THE LAST POST

(pictured above: Them)

I was trying to write a new post for the blog, to improve on slipping standards, when in trundled The Mother and started staring at me. 'Ah now don't be distracting me The Mother', I said to The Mother, 'can't you see that I'm trying to maintain our existence on this plane by creating a narrative that makes up for the heavy handed analogies and scanty wee posts that have featured on fugtheworld.blogspot of late?' But The Mother just continued to stare at me with eyes that looked a tad ...mournful.

'Now Mister Fugger', said The Mother, 'you've said all you have to say and there's no point repeating yourself or saying things just for the sake of it. If you do that you'll end up no better than the telly. The time has come to cease blogging. It is even evident in the lacklustre and relatively LOLless way this very post, the one we are in right now, is written'. I was a little astonished. Not by what The Mother had said but by the fact that she had called me 'Mister Fugger' and used a shitey word like 'cease'. This indicated her seriousness and I knew that it must be the end, a moment that had been prepared for. 'Are They here for me The Mother?' I asked The Mother. 'They are indeed, They are in the kitchen Mister Fugger', answered The Mother. I put the laptop aside and went to meet Them. The Mother followed.

There They were in the kitchen, standing by the backdoor, waiting to return me to my own world, a world where there is nothing to say because there is nothing happening because there is nothing to do but at least you're not wasting anyone's time or your own. I turned to The Mother and thanked her for the interesting discourse she had provided over the years and I complimented The Mother on the grace she had always shown when bested by my superior intellect. I think The Mother may have rolled her eyes but it was hard to tell as we were soon hugging and she was patting me on the back. I found it hard to break from The Mother's embrace and realised that this was because she had been decommissioned. They approached The Mother, wrapped her in tarpaulin, and placed her frozen form in the cupboard next to the ironing board.

'Do I really have to go?' I asked Them. They nodded. 'Won't I be missed?' I queried. They shook their heads. 'But what about all the poontang I'll be leaving behind', I pleaded. They laughed heartily and shook their heads again in mirthful resignation. 

They escorted me to the LOLevator that stood in the centre of the garden, a beam of light from above, and shoved me inside, kicking me in the arse as They did so. 'Hey!' I protested but They just laughed and muttered something about poontang.

I LOLevated up and away through the tropo strato meso and other spheres and into deep space. Then I zoomed beyond deep space and into the outskirts of shallow space that gradually reduces to non-space that results in the great zilch that resides in the nowhere zone that sits in the mouth of the ultra-void that isn't even there because nothing is there and there isn't even a 'there' for there to be nothing and there isn't even nothing because nothing is a concept and concepts need to be perceived and to be perceived there has to be something to do the perceiving and all there is is me and even I am not here an...y...m...o... ... . . .

...so long and thanks for all the fish.

THIS IS HUGE GUYS!!!

Seriously guys, this is huge. This shocking footage went viral yesterday – watch the video:

Needless to say it made the news...

Let's just take a look at what happened again so we can get our heads around what took place... And now let's hear about what happened from the family concerned...

Now, there's a lot to discuss here. I know your mind is racing. Has the child fully recovered? Should SeaWorld continue letting visitors feed the dolphins? Should there be a monument built to commemorate the event? Might this event be a fitting subject for a musical? Might the dolphin be a paedophile that was attempting to abduct the child? Should we place the dolphin on the paedophile register? How do you spell paedophile anyway? An bhfuil cead agam go dti an leithreas? Should we bomb the dolphins like we do the sand niggers?

'Um, Mom, I'm outta fish?' Those words will haunt me until the end of my days. Let's talk guys. How do you feel about this event? Twitter the hashtag on Facebook and text in your thoughts to the central death hub mind voider: @jimmysaviledolphinummomimouttafish#thisisworsethansyria#

Here is the shocking event again in HD:

What a world we live in ladies and gentlemen, ...what a world we live in.

SPECIAL GUEST BLOGGER: ADOLF HITLER

There you go now. He's looking well. Seems to have mellowed a bit too thank God.

WHAT RICHARD WORE @ FUGGER FASHIONS

(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 31^st, 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:

LOL?

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.

LOL?

REALM BEYOND REASON

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.

JUSTICE HAS BEEN SERVED

 

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.