The Awards

In realising that the noughties have been and gone, I think some housekeeping is needed; some awards for things over the decade. Things which shaped the last ten years, like 9/11, and all the shite that followed that, Led Zeppelin coming back, a black President, social networking and my best crap of the last ten years. A feast of nostalgia then…

Keystone event of the 00’s: 9/11. It truly changed the world forever, as well as claiming the lives of almost 3,000 people. Air travel, and the world will never be the same ‘cos of it.

Biggest load of shite of the 00’s: X-Factor. It has poisoned our minds and polluted our television sets for six years now, with its relentless shite. He who penned this idea should truly be victim to God’s wrath, Ezekiel 25:17 style (see Wikipedia or Pulp Fiction for details).

Greatest musical moment of the 00’s: Led Zeppelin reuniting. No coincidence that this comes after the crock of shite that was X-Factor and the nuisance that is Simon Bowel. ‘Zep showed the wannabe’s what you really need: balls.

Greatest sporting moment of the 00’s: 2004 Champions League final/Lance Armstrong’s SEVENTH Tour de France. Liverpool – AC Milan had to be a great match I suppose, but Liverpool crawling back from 3-0 down took guts, balls, heart and soul. And Lance Armstrong’s epic recovery from three kinds of cancer, to win seven Tour de France’s was stunning.

Biggest idiot of the 00’s: George W Bush. Such an arse had never been seen in office. Thatcher was bad, but at least she could string a sentence together. This is the man who gave us the outstandingly stupid quote that will surely be his epitaph; ‘And they have no disregard for human life!’ –  describing Afghan resistance.

Saviour of the 00’s: Barack Obama. Despite being black, his name sounding like Iraq Osama, and the attempts of Sarah Palin (who thinks the world is only 3,000 years old) he became President of the US. A young, smart, visionary in a time of crisis. And he can read, W!

Greatest moment of the 00’s: ‘This is the big one, really. As a decade, the noughties didn’t really have a hugely momentous moment. The nineties had the collapse of communism and the Wall. But what I thought was the greatest moment, was when…’ – That is what I was going to write. But there wasn’t a hugely amazing moment. It was a fairly boring decade. You can’t count the millennium as a moment, that wasn’t our doing. There was really nothing, to my mind, all that great that happened this decade. If you think of something let me know…

But now, on to the Prix d’Or in my book. The crap of the decade. And there was only one winner. The post-Oxegen 2007 ‘Cleveland Steamer’. Sweet relief at having a clean, ceramic toilet to crap in again gives this one the top spot.

JM

A new year

It’s 2010, and its a new year, and a new decade. Most people have a ‘resolution’. This resolution is usually broken by Valentine’s Day, as one usually needs a stiff drink/cigarette/burger after that disaster of a day. And ‘most people’ are morons. Complete morons. ‘Most people’ like Coldplay and the like. ‘Most people’ voted for Fianna Fáil. Morons…

So what am I planning for the new year? Nothing really. I have exams in a week, and I plan on studying for them. But when they’re over, I’ll stop studying, and immediately turn to drink. So I’ve no resolution. I just feel old now. Ten years.. I can remember the millennium like it was yesterday like. Ten years were quick man. So I think I’ll just up my drinking rate from ‘alarming’ to ‘dangerous’ for the new year. Hopefully the drink will have killed me by next new year. Fingers crossed…

JM

3D films

Seen Avatar 3D today. Unbelievable so it was. James Cameron is a genius. Not only was it a very good film with a predictable, but good story line, but it was in the epic gloriousness that is 3D. And cinema will never be the same again ‘cos of it.

It’s a landmark. Much the same as Technicolor, Dolby, DVD or Blu-Ray. Except MUCH greater. In the days of black and white, you could still make out the good guys and the bad guys. Although, admittedly that’s probably because the bad guys were black, and the good guys were white. Racist bastards. 3D literally robbed me of my breath. You know that 20th Century Fox spotlight at the start? Imagine it in 3D, where the spotlights are all spinning around you. It’s bizarre. You see arrows and bullets flying off the screen at you. AND I DUCKED! I ducked to avoid the arrows. And I kept shouting out ‘HOLY FUCK!’ every time they jumped off the screen. It’s a mind-fuck. A 3D mind-fuck. But it’s absolutely brilliant! Like having your mind fucked by a naked, 3D Angelina Jolie.

What’s next? What will the bastards think of next? Fuckin’ geniuses, have to tip the cap to them…

The calendars

Hello and a merry Christmas to you all. Hope yis all OD’d on turkey and stuffing. I did..

The 2010 calendar. What to have? Something hopeful, and optimistic is always popular. But those one’s with quotes from Benjamin Disraeli, Einstein and Dick Lachey just get tiring after a month. A month of  ’Adventures are to the adventurous’ would drive me to suicide. Or tearing the calendar asunder, whichever is quickest. Calendars are a bit of a commitment. You’ve got a month of something. My folks got a ‘Water Skiing Westies’ calendar, which features an array of West Highland White Terriers water skiing. Bizarre, but oddly entertaining for a month. I have a Supercar calendar. No matter how long the month, the Lamborghini Murcielágo SuperVeloce would never get tiring. Never. Not in luminous orange, with an exhaust the size of Stephen Fry’s brain. A fine choice of a calendar I think. Should see me through the year.

Last year’s calendar choice was desperate; the 2009 Guinness 250th anniversary special. Gave me such a thirst for a pint of Guinness, I almost became an old man. There it is then. A lesson. Choose the right feckin’ calendar. None of this Cliff Richard bullshit. And please. For the love of all that is holy. Do not get a fuckin’ ‘Men of the West’ calendar. Old men sitting on stools, with 4 teeth and a woolen jumper does not a calendar make.

Lost in my own city

The Spire, from Parnell Street

First, some housework; it’s been a while since the last blog, so apologies. Now. It’s 106 miles to Chicago, we’ve got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it’s dark, and we’re wearing sunglasses… hit it!

I was in Dublin today. ‘Town’ as it’s called by us locals. ‘Dublin’ from anyone outside of the M50. Actually, I’m in there every day really, but I was IN town today. IN IN town… not just in Connolly Station freezing my nads off. In proper town. Up beyond Talbot St. And for the life of me I couldn’t remember where Parnell Street is. I racked my brain thinking about it. ‘Where the fuck, is Parnell Street!?’. I walked the length and breadth of the north side of town. Couldn’t remember. I decided I’d have to ask someone. But in my own city? Askin’ where a fairly well known street is? This is my city. Can’t be doin’ that. Imagine a Londoner asking where Savile Row is. Fuckin’ ludicrous! So I decided to go under cover. I walked up to a nice gentleman, and in my best Polish accent asked where the street was. ‘Sorry to bozzer yew sir, could you tell me ver Parnell Street is?’. He told me and then, bursting out of character I said to myself; ‘I fuckin’ knew it!’.

I now fully understand the reason Robert De Niro is paid what he is.

Bitter winter, vanilla latte, the colossus that is U2

Winter hit Dublin with a vengeance there. Fuck me running it was cold. Colder than Margaret Thatcher’s soul (that’s assuming she has a soul). Woke up the morning after Halloween, a bit hung over and my sweet Jesus. Fuckin’ Baltic out. The most chronological winter in the history of man. The second it hits November; bitter cold. I’ll tell ye this: Global Warming my cold arse. Or didn’t they change that to Global Cooling? Some guesswork going on there. Scientists. I have little time for them.

I recently decided to go to a Starbucks. I’d declined going ‘cos all you ever seem to see in there is what I like to call ‘part-time mothers’ with nothing better to do than talk about the X-Fucking-Factor. The ones with the Land Rovers and the blonde highlights. But I decided; Fuck it. I’ll go in and see what the fuss is about. And I’ll just say this: Vanilla Latte’s in there are just… I dono. Magical. Like someone milked god. Unreal. I recommend them. They’re posher than a Bentley (that’s a fact) but my sweet Jesus they’re great. I still don’t have the balls to order a ‘Venti’ though. I’m one of the ones who says ‘Large’. ‘Venti’ or ‘Grande’ just sound a bit over the top. In a Dublin accent, ordering a ‘Venti Macchiato’ would just be obscene.

U2. It seems there’s nothing they can’t do. Not only all this live YouTube bollocks, or ‘The Claw’ or any of that. But they’re the only band in the world that people seem to think can and should cure poverty, AIDS and hunger. That’s an awful lot of fuckin’ pressure to put on a band. Bono goes to visit Obama and everyone thinks he’s gonna save the world. I think the world’d be a bit fucked without him though. He keeps them all in check. If he didn’t no one would, and then they’d do nothing. They’re a colossus so they are. The only band in the world, and the only since the Beatles, to create such a movement and hype. Internationally huge. In Dublin for their gigs there were Americans, Chinese, Brazilians (the country, not the muff), Samoans, Spanish, French, Canadians… Fuckin’ hell like. Colossal man, colossal. Long Live The Kings.

JM

Common cold

‘Tis the season to stock up on multi-vitamins, Night Nurse, paracetamol and blankets. Cold season is here…

I love winter. It’s my favourite season. I like the cold. I’m designed to; I’m Irish. If you’re Irish and you don’t like the cold, then there’s not much hope for you. I love the possibility of snow, the frost, the excuse to stay in bed. I love the November meeting at Cheltenham; eating freshly fried doughnuts, sipping great Guinness and winning money in the main hurdle. Who could ask for more? The common cold though, over the last few years has really fucked my shit up. This year, for instance, on my week off it strikes. Like a lightning bolt from Olympus. Have I angered the Gods? Something with such timid a name as ‘the common cold’ doesn’t sound bad but it is, as you all well know. I’m bogged down here, with nothing more than tea, tissues and bedrest to help me, as the geniuses who can fly to the moon, climb Everest, go to the North Pole, and even speak Welsh can’t find a cure for it.

Well. I’ve had a bit of a revelation. While I can’t speak Welsh, I do believe I’ve discovered a cure. And this isn’t a joke. Well, when I say a cure, I mean three or four separate thing combining to make a cure. First: the hot Berocca. This involves preparing one of those effervescent Berocca tablets as usual, but you use hot water, and add in some sugar, honey and lemon juice. This is the first, and trust me, it works. Next, you must have a blitz-bath. A really really hot steaming bath with some smelly stuff in it (that lavender herbal shampoo shit). This’ll warm you up, clear your sinuses, and make you feel better. Pretty much immediately after the blitz-bath, you make a cuppa tea, except you lob in some honey. Trust me, the honey works. Do all this, along with paracetamol, and you’ll be better in no time, I promise!

JM

BNP – British Nazi Party

The British National Party are notorious across the water in Britain. They’ve now got 7% of the vote over there. That doesn’t look like a lot. But when you consider that there’s just shy of 49,000,000 adults in the UK (at last count), and say, 2/3 of these people voted, that means that just under 5 million people voted for them. Five million people voted for a party that wants to rid Britain of non-white Brits, is anti-Islam (but pro-Muslim?!), bans non-whites from joining their party and, most famously, denies the holocaust ever happened. They are clearly a bunch of racist, ignorant thugs, who somehow managed to wangle five million votes. How in the name of Jesus did that occur? My my, some people have a lot to answer for. In my house, we sort of tell each other who we voted for after the election’s over. But if I was a Brit, and if I stood up and said I’d voted for the BNP, I’d get a swift kick in the arse that’d send me flying out on to the street where I’d stay for a prolonged period of time. And rightly so.

Shoes and English lecturers

Shoes. I personally have two pairs. A nice pair of swish black leather boyos that I wear to places where one must wear swish black leather boyos. And I have a pair of trainers. That is it in my shoes department. But I happen to know somebody who has 76 pairs of shoes. SEVENTY SIX! Needless to say this person is a girl. Us men have no requirement for such things. Seventy six though… I’m trying to fathom how someone could need that many shoes. Is ‘cos I’m a man? Maybe it’s that. I’m trying to think… is there anything I have in extravagant numbers… biros? Socks? That’s really it. But shoes… I’ll never understand women.

English lecturers. My new hate. I have one in college… and she’s dire. Absolute uselessness defined. Like listening to a lecture on paint drying. And this, coupled with the fact that she’s talking out her hole means I’ve only been to 3/9 of these lectures. We’re doing a book which is a slaves account of slavery. My summary: the slave shows for us how dreadful and cruel slavery was. Her summary: slavery is a sign of modernity, as part of the great defining paradigm of our generation. Okay… what complete and utter bullshit. A book is a book. It is entertaining. Nothing else. Nobody ever wrote a book for any other reason, except to put forward an idea maybe. But I don’t think the slave was trying to point out how slavery is a sign of modernity. English my arse. Get the fuck ou’ of that garden ya wagon!

JM

Advertising

The most false, risqué, erotic and ridiculous ads on the web

I’m sure you’ve come across these ads. The Civony ones. If you have, I’m sure you’ll agree they’re ridiculous. I believe it’s some kind of online game. OK, I clicked it. Hey, I’m only a male! If there’s a big pair of jugs and a castle I’m gonna be all over that shit! Don’t give me that. Anyway. How, you might ask, has a pair of ginormous titties got anything to do with a castle and an online game? Yes, it doesn’t. These ads are hilariously lewd. And the further you progress in the registration page, the more skin they show. Until you are finally registered! When… you commence an awfully crap online game that would, in terms of entertainment, be eclipsed by contracting syphilis. You build nothing but barns and shacks for an age, before moving on to the development of a wall!

Any other funny ads will be posted!

JM