Lock up your daughters!

There’s plenty of these swarming round this town….

Don’t Stop Believin’

In 1981 those merchants of fine middle-of-the-road rock, Journey released a heartwarming tale of a working class couple struggling to keep hope in the face of a cruel and uncaring world. Pre-empting Bon Jovi’s similar tale of love-against-the-odds “Livin’ on a Prayer” by a good six years, “Don’t Stop Believin’” is an anthemic spirit-lifting call to arms for those of us who have given up hope. This week, your humble correspondent found himself beset by challenges that tested my belief. One kick in the groin after another I encountered as the days passed. Then, in the depths of my dispair, an angel by the name of Cesc Fabregas and his merry band of North London comrades lifted the fog of doubt and rolled back the curtain of doom to shed the light of magic back into my cold and uncaring heart. I had stopped believing. But they didn’t. Patrick Vieira sauntered back into our lives like an ex-girlfriend out on the town with a new man, and all looked bleak. But then the game began, and the jilted lover of Arsenal picked itself up in the face of overwhelming doubt and taught us all to believe again…

Now, i know in times like this I can get carried away, indeed I have tried my best to contain my joy for as I have recounted before its usually precisely when I get my hopes up that they are dashed. Its a long way from over. But, like Journey say, I shouldn’t stop believing. Getting cocky is one thing, even getting too hopeful is another….but don’t stop believing. Hold on to that feeling. (insert guitar solo here).

In a completely unrelated note:
Leprachauns in Alabama? I Wanna know where the gold at!
and the Reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeemix!
amazing!

Nuke Jordan

HOLY SHIT! Who gave Jordan and Peter Andre their own fucking show? What sick fucking deviant decided it would be a good idea to unleash this bastard child of a television programme onto the public? It’s bad enough that they are allowed to create children, but the fact that their twisted relationship is being broadcast to the wider world is simply mind-boggling. And how did Jordan give birth to Forest Whitaker?

Simply chalk it up as another sign of the impending collapse of Western Civilisation. I pray for the day that Ayatollah Khomeini rises from the grave and personally rides a nuclear missle cowboy-style straight into the centre of England. But Ruairi! What about the following Nuclear Apocalypse I hear you ask? Well, in conversation with my friend Adam the other day I think a Nuclear Winter Mad Max style existence would be a laugh. Incidentally, in this futuristic lawless hellhole, Blackrock will be walled off and controlled by myself and some select others as a tyrannical paradise. Any of you outside our kingdom who wants to get access to family or loved ones will have to scavange for supplies to trade and or barter. Or women.

Suburban Menace.

Mission accomplished. Remarkably successful, despite collateral damage. Or lack of? Catch 22 I suppose.

I also managed to see the worst movie ever created. The kind of thing that has to be seen to be believed, but for all it’s complete shitness, did make me laugh solidly for its epic 72 minutes running time. “Urban Menace” features the talents of Snoop Dogg as an insane preacher ghost, who in revenge for his CGI church being burned down in a CGI fire, begins knocking off the members of the drugs gang responsible. The gang is headed up by fellow rappers Fat Joe and the emense (and now dead, due to the combined weight of the flu and his fatness) Big Pun. Pun, who both speaks like and looks like Jabba the Hutt, both forgets and fluffs his lines in the finished movie, also manages to walk a total of 5 feet in the whole thing. I know this, because we decided to check out the director’s commentary, wherein the artiste responsible fills us in not only on the amazing amount of fuck ups he caused but also wonderful anecdotes about losing footage. The man seems to be unaware that his voice is being recorded as he spins yarns about the film making process, informing us that the reason you don’t see one of the main characters faces for half of the film is because they “hadn’t cast her yet” and that whilst Snoop Dogg’s scenes were filmed in Eastern Europe, Joe and Pun’s were filmed in the lobby of the Hilton New Jersey because they “were scared to fly”. The same piece of corridor is reused constantly for the last 40 minutes of the ripping jaunt, as Snoop races about the world’s largest abandoned warehouse, offing his enemies, and turning his eyes into CGI polo minds. His enemies shoot at him with CGI bullets, his speedy movements are accompanied by a Road Runner style woosh sound effect, and continuing in his fathers footsteps, Ernie Hudson Jr, shows up to bust some more ghosts.

The whole thing (filmed on stolen Handicams probably) is bizarrely narrated by Ice-T, who randomly pops up on screen to talk directly to the camera to explain the plot. Probably because the type of cretin who enjoy this kind of thing need to be told what’s going on.

Clean Livin’

So, my mission to avoid binge-drinking misadventure failed in spectacular fashion during the St. Patricks Day festivities. I don’t think I even believed I could do it myself. An amazing 48 hours of constant intoxication, falling over in night clubs, seeing fights, making baseless paranoid accusations, seeing things I never want to see again, spending the last of my savings and other silly detours into booze fueled mayhem. Well, today I relaunch “The Experiment”, and see if I can actually make it to the end of May without another night of drink-induced amnesia. Good thing this time is that Experiment has run out of funding, in that I have no funds. That will help immensly.

The first test comes tonight. Pray for me, theres already conspirators in the shadows who want to sabotage my scheme…..

Update: Looks like a friend I havn’t seen in a while is in town and i’m meeting up early. Bugger. Everyone is to put their foreheads on the monitor and transmit willpower to me.

Denim Jihad

So, apparently straight men are wearing WOMEN’S JEANS now. What? Who are these men? When was this allowed? Well, all i can say in response is, Al Qaeda if you’re reading, you are welcome to tear down Western Civilisation and piss on the ashes. There’s no hope for us.

We wouldn’t be able to put up much of a fight anyways…

Sobering thought of the decade?

D-Con to me : “You’ve drank the down payment on a house”

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Seems as though 90% of my scribblings of late are the result of or are about my consumption of drink. hmm….This will be no different. My increasingly failed mission to avoid drunken misadventures continued this weekend. Friday was ok, I watched a friends band play in the Spirit Store, who were surprisingly good. I only say surprisingly because I tend to hate any music that isn’t about the manufacture and eventual sale of crack cocaine. I also saw a man get put in an ambulance on a stretcher.

An admirable attempt on Saturday to remain relatively sober was based on my simple rule to stick to beer. So in typical merv fashion I circumvented this trite requirement by buying THE STRONGEST BEER ON THE PLANET. Of course I would. I literally could feel myself go from coherent intelligence to slurred nonsense as I sipped the putrid oil. Anyways, I did however manage to navigate the treacherous waters of Ridleys with just a pint to fuel me, and I came out the other side with my memory more or less intact (but, with a wonderfully horrific hangover instead).So, its not all bad. I was still pissed as a fart, mind.

My resolve to keep myself from memory-erasing levels of squiffyness was strenghtened this weekend, though, by more revelations about my antics last Friday (Revelations which I cannot hand on heart deny nor confirm, if true, I truely was three sheets to the wind pissed for not remembering and if false are part of the cruellest, most devious wind-up ever pulled on me by my so-called friends)

Footnote : Sure, what do I need a down-payment for? I’m only a couple of moves from taking my parents house off them through a series of legal loop-holes, controlled fires and a system of ropes and pulleys.

The Pen is mightier than the bazooka….

I just thought of something. A Danish newspaper prints a cartoon and the Islamic world goes bat-shit crazy, but when the Taliban destroyed those statues, the Buddhists just scratched their bald heads.

They need more people like the dude from the cover of “Rage Against The Machine” me thinks….

God damn that DJ made my day….

Yes, yes y’all. Oh, I think it was about January last year (if my alcohol-battered memory serves me correctly) that I saw the one and only DJ Yoda play a gig in the Village in Dublin. Dubbed “DJ Yoda goes to the movies” it was a dj-gig like no-other, for as well as the standard skills on the ones-and-twos, Yoda (who has made some of the best and funniest mix-tapes ever) also cut up two DVD decks, whilst the movies played on the screen behind. The result was the mind-boggling treat of seeing characters from Star Wars, Ghostbusters, break-dance movies and kung-fu flicks move back and forth across the screen as Yoda cut up the sounds. Kind of hard to explain here…but thankfully the good DJ has seen it fit to release a DVD of one of the shows, which pleases me greatly. Having been at the show, and being the owner of some DJ Shadow Live DVD’s, i’m very much pooping my pants at the opportunity of reliving this magical event. And, if like me, you let out a little bit of wee when you see trailers for things you like, well, I advise you put on a nappy and point your browser towards here!. Now i just gotta find the moo-lah to purchase said DVD and I will be a happy little camper.

What also makes me a happy little camper was last nights football result! Gwan the arse! But, I will be withholding any feverish excited predictions of future glory, as history has cruely taught me that anytime I get the least bit confident, comfortible or hopeful about anything in my life, God in his infinite quest to keep me nervous,full of worry and most importantly sad, strikes down from on high and pulls the carpet of fun from under my cocky feet. So, i’ll just say well done lads, and roll on the quarter finals

Also, a little bit more happy wee comes out for the fact that today I finally hand in the albatross of doom that hung heavy about my neck for the last 5 months, my research paper. Yay! Now just another 4 million projects to complete and I can finally go on the dole. Hoo-ray!

Deal or No Deal?

Welcome back, Noel.

Great to see the King of TV back on the box. He’s prowling round the set like the cat who got the cream…he probably goes back to his dressing room and pumps his fist in the air shouting “I’m BACK baby!…TAKE THAT BBC!”

Tarrant and Robinson, sit down. The man is back.