said about somebody because he was bitter after being demoted from his status as a planet and relegated to being a mere floaty thing, no better than that eejit the Moon. Anyway, the Sun overheard what Venus said to Pluto and his heart sank. He decided to drown his sorrows in copious amounts of booze.

When closing time came the Sun tumbled out of the bar and tried to find his way home but he couldn't because he was so drunk. He span off one way and then another but it was no use, he was utterly lost. 'I think this is Ranelagh', said the Sun to himself upon spotting a familiar Spar, but it was not Ranelagh it was . . .well who knows where it was. 'This is awful', thought the Sun about his efforts to discover his whereabouts and he took out his mobile phone to call a taxi but his mobile was banjaxed. 'Oh no', said the Sun, 'my mobile has melted in my pocket because I am such a hot fellow, I'm up shit's creek for sure now'. Eventually tiring of futilely spinning this way and that, the Sun decided to settle down for a wee sleep in the doorway of the Spar.

The next morning on Earth (or what should have been the next morning on Earth) found the cats, birds and flowers all eagerly awaiting the Sun's return but return he did not. The creatures and plants did not know what to do and grew quite worried. The humans were less worried, awaking and going about their usual business with the help of the watches and the clocks that no longer needed the advice of the Sun. As it turns out, the Sun was kicked to death as he slept by two random weirdos who were good at sports, went to private schools and took amphetamines (this sometimes happens to people who sleep in shop doorways and is said to be frowned upon by the law but I've yet to see anyone do time for it - LOL!). The Sun never visited the Earth again.

The end results of this rambling chain of events were that The Big Issue magazine ran an article on how shop doorway dwellers really should not be kicked to death and someone mentioned what happened to the Sun on the telly. Some arty types and the odd child said they missed the Sun and environmental whingers started a panic about how no more food would grow but the food did grow, hydroponically, and everything was grand because the human race are a great species that can overcome any problem except perhaps the problem of living with each other and their petty neuroses.

As for the solar system, well that dispersed with Jupiter and the other planets going roughly in one direction and Earth spinning off in another. 'I never liked that guy anyway', said Jupiter of Earth and the other planets all agreed except for Mars who was just contrary and Venus who secretly thought the Earth was gorgeous.

The End.

Parting, Sweet Sorrow Shock!

I don’t know about you readers, but I am very much looking forward to the impending demise of Kerry Katona. Mourning her promises to be even more cathartic than judging her has been. In a year when we have lost both Jade and Jacko, Kerry’s death would make 2009 a hat-trick year for Celebrity Bereavement.

I heard about Celebrity Bereavement on one of those afternoon TV shows that are
watched by home-keepers with a moment to spare, elderly viewers, the chronically
unemployed, or those too horribly disfigured to leave the house. A psychologist was on (I’d seen her on Big Brother and she’s pretty insightful) explaining the phenomenon of Celebrity Bereavement. She said that, unlike the grief caused by normal bereavement, Celebrity Bereavement (or CB) causes a kind of super grief. In fact, the amount of grief caused by CB is directly proportionate to the height of the celebrity’s media profile at the time of their passing. For example, Super Grief (or SG) can be caused by the loss of someone extremely high profile like Diana Spencer (a.k.a. the Princess of Hearts) whereas personalities that rank lower on the celebrity scale merely incur a kind of Extra Grief (or EG). Imagine if Kevin Keegan died, EG would be a bit like that.

The psychologist on the afternoon TV show said that perfect conditions for CB include the celebrity in question’s death being sudden and dramatic, perhaps with a tinge of mystery to add a layer of intrigue. ‘Something to make us cock our eyebrows as the tears run down our cheeks,’ was how the psychologist put it. Was Diana murdered? Was Jacko given too much OxyContin with his cocoa? Was Rod Hull pushed? . . .that type of thing.

The psychologist also said it's preferable if the death of the celebrity rehabilitates their reputation to some extent. ‘Everyone loves cutting celebs down to size, it’s natural and there is no shame in it’ said the psychologist, ‘then, when the celebrity is suitably humbled, all we have to do is wait for them to die and we can wail about how they were just like us or how they were misunderstood and so on, it’s great’. Jade Goody went from racist oik to patron saint of the smear test, Michael Jackson went from being a kiddie fiddler back to being the King of Pop, Diana Spencer went from being a right royal strumpet to England’s Rose and Kerry Katona will go from being a coke snorting hussy to an understandably flawed young woman who temporarily overcame her difficult formative years to become both Queen of the Jungle and Mum of the Year, not to mention the face of the Iceland frozen food retail chain. Oh yes, Kerry’s death is going to provide 2009’s third CB emotional work out. Pity it couldn’t have been Britney, bit of a lost chance there although she’s not out of the woods yet. Anyway, I’ll be happy to make do with our martyr to mumdom Kerry Katona.

Incidentally, when asked how the death of someone like Martin Bashir would rate on the CB index, the psychologist said something like, ‘no one will really notice except maybe his wife or people who expect him to show up at work, . . .and even that’s a maybe.’

So, roll on Kerry in a coffin and let's hear it for Celebrity Bereavement.

Letters to the Editor

OK, things have gotten out of hand and I've been forced to send strongly worded letters of complaint to both the Times and the Herald concerning this previous post and the post directly below this one .


Here is the letter I sent to The Irish Times:

Madam,
I would like to join intellectual dreadnaught John Waters in his lamentation of John Charles McQuaid’s Ireland, an Ireland where the young respected their elders. It may be unfashionable in these days of rap music and political correctness to assert the old adage ‘spare the rod and spoil the child’ but, in light of recent events, unfashionable I must be.

I live in a peaceful coastal town. We are a respectable community that plies its trade during the summer months ensuring visitors feel at ease, enjoy their chips and have ready access to change for the slot machines. Welcome as these revenue generating visitors are, I wish to take issue with the behaviour of their offspring. Our gentle community has recently become besieged by levitating children in disturbing animal masks who worship Satan and have the power of telekinesis. These children have taken to floating into our homes in the dead of night and rearranging furniture in a topsy-turvy and somewhat poltergeist like fashion. Now, this may be all the rage in the cosmopolitan Educate Together crack dens of Dublin, where I presume these children originate, but here we call it trespassing or, worse still, haunting.

As if that wasn’t enough, these paranormal bowsies have taken to reviving the dead from the local cemetery and sending them bewilderedly staggering into the town. I myself received a knock on the door and opened it to discover my late Aunt Dotty in a confused state of advanced decomposition. I brought the poor dear in, gave her a cup of tea and then drove her back up to her final resting place and reburied her. She took some convincing when it came to getting her to lie back in her coffin and let the soil cover her up. The experience was more than a little distressing for both of us. I can still hear her muffled wails as I pass the graveyard on my way to Super Value. The hoodlums are there too of course, revolving in the air above the church, pointing down at us and laughing. Our parish priest, one Father Jim Fondle, did intend on having ‘words’ with the youngsters but, as you will note from the enclosed photograph (blog readers see above), things did not go well.

The authorities seem intimidated by these little monsters and become strangely withdrawn when requested to address the situation. I have been in touch with social services and they are currently endeavouring to track down the parents. Incidentally, should not these juvenile occultists be back at school by now as holiday season is over, or is school attendance considered ‘square’ by the wife-swapping sodomites of D4? . . . but I digress.

As a perpetually persecuted and neurologically beleaguered victim of PC Ireland, Mr. Waters would no doubt concur when I say that the time has come to call a halt to the libertine social experiment of recent decades. An experiment that has given rise to such evils as rampant drug abuse, gay marriage, strident women, levitating Satanic children and Montessori. Would this rot have set in had we not lost sight of McQuaid’s Ireland?

I’ll finish my missive with a suggestion, perhaps we should introduce the birch like they have on the Isle of Man? I saw some pictures of the Isle of Man in a brochure once and not one levitating, animal headed, devil worshipping delinquent was to be seen.

Is mise le meas, yours in indignant outrage, etc.
(Name and address with editor)

And here's my letter to the Herald:

Dear Herald,
Your paper is deadly and I think we should hit kids with sticks.

Cheers lads,
(Name and address with editor)

Now, as letters to the paper so often are, that should put a stop to things. Otherwise we'll have no alternative but to talk to the mother directly.

They cannot stop us sing!