Oh, why do you kayp all your stars in from your studio on Mick Collins' Avenue. You'll pass Aidan's secondary school and DCU on your left. You'll also pass two auld ones with the Evening Herald on Thursdays. Wouldn't that have to be the way? Murphy's Law in motion and that other law about those fuckin' electrons getting onto buses. Then there's six by ten to the twenty-three. Or, as they might say on the other side of the Atlantic, to the root twenty-three. I'm not even sure if that's what they say, but it's slightly different. I'm just trying to increase the readability of this thing. More universal, more accepting, more open, more understanding, more considerate, more MICKEY.
News just in: old civil servants are dying by the minute. For an update, here's some boring snob who has a Trinners degree in law, or something, and seems to know what's going on.
-Yes, thank you, Anne. I actually studied in UCD but at this moment that's hardly relevant. Although, speaking of my degree days, if Maria is watching I wonder if she'd give me a call. I haven't seen you in ages, darling...
-Oh, I'm sorry, we're out of time for that report. It's a pity that he fucked up his debut here at RTÉ, but maybe he's lucky and Maria is watching. Maria, if you are indeed watching, that guy's mobile number will be displayed at the end of this bulletin.
Cigarettes and chocolate milk. Coffee and sitting around listening to Chris Rea. I seem pretty happy sitting around on me arse doing fuck all. Exercising little or no brain bits. Perfectly happy being a nothing really. Somehow I'm not drawn to do anything. I'm not reading anything because I didn't want to get into some fiction or other that would distract attention from academic writings- that I'm also not reading. Yay. Lose all around.
Next we'll have news from around the country from our regional reporters.
Mary (North-West Cavan Correspondant)
-Nothing really to report today. It's all been rather quiet. I hear Mrs. Kavanagh is pregnant, though. Apart from that, it's all mickey.
Joe (South-East Tipperary)
-There was great craic agus spraoi to be had last night in John Johnston's bar in the annual floor-stomping barnyard dancing competition. The judges are still trying to decide on the winner. They've been in the back-room of the bar for thirteen straight hours. We're all here waiting anxiously on the judgement. (Ye havin' a pint, Joe?!) As you can see, it's tense here. Ay, I will. Joe, RTÉ News, Johnston's Bar.
-We've now realised that absolutely nobody is watching this news broadcast anymore. By our figures, everybody is now watching the Papal episode of Ten Years Younger on TV3. I hope your pancreas gets exploded by the devil.
-And...Cut. Good job, Anne. You really told those viewers what you thought. I know we're the national broadcaster thing and all, but something needed to be said.
-Yeah, thanks, Jerry. You going down pub?
-No, I'm an alcoholic. I thought I told you before. Obviously not. Oh well. There's some scandal for you. I haven't had a drink in eight months. I'm doing it for the kids. They're smart for their age. The little bollixes used to hide me Jemmie bottles when I really needed them. But, then I found their secret hiding place. This will give you a laugh. They used hide it under the dog!
-Okay, Jerry. Very good. You're not coming then. I'll have to ask Ryan. Shit.
And so, the individual battles (battle coke) raged on within the walls of RTÉ, Donnybrock, Dublin Four. Eventually through Americanisation (or Americanization as it would be when the process was complete), national public broadcasting came straight in to Irish homes from California. Howth Road would be renamed Sunset Boulevard. The North Circular Road would be renamed CBS Avenue. The army barracks around the city of Dublin would be renamed George Clooney Barracks (formerly McKee Barracks), Mary-Kate & Ashley Barracks (formerly Cathal Brugha Barracks) and Ronald McDonald Barracks (formerly Collins Barracks). Ronald McDonald Barracks would later house artefacts connected with an amazing archaeological find on the site of the McDonalds outlet on Hollywood Row (formerly Phisboro Road).
At that moment, if it is reached, it is believed that the spirit of deValera will rise from the Ronald Reagan Memorial Cemetery (formerly Glasnevin Cemetery) and unleash a reign of terror not unlike that of Robespierre. For it is written, in the Book of Sorrow, "Not Een May Rhepablic".
This belief is widely critiqued by, pretty much, everybody apart from a few auld Fianna Fáil fellas in west Clare. They occasionally get the train up to Dublin (which would soon be renamed New Tulsa) and rally outside Leinster House. Nobody takes any notice. There's only four of them. The Gardaí don't even bother that they don't have a permit to do what they're doing. It was believed that they'd die there, at the gates. They would eventually die in Stoneybatter after getting lost coming out of Ronald McDonald Barracks to see the displays.
So, alas, the City Borough of New Tulsa suffered the same fate that other European cities did. Paris was no more by 2024. Dusseldorf was Mississippi by 2053. The list goes on and on. The slow erosion of Europe by US influence would be complete by 2075. Then the wars began. But that's for another night, kids. Off to bed with you. Sleep well.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Monday, April 07, 2008
Micko Goes Wine-Shopping
Micko and Janet had been married five years. Micko thought that it would be nice to have Maria, their two-year-old daughter, spend the night in the babysitter's house and have a dinner party with their friends. For the duration of the week preceding the day, the seventeenth of August, Micko was making the preparations such as asking Philo & Bridie, Baz & Liz and his brother, Jimmy, over for the dinner. He did some secret shopping and bought a lovely piece of lamb with helpful instruction from the butcher.
The morning of their anniversary, Micko woke up before Janet and made her toast and tea and brought in to her in bed.
"Happy anniversary," said Micko.
"Ah, Jay! Tanks, Micko. Happy anniversary."
Janet was delighted as Micko told her of the evening that he had planned.
They cleaned up the dining-room and the living-room for their guests and put on the lamb. Remembering the tips from the butcher, Micko put the meat in on a low heat early in the afternoon. They both had a nice afternoon together as they prepared the vegetables and tidied the house.
As the arranged time for the guests to arrive approached, Micko remembered the last thing that he had to do. He needed to nip down to the off-license for some wine.
"The veggies are almost done now. Baz and Liz'll be here in 'bout ten minutes. I'm goin' down offo to get some wine. Back in ten," said Micko as he kissed Janet.
Micko was feeling in top form. He was having a pleasant day. He was happily married for five years to his darling wife. The dinner party was going to be great and Janet would be happy to see their friends and would be over the moon about it all. Yes, the day was good.
"Hmmm, what about this wine?" said Micko aloud as he drove to the local off-license in Finglas. He held the door open for an auld fella coming out with a six-pack of Bulmers under his arm. As he walked over to the vast wall of the wine section, he stared at the tapestry of bottles with their colourful labels and foreign words.
"Can I help you, sir?" came a voice from behind.
"Eh, yeah... I'm havin' a bi' of a do an' I'm lookin' for some wine," replied Micko.
"Well, this wine is on special this week. It comes from the smallest vineyard in all of Bordeaux and is made by the Montesemont family who have been producing well-respected wines since the early twentieth century. It is full-bodied, smooth at first with an mild aftertaste of elderberries."
Micko's head hurt. What was this young one on about?
"Eh, righ'. How much is it?"
"This week it's €14.99 which is amazing value for such a wine."
A perplexed look appeared across Micko's face.
"That's a bit much innit?"
Suddenly the off license staff member realised what she was dealing with and sighed.
"Well, on the other hand, on your left is a cheap muck that we import from Slovakia. It's made by child slave labour and that's why it's only €3.99. It's complete piss but comes with a complimentary roll of Polo mints,"she sorrowfully continued.
"Hmmm, yeah alright'. I'll have four bottles of tha'. Tanks."
"I'm here to help," she said as she hung her head.
Micko bought the wine and a six pack of Dutch Gold and drove home. Baz & Liz had arrived and were in the living-room saying how deadly everything looked. Philo & Bridie arrived ten minutes later and Jimmie, and usual, was a little late. The dinner went perfectly and the conversation was overflowing. They all got locked on the cheap piss and thought it was wonderful.
Baz & Liz fell asleep on the couch at half-two. Jimmie went home because he only lived on the next road. Philo & Bridie ended up under the kitchen table while Micko and Janet went to bed sloshed and happily five years married.
The morning of their anniversary, Micko woke up before Janet and made her toast and tea and brought in to her in bed.
"Happy anniversary," said Micko.
"Ah, Jay! Tanks, Micko. Happy anniversary."
Janet was delighted as Micko told her of the evening that he had planned.
They cleaned up the dining-room and the living-room for their guests and put on the lamb. Remembering the tips from the butcher, Micko put the meat in on a low heat early in the afternoon. They both had a nice afternoon together as they prepared the vegetables and tidied the house.
As the arranged time for the guests to arrive approached, Micko remembered the last thing that he had to do. He needed to nip down to the off-license for some wine.
"The veggies are almost done now. Baz and Liz'll be here in 'bout ten minutes. I'm goin' down offo to get some wine. Back in ten," said Micko as he kissed Janet.
Micko was feeling in top form. He was having a pleasant day. He was happily married for five years to his darling wife. The dinner party was going to be great and Janet would be happy to see their friends and would be over the moon about it all. Yes, the day was good.
"Hmmm, what about this wine?" said Micko aloud as he drove to the local off-license in Finglas. He held the door open for an auld fella coming out with a six-pack of Bulmers under his arm. As he walked over to the vast wall of the wine section, he stared at the tapestry of bottles with their colourful labels and foreign words.
"Can I help you, sir?" came a voice from behind.
"Eh, yeah... I'm havin' a bi' of a do an' I'm lookin' for some wine," replied Micko.
"Well, this wine is on special this week. It comes from the smallest vineyard in all of Bordeaux and is made by the Montesemont family who have been producing well-respected wines since the early twentieth century. It is full-bodied, smooth at first with an mild aftertaste of elderberries."
Micko's head hurt. What was this young one on about?
"Eh, righ'. How much is it?"
"This week it's €14.99 which is amazing value for such a wine."
A perplexed look appeared across Micko's face.
"That's a bit much innit?"
Suddenly the off license staff member realised what she was dealing with and sighed.
"Well, on the other hand, on your left is a cheap muck that we import from Slovakia. It's made by child slave labour and that's why it's only €3.99. It's complete piss but comes with a complimentary roll of Polo mints,"she sorrowfully continued.
"Hmmm, yeah alright'. I'll have four bottles of tha'. Tanks."
"I'm here to help," she said as she hung her head.
Micko bought the wine and a six pack of Dutch Gold and drove home. Baz & Liz had arrived and were in the living-room saying how deadly everything looked. Philo & Bridie arrived ten minutes later and Jimmie, and usual, was a little late. The dinner went perfectly and the conversation was overflowing. They all got locked on the cheap piss and thought it was wonderful.
Baz & Liz fell asleep on the couch at half-two. Jimmie went home because he only lived on the next road. Philo & Bridie ended up under the kitchen table while Micko and Janet went to bed sloshed and happily five years married.
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
Bits Agus Bobs Agus Mickí
Why Men Don't Listen and Women Can't Read Maps: How We're Different and What to Do About It (Paperback). Paperback form it was and I thought that it was important to mention that it is. Read it there last night and the night before. Interesting read. Fair play to the sexes for being different and bollix to political correctness.
PR-STV is great craic, isn't it? I haven't really used it yet but for the laugh it'll be grand.
Off goes Bertie today telling everybody he's going for real in May. First Tony across the water, then the "Rev." "Dr." Ian across the border and now Mr. Tee-shock down here sa phoblacht. Is there no political stability in the place? Everyone is either too bored, too old or too weighed down to continue yielding supreme executive power. The office in the State with the most prestige will be filled by bluh-blah-blah-blah. Sorry Taoiseach, what was that about pensions?
Moonlight and love songs in ragtime! Step into that small confessional.
There's the lads as they kick it back in Bruges (Brew-guh or Brew-je [as in Je in French], whatever your having yourself) after killing people.
Fuckin' ledge auld film for the laugh and the Dubs factor. Rufus makes a guest appearance as a midget dancing on Abbey Street while doing cocaine. Colin Farrell then karate chops him and gets sang at about the impending race-war. "Who's next?" as Ton Lehrer might say.
Coffee may now be on the cards. Maxwell House, of course, is shit and should be avoided at all costs unless you're a fire(wo)man or in the Defense Forces. The Red is MUCK and the blue one isn't much better. Nescafé is good most of the time, depending on the jar that's bought. There's the chunky granules and they're nice (with water, obviously). That other Nescafé stuff, smooth and silky or some such shite, is nice too. Mmmm, instant coffee.
Goodnight, ladies etc.
PR-STV is great craic, isn't it? I haven't really used it yet but for the laugh it'll be grand.
Off goes Bertie today telling everybody he's going for real in May. First Tony across the water, then the "Rev." "Dr." Ian across the border and now Mr. Tee-shock down here sa phoblacht. Is there no political stability in the place? Everyone is either too bored, too old or too weighed down to continue yielding supreme executive power. The office in the State with the most prestige will be filled by bluh-blah-blah-blah. Sorry Taoiseach, what was that about pensions?
Moonlight and love songs in ragtime! Step into that small confessional.
There's the lads as they kick it back in Bruges (Brew-guh or Brew-je [as in Je in French], whatever your having yourself) after killing people.
Fuckin' ledge auld film for the laugh and the Dubs factor. Rufus makes a guest appearance as a midget dancing on Abbey Street while doing cocaine. Colin Farrell then karate chops him and gets sang at about the impending race-war. "Who's next?" as Ton Lehrer might say.
Coffee may now be on the cards. Maxwell House, of course, is shit and should be avoided at all costs unless you're a fire(wo)man or in the Defense Forces. The Red is MUCK and the blue one isn't much better. Nescafé is good most of the time, depending on the jar that's bought. There's the chunky granules and they're nice (with water, obviously). That other Nescafé stuff, smooth and silky or some such shite, is nice too. Mmmm, instant coffee.
Goodnight, ladies etc.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)