Freshers

I was walking towards ‘Stairs 5′  in Aungiers street, ’stairs 5′ is the 5th and final set of stairs at the end of Aungiers street DIT, this is clearly marked on the door.

There were two lads in front of me, one said to the other ‘Are you sure we can go up that way?”.

Had he asked me I would have responded; “no, you can only go down stairs, if you get caught going upwards on a stairwell you will be taken out back and shot. DIT will deny all knowledge of your existance.”

or

“no, that massive sign that says ’stairs’ is actually Arabic for ‘No Entry’. No, I don’t know why its in Arabic either, probably because you’re a fuckin’moron”

Needless to say he didn’t ask me, but his friends answer wasn’t that much better than anything I would have said: “eh…..I’m not sure…it says ’stairs’ but whats the number for?”-I cried a little inside

when worlds collide

My boss told that he’d never had a drink of alcohol in his life. I told him that it was probably my biggest single expense. He didn’t understand.

What in the name of jaysus happened there?

For 4 nights in a row I drank till I dropped. On two occasions I crashed with an unfinished glass of whiskey, got up the next day and finished it before breakfast. 3 naggins, two bottles and a rake of cans have fallen at my feet and all without the corrupting, diluting influence of a mixer. Whiskey and ice, the worlds greatest partnership.

I have only one regret: his name is Captain Morgan and, although I’ve said on manys an occasion that he is welcome to call the shots on my ship anyday, he let me down badly yesterday. Someone entrusted me with carrying the Captain as we searched for a way into Outside Lands, when they asked for it back I could only give them a smile. Bad move, he was a big bottle, Rua was in a state. That cost me work this morning, memories last night, and a lot of the fun I would’ve had otherwise because I was just too drunk to have as much fun as everyone else. Also, after four days of hard drinking my dehydrated piss has assumed the colour and consistancy of snot. I’ve lost about a stone in weight and my stomach hates me. Still the craic was fuckin’90! I haven’t had a bender like that in ages.

Cocktails tonight?

The constant giggler

Anto and I have known each other for a very long time. Long enough to be comfortable with our own retarded sense of humour. This week, we’ve been mostly laughing at the backround on AAFs computer which we’ve been switching around constantly. Starting with M Bison:

M Bison

Followed by Pope Bennie:

a distinctly unfunny caption by the way

and ultimately, the current champ:

Nobody else in the house finds this funny, we can’t stop laughing

fuckin’mad out of it!

Managed to have a session until 9am this morning, staying up a full 24hrs, without getting drunk. Thats what you get for drinking wine!

It was a funny enough night, Laneways and I went to her mate Cams house to, as it was sold to me: ’play SNES games and drink wine’. It was deadly but I was brought face to face with how much of a nerd I was and it was painful. We were playing Donkey Kong and Tetris and, best of all, Mario All Stars! Woo!

There were a few classic lines like:

“no, Rua, you have to carry the turtle over the wall”

“the only thing I carry is STIs, you fucking pussy”

and a phoneconversation with the good people of Safeway circa about 8:30am:

Safeway; “hello, how may we help you today?”

Cam(shouting); “what time do you start serving booze at?”

Safeway: “eh……”

I also let it slip to Laneways the ultimate truth that I am absolutely petrified of everything now. Going nuts scared the shit out of me, and I’m more or less scared of my own shadow still. Its getting better but I’m probably gonna be all fucked up for another couple of months, putting all my bets on the off chance that getting my legs fixed and being able to play sports again will give me back some confidence*.

Anto wants me to take up kickboxing** with him and I’m half thinking of it. Fuck it, I’ve already got a shaved head so a bit of GBH might suit the new look

*This is the paragraph that warranted the tag: “depressing self indulgent pap”

**he’s a blue belt or something

Giganto-transformers in disguise

Giganto has come out to live with us. Giganto is in San Francisco on holidays. Giganto has been working in retail all summer. Giganto is helping with the rent.  One half Giganto pissed on the church of scientology last night. But what is Giganto?

Giganto is in fact made up of two people, Giggles and Anto-it is only when they are together that Giganto can exist. Giganto is a solid block of lovey-dovey scoring hugging and mushing that moves accross the room with the speed of a glacier and that sense of impending doom that only another Bush term could stir up. It “sleeps” on the bed in our living room that was previously occupied by Banksy2 and is therfore impossible to avoid.

To be fair Giganto isn’t half as bad as it used to be but there are still flashes, terrible flashes. Like, I dunno, every time you leave the room and walk back in without shouting “Fe Fi Fo Fum” at the top of your lungs. I was the third wheel in the pub last night, looked down at my phone to send a text and had to rush it because they were getting that look in their eye! As it happens, the text was to the Coy and read “hurry up te fuck, I’m dying here!”. I love them really… 

Anto is one of my oldest friends, he has a capacity for being retarded that is frankly unequaled by any other human being I’ve ever met in my life. Loud, ignorant and usually drunk-he’s great craic! The type of person you spend the first half of the night apologising for and the second half crackin your shits laughing with. You can’t take him anywhere but you’d like to anyway just to see what happens. There’s always a story, and its usually fuckin’brilliant! Some of the stuff I’ve done with this guy is so ridiculous that to publish it would warrant a prime time investigation into ‘the youth of today’.

Giggles is, on paper, the complete opposite. She’s ultra-intelligent, talented and organised. She’s clean, polite and quiet. Where Anto can’t be taken, she’d be running the show. She is the type of person who’d know what all the different forks are for in a restaurant, and their proper names(as opposed to: the stabber, the scratcher, the poker and the joker).

And they’re in lovvvvvve…….

And they’re here for the month so they deserve an intro, also, this informs much of the following post

ghdihjsng! cunt!

I am in absolutely foul humour today. They had me doing the 8-12 shift in work this morning. This means a) I couldn’t stay up having the craic with the rest of the house last night b) I got hardly any sleep because, frankly, I don’t sleep well at night c)I was sitting on my ass all morning bored shitless because the rush doesn’t start until 12-which is when I clock off-which is when I have to QUE up for a fucking sandwich I could’ve made for myself when I was doing nothing twenty minutes earlier! Damn regulations

Its such a load of poxy! I’m tired and cranky and my friggen shoulder is killing me. I dislocated it a few days ago and it is taking forever for the swelling to go down. Its costing me sleep aswell because I can’t lie on my stomach until it heals up. Oh, and everyone seems to be on my ass because I ’swear too much’

What the fuck does that even fucking mean? I’ll show you fuckin’excess, this is cuntin’fuckin’excess you bollockin’bitchin’whingin’pussy cunt dick licker. You arch trophy pushin’brown tongued baby claimer*. You roach munchin’tooth-pick-dicked sodomite. Fuckin’walking STI weapon of warfare that you are, a perverbial cluster bomb of perversion, a conaisseur of beastiality, aficionado of kiddie fiddeling and a fan of Neil Diamond. You are the lowest of the low low criminal spread, the grit between Hitlers tires, the rust on bloody Marys ‘Sunday Axe’. If you were a sandwich you’d be rotten eggs on mouldy bread, doused in vinegar and rat piss to cover up the smell. You are about as feckin’useful as a hangman with a sanitized rope.

Thats not directed at anyone in particular, but I feel so much better.

*I don’t have the faintest idea what this sentence means. explanations or attempts at explanation welcome

sack wallet!

Remember that job I had as a chugger a few weeks ago? Well, I came out with a load of phone numbers and good intentions which I never really followed through on. I didn’t call anyone or hang out with any of them bar the Urchin but thats only because he lives beside me. Anyway, loads of people have my number too and I’ve just had a very odd conversation with one of them.

There was this kid, I called him the Rockstar-17 and far too cool. Always talking about drugs and always sounding really really stoned, typical 17 year old I guess. I’ve had no contact whatsoever with this guy since I got fired but he called me up today out of the blue to ask if I wanted to hang out, “y’know man, any parties or anything going on?”

I am hanging like a hound dog so I said no in as nice a way possible and we went through the friendly motions, pleasantries  and other bullshit used to get someone off the line. Then, just as I was about to hang up he says “hey man, do you know where I could buy some ecstacy?”.

What an absolute tool