New Leaves.

I was fuckin' mouldy last night,in the screaming horrors.I had so
much drink aboard that every time I leant forward some of it
spilled out.No particular reason,availability and a willing body
and mind is all it took.But thats it, game over,end of.I have seen
the light both literally and figuratively,a blinding flash.

It was about 9.30,I suppose as I staggered outside to get a taxi
home when I stumbled and fell across the footpath.It was like a
scene in one of those shows where people send in tapes of som-
one making a bollix of themselves,where the person is falling
forward for ages before collapsing in a heap.It was when I tried
to get up and rolled over on my back,struggling like a tortoise,
that the blinding flash hit me and my whole life flashed before
me.A lifetime of evil thoughts and deeds unfolded before my
eyes as if it was a David Lean epic and I resolved there and
then to change my life.

Since this blog is a fairly close depiction of my life,it too will
show all the changes manifest in me.Next week I propose to
reveal my real identity and begin a more family oriented type
of diary/blog.I will discuss community affairs and publish a
recipe each day,starting on Monday with my recipe for whole
stuffed dog.I will also be keeping you informed about my
fights against alcohol and cigarettes and in general about my
efforts to be a better person.

So lets do it together,one day at a time.



Update ;Bollocks , I didn't mean to publish that till tomorrow.

A day in the Country.

I was walking the land at Aisling when I met Larry,a neighbour-
ing farmer.Over the weekend I had driven down to my estate
in Wicklow to collect some rent and inform the tenants of the
forthcoming increases.Over the years I have tried to keep all
interaction with the peasants to a business level and instead
get all the gossip in the local or directly from Larry.He tells me
whos drinking too much,who is riding who and who has sold
well or badly at Ashford (Mart).

When I asked him how his own Heifers went the previous week
he answered in his usual way of telling me without telling me
anything,

"I didn't get what I wanted,but I got more than I expected."

"Thats great,Good Sales?"

"Not great."Larry would tell you the secret of Fatima but ask
him about his own business and he shuts up like a duck's arse
in a near-frozen pond.It is, of course,the middle of the Lambing
season in that neck of the woods and Larry,along with the rest
of them was up to his tits in Lambs,sickly and healthy,yews
the same,afterbirths and casualties.

As you all know sheep are the most stupid creatures in all
evolution,they're the blondes of the animal Kingdom.They go
out of their way to make life difficult for themselves and the
unfortunate cunt looking after them.They'll wait for the cold-
est,wettest,windiest night before dropping their lamb,twins
or triplets.They will drop one lamb in a corner of the field
before wandering over to another corner to drop her twin,
leaving the first to the elements and to the mercy of grey
crows and foxes.The dozy cunts are able to look after single
lambs themselves but twins and triplets generally have to
be brought inside and kept under infra-red lighting for a few
days till they strenghten up.

The yews themselves often find themselves in difficulty as
well and it is not uncommon for them to displace their womb
during Lambing.Farmers usually carry twine and a darning-
needle to sew up her gee (without anaesthetic) and I have
also seen them using those big pins that you use in Kilts, to
keep everything in.All in all its a busy time for farmers but
fuck them,its about the only time the lazy cunts do any work.
Sheep and farmers deserve each other.So,I was asking Larry
about his lambs,farmers ,in spite of the extra work involved
are only interested in twins and triplets because of the extra
profit at sales time.

"Many triplets ?"

"Not too many."

"Lose many ?"

"Let me tell you something about lambs," he said balefully,

"If you kept the feckin' lambs under the bed,they'd drown
in the piss-pot."

I predict a Riot

You really have to hand it to the oul' Froggies when it comes to
letting their feelings be known.Known the world over for their
sophistication and laid-back attidude but all this goes out the
window if you piss them off.

In this case they disprove the theory that a million people can't
be wrong as they so plainly are.They don't equate high unem-
ployment with the fact that its so hard to sack the cunts over
there.I have employed people in my time (some of them are
doing reasonably well again since the therapy) and I swear it
would have been easier to train monkeys,sack them ?,it took a
supreme effort not to strangle them.

But thats beside the point,if they don't like something they're
not behind the door in letting you know.Mess them around
and before you have a drag on a Gitane all you Ports are
blockaded and your Highways choked-up.Can you see them
putting up with unfortunate people on trolleys in A&E dep-
artments of hospitals for three days ?I see our fat cunt over
here is clapping http://archives.tcm.ie/breakingnews/2004/10/20/story172031.asp
her fanny-flaps by promising that nobody should have to
remain on a trolley for more than 24 hours, isn't she just
wonderful,a fuckin' saint,Joan of Arkle.

Where was I ?,oh yes the French,imagine the fun if they ever
try to introduce a smoking ban.

Super Mario

Jesus,its quiet here today and there seems to be nobody to play
with,all off doing mother's day stuff,I suppose.Thats all right as
I often use Sundays to try and learn something new about the
poxy oul' computer.

I saw one of his films yesterday,what a set of pipes he had.
he was from before your time,and mine too,but me oul'
fella,no mean Tenor himself,had a great gra for oul' Mario and
we were all dragged up listening to him.Anyway,its my blog and
I'll post what I want.

I suppose if they ever made a film about me,Mario Lanza,Buddy

Holly,Elvis and Cream would figure greatly on the soundtrack.

See,I'm not always cranky,back in character tomorrow.

Shake hands? Here,shake this.

I stopped going to mass before they brought in that horrible
part where you have to shake hands with the people around
you.On the rare occasions that I've been since I've been
looking around at the people whose hands I was going to have
to shake,watching them coughing and hocking and picking
their noses so that I'd have worked myself into a temper well
before the dreaded announcement;

Let us offer each other a sign of peace and forgiveness

and the whole congregation goes into a frenzy of hand-shaking
like New Years Eve but without the drink.All those filthy and
unhygenic hands,and thats apart from the fact that there are
very few people I wish peace upon,and even fewer that I wish
to forgive.

So anyway I had to go to a neighbour's funeral the other day,I
didn't have to,but you know what I mean.Besides I had wanted
to have a gawk at his son whom I hadn't for about 20 years
and to see if he had got any fatter,he had.He himself had been
a rotten oul' cunt all his life and I was delighted he was dead,
although I was also happy he was alive as the oul' bollocks had
spent the last ten years in a nursing home,eating them out of
house and home and selfishly refusing to die.If theres a better
place,I hope he never gets there.And the fuckin' Eulogy he
got,I was nearly going to jemmy the coffin open to see if it was
the same person I knew that they were talking about.

By the time we were due to shake hands at the funeral mass
I had worked myself into a foul mood and the only person I
shook hands with was Malicia and stared malevolently at all
others as they made shapes to shake, ugly oul' cunts.Are
Catholics the ugliest group of people in the Universe ? All
old, bent and miserable,every fuckin' one.In my younger days
there used to be a few half-decent looking wans at Mass that
you'd strain your neck gawking at but there was none at this
one.

Still the pusses on the oul' wans I wouldn't shake hands with
was something to behold and I might start going again just
to relive that pleasure.

Shower of Cunts.

Enough of this poxy navel-gazing.

Just who the fuck do they think they are ?Fuck off you shower
of utter cunts and pay for your own club,association,party or
whatever the fuck you want to call it.If I or anyone else wish
to form a club for the benefit of its members,said members
are expected,and more than willing to pay for it.What people
don't do is to bribe rich businessmen for funding or expect
other tax-payers to pay for it.What do they do with all this
money ?Apart from lining their own pockets they squander
it in a vain attempt to convince us of the brilliance of their
ideas and how much better they are than the other shower
(of cunts).

Well heres the news fuckface,there is no difference.there is
not an original thought or idea between the whole stinking
lot of you.You want to manage the country ?You couldn't
manage a good shite.If a solution to the problems in Health,
Education or the Middle East crawled under your desk and
performed Fellatio/cunnilingus on you ,you wouldn't recog-
nise it,you fucking Baboons.As a matter of fact Baboons would
be preferable,more honest,hardworking and cheaper,not to
mention,easier to train.

Then you have the sheer fucking gall to expect us to pay
for those shiny leaflets that nobody reads,the ones that
bear testimony to your lies and broken promises.Or those
stupid posters that litter the streets for months after an
election?,yes the ones with your ugly bovine heads on them.
Tell me,when was the last time one single person had
their mind changed by some arsehole on a poster? You don't
need to go to Blackpool or Brighton for your piss-ups,all you
are doing is preaching to the converted,nobody else is
interested in your lies/self-promotion/propaganda.

What you should get off the taxpayer is what you're entit-
led to and what you deserve,which is fuck-all.there should
be a limit of 500 pound put on every canditate's expendit-
ure so to eliminate any need for funding.Don't worry,in the
unlikely event that you come up with something remotely
interesting,new or clever to say,we will hear about it.The
Sun WILL print it,Jeremy Paxman or Sky News WILL tell
us,for fucks sake the Angels will sing it once they get over
the shock.

In the meantime get your precious arses off your high
horses and join the fucking real world.

Barbie Moment

I had a "Barbie"moment or moments last week when the
thought of giving up blogging seemed attractive.None of us,
except Kim perhaps ,will ever know why the great El Barbudo
decided to call it a day and I will miss his incandescent rages
and semi-pornographic meanderings.In my case I had just
become a little bored with it and it was starting to become
a chore,something to have to do.Now the surest way to stop
me from doing something is to try to force me to do it,so you
can see where my head was at.

There was also the added distraction of Cheltenham being on
and while I wasn't there phsyically,I was there in mind and
spirit and serious racing is very time-consuming.What really
effected my though and I honestly don't know why ,was the
photo's somebody posted from the Irish Blog awards.

I had been reading Twenty's Blog about him winning (fair play
to the little bollix,he thoroughly deserved them) all before him
and he mentioned some photos that were up somewhere,I can't
be arsed to look them up now,but I did then.What struck me
was how ordinary everyone looked,I don't know what I expect-
ed them to look like,but whatever it was,they weren't it.In
other words they didn't look like me,do they look like you ?
I have been accused of many things in my life but being or
looking ordinary is not one of them but those clowns are
taking ordinariness to a new level.Until a little while ago I
wasn't even aware of an Irish blogging scene,the only two I
follow are Twenty and the divinely -ankled Fatmammycat,
feeling much more at home here among the Scots,Brits and a
few Americans whose wrists aren't dragging along the ground.
Which is fine since I have very few Irish readers either so
fuck 'em,but as I say,those photos phased me.

So anyway I decided to cut back a little,or maybe to omit all
comments as this is very time-consuming also,and since I
wasn't going to allow comments,I reasoned that I would
forfeit my right to comment elsewhere,so more time saved.
Having mitched away from the blogosphere for a week,I
posted what was to be one of my last few utterings and
relaxed,having made the decision turned to read one of my
favourites,yes,Barbie,the bearded wonder.

My heart sank a little more as I read each sentence of his
farewell blog,almost misty-eyed by the end,as I realized how
much I'll miss the cunt.Then I thought how much I'd miss
all you cunts out there so fuck yis,yis are stuck with me for a
little while yet.

Enough to make your eyes Pop.

So,the six of us sat around expectantly,waiting for the start like
kids waiting for Christmas.None of us knew what the week
would bring but we were hoping for the best,prepared for the
worst but all in all,it should be a piece of piss.It was one of those
rare occasions where I had put myself completely in the hands
of others,professionals who had all the information they needed
at their fingertips and who had an excellent track- record at
this type of thing.

We each took our first shot of the day and looked at each other
as if we were kids at our first Disco.I would not say that I am
unaquainted with introducing chemicals to my carcass but
L.S.D. and Magic Mushrooms soaked in Poteen would not have
produced the effects that I now witnessed as the first two lads
collapsed to the ground pulling at their clothes while complain-
ing about the unbearable heat,followed quickly by two more
who started wailing like Banshees.

The second poor cunt was pulling lumps of his beard off as his
head got bigger and bigger and turned the colour of ripe black-
currants before both his eyes exploded and covered the room
in a disgusting gunge as he mercifully fell silent.Through
their own agony,the other three were oblivious to this as they
also turned into human blackcurrants,ready for harvesting.
I backed away from the tormented trio in expectation of more
exploding heads and bumped into a wide-eyed and horrified
male-nurse who I helped into the toilets,by the hair.

He'd already wet himself but his bowels opened when I banged
his head off the wall as his feet dangled a foot off the ground.

"What the fuck did you give us ?" but I didn't loosen my grip
on his windpipe,again

"What the fuck was it ?",this time I took one hand off his
scrawny neck and proceeded to gouge his eye while still
dangling him up to my height.

"The Government" he rasped

"What Government, you fuck?"

"They made us do it"

"Do, do fuckin' what."

"They made us give you anti-blogging serums." I gouged
more,ready to pop his eye out,

"But I think you got a placebo."

Arkle

Closed for Cheltenham

Site available to rent

apply in comments.

The Parade that died of Shame.

Once upon a time the citizens of this country used to commem-
orate those who died in the 1916 Rising by holding a parade in
Dublin on Easter Sunday.This was all harmless enough as it gave
Families something to do to celebrate the ending of the Lenten
fast and a chance to gawk at a few politicians who in those days
were considered to be respectable,honest and pillars of the
community.It also gave politicians an excuse to strut around and
preen themselves before the masses.

The last big parade was held in 1966 to mark the 50th anniv-
ersary of the Rising,there was even a new silver 10 shilling piece
minted to mark the occasion.












That was all before the I.R.A. started their murderous campaign
and hi-jacked the parade along with our language and flag.The
Government ceased sponsering the activities at Easter and the
parade was no more.People became too embarassed to go to
Ballad sessions as some of the songs would have Republican ideals
in the lyrics.Where before it was all part of a good night out to
have a sing-song regaling the sanguine sacrifices of a few mis-
guided patriots,now it became distasteful.

People honestly tried to speak the cupla fochail of the Irish lan-
guage in the brave new Ireland of the 60s until the slaughter,
then only the pretentious and the rabid Republicans wanted to
use it.

Despite the fact that the Rising was a failure,that the partici-
pants were jeered by Dubliners on their capture,it still has a
pivotal place in the Irish disposition and always will.

Now that the leaders of the baby-killers have become Armani
wearing would-be Statesmen and because our Government
wish to take our minds off their crookedness and ineptidude,
we are going to witness a sprint along O'Connell street to the
G.P.O. by politicians from official Ireland and Sinn Fein in
an unseemly race to see who represents Republicanism the
most (or should that be the worst) in this year's renewal.

My part in his downfall.

In those days the talk always turned to the war and THEIR
part in it.Strangely enough,I never came across any ordinary
seamen or soldiers,every one of themseemed to have been
Sergeants or Corporals,at the very least.I.E.

My platoon was surrounded on all sides by the Jerries,the food
was gone,there was no water and we'd no ammo for the .303s
or the Bren-guns, and I was the worse off because I had a Bren-
gun and a .303. ???

Mind you my Doubting-Thomas instinct got me into trouble
on one occasion when I burst out laughing on being told by
my companion that he had been a stoker on a Submarine,only
to find out that there was such a position.

The funniest story was that during the war,most of the
Trawlers were commandeered by the navy as mine-sweepers
with their Skippers given the rank of Liutenant and various
positions allocated to deck-hands.On one occasion a Deck-hand
was doing sentry duty on Hull docks on a cold foggy night.A
Royal Navy officer was returning to his ship and said to his
fellow-officer,

"Lets test this sentry.",and when he made a scuffling sound
a voice called out of the fog,

"Halt,who goes there,friend or foe ?"

"Foe "

"If you're goin' to muck about like that,I'm goin' home."

In ten minutes I'm going to have sex with a Man.

Try as I might,I could not get my head around this,
there was no other way to look at it.
To explain the position I found myself in we have to travel
back two months to the start of my trip,to the begining of my
career as a deep-sea fisherman.

The money for a deck-hand was better on the factory-ships
than on the normal trawlers,so after the scandal,I signed up
for a three month trip to fish off Iceland on the m.f.v.Vaguely
Noble.Fuck me,that was some rude awakening for a young
Paddy who thought he'd seen it all. The crew,mostly York-
shiremen were amiable enough and I found their dry sense of
humour to be similar to that of Dubliners.My main problems
were lack of alcohol which was completely forbidden aboard
the ship (never say boat,it pisses them off) and lack of sex
(with another person).

After a month at sea it got to me so bad that I went to see
the master and commander of all our destinies,the most
powerful person in our universe,our Skipper.

"Skipper,you'll have to air-lift me off,I'm going bananas here."

"Whats the problem,Paddy?"

"I'm gummin' for a ride,is the problem."

"Have you tried wanki...?"

"Of course I've tried wanking.",I snapped

"And you've had the mags and seen the films ?", a trawler
in those days was awash with porno books and films.

"Not worth a fuck,you have to send me back."

"Theres one other thing,I can fix you up with Wang,the
Chinese cook."

"You must be fuckin' joking."

"No joke" he said "and no one need know a thing about
it but you,me and Wang."

"Bollocks to that,I'm not in to that kind of thing."

"Its up to you,but nobody would know a thing.Anyway,the
weathers turning so a chopper can't get near us for at least
a week."

I suffered on for another week,feeling more light-headed
and becoming more bad-tempered every day.Abstinance
must have been bred into the others as they seemed happy
enough with their well-thumbed magsand watching the
"Super 8s" in the galley,but it had the opposite effect on
me and again I went to the Skipper.

"You've got to get me off,Skipper,me cock's eating the leg
off me and I'm getting dizzy spells."

"In case you hadn't fucking noticed,theres a fuckin' hurricane
out there and theres no chance of getting you away."

"I swear to fuck I'll jump over the wall and pay myself
away.(Trawler-speak for drowning yourself)

"No need to talk like that Paddy,have you thought about
Wang ?"

"I told you,I'm not into that kind of thing."

"No one need ever know,I tell you what,give it a try and if
you still need to go,I'll drop you into Reykjavik myself."

"I'm not into that kind of thing,but I'll think about it."

Which is where my story began and having made the
decision went up to see the Skipper again.

"And no one will ever know ?"

"Not a sinner,just you ,me,Wang and the other three."

"What other three ?"

"The three that'll be holding Wang,hes not into that kind
of thing either."

All I'm saying is......

Today is International Women's day.

International Women's Day is the universal day that connects all womenaround the world and inspires them to achieve their full potential. IWD 2006 launches another year of working progressively for women's equality worldwide. It is an important day around the world because the collective power of women is witnessed by milions, and the brave achievements of women past, present and future are respectfully honoured. International Women's Day 2006 will be celebrated globally on Wednesday 8 March. Join the action !!The IWD global register of events is provided for all women's organisationsby Aurora with the support of HSBC the world's local bank

It is also National Stop Smoking day.


http://www.nosmokingday.org.uk/

Now if only............................

Two abreast me bollix !

Now that the Ice-age is over for another year we must gird
ourselves for the first signs of that most objectionable of
creatures,the road cyclist.
These boney-arsed cunts will be out clogging up the high-ways
and by-ways before you have a chance to get a gulp of Spring
air,the selfish Lycra-clad bastards.
What road-tax do these cunts pay ?None,the sanctimonious
fuckers,yet they cycle around,15 abreast,as if they owned
the fuckin' roads.
If you knock one of the cunts down you're the worst in the
world,you can't even beep at them or they glare at you
enough to give you cancer.If you make obscene gestures at
them and give them the swivel-finger,as sure as fuck there'll
be a hold-up ahead and a swarm of the cunts'll get you.You
wouldn't mind taking a few of them on but they're as fit as
fuck,even the decrepit-looking oul' bastards are.

I reckon you should get bonus points on your licence for
wingin' the cunts,that'd thin them out.

Diver's Tongues

Fuck me,Barney is gone multi-lingual.

Bloody little Cur.

Not that I give two fucks what the lady in question was up to
or not up to,but I was delighted to see the phrase being used.
http://www.thesun.co.uk/article/0,,2-2006100346,,00.html
Lord knows there are enough Brazen Hussies about these days
but nobody appears to describe them as such.It is such a
wonderful description, it roles off the tongue so delightfully
and yet leaves no room for error in its intended use.

Older readers hear will have often heard the term used,but
even the younger ones among you,if you close your eyes and
hiss it, can picture the delighted venom with which it might
have been used by gossiping neighbours in a small village.
For the recipient there would be no way back from being
branded a Brazen Hussy,she would stay one for ever more.

Other terms used by my parents but not heard so much these
days (except by me sometimes) and require little explaination;

Dirty oul' melt,

Bloody little Cur, or worse ,Curan (Curawn = young Cur)

Go-be-the-wall,

and the GALL of yer wan.

All relatively harmless but delivered with the right amount
of venom there was no need for additives like fucks and
cunts to get their message across.

Quick! Anyone got a Pen ?

Having gotten that last post off my chest I think we know each
other a bit better and now I feel its time our relationship moved
on to a new level.I'm going to let the defences down a little more
and tell you about a life-long secret ambition of mine,I have
been fascinated by the idea and determined to do one ever since
I heard of it.

Heres the thing,if and when we ever meet,never faint or collapse
in any way in my company or Ill cut a hole in your Windpipe
before anyone else has a chance to loosen your collar.You see I
always carry my razor-sharp knife everywhere for the sole
purpose of carrying out a Tracheotomy,not that I'm remotely
interested in saving a stranger's life or anything like that,I just
want to phsyically do it.

Two years ago I nearly got jail over it when a last minute
change of mind led me to wear a jacket I had previously
packed when travelling to Manchester.As soon as I walked
through security I remembered what was in my pocket.All
my bullshittin' came to no avail and now some security-cunt
at Dublin airport has my beautiful Lock-knife.However it has
since been replaced,at great expence,by a better one with
which you could actually shave yourself.

For the very reason that I carry my Knife,I never intention-
ally carry a pen,although my pockets always seem to have
at least two of those 1/2 pens you get in the Bookies.I
hate taking those fuckin' pens as I consider it bad luck to
steal them (not that I get much good luck if I don't) from
the shop.Funny thing about those 1/2 pens,even people
who have never darkened the door of a Bookie's have a
drawer-ful of the little bastards.Same as fish-boxes,is there
a garden in the world that hasn't got at least one of those
plastic fish-boxes in it ?

So anyway,having cut the hole in your victim's (?) Trachea,
you have to plead anxiously to the fascinated on-lookers,

"For the love of God,has anyone got a pen ?" and

"For fuck sake,move back and let the man get some air."

Then grabbing the pen,break the top off it and plunge it
with a flourish into the gurgling Windpipe.Fuckin' deadly,
and even if the cunt dies there are enough witnesses to
say that you performed heroics trying to save him.How
were you to know the cunt was Epileptic?