Sorry but WTF – Ireland needs to sort its own internal problems first before tackling issues outside of our country. Yes for many years the many charities within and outside of Ireland have done fantastic work, in fact I have supported them whenever I could.

But right here, right now – Ireland needs to look after Ireland and its people first and foremost. They say charity begins at home, well so does house-cleaning which is what this country is in dire need of.

Well let me clarfiy I fucked up and my bank balance is seriously going to get a suprise.

Was using NTL BB, its gone – so I decided in a moment of insanity, to use my o2 phone as a modem to connect to the interweb – problem solved – hah right

Got a call from o2 the other day saying that because I had a data transfer of 65 MB or thereabouts, there was now a billable amount of over 500 euro being added onto my account – I nearly shat myself.

500 euro = 65MB…something smells funny. In this day and age of cheap/relatively cheap broadband internet access, its seems that atleast one telco is going to bleed anyone stupid (yes I am stupid in this case) to use their mobile device to access the internet.

So this is more of a rant against my own stupidity, but also to highlight the idea that people should shop around for the best deal, and not be as silly as I was.

But still….500 euro for 65MB…just does not compute

Gah….anyone know of a decent place in Dublin where I can prostitute myself – besides the government buildings

2 Star Hangover
No pain, but something is definitely amiss. You may look okay but you have the attention span and mental capacity of a stapler. The coffee you hug to try and remain focused is only exacerbating your rumbling gut, which is craving a full Irish breakfast. Although you have a nice demeanor about the office, you are costing your employer valuable money because all you really can handle is some light filing, followed by aimlessly surfing the net and writing junk e-mails.

3 Star Hangover
Slight headache. Stomach feels crap. You are definitely a space cadet and not so productive. Anytime a girl or lad walks by you gag because the perfume/aftershave reminds you of the random gin shots you did with your alcoholic friends after the bouncer kicked you out at 2:45 am. Life would be better right now if you were in your bed with a kebab and a litre of coke watching daytime TV. You’ve had 4 cups of coffee, a gallon of water, 12 chicken nuggets and a litre of coke yet you haven’t peed once.

4 Star Hangover
You have lost the will to live. Your head is throbbing and you can’t speak too quickly or else you might spew. Your boss has already lambasted you for being late and has given you a lecture for reeking of booze. You wore nice clothes, but you smell of socks, and you can’t hide the fact that you (depending on your gender) either missed an oh-so crucial spot shaving, or, it looks like you put your make-up on while riding the bumper cars. Your teeth have their own individual sweaters. Your eyes look like one big vein and your hairstyle makes you look like a reject from a 3rd year class circa 1976. You would give a weeks pay for one of the following – home time, a double cheeseburger and somewhere to be alone, or a Time Machine so you could go back and NOT have gone out the night before. You scare small children in the street just by walking past them.

5 Star Hangover
You have a second heartbeat in your head, which is actually annoying the employee who sits next to you. Vodka vapor is seeping out of every pore and making you dizzy. You still have toothpaste crust in the corners of your mouth from brushing your teeth. Your body has lost the ability to generate saliva, so your tongue is suffocating you. You’d cry but that would take the last drop of moisture left in your body. Death seems pretty good right now. Your boss doesn’t even get mad at you and your co-workers think that your dog just died because you look so pathetic. You should have called in sick because, let’s face it, all you can manage to do is breathe….. very gently.

6 Star Hangover
You arrive home and climb into bed. Sleep comes instantly, as you were fighting it all the way home in the taxi. You get about 2 hours sleep until the noises inside your head wake you up. You notice that your bed has been cleared for take off and is flying relentlessly around the room. No matter what you do you now, you’re going to chuck. You stumble out of bed and now find that your room is in a yacht under full sail. After walking along the skirting boards on alternating walls knocking off all the pictures, you find the toilet. If you are lucky you will remember to lift the lid before you spontaneously explode and wake the whole house up with your impersonation of walrus mating calls. You sit there on the floor in your undies, cuddling the only friend in the world you have left (the toilet), randomly continuing to make the walrus noises, spitting, and farting. Help usually comes at this stage, even if it is short lived. Tears stream down your face and your abdomen hurts. Help now turns into abuse and he/she usually goes back to bed leaving you there in the dark. With your stomach totally empty, your spontaneous eruptions have died back to 15- minute intervals, but your body won’t relent. You are convinced that you are starting to turn yourself inside out and swear that you saw your tonsils shoot out of your mouth on the last occasion. It is now dawn and you pass your disgusted partner getting up for the day as you try to climb into bed. She/he abuses you again for trying to get into bed with lumpy bits of dried vomit in your hair. You reluctantly accept their advice and have a shower in exchange for them driving you to the hospital. Work is simply not an option. The whole day is spent trying to avoid anything that might make you sick again, like moving. You vow never to touch a drop again and who knows for the next two or three hours at least you might even succeed.

My Little Pony gets Hollywood makeover

SWAMP-DONKEY
A deeply unattractive person.

TESTICULATING.
Waving your arms around and talking bollocks.

BLAMESTORMING.
Sitting round in a group, discussing why a deadline was missed or a project failed, and who was responsible.

SEAGULL MANAGER.
A manager who flies in, makes a lot of noise, craps on everything, and then leaves.

SALMON DAY.
The experience of spending an entire day swimming upstream only to get screwed and die.

CUBE FARM.
An office filled with cubicles.

PRAIRIE DOGGING.
When someone yells or drops something loudly in a cube farm, and
people’s heads pop up over the walls to see what’s going on.
(This also applies to applause for a promotion because there may be cake.)

SINBAD.
Single working girls. Single Income, No Boyfriend And Desperate.

AEROPLANE BLONDE.
One who has bleached/dyed her hair but still has a ‘black box’.

PERCUSSIVE MAINTENANCE.
The fine art of whacking the crap out of an electronic device to get it to work again.

OH – NO SECOND.
That minuscule fraction of time in which you realise that you’ve just made a BIG mistake (e.g. you’ve hit ‘reply all’).

GREYHOUND.
A very short skirt, only an inch from the hare.

JOHNNY-NO-STARS.
A young man of substandard intelligence, the typical adolescent who works in a burger restaurant. The ‘no-stars’ comes from the badges displaying stars that staff at fast-food restaurants often wear to show their level of training.

MILLENNIUM DOMES.
The contents of a Wonderbra, i.e. extremely impressive when viewed from the outside, but there’s actually naught in there worth seeing.

MONKEY BATH .
A bath so hot, that when lowering yourself in, you go: ‘Oo! Oo! Oo! Aa! Aa! Aa!’.

MYSTERY BUS.
The bus that arrives at the pub on Friday night while you’re in the
toilet after your 10th pint, and whisks away all the unattractive people so
the pub is suddenly packed with stunners when you come back in.

TART FUEL.
Bottled premixed spirits, regularly consumed by young women.

TRAMP STAMP
Tattoo on a female

PICASSO BUM.
A woman whose knickers are too small for her, so she looks like she’s got 4 buttocks

They got people worried, happy, sad and generally pissed off they were closing – only to turn around and stick it to everyone and make a shitload of money aswell.

Now that is living the dream

And to quote Homer

“I am Rudy Giuliani, you must go and buy some tshirts”

Now, thats fucking classy

I for one am gutted about this – having purchased many shirts from them over the past couple of years. Granted there are some that even I wouldnt wear in public, but its nice to know that somewhere in my closet, is enough material to outrage even the Pope

So for anyone who hasnt bought anything from them yet – I suggest you go and have a look, maybe something there will tickle your funny bone – or some other part of your body

Tshirthell.com – the last line in saying Fuck You to the world

Ah old school thrash

Sesame Street…revised