FOR THE LADIES...

Seeing as the last post was lads only, this post is strictly for the ladies (and I know a lot of broads visit this equal opportunities blog).

Ladies, simply enlarge the image above, print and pin up on your wall. It's the one you've been waiting for. To quote the mother, 'mmmmm, dishy'.

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.

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.

HOLY BUY OUT!

Garganex Corp. CEO, Howard Garganex.

Garganex Chemicals Corp. has bought out the Catholic Church.

Due to scandals involving the harbouring of demented sex criminals, market insiders have long believed the Vatican to be merely dragging the once lucrative Jesus franchise through the mud. Needless to say, shares have plummeted. However, like an ever vigilant carrion bird, the Garganex Corporation has swooped down.

The advantages of this new acquisition to the Garganex Corporation are many. The riches of the Vatican bank are an obvious windfall, not to mention the rights to all of the characters that appear in the Holy Bible. You can soon expect to see Noah, Moses and even Jesus Christ advertising Garganex related goods. The Pope, former CEO and money-changer in chief of the Catholic Church, said that he is happy with the buy out as it provides him with the revenue required for a multitude of out of court settlements. These settlements will save his holiness from a long term in prison for facilitating the world's largest ever paedophile ring. 'It's a liberation really,' said Pope Benedict, 'now we can quit wasting time pontificating about theological mumbo jumbo and spend more time doing things we really enjoy, like putting the boot into the queers, all that stuff'.