Musings from the Deranged Mind

Men of a Certain Disposition: Forky

2014-05-07T22:43:00.001+01:00

It was a Saturday afternoon, just like any other. I sat nursing a Guatalharan Sling in the cocktail bar where I had arranged to meet an old friend of mine. The Bartender sensing my hesitance to order, told me with a wink and a smile that the experience of drinking said drink was akin to being a slice of bread in a Kate Upton and Christina Hendricks sandwich. This sold me. What can I say? The man knew his audience; unfortunately for me he was lying. It was one of those places that attempts to blend postmodern chic with what an American must think Ireland is actually like. Sadly these attempts were in vain. I sat for close to an hour and then, assuming my friend was going to be a no-show was beginning to leave.

Just then Forky limped into the bar, sporting a black eye that’d be the envy of any hard man with blood all down the front of his white sequinned shirt. “By Excelsior’s Swee Jorts!”, I said as he awkwardly climbed on to the stool beside me, “What in Browne Town happened to you?”. Not hearing me or simply ignoring me he bellowed with resentment, “So you wouldn’t wait for your good buddy Forky eh?”,

“You left me waiting here an hour”

“You were waiting an hour so you thought you’d have 6 cocktails” He retorted gesturing to the 6 empty hollowed out potatoes that served as drinking vessels. “ It was a long hour” I sighed as I took another sip of my drink, I had to admit though not as described was starting to grow on me. “ So enough about you” he said, “Let’s talk about me”. He then fixed me with a glare that wouldn’t be out of place on a judge in a genocide trial. “Ok” I relented through gritted teeth, “What happened with your face?” “I can’t talk about it” He whispered as his eyes darted nervously around the bar. “Can’t or won’t?” I challenged as he dabbed absentmindedly at his bloody nose while mouthing the words he read on the cocktail menu. Ignoring my statement he said to no one in particular, “I think I’ll have a 2 hot 2 handle, I hear they’re quite delectable”. He called out his order to the barkeep as he called him. I let the ludicrous air of his statement hang in the air like an effeminate mist. There was something he was hiding from me, what was the source of his injuries. It was something pedestrian like slipping or being involved in a fight he would definitely tell me. In fact if he were in a fight he would have described the altercation in mind numbing detail. He often told me of his battles with various people in which he always managed to be the victor. I always thought it was his attempt to assert his machismo. I was determined to discover who or what had caused such grievous bodily harm to man who prided himself on his seeming invulnerability. “Were you mugged?” He waved off my question with the menu, “ Are you in a fight club? You’d tell me if you were in a fight club right?” “Did you see that Gerry Adams fellow got arrested for his part in 9/11?” he deflected my inquiry with some conversational bait he just knew I wouldn’t be able to resist. “ No, he was arrested in connection to a murder”, “9/11 was a murder Hughmond, thousands of murders if you must know” He frowned taking a break from making kissy lips at his reflection the mirror in front of us. “Well yes, that goes without saying…” I began to reply. “If it didn’t need saying why say it?” he smirked as he took a bite from one of the potato husks strewn on the table. “Would you stop avoiding the question?” I countered, “What happened to you?” “I’ve already said too much” he whispered as if the statement itself was a secret as old as time itself. It was probably some sex cult, definitely a sex cult. “Is it a sex cult?” I asked as I drained the final drops from my cocktail. “Would you just let it go? I told you, I can’t talk about it”. The effects of the cocktail’s heavy alcohol content was beginning to take its toll on me. I had planned to get absolutely wankered today. Something about drinking before noon usually sparks that desire in me. I realised that getting shitfaced would have to wait; he was definitely keeping something incredibly interesting from me. Uncovering the truth had just risen to top place in my list of priorities, it’s a short list. Yes, just above learning to accept my own inevitable mortality and obtaining the recipe for the world’s greatest falafel, which is currently still in progress. Was he involved in some form of a heist gone wrong? I barraged him with questions for a full ten minutes, I was amazed at my ability to form so many avenues of inquiry. I then gave in and decided that I would have to take a different approach, I said I’d have to bide my time and get him off his guard. I noticed that he’d been steadily drinking over the past ten minutes. I could tell from the glassiness of his eyes that perhaps the cocktails were now taking their effect. He’d soon be singing like a bowsy on dole day.

Forky then instigated an exhilarating game of “Do You Like?”. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the game, you should bow your heads in shame and then raise it and continue reading. This game will change your life. Forky invented it when he decided that regular conversation had lost all meaning to him. He decided it would be much more beneficial to him to learn about people through this game. The rules are quite simple really and it is suitable for a person of all ages that is if they have a suitable grasp on the language in which the game is played. A typical game goes like this:

The game begins when the instigator asks;

“Do you like Robert Pattinson or Robert Pattinsdaughter?”

His opponent must reply with their preference. If they chose Robert Pattinson i.e the factual answer the instigator will generally reply “Right Answer”, whereas if the opponent answers with Robert Pattinsdaughter the instigator will reply, “HaHa, that doesn’t exist!” (Robert Pattinsdaughter is not a real person, it’s a silly name devised for the game).

It is a fascinating game that helps both parties learn so much more about the opponent than was ever thought possible. There is also a variation that rhymes.

Forky didn’t care much for the variation at the beginning but grew to accept it as the bastardised offspring of his brainchild. After 2 hours of “Do you like?”. Forky broke with the conventions and said, “It’s not a fight club….”. “No it should be do you like fight club or flight club”, I replied, momentarily forgetting about the source of his injuries. “No, the injuries, they’re not from a fight club”, he sighed as he slowly patted his swollen eyes. “Oh?” I feigned mild disinterest, and at this point my mind had wandered to other things.

“They’re from the Guild”,

“Okay, so you’ve become a blacksmith?”

“No, we’re The Reclamation Guild”

I had absolutely no idea what he possibly meant by this. What was it this so called Guild does? Sensing my confusion, Forky began to tell me about the Guild. The Guild it seemed was a survivalist organisation run by an enigmatic character known only as the Lieutenant. The Lieutenant believed that modern people had become too complacent due to living in a nanny state. The Lieutenant took it upon himself to train the very worthy to unlock their potential under strict training from himself. The members of the Guild were trained in various combat styles and survivalist skills that the Lieutenant himself obtained from his years as a secret service operative. Very little else was known about the Lieutenant but Forky spoke of him with great respect. I have never known Forky to speak of anyone except himself with respect. I had to see this Guild for myself.

“So when can I start?” I said when he was finished.

“You already have” He said, while quickly adding, “Pending the Guild’s approval of course”. The rest of the night went by in a blur, I remembered brief snatches of the evening; Forky getting kicked out of the Tram Queue for sexually harassing me, me punching him in the face for stopping me from attacking bouncers and eating a bouquet of chips we found stuffed into a postbox. Overall a typical bogstandard evening for Forky and myself.

I woke up the next morning in my Dog Mr Snuffle’s bed. He sat outside it looking at me with a face riddled with judgment. I slowly pushed myself out of it like a turtle overturning itself. I must have looked ridiculous; Mr Snuffle’s certainly thought so and thought that he would show his appreciation for my slapstick skills by trying to mount me. I quickly wrestled Mr Snuffle’s free. I needed to get that dog fixed, but who has the time. I made my way to the bathroom mirror. I was shirtless. Oh good God! ‘I hope I came home with my shirt. I looked down at my feet, and then followed the water in which they were resting up to the toilet. Aha, there was my shirt. Its one free arm floated in the overflowing toilet lie a particular vibrant palm tree. I laughed, I don’t know why. I knew full well I’d have to find other toilet arrangements for the day. There was no way I was cleaning that mess when I was in this state. Then I checked myself in the mirror, I was covered in writing. Of course the writing was backwards but I had spent a good portion of my time in education learning just how to read backwards, this would be easy for me. “DLIUG EHT” Was it an anagram? Tud Lieg? Who the fuck was that? Then it hit me! The Guild. My phone buzzed noisily from within the kitchen. I quickly shuffled Mr Snuffles out of the basket. He groaned as I reached for my phone. I checked my message. It was from Forky; It read: SEE YOU TUESDAY. Was that it? Was I in the Guild?

3 Questionable Attempts of Modern Pop attempting to Create Socio-Cultural Commentary

2011-12-14T13:57:00.000+00:00

Ever since the dawn of time musicians were required by very neccesity through their music to create accounts of contemporary events. This has been fulfilled to varying degrees of success over the last millenium. How could one forget such classics as "What Will We Do With The Drunken Sailor", a gripping depiction of what would happen to a man if he had a little too much ale at a fair(the Navy would forcibly draft him)

The sixties were perhaps the greatest period of music reflecting contemporary events, with the Vietnam War debacle in full swing, the Civil Rights movement was at it's Zenith, musicians strapped on their guitars or sat down at their Pianos and wailed about the atrocities and social injustices that were ongoing, this resulted in some highly lauded songs. A large number of artists dealt with these themes with great panache and sensitivity. Musicians such as Neil Young, CCR, Bob Dylan, Curtis Mayfield and Marvin Gaye created masterpieces that spoke clearly about the inherent cruelties that occurred in the contemporary world. Sadly those days have long such passed and Modern musicians in a vain attempt to emulate their idols (and pander to the sensibilities of the eternal do-gooder) have written songs that question modern society.

1. Pink-Mr. President.

In the previous video the pop singer Pink pleads with the American President of the time George W. Bush to open his eyes to the injustice around him. Pink eschews fancy literary techniques such as allusion and gets right to the point. She literally wants him to "Come take a walk with me. Let's pretend we're just two people and You're not better than me.". Yes, that's right Pink wants one of the busiest people in the world to take a walk with her. That's not asking much, really, I mean she is a celebrity of a kind. I don't know where she gleamed the opinion that he thinks he is better than her. I really don't think he would have had the time to sit down and think about Pink's opinion of him. I honestly hope (and I really do hope) that he would have had the sense to at least try to deal with some of the problems outlined in this song rather than sitting down in the Oval Office and googling himself. As a result Pink's attempt at Socio-Political commentary has become laughable and dated in less than a decade.

2. Hard-Fi-Cash Machine

This Staines outfit had a minor hit back in 2004, when they released this seething attack on the rampant consumerism of the era. They believed that people were no longer working for the "Man"

The "Man" in all his hirsute glory

No people were now "working for a cash machine".

The "Man 2.0" gone is the impressive beard, replaced with many confusing buttons.

The boys obviously lament the passing of the days when their oppressor had a face that was capable of expressing itself with audible words and now they must resign themselves to shaking their fist at this robot who decides their financial certainties.

3. Razorlight- America

One can almost feel Razorlight Frontman Johnny Borrell's heart break as he warbles "What a drag it is the state I'm in, I go out and then I come back home again". In this song he attempts to question the very globalism that the American Media is perpetrating on the rest of the world. These American events mean very little to him and he would obviously prefer to be watching some local disasters not the troubles that his American cousins have to face. "All my life been watching America", Borrell realises that this is a fact yet all he has done about it is sit around his house smoking cigarrettes and write a song that says very little, quite badly.

You broke his heart Uncle Sam!

So has popular music lost all it's soul? Do modern musicians have anything left to write about?, well yes they do. Perhaps soon we will see a re-emergence of music that has opinions that can be expressed decently.

Carrots Are Not The Only Vegetable: Prologue

2011-12-12T13:05:00.001+00:00

Let me preface this passage by stating that I recently read the Jeanette Winterson novel "Oranges are Not The Only Fruit", well I say read but what I really meant is bought. I was informed by my good friend Ray "Forky" Campbell that even owning this book would make me seem more interesting and rounded to members of the opposite sex. After weeks of pretending to read this novel in cafes, bus stations and Student Unions I would have to say that he is whole-heartedly correct. I had many women approach me and discuss at length the merits of the Authors naturalistic style and use of the fairytale to create a refreshing discourse into the question of narrative. I would gladly stand there and nod like a bobble-doll and create murmurs of approval at what I believed to be the correct intervals. Sadly enough though when it came to my time to offer my opinion I would falter and would bluster at length about Oranges, I would list out my favourite orange related beverages with out stopping for breath. This would result in the woman staring at me blankly while I gasped for air at the climax of my lengthy diatribe. After about 4 weeks of this routine, I realised something would have to change.

This new ruse of mine was not going exactly how I would expect it. What was I to do? Read the book? No, Maybe even read the blurb? Nah that would be too easy. No, instead I would attempt to create my own understanding of the title. Yes, that would have to work.
Why is that the title "Oranges are Not The Only Fruits", isn't that obvious. Of course there are many more fruits; Apples, Bananas and so on. It could possibly be the most conclusive title since Ben Bates' seminal 2010 film "When it rains I get Wet".

Now Fruit as a subject is perfectly acceptable, some might say it can be enjoyable, but there is very little art out there that espouses the merits of the vegetable or as the Belgian call it "l'autre fruit". This would have to be rectified. Yes, but how, how was it possible to correct such a glaring oversight. Could I start a campaign to raise awareness of the vegetable? No, that wasn't the problem, people were aware of vegetables. No it was a question of which vegetable was so popular that it was eclipsing the public's opinions of the other vegetables. Could it be potatoes? no I just recently discovered that potatoes contrary to popular belief are not a vegetable but a root tuber. So that took potatoes out of the running. What about carrots? they are of a similar colour to oranges. In fact they are the same colour. I have visited many households in my hometown of Béal an Ard where the occupants have never even glimpsed another vegetable besides the humble carrot, yes this would be the subject of my new work "Carrots are Not The Only Vegetable". I felt it was my duty to let my friends know that there is a whole other world of vegetables at their disposal.

The next question was, how would I tackle this subject? How can I prove using the written words that Carrots were not the sole vegetable? Ha, I know I could create a book that would introduce each Vegetable to the public. I decided I would emulate the style of my favourite book "Animal Farm", which was delightful tale that thought me all about farm yard animals.

My task was clear. Come back next time when I will attempt to demonstrate to the world that Carrots are not the only vegetable through the majesty of "fiction".

Bratz Dolls: A Harrowing Study

2011-12-11T16:43:00.001+00:00

I may be a bit late in examining this craze but I want to direct your attention to the phenomenon known as the Bratz dolls. I remember at the height of their popularity reading about concerned mothers expressing their fears that these dolls were promoting promiscuity and unrealistic body images into the fragile minds of their little girls. At the time I put very little thought into this, what concern of mine is it that these girls have unsuitable role models, my role model as a young boy was Ernest Hemingway (this was before I realised he was a writer) and I turned out just fine or so I am led to believe.

A picture paints a thousand words.

Now what is a Bratz doll I may hear any number of you intone? and I do not reprimand your ignorance you are fully justified in not having any prior knowledge of their existence.

Simply put they are a doll. Yes, that part is simple enough, but they are not just any type of doll they are a doll that is intentionally clothed as a harlot and aimed at pre-teen girls.

Slags?

As you can see these girls are dressed somewhat provocatively, but who exactly could they provoke? A man with a doll fetish? hmmm, perhaps. Albeit as standalone objects they are quite harmless but when presented to the future leaders of tomorrow that are the youth of today they could be something quite harmful. These dolls have been accused of perpetrating the negative ideas that dressing slutty is cool to young girls. Now whether dressing slutty is cool is not being questioned here (it is, for those in the know) it is that these girls should learn this when they are of the proper age, from their peers and MTV. This pro-slag propaganda should not be peddled at them by some Toy company who are only interested in exploiting the natural desires of young people to feel mature. Young people will always find a ridiculously irresponsible and reckless way to emulate what they perceive to be maturity. This they believe can be achieved through drinking alcohol, taking drugs, having pre-marital sex and running away from home with a man old enough to be their father (though this behaviour was popularised by the character Huckleberry Finn) . Many feel that these dolls promote these bad behaviours in children, pre-programming for a troubled teenage existence. I don't see why, I don't think an 8 year old views these dolls with the same negative connotations that we have. They probably just see it for what it is, a doll. A parent will look at the doll and remember the time they fingered a girl dressed like this behind the school disco or having a school basketball team use them as a toilet while dressed the same.

On the other hand, bad behaviours don't necessarily stem from dolls with questionable morals. If a child is raised to know that a behaviour is incorrect, logic says that they will not appropriate the said behaviour. I played violent video games when I was younger, and believe it or not so far I haven't murdered a prostitute or drove a car on the pavement massacring tens of innocent bystanders. I think there are plenty more people in the world that parents should fear their children emulating

Imagine little Suzie behaving like this waste of orange skin.

Now as for the charges levelled at them about the impossible body types that they promote, I am afraid I will have to agree with the parents on this one. The Bratz Dolls are ridiculous looking characters. They have giant heads resting on tiny bodies. Unrealistic maybe, but remember very little is impossible many celebrities have managed to attain this coveted "Bratz" body. Look at the following examples.

Noyece!.

(Hubba Hubba)

Dear God: Why?

Yes as you can see it is perfectly possible to create this Bratz look, but unfortunately one must be blessed with a head that dwarves your body by comparison. As you have witnessed in the first two photos the Bratz look can be extremely alluring, but as the third photo demonstrates it can go disastrously wrong. Don't misunderstand me, as a hot blooded male I can see the charms of the Bratz look on real humans. (If you're reading this Alexis, I know the pains you go to look so heavenly)

So, I don't feel that these dolls have the power to de-sensitize their daughters into dressing in the manner of a harlot. I very seldom see teenage boys walking around dressed as an Italian plumber or dying themselves blue to look like a hedgehog. I think children are far more clever than parents give them credit for, they know this is just fantasy. What you really have to worry about is sorry excuses for humanity such as Snooki looking like a desirable role model. I think if parents educate their children about this fact we can all look forward to a brighter future

Christmas Exams: A Study of Procrastination

2011-12-08T16:02:00.001+00:00

It was a cold blustery day in December, I sat on the 2nd floor of the library listening to two girls having a conversation at just about half the level of decibels that a Jet engine would create taking off, not eavesdropping as you possibly imagined, I was actively listening to them. Yes, actively, nodding at ll the appropriate times, clucking in unison with them and even sometimes gasping with complete indignation. In fact if you were a passer-by you might be fully justified in assuming that I was acquainted with these ladies in it.

They were completely oblivious to my existence, I have developed the ability to mask my presence to the opposite gender through years of hard graft. "I haven't done a tap for politics next Tuesday!", exclaimed the more attractive of the two, for the sake of the narrative I'm going to call her something spicy and exotic like Concepta. The more let's say hirsute girl, (who I'll call Asterisk, because her facial hair was the hue of the popular French character's), bristled her moustache in sympathy, " I hear you girl", she replied tucking the hem of her jeans back into her ugg boot, "I've been up the walls myself, trying to figure out what exactly it was all about, it could have been written in Japanese or some such". A look of jealousy washed over Concepta's face, "Girl I'm literally Green,(Err, not true she was more orange) I wouldn't even know where to start", while saying this she waved her arm in a fashion similar to a Supreme's move. "Sure no girl, there's like no reason to be like, I'm like on Facebook all the time, I'm mad into prosincranastination" Asterisk shooed away Concepta's notion, while neglecting to understand her mangling of the phrase in fact she looked pleased at her self-perceived ability with what I can only assume was her mother tongue. (Although, I had my doubts it was)

I laughed audibly. Asterisk's and Concepta's gaze shot right to me. "Are you all right" Concepta's eyes gripped mine like a junkie gripping the spoon he is heating up. "No, I'm OK" I sexily stuttered. Asterisk then stepped in, "You were listening to us weren't you?" The veins bulging in her biceps played harmony to her threatening baritone. "I think he was listening to us" Concepta cooed obviously trying to mask her attraction to me but naturally failing, Asterisk smiled having deciphered the reasoning behind my exclamation of shock. The smile contorted under her moustache creating a sea break effect with the stache acting at the sea's flotsam, "He thinks I said Masturbation". They laughed heartily over the misunderstanding. "That is what you said right?" I enquired through the gaps in their merriment. "Procrastinabation" Asterisk intoned menacingly. I laughed again, gesturing to the girls in the manner of that overzealous older neighbour in 70's sitcoms who think the kids are all right. I could see they did not think the same, Asterisk's dour face and Concepta's still blank gaze betrayed my notion. I could sense I had lost this audience. "Oh right, carry on" I replied as I sat back to listen again. They stood staring at me for at least ten minutes, damn they had seen through my force field to the raw sexual charisma that lurked behind. I wasn't leaving, any minute now the guys on my left could break into a serious debates about the merits of tucking their tackies into their socks, whatever that means or they could talk about a mutual female acquaintance's shortcomings as a lover. Sensing my complete lack of social understanding, they called me a freak and left. That got me thinking, thinking about procrastination. Am I guilty of procrastination? Is the fact I am even writing these words a form of procrastination? How often do I procrastinate? Is my life just one long procrastination excursion. I decided to monitor the week leading up to my exams to find out how much of the day I spend procrastinating.

Log:

Monday: 28/11/11
I wake up at 9 in the morning. I open my curtains to find the weather hasn't improved, I stand naked shaking my fist at the rain clouds above me. I may be wrong but I'm sure one of them stuck the finger up at me. "No sense going out in that" I remember thinking and I went back to bed happy in the knowledge that the weather would have prevented me from being productive. I awake three hours earlier cursing the Hugh who woke up at 9. I quickly flicked on my laptop and caught up with the Gossip Girl episodes that I had thoughtlessly left backlogged. At three pm. I thought "so far so good" I hadn't procrastinated yet. Then by half three after a Lunch of water chestnuts. I discovered myself procrastinating. I had begun to make a diorama of the meeting of Livingstone and Stanley using spaghetti strands and old potato skins, it was proving extremely difficult. By the time I had started crying, it was too late I had already procrastinated for 5 hours, I looked at the time, quarter to nine on a school night. I ran upstairs changed into my picachu pyjamas and fell asleep.

Tuesday: 29/11/11
I woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. I had a dream where I being choked to death by Asterisk from the library, who kept screaming procrastination over and over at me. To make matters worse when I woke up I was covered in ectoplasm, great! I thought "on top of having to study for my exams and monitor my procrastination I'm going to have to bust some ghosts aswell" I attempted not to let it phase me, "This morning I'll wake up and get an exterminator in, or whatever the equivalent is" I lay awkae for two hours trying to think of the name of what it is a priest does when he gets ghosts out of your house. My own stubborn nature prevented me from looking it up. I fell asleep as it was beginning to become bright.

Wednesday: 30/11/11
I awoke in the morning startled by a loud noise I ignored it and tried to go back to sleep. I looked at my Super cool secret phone I had a number of missed calls. This I found odd, only one person had my number and I deleted theirs so I assumed they would not be able to call me. I did not recognise the number. I looked at the date Wednesday the 30th of November, my phone had skipped a day or so I though. Unbeknownst to me I had slept through a whole day. I tentatively pressed the call return button, "Well the nerve of you, It's nine o'clock on Wednesday, you said you'd be here on Tuesday, it is now Wednesday!" A shrill, angry voice drove a screwdriver through my brain. "Do you know how many times I called you?" It continued. I suddenly recognised the voice, it was Nicky Fore-Can I had promised him that I would hang some shelves up in his cat's apartment. I had erroneously assumed that in deleting his number, My number would disappear on his handset. "Sorry Nicky" I replied in earnest "I forgot to tell you, I'm trying not to procrastinate this week". He breathed loudly "No you said you were going to monitor your procrastination". He was right, "Anyway, that is no excuse. Socrates has no place to put his things (Socrates being the name of his cat) I would like very much if you'd come over and do it now, remember you owe me". I sighed resigned to my penance."I'll be over in five!", I groaned getting out of bed. "Five what?" I could hear Nicky squawk from my phone as I hung up. What a pedantic Moo-Stock I thought as I dressed and went out. I returned at half ten that evening rattled by the information that I had slept through a whole day. It didn't help that Socrates was so particular about his shelves. After the work I was treated to a performance of His and Nicky's play "The Cat's in the Cradle", a story about a Cat that masqueraded as a man in order to restore order in the cradle of civilisation. It was decently written but between you and me, I could tell Socrates was the better writer of the two.

Socrates played a very convincing Whiskers Miaowstein, the Jewish protagonist of "The Cat's in The Cradle"

Thursday: 1/12/11 I stayed awake all night feverishly studying, studying what? I couldn't tell you. It was all a blur.

Friday: 2/12/11
Thursday's cram session had proved exhausting. I stood in the middle of my room a juddering wreck. My roomate Big Pete knocked on my door. It transpired Big Pete had thought that I had left the house several weeks ago. He noticed my distress and handed me some funny looking tablets. I took them, and had a repeat of what happened on Thursday.

Big Pete and his chum from the Militant Douche Association. Surprisingly Pete is on the right.

Saturday: 3/12/11
This was exam day so it was all over, or was it? What had I accomplished. I left the exam hall unsure of what it was I excatly did that week. In attempting to examine my procrastination I did very little, was there a Hugh in an alternate reality who spent the week racing spiders on his desk and watching episodes of Charlie Sheen Two and a Half Men and ASton Kutcher ones side by side? I sure hoped so, I was reeling from a supposed loss of identity. I really discovered that without procrastinating I am nothing.

The Death of Kenneth Rahilly

2011-11-15T16:22:00.001+00:00

Kenneth didn't see it coming that is to say he couldn't see it coming. The boy lacked the common foresight to understand what exactly the upcoming hour held, it would be ludicrous to consider he would have the ability to see what would happen that fateful month he lost his life.

Kenneth was an unassuming boy, there was seldom a bad word said about his character except for the odd time a rival would be spurned. He played the clarinet in the marching band and was going steady with a nice local girl. She wasn't exactly the prettiest pig at the fair but Kenneth with his droopy eye could certainly do a lot worse, in fact his mother often siad this to him as she cut up his steak. "Kenneth you could do a lot worse", she would say as she cut his meat for him and buttered his potatoes, "You could be courting that McBannon one down the road, she's an awful dirty thing! A trollop if the lord will forgive me for speaking so ill of one of his subjects, Isn't that right Shamie" she directed this question at Kenneth's father, who would clear his throat, put down his paper and look meaningfully at his mother and him and say "You're right Margo" and quickly return to his paper as quickly as if he had never engaged with them. He would nod his head at his parents proclamation although he secretly lusted for Sinead McBannon. He would often pass her on the way home from school, he would gaze briefly in the window of the shop that she worked in. She constantly looked bored, he wondered if she looked bored during the act? It secretly thrilled him to know that she had no idea that he was watching her, as if he was a spy. He chastised himself these flights of fancy, and would feel guilty for betraying his sweetheart.

Although Kenneth knew his luck, he sometimes wished for more. He wished for something more, he wanted the excitement he had witnessed in Hollywood Movies. He longed for the adventure. He wanted as close an approximation to them as possible without getting hurt of course. Kenneth, although he was a dreamer, he was not deluded he knew that Daniel Craig being chased by spies or Clint Eastwood shooting cowboys was never going to be a reality for him, it wasn't even a reality for them. Still it couldn't kill him to dream.

Reality never held much of his interest, he was always much more invested in creating his own realities. He spent a lot of hours unbeknownst to his parents on the internet using various platforms such as Second Life to fabricate a new Kenneth. Online he was free to create his own agenda, Kenneth Rahilly didn't in an official capacity at least exist on the web. His girlfriend never ceased nagging him to create a facebook profile so her cousins in Dubai could see what a nice young boy he was. If he was to do so he felt he'd be betraying himself. Much better to exist online as Kenny R a streetsmart bachelor who knew exactly how to get things done than to exist there as the real Kenneth Rahilly . This he felt was his only indulgence, he thought it was peculiar that a boy his age harboured such a secret and he went to great pains to make sure those who loved him would never discover his dark truths.

Every so often even this would bore him. When this happened he would stroll around his virtual world, telling any one who'd listen ridiculous lies about himself. He didn't mind that it always failed to please him, it didn't displease him either. He wasn't hurting anyone or so he felt.

One day during one of his walks among his second life, his life and by life I mean his factual life was to be altered irrevocably. It was like a dream, he realised the humour in this almost instantly. He saw her emerging from a lingerie shop he could see her Avatar name brightly lit above her "Sinny McB". He steeled his courage and went to her. "Hi :-) " She typed. "Hi" he replied.

And so it continued Kenneth wooed the virtual Sinead, in a fashion that the real Kenneth would never have been able to do. Sinead opened up to him, explaining the fact that her father had recently become very strict due to the stories that abounded around town concerning her virtue. She related to Kenneth that these stories were completely unfounded and stemmed from an incident that occurred over a year ago. It seemed to Kenneth like this was all an innocent misunderstanding, although his objectivity was called into question by his overwhelming love for her. Kenneth revealed himself to her in turn proclaiming his love for her.

The days turned into weeks, he had strict instructions not to visit her at work. If he must enter the shop he would have to pretend that he didn't know her, for her father had eyes everywhere. It would give Kenneth a secret delight as he'd walk by the window and see her at work. It may have been his imagination but he was sure that her boredom had been replaced by a glow of happiness.

One day she suggested that they meet in person. Kenneth, hesitated where could they meet. It could be dangerous. What if his parents found out? If his girlfriend discovered? He didn't want anyone to get hurt. She insisted and Kenneth feeling his pride on the line acquiesced. They were to meet under Kerrin's Bridge at 2.00 am on Saturday morning. The day finally arrived and Kenneth waited anxiously, watching the minutes until the encounter slowly transform into it's successor. He then heard his father turn off the television the dull tones of the news announcer slowly fade. He then heard him grumble about the government and then lovingly place the dog outside. "It wouldn't be long now" Kenneth thought. He quickly packed a rucksack with what he thought he'd need a bottle of wine, some candles and a condom he managed to find in the gyms locker room. He continued waiting anxiously until the time arrived for him to leave. He quietly let himself out the front door carefully in order not disturb the other inhabitants.

He arrived at Kerrin's bridge and quickly skirted down the embankment, he checked his watch five minutes until two. He had a few minutes to compose himself. He ran over the lines he had composed in his head. He felt himself hardening at the thoughts of placing his hands upon her. He was trapped in his thoughts when they were interrupted by the sounds of footsteps. He didn't even have time to say hello.

Dealing with the crushing loneliness of Summer Part 1.

2011-09-07T14:58:00.000+01:00

"I'm so desperately lonely" the sad faced man on the bus cried out to someone, who exactly I can't be sure. Perhaps it was no one, maybe that's why he was lonely. I looked up from my careworn copy of "P.S I Love You" to laugh at him in a spiteful manner. That's the funny thing about despair, only you can feel it. No one else can feel your own particular brand of soul crushing defeat, it's translated to others as a form of schadenfreude. It's one of those universal truths, sad though it may be, that we find others misery so rib-ticklingly funny. He continued relentlessly explaining his lamentable situation stop after stop. I could see the man beside our friend grow increasingly less patient, the veins in his bald head pulsating to an unheard sound. "Right that's it" The bald man said " I'll show you lonely". He began to beat the loneliness out of our sad faced protagonist. I felt a little bit exposed, it was a rather awkward situation so I pressed the stop button and alighted from the bus.

This man and his rather irritating loneliness had started me thinking, thinking long and hard (That's what she said) about a subject I had never really put much consideration into before; what is loneliness? and what exactly are the contributing factors that cause people so much grief?

How could I as one man combat loneliness?, having never experienced the feeling before. I had legions of admirers and friends who each loved me more than the last did. I was never short of someone to go hunting with, or strangling cats, or taunting homeless people with.

I was completely puzzled, there was no way I could experience loneliness the way the man from the bus could. If I walk down the street in my home town I am never given a moments peace with the littany of people who vie for my attention, whether it may be asking for my advice on a personal problem, or a halfhearted attempt to seduce me.

I retreated to my local coffee house to catch up on some writing, or at least prentening to as is the fashion with like minded douchebags. I was sitting there minding my own business, when a local boy came up and began rambling about his problems with his girlfriend, I could not pay attention to this poor soul because out in the street I heard a deafening roar, "Plans, Wakka Laaka Laaka, Can I borrow 50 cent" A nasal boom barely intoned. I rushed oustide to witness the commotion. Outside stood the most vile creature on two legs my eyes have ever had the displeasure of viewing. The hideous form continued to hurry garbled nonsense from what I assumed was it's mouth. I stood there watching and listening in awe for what seemed like a slow lunch hour, I suddenly snapped out of my stratled state, to attempt to placate the monster. "Excuse me, what are you screaming about?", "I'm not screaming" the monster screamed in reply "This is how I always talk". Amazing I thought, "What are you saying exactly? Plans?, are you selling them? Do you devise them? and what is that horrid stench, are you dying?". The Monster intook a laboured breath that sounded half way between a sneer and half way between wind blowing through a chimney grate. "I'm asking if anyone has plans, I'm very lonely you see and I cannay feel lonely if people have plans wiv mee, Ah the smeel must be me shoos, the rain makes them smell?". I looked up at the clear summer's day, it hadn't rained in quite some time, obviously this vagrant had been living rough for quite awhile now "The Name's Clingles bahai de wayee", I exhanged names but did not feel comfortable shaking his hand so did a bow that I later regretted, because when he attempted it in return he fell over landing in a freshly watered flower trough, his grubby jacket was even more unpresentable as a result. "Don't worry" the monster assured me, "it'll wash oot in the raihayn". "Then the solution appeared in my mind like the virgin Mary does in remote backwards places, I would have to study this Man and perhaps live as a vagrant then I could finally know loneliness. It was quite simple really! Just appear very unkempt and have a vague smell of defeat and death about you and everone would leave you alone.

A Night Out on The Town With Fore-Can! Part 4

2011-06-09T12:16:00.006+01:00

We tore out of the alley like a still-born wolf shredding it's way out of it's dead mother's womb, the drunks fell about the care worn streets, Rosy cheeks and dull eyes, attempting to make sense of the world around them. Retto began to sob heavily, tears gushing down his once arrogant face. He intermittently lost control of the car it took all my power to wrestle the wheel from him in order to narrowly avoid hitting the nearest obstacle. I knew by now asking him why he was crying would only result in some pseudo philosophical answer, so I held my tongue. We drove for what seemed like someone took eternity and stretched it into a three part series of "What happens when paint Dries", I had enough I was tired, confused and had been unwittingly implicated in a number of crimes, I just wanted to hide from the bright light that was now pervading my every sense. "Let me out, of the car" I screamed, surprising myself much like a dog who is surprised by the functioning of his gastric system. "What no way man, we have a lot to do" Retto replied in a flippant manner, attempting to brush my order away with a limp wrist. "Let me the fuck out!, Retto I said". Retto looking startled, obviously not used to people telling him what do, complied uneasily. "Look man" he began as I climbed out the passenger side, he didn't finish, I didn't let him.

I sat at the bus stop and rued the day I ever met that hairy fuck-tard, and thought if I ever see him again I' going to staple his pony tail to the wall and have a pack of ravenous ferrets use his colon as a chew toy.

I managed to find my way home from the derelict backwater Retto had let me in and fell into bed a depleted shard of the man I once was. I was completely exhausted but funnily enough I was unable to sleep, although I failed to find the humour in this at the time. I lay there thrashing about my careworn bed like a meth addict in a strait jacket. After what seemed like a lifetime of futile attempts to lose consciousness I acquiesced to my own restlessness and plodded to the kitchen, with each step a shuddering reminder of the extremities of yesterday. I sat at the the kitchen table and had a cup of scalding coffee that seemed to only deepen my burgeoning depression. I turned on my shoddy laptop and waited for the antiquated O.S to spring to life and started viewing a few gentlemen's interest tapes, I was just getting to a good scene. When there was a knock on my door, I assumed it was my neighbour who always popped by in the morning to ask if I needed anything, her loneliness always repulsed me as if it was a living breathing parasite that clung to her skin and refused to let go. I wasn't in any position to receive her and even if I did I would no doubt make one of my famous bad decisions. I returned to the scene of which I will omit the details, but the knock persisted. In order to make myself presentable I paced around the room if you get my meaning (;-). The knocking continued in an unbroken barrage of irritating beats. I took a deep breath to steady myself as I walked to the door "Who is it?" I called barely capable of concealing the curt indignation in my voice. "Special delivery" there was a brief pause as the foreign sounding man replied obviously looking at the docket "For a Mr. Hugh? " he continued. "Just leave it at the door" I began to walk back to the kitchen. "If you do not sign sir I will have no choice to return to the depot, and you will have to claim it later" he replied his accent seemed to falter. I went to the door and swung it wide open. It was Retto, he wasn't even carrying a package and was wearing a ridiculous waiter's outfit, He barged past me wringing his hands in a state of obvious despondency. Concerned by this unprecedented change in demeanour I began to treat Retto in the manner that one might reserve for a hysterical woman. I led him to my dilapidated couch and wrapped him in a blanket, much like I would with the more serious cases we would find at the soup kitchen. I waited until he was in a resting position. "I saw her" he began. "Who? who did you see?" I replied with the manner of a veteran priest. "Marla". "Oh great" I replied with genuine enthusiasm "did you talk with her?". "No she came to me" he looked at me, his eyelids. "To your apartment? Were you there? what did she say?". "No, you don't understand". I was beginning to lose patience, I bit my bottom lip hard and fumbled for my cigarettes in my robe, Retto motioned for one without opening his eyes. "Yeah she left a note" he mumbled while lighting the cigarette without managing to lose his starting contest with whichever spot he had challenged. "What did it say? Nofuck it Retto, this has gotten old, way old, How did you even find me? No never fucking mind where is Lips?". Retto sharply inhaled and let a cloud of smoke escape from his cracked lips, he seemed to snap out of it a little like he had just pricked himself on a sharp tack "Oh the car got stolen". "What?" I cried somewhat incredulously, "The car got stolen? How the hell did that happen?" I began pacing back and forth just like I did when I tried to get rid of an unwanted erection, except this problem would take more than a quickened pace to solve. I began to laugh, maybe it was because of the overtiredness, the cocktail of amphetamines and hallucinogens in my system. Or the fact that Retto had managed to stay so calm and collected through this whole clusterfuck like a modernday James Dean. "Hey look man" Retto said as he placed a pillow under his head, if it's all the same to you I don't really function in daylight, so...." he groaned as he pointed me to the door. I complied for some reason, went to my room and fell fast asleep.

A Night on the Town with Fore-Can! Part 3.

2011-04-18T16:41:00.001+01:00

The gang of women charged at us like the light brigade, bosoms heaving while the flattering light of the alley cascaded upon their perfect skin. I was beyond anxious at this point, "What are we going to do Retts, we're going to die that's what we're going to do" Retts stood perfectly still in a pose that exuded perfect clam with a mixture of raw sexual charisma. The first of the ladies charged at him while I attempted to get in the car, Retto released a flurry of perfectly executed blows knocking the woman straight into a stack of boxes. I was dragged from my hiding place in the boot by a number of the women who decided that my midsection was a football, "Please stop, I didn't want any of this" I sobbed in broken bursts. "Damn it Hugh" Retto exclaimed as he held one woman in a headlock while delivering a sweet round house kick to another one, "Fight back, for the love of all that is holy, fight back! I grabbed the shapely ankle of the leader and managed to knock her off her feet, the other ladies steeped back, quite obviously aghast at my sudden display of fighting savvy. "Let's get biblical ladies" I screamed in a shrill castrato. I proceeded to swing blindly at the darkened alley my eyes closed to the entire world. I connected a few punches but was knocked off my feet, I opened my eyes to find the most beautiful woman in the world standing over me, her hair was the colour of barley and it floated so gently in the night breeze, I detected the sweet scent of her perspiration that had hints of wild flower and rich jasmine. I quickly surveyed the surrounding area, the unconscious beautiful forms of the Lips army lay strewn across the alley, and Retto was detained fighting woman with a scimitar using his bare hands. The woman stood above me removed a large blade from her belt and raised it in a sacrificial stance. "Don't do it, I love you" I screamed. She responded by laughing in a lovely lilting manner her chest rising and falling rapidly like a flower swaying in the summer breeze, her mirth was cut short by a low whistling sound. A large spot of blood began to grow through her cream chemise; she sank to her knees, a short sob radiated from her bloodied lips. I immediately jumped to my feet and grabbed her in my arms. Somewhere I heard a chuckling and the sound of hurried feet on metal stairs. I sat cradling her in my arms assuring her that everything would be alright and whispered affirmations of my love, while she stuttered bloodily that I was a creep. I felt her last breath escape her mouth and witnessed her soul escape its resplendent casing. I damned the God I once believed in, and swore that I would never love again. "Damn it Hateful, did you shoot her?” "No Retts someone else did, she was an angel" I sobbed hysterically. "She was going to stab you; does that seem like something an angel would do?" Retto reasoned. "A rose by any other name, Retto", I said in a defeated fashion, tears rolling down my face like a fat guy down a staircase."Retto pondered aloud. "I don't know but if I find him" I said as I drew my finger across my throat in the universal sign for murder. "He saved your life man, why would you kill him?” I sighed knowing that Retto would never understand the intricacies of the heart like I would, I pitied him that in a manner of speaking. He sat down on the back of the car, muttering something about a plan; I remained clutching the remains of my sweetheart. Retto suddenly broke the silence after what seemed like an eternity. "Ok, we need to get out of here; I know just the place to go". "Oh no you don't, I'm not going anywhere with you, you've cost me too dearly tonight!" I retorted in a sullen manner befitting one who has just lost his raison d’être. "Look I didn't want for you to get embroiled in this, but it just happened" Retto stood directly in front of me, placed his hand and my shoulder and attempted to make eye contact, I would not concede and placed my vision directly over his shoulder."Look I admit I haven't been completely honest with you", he said and sighed and turned around, "I put her up for collateral Hugh, and I feel just awful it". "Who did you put up? Marla?" I replied attempting to sound disinterested. "Yeah it was a sure thing, at least I thought it was, 200 hundred Gs I put her up, and lost". He walked to the overturned bin that Lips had sat on. I walked over and sat down beside him, "Why didn't you try to win her back?” "I did, I put myself and another hundred on her, that's what Lips was here for tonight to collect.”Jesus, that's crazy, completely Jim Corr style crazy", I said as I looked at my blood covered shoes, "We have to get her back, if only there was a way of getting lips to talk". Retto smiled, “You’d have to torture it out of him, and...." Retto paused and a flash of realisation darted across his face, "clear the alley I know just the guy", he searched Lips pockets removed his keys slammed the boot and started the car. I stood up, feeling every bit as useless as I was. "Clear it", Retto shouted from the car. I did as I was told and climbed in beside him.

A Night on the Town with Fore-Can! Part 2.

2011-04-13T12:46:00.004+01:00

We reached the end of the queue after what seemed like an eternity, the bouncer grinned at Retto, lifted the red rope and chastised him in a playful manner about not informing him he was in the queue. "Next time, come to the front, you know I always have a place on the list for ya". Retto just smiled, shook his hand and made his way into the club nodding at various women who were smiling broadly at him, gazes of barely concealed lust behind their inebriated eyes. I felt like I was walking a wheelbarrow of Ice-cream through a fat-camp. Retto spent a minute talking with the girl behind the ticket desk, while I talked to some flame haired harlot, I say I talked but the conversation was more of an extended monologue, "I'm like so, jealous of Suzie cos she like managed to get with him" she pointed towards Retto "I hear he's so amazing in bed!, so are you...." Luckily Retto beckoned me. I walked away mid-conversation leaving the girl muttering something about me being awkward and rude, I was never very good at suffering the ramblings of morons. "I'd stay away from her, if I were you Hughby Dooby". I assured him I would, he laughed and added rather cryptically "She's bad news....". I told him I had the same feeling too, he laughed and walked to the bar.

From the bar I surveyed the surrounding area. The club was full of the usual types one would find on a Thursday night in sleepy suburbia; beauty college girls with too much make-up, squeezed into dresses that were too tight for them two years ago, drunken farm-boys in their Sunday's best with newly found God-complexes acquired through the medium of alcohol and lonely drunks sitting in separate booths, drawn together by their collective despair but yet further isolated by the very thing that brought them together, their forlorn sighs just barely audible through the throbbing pulse of the turgid pop music. Retto must have gauged the look on my face when he said "I know it's not much, but it's the best we can do on a Thursday night, give it a chance kid". I cast him a weary look. "Yikes it looks you need a drink". He ordered several scotches which he ensured the barman that he meant in a biblical sense and made a toast "that we should, with joy, pleasance, revel, and applause, transform ourselves into beasts!". He paused again thoughtfully and gestured towards an empty booth towards the back of the bar, when we sat down he began again "Marla.... yeah she was certainly different from other girls I knew before, you know looking back I guess I never really knew them, I never knew anyone until I met Marla, she had a way with things, I don't know how much truth goes into the antiquated concept of love at first sight but I can tell you son, it felt like that for me. I can assure you though the feeling in the beginning was not reciprocated. Where did I leave you off?" I reminded him, attempting to appear less eager than I was to hear the conclusion of his story "Ah yeah well the next day I drove down there myself, just to look at her, oh I know what you are thinking that is textbook voyeur behaviour and maybe it was, but I just couldn't get her out of my mind, and in defence of my ability with the fairer sex I felt she deserved a fresh approach one I didn't feel I was ready to give her, So I sat in my car in the alley opposite St. Swithin's church, just observing her, watching her every move; how she rallied those shiftless hipsters into a ruthless protesting machine, how she would hold the side of her face ever so gently while she laughed or how her chest rose and fell in cadence with the chants she so beautifully orated"

I sighed I was beginning to grow weary and longed to go home close the blinds. Just then a hard toned tenor voice cut the tedium "Mind if I join you Retts" The man enquired. "Not at all Lips be my guest".The man sat down opposite Retto and began a staring match of sorts "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend Retts" Lips snarled behind what I assumed were the luscious lips he was named for. After the formalities were taken care of, Lips continued "I've been looking for you Retts, and as you can see it's serious". "I got that" Retto replied in a tone that could melt sand. "I usually don't make these kind of calls myself you see...", Retto cut him off, "I know the drill, but I'm not going anywhere with you" Retto crossed his arms in his front and leaned back, Lips placed his hand under the table and a look of mild concern flashed to Retto's face, "Ok I've changed my mind Lips I'll co-operate, the back alley sound good?" "Excellent that's where I'm parked!". Lips laughed silently the club's lights intermittently lighting his chiselled features in an ominous nature "Come on Hughby-Dooby I think we'll be taking a midnight drive with Mr. Lips". I argued that I was tired and I wanted to go to bed, but Lips raised a pistol from under the table, Now I was ready to co-operate."And if you try any funny business I won't hesitate to use this thing" He chortled derisively.

Lips marched us out on the floor through the throngs of revellers dancing to a song whose repetitiveness was matched only by its obnoxiousness. I was pushed through the emergency exit, into the back alley. I was starting to get the feeling we wouldn't be riding up front in this car ride. Lips walked backwards to his car; opened his boot with one hand, the other one holding a gun directly at us, he didn't break his vision of us once.The alley smelled of stale urine and curried chips, It was decorated in graffiti with comical misspellings, I smiled inwardly as I read "Fuk d Nigjers".The crisp night air quivered with the sounds of taxis driving still drunk youth home to house of whatever bad decision they had decided to spend the night with. Inside the boot there lay a rough home kidnapping kit, (I know, I used to be in the business, mostly the cats of scorned lovers, but I knew a good kit when I saw it) He told Retto to tie me up and then he'd do him. He then pistol whipped me when I laughed at the unwitting double entendre, I had never been pistol whipped before, but the pain I experienced my not unlike the time I attempted to brush my eyeballs when they were looking a little less than white. I fell on the floor and struggled to get up, Retto kneeled down beside me and whispered that he was going to get us out of this, he then began to tie up my hands and feet. Lips sat on an overturned thrash can, waving his gun in a fluid motion to the beat of the muffled club music, occasionally shouting "You thought you could mess with me, no-one messes with Lips". Retto continued to tie me up, I was beginning to lose all hope, I was resigned to my faith, I thought about all the films I was going to miss. The new Batman, The new Iron-man and of course the next film in the Twilight franchise. Retto then went to the boot, and wore an expression of pure puzzlement as he peered thoughtfully into the boot. "Lips I think you are going to have to take a look at this". "What is it? can't you see I'm busy chuckling at my own cleverness?" he replied in an irritated manner. "No seriously, I think there's something seriously wrong here". Lips sighed and rose from his seat and walked to the car and began to search the boot. "Ok I'm looking....", "Look a little closer, you'll find it." Retto said as he backed away from the vehicle. "What should I be seeing in here" Lips replied in an exasperated manner. "You!" Retto growled in a menacing tone. Lips turned just in time to see Retto raise a car jack and let it fall on Lips' wrist, the gun fell from his hand and created a deafening clatter. Lips' usual composure, dissipated from his handsome face, his eyes a shade of defeat I had not witnessed since I lost my virginity. He brought the iron down once more on his knee, Lips' staggered back into the boot, grasping his wrist. "You broke it, you broke my wrist you crazy bastard, oh you'll pay for this, you'll pay dearly you hear me!". "You take Cash or Credit?" Retto quipped as he punched Lips with a force that I never knew a human could create.Lips fell back, into the boot as peaceful as springtime in Switzerland. Retto ran over to me and quickly cut my bounds with his trusty switchblade. "Sorry I took so long,he's a bit of a talker". I laughed more out of relief than genuine amusement. "Ok help me tie him up". I stayed mostly silent until now but I felt it was time to speak up "No Retto" I screamed "I've had enough, no wait I had enough a few hours ago... I'm past having enough" I lit a cigarette whilst swearing "I thought, hey Retto seems like a nice guy a little on the edge but nice, he's having a hard time, I'll have a few drinks and then go home and possibly never see him again, but Oh no... things just don't work out like that for old Hugh, no, complications just have to arise" Retto had remained uncharacteristically silent through my outburst, the just raised his hand "are you quite done?". I told him I was between heaving sobs, "Ok, then we have to tie Lips up, and create a plan so I need you to hold it together while we do that ok?" He then placed the gun gently in my hand "Thatta boy"

Just as we were placing a gag into Lips mouth he began laughing " You fools, you thought it would be this easy!" Just then the light from the street was obscured we looked down to find the shadows we followed the shadows to a group of burlesque dancers wielding weapons made out what looked like sex toys. I looked furtively around the alley for a means to escape but of course there was none."Fight my prettys, Fight" Lips screamed in a vehement tone. The girls began charging at us. "Shit what do we do Retto". I glanced over at him he had raised his fists in a fighting pose, Lips continued chuckling in the boot. Retto spun around in a sweet roundhouse kick returning Lips to the unnatural slumber he was in. He then lit a cigarette and let out a blood curdling yell "Let's get biblical Ladies" and charged
at the women.

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A Night on the Town with Fore-Can! Part 1.

2011-04-12T16:10:00.001+01:00

A Night on the Town with Dominic “2retto”

All of us have a person in our lives that bring out the party animal in us, who makes us throw caution to the wind and let our primal selves free. Well that person for me is Dominic or Retto as he likes people to call him. I met Dominic a few years back in a soup kitchen I was volunteering in (it makes me feel good about myself to help the less fortunate). I assumed because of his shaggy appearance and unkempt appearance Retto was a member of the homeless community, he assured me he was not as he pressed the blade of his switchknife to my neck, Retto was in the soup kitchen to carry out his community service, which he received for in his own words protecting his old lady from a gang of “fascists” which he had enraged. I later discovered that his “old lady” had swindled the “fascist’s” funds whilst Retto and her were members of the party. He justified joining these types as just sampling life, and would then repeat his mantra “Try everything once, and if you like it. Do it to excess”. In the beginning I feared Retto; I feared his wild and irresponsible behaviour, I feared his unorthodox behaviour, but above all I feared his insatiable lust for life. His life force seemed to burn with such and intensity I had not experienced before.

Towards the end of his service at the soup kitchen Retto had become quite despondent and forlorn, and his mood was subject to far more change than was his usual. On his last day at closing time when I was putting the bins out in the back alley I found him punching holes in the wall and muttering loudly. I attempted to console him but pinned me against the wall and put his switchblade to my neck, (I was beginning to see a pattern emerging) he confided in me that his old lady had left him and that he felt his soul had evaporated. He then coerced me to hit the town with him, in the hope of reclaiming his soul and making some human connections. I felt an overwhelming sense of dread I had not felt since I went to see “How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days” with my secondary school sweetheart, I could not envision a more terrifying scenario until that moment. Although I was apprehensive I feared what he do if I refused his company. He told me he had to go back home to change into something a little more tunnel and to meet me in the whiskey Bar on James Street at 11.30.

I returned to my apartment, I strummed my ukulele wistlessly as I thought of the pickle I gotten myself into; Retto was a dangerous man, he had demonstrated this with his cavalier behaviour and reckless attitude, I swallowed hard and accepted my fate , leaving my destiny in the hands of the great Excelsior.

I made it to the Whiskey Bar at the agreed time, I searched high and low but Retto was nowhere to be seen I placed myself at the bar in full view of the main door. I assumed that he was late and this would be the best place for him to see me and vice versa. I ordered as cosmopolitan but the barman fixed me with a look of genuine incredulity. “Hey now buddy” He intoned in a low growl “I think you should take your business elsewhere, we don’t care for you fruity types in this here place”. I then felt a hand on my shoulder a familiar voice followed suit“He’s with me Bob, excuse him, he’s a little clueless when it comes to interacting with people he spends most of his days with books” Bob nodded solemnly and recoiled as if reading was a deadly disease that he could catch just from reading the same air as me. “Give him a whiskey straight, that’ll put manners on him, Fuck it make that 5” Bob began his task of pouring the drinks, I asked Retto if we were expecting company, but he just laughed and began swallowing each glass of whiskey in quick succession. I was still struggling with mine when then grinned at me and told me to man up finish the drink and follow him. “Keep the whiskeys coming Bob, I want to be drunk enough to find one of your sisters attractive but not drunk enough to be capable of the misjudgement of sleeping with one of them” Bob laughed heartily called Retto as son of a bitch and went back to cleaning glasses. Retto led me to a booth that was partially obscured from the rest of the patrons’ collective vision. He then began to wax lyrical about the demise of his relationship “ You see the thing about women is” he said between gulps of Whiskey “Is they never know what it is they want, So how can they possibly expect you to give it to them. I mean if you’ll excuse me for sounding a little fruity here Hughby Dooby, I thought she’d be the type of girl I retire my pecker. I could actually see myself doing her for the rest of my life”. I asked him not to call me Hughby Dooby in retort he opened his switch blade and continued with his story “I mean I remember when I first met her, man was I green. I had very little experience in what my grandparents would call courting. Sure I fucked around, I slept with my fair share of slags, shit I even slept with your fair share, but something inside me made me feel this one was different” He paused thoughtfully and brushed his hair back “ Her ass was as beautiful as thousand sunsets and her rack I don’t think there is a word in any modern language that can do justice to the perfection they demonstrated” After a year of Retto’s company it still amazed me how vulgar he could be in such an eloquent manner, his speech was in essence a perfect representation of the duality of man. “ I should have known, I mean they say opposites attract, I suppose we weren’t any different to any other of those clichés”. He then paused and took a bag of white powder out of his jacket, this I assumed to be athletes foot powder, I once saw a girl who used to carry some around. He then broke the powder into a number of lines passed me a rolled bill and told me, to snort. I had no interest in partaking of this, my nostrils did not feel itchy, and I couldn’t see any other purpose to doing such a silly thing. Then I remembered the switchblade and happily complied with his wishes. I expressed my amazement with the feeling of elation that swept over me, exclaiming that if I knew it inspired such a euphoric feeling I would have been snorting it for years. “Coke’ll do that man” He grinned the powder resting on his beard like powdered sugar. I was amazed that Coca Cola manufactured a foot powder but I just related this to globalisation.

The crowd was dying down in the bar, all that remained was a drunk couple. The woman tugged on the man’s jacket imploring him to leave, the man just shrugged her off and sullenly sat arms crossed occasionally taking small gulps of his drink. Retto caught me observing the couple “See man that’s one thing I won’t miss, trying to drag her drunk ass out of a bar at closing time” He laughed and shook his head, but suddenly looked wistful and began to wring his hands, he then suggested a change of venue, he said “This Jury can’t try me fairly”. I looked at my watch it was 1 o clock in the morning, it was well past my bedtime, but amazingly I did not feel tired I attributed this to the foot powder that Retto was so generous with. I followed him blindly into the cool night air, he then informed me we were going to check out a club he was recommended by a friend of his, a man Retto assured me was a “fellow of a highly esteemed nature”. We arrived at the club to be confronted by a rather large line, we stepped into place in the queue and began what I assumed would be a rather long wait. “Yeah Opposites man” he continued as though he had never left the subject “Polar opposites, Ha wait until I tell you the story of how we met, ah no don’t look like that man, this isn’t your parents How we met story unless your parents are as messed up as me and Marla” I assured him they weren’t “Ha, you keep telling yourself that man, but anyway where was I, It was your usual day just like any other I was rolling with my boys down in the Old quarter, you’d usually find me in the Old quarter back then, it was a resplendent area, full of rich history and beautifully appointed Gothic Arches, and Cobblestoned streets that screamed of Parisian splendour, but if I remember correctly some of the quarter had been recently re-opened to vehicular traffic, as you could imagine this did not go down to smoothly with some of the preservationist types, we must have been one of these roads because all I remember was a vegetable hitting my car. Well I was absolutely livid, nobody and I mean not one single solitary person gets to treat my car with such a flagrant disregard for her. I jumped out followed closely by my boys, only to find a number of protesters in front of St. Swithin’s Street Library. “Who threw that?” I screamed with such cataclysmic violence, I even felt my boys were alarmed by my loss of composure”. I cast Retto a knowing glance and chuckled “Ah shut up!, but anywho, I didn’t expect anyone to stand forward and you can imagine my shock when a woman know taller than my waist stood forward and said it was her, I was honestly taken aback Hughby Dooby, no one ever stood up to me like that before, I mean this girl, had a special quality I had not witnessed before, I was practically speechless. I managed to mutter a thinly veiled threat and returned to my car with my metaphorical tail between my legs. I was smitten I just could not get this girl out of my mind. I literally lost sleep that night and....” He was interrupted by man cutting under the red rope in front of us. “Yikes, what do you think you’re doing fella?, I’ll tell you what you’re doing you’re cutting front of me and my associate” The man stood with his back to us and snarled “and what do you think you’re going to do about it?” The man then turned around and a look of genuine terror spread across his squashed features. “Oh Retto man, I didn’t realise, it was you. I’m so, so sorry, please forgive me man, look I’ll leave just don’t do it again. I couldn’t face it.” The man then dived out of the line quicker than a traveller from personal responsibility. I would have inquired about the nature of this man’s fear, but I decided to leave it to my imagination

A Night on the Town with Fore-Can! Part 1.

2011-04-12T16:10:00.000+01:00

A Night on the Town with Dominic “2retto”

All of us have a person in our lives that bring out the party animal in us, who makes us throw caution to the wind and let our primal selves free. Well that person for me will always be Dominic or Retto as he likes people to call him.

I met Dominic a few years back in a soup kitchen I was volunteering in (it makes me feel good about myself to help the less fortunate). I assumed because of his shaggy appearance and unkempt appearance Retto was a member of the homeless community, he assured me he was not as he pressed the blade of his switchknife to my neck. Retto was purely in the soup kitchen to carry out his community service, which he received for; in his own words protecting his old lady from a gang of “fascists” which he had enraged. I later discovered that his “old lady” had swindled the “fascist’s” funds whilst Retto and her were members of the party. He justified joining these types as just sampling life, and would then repeat his mantra “Try everything once, and if you like it. Do it to excess”. In the beginning I feared Retto; I feared his wild and irresponsible behaviour, I feared his unorthodox behaviour, but above all I feared his insatiable lust for life.

Towards the end of his service at the soup kitchen Retto had become quite despondent and forlorn, and his mood was subject to far more change than was his usual. On his last day at closing time when I was putting the bins out in the back alley I found him punching holes in the wall and muttering loudly. I attempted to console him but he pinned me against the wall and put his switchblade to my neck, (I was beginning to see a pattern emerging) he confided in me that his old lady had left him and that he felt his soul had evaporated. He then coerced me to hit the town with him, in the hope of reclaiming his soul and making some human connections. I felt an overwhelming sense of dread I had not felt since I went to see “How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days” with my secondary school sweetheart, I could not envision a more terrifying scenario until that moment. Although I was apprehensive I feared what he would do if I refused his company. He told me he had to go back home to change into something a little more tunnel and to meet me in the Whiskey Bar on James Street at 11.30.

I made it to the Whiskey Bar at the agreed time, I searched high and low but Retto was nowhere to be seen I placed myself at the bar in full view of the main door. I assumed that he was late and this would be the best place for him to see me and vice versa. I ordered a cosmopolitan but the barman fixed me with a look of genuine incredulity. “Hey now buddy” He intoned in a low growl “I think you should take your business elsewhere, we don’t care for you fruity types in this here place”. I then felt a hand on my shoulder a familiar voice followed suit“He’s with me Bob, excuse him, he’s a little clueless when it comes to interacting with people, he spends most of his days with books” Bob nodded solemnly and recoiled as if reading was a deadly disease that he could catch just from breathing the same air as me. “Give him a whiskey straight, that’ll put manners on him, Fuck it make that 5” Bob began his task of pouring the drinks, I asked Retto if we were expecting company, but he just laughed and began swallowing each glass of whiskey in quick succession. I was still struggling with mine when then grinned at me and told me and follow him. “Keep the whiskeys coming Bob, I want to be drunk enough to find one of your sisters attractive but not drunk enough to be capable of the misjudgement of sleeping with one of them” Bob laughed heartily called Retto as son of a bitch and went back to cleaning glasses. Retto led me to a booth that was partially obscured from the rest of the patrons’ collective vision. He then began to wax lyrical about the demise of his relationship “ You see the thing about women is” he said between gulps of Whiskey “Is they never know what it is they want, So how can they possibly expect you to give it to them. I mean if you’ll excuse me for sounding a little fruity here Hughby Dooby, I thought she’d be the type of girl for whom I'd retire my pecker. I could actually see myself doing her for the rest of my life”. I asked him not to call me Hughby Dooby in retort he opened his switch blade and continued with his story “I mean I remember when I first met her, man was I green. I had very little experience in what my grandparents would call courting. Sure I fucked around, I slept with my fair share of slags, shit I even slept with your fair share, but something inside me made me feel this one was different” He paused thoughtfully and brushed his hair back “ Her ass was as beautiful as thousand sunsets and her rack I don’t think there is a word in any modern language that can do justice to the perfection they demonstrated” After a year of Retto’s company it still amazed me how vulgar he could be in such an eloquent manner, his speech was in essence a perfect representation of the duality of the man I struggled to follow. “ I should have known, I mean they say opposites attract, I suppose we weren’t any different to any other of those clichés”. He then paused and took a bag of white powder out of his jacket, this I assumed to be athletes foot powder, I once saw a girl who used to carry some around. He then broke the powder into a number of lines passed me a rolled bill and told me, to snort. I had no interest in partaking of this, my nostrils did not feel itchy, and I couldn’t see any other purpose to doing such a silly thing. Then I remembered the switchblade and happily complied with his wishes. I expressed my amazement with the feeling of elation that swept over me, exclaiming that if I knew it inspired such a euphoric feeling, (It felt like getting a piggy back from God) I would have been snorting it for years. “Coke’ll do that man” He grinned the powder resting on his beard like powdered sugar. I was amazed that Coca Cola manufactured a foot powder but I just related this to globalisation.

The crowd was dying down in the bar, all that remained was a drunk couple. The woman tugged on the man’s jacket imploring him to leave, the man just shrugged her off and sullenly sat arms crossed occasionally taking small gulps of his drink. Retto caught me observing the couple “See man that’s one thing I won’t miss, trying to drag her drunk ass out of a bar at closing time” He laughed and shook his head, but suddenly looked wistful and began to wring his hands, he then suggested a change of venue, he said “This Jury can’t try me fairly”. I looked at my watch it was 1 o clock in the morning, it was well past my bedtime, but amazingly I did not feel tired. I attributed this to the foot powder that Retto was so generous with. I followed him blindly into the cool night air, he then informed me we were going to check out a club he was recommended by a friend of his, a man Retto assured me was a “Fuck-face of a highly esteemed nature”. We arrived at the club to be confronted by a rather large line, we stepped into place in the queue and began what I assumed would be a rather long wait. “Yeah Opposites man” he continued as though he had never left the subject “Polar opposites, Ha wait until I tell you the story of how we met, ah no don’t look like that man, this isn’t your parent's How we met story unless your parents are as messed up as me and Marla” I assured him they weren’t “Ha, you keep telling yourself that man, but anyway where was I, It was your usual day just like any other I was rolling with my boys down in the Old quarter, you’d usually find me in the Old quarter back then, it was a resplendent area, full of rich history and beautifully appointed Gothic Arches, and Cobblestoned streets that screamed of Parisian splendour, but if I remember correctly some of the quarter had been recently re-opened to vehicular traffic, as you could imagine this did not go down to smoothly with some of the preservationist types, we must have been one of these roads because all I remember was a vegetable hitting my car. Well I was absolutely livid, nobody and I mean not one single solitary person gets to treat my car with such a flagrant disregard for her well being'. I jumped out followed closely by my boys, only to find a number of protesters in front of St. Swithin’s Street Library. “Who threw that?” I screamed with such cataclysmic violence, I even felt my boys were alarmed by my loss of composure”. I cast Retto a knowing glance and chuckled, “Ah shut up! he said in retort to my laughter 'but anywho, I didn’t expect anyone to stand forward and you can imagine my shock when a woman know taller than my waist stood forward and said it was her, I was honestly taken aback Hughby Dooby, no one ever stood up to me like that before, I mean this girl, had a special quality I had not witnessed before, I was practically speechless. I managed to mutter a thinly veiled threat and returned to my car with my metaphorical tail between my legs. I was smitten. I just could not get this girl out of my mind. I literally lost sleep that night and....” He was interrupted by man cutting under the red rope in front of us. “Yikes, what do you think you’re doing fella?" The man stared blankly back at him, an absent expression in his beady eyes, Retto didn't wait for the response "I’ll tell you what you’re doing you’re cutting in front of me and my associate”. The man stood with his back to us and snarled “and what do you think you’re going to do about it?” The man then turned around and a look of genuine terror spread across his squashed features. “Oh Retto man, I didn’t realise, it was you. I’m so, so sorry, please forgive me man, look I’ll leave... just don’t do it again... I couldn’t face it.” The man then dived out of the line quicker than a traveller from personal responsibility. I would have inquired about the nature of this man’s fear, but I decided to leave it to my imagination

I Scream-You Scream: A Tale of Horror

2011-03-30T13:32:00.000+01:00

I used to believe I was invincible, yes that is not a typo I actually believed I was immortal. I walked around believing that no harm could ever come to me, much like the feeling one experiences when they ingest a large amount of cocaine. I found myself running into all kinds of Dangerous situations and emerge from them unscathed and relatively unharmed. Until one day last week I came face to face with my own mortality and it appeared to me in the strangest form.

Let me recap, it was Thursday I had just finished laying down some phat tracks in my beat laboratory and was feeling in the mood for some gellato. Unfortunately the best gellato store happened to be in an area overrun with vicious gangs of marauding circus performers, this wasn't always the case. The recession is even tough for acrobats and jugglers too, laid off from their respective jobs they found themselves unskilled for work in the real world and had taken to petty larceny and murder, just in the efforts to survive another day. My heart bled for them, I felt these ridiculous people were my kindred spirits in many way; we often get ridiculed for our appearance, we have skills that don't serve any real purpose in the real world and ..... well two reasons is enough to be kindred spirits. As you can imagine I was still rather apprehensive about travelling through this neighbourhood. My friend Alex was once raped by a gang of clowns, now he can't even look at anything that even resembles a circus. He once attacked an old lady who had a brightly coloured umbrella. I sat debating the pros and cons of my trip, but in the end my desire for that sweet gellato won out.

I ambled through the sunlined streets full of joy and goodwill for my fellow man, stopped and petted a few stray dogs and received a few nasty bites from the neighbourhood urchins (little scamps, my fault for walking on the same side of the street as them). I made it to the Gellato shop with my anal virginity intact and found myself breathing a sigh of relief as I tucked into some sweet strawberry goodness. By the time I left several hours later I found the streets had taken on an altogether more sinister ambiance, I went back inside to ask the shop keep to phone me a taxi, but he laughed at me and said that the phone was for paying customers only. I attempted to argue with him that I had spent several hours and a kings ransom on his overpriced ice-cream. He then pulled a ice-cream scoop out and said what I assumed was some very graphic depictions of assault in Italian at me. I said what I thought was I don't want any trouble unfortunately I forgot how to negate as my Italian was quite rusty. He charged at me with the ice-cream scoop, but I managed to parry and he slipped on a banana peel and went sliding into his broom cupboard, I quickly locked the door and hightailed it out of there. I was a little shaken by this encounter as you can well imagine, Signor Gelataria may be a volatile sociopath but he made such delicious frozen dairy treats, but that was the last time! I was getting sick and tired of that routine. It was amusing the first few times but after a year the concept was getting tired. I wandered down the darkened street pausing briefly to look at things I found on the ground. I then noticed a woman down an alley she caught me glancing her way and asked if I wanted a fun time. "What a silly question" I thought "Who wouldn't want a fun time?" I walked down to meet her only to find she had a beard. "Whoah wait" I said pulling on her beard "What do you call this?". "This is a trap bud" She said in a lilting drawl that greatly contrasted with her ample facial hair. A group of clowns began to circle me. "Just great" I muttered "raped by clowns, I guess this is Karma's way of getting me back for laughing at Alex so much". "What?" the leader of the clowns shouted in an indignant manner "We're not gonna rape you? "Who do you think we are?". I told them the story of Alex and his unfortunate run in with some other circus folk. The clowns assured me they were not that kind of gang, we sat in the alley smoking some very funny cigarettes that the clowns had kindly offered me and discussed the moral disintegration of the country, after about an hour we parted ways with promises of catching up on Facebook etc. Just as I was leaving the lead clown Crackers "Oh wait, hey I nearly forgot we were supposed to mug you?" I cast him a sly smile opened my wallet to show him the emptiness that lay inside I then mouthed the words Gelato. We all burst out laughing and went our separate ways.

I made it home safe in the knowledge that I had made some friends for life, there may be a lot of bad in the world but if you go under the surface you will probably find blood and veins and stuff, but under that again you find goodness sweet nourishing goodness. I was right to assume the clowns and I would share a bond, and we are indeed brothers. Brothers till the end.

A Day at the Beach

2011-03-29T18:40:00.000+01:00

Due to the extremely hot unseasonable weather we have been having of late, I more often than I feel comfortable admitting find myself sweltering in my briefs trying to cool down beside the radiator . One day this all became far too much for me so I attempted to do something about it, needless to say I failed, but the next day I got out of my armchair and made a move for the local pool. When I arrived at the local pool the attendant reminded me that I was banned from said establishment for filling the pool with my stable of transsexual whores (they needed to wash somewhere, they weren’t using my shower ew.) I sighed and went on my melancholy way, I sat down in front of the library and began to sob, I had never experienced such resolute sadness. Just then I saw my friend Slick Ritz Ray drive by in his pink convertible, the jumper tied around his neck flapping in the breeze, a stable of Vietnamese Transexual prostitutes hanging on his every word. I waved at him he pulled over his car and shouted “Hey Dickhead, what are you crying about? Did you only just realise what a giant Douchesnozzle you are?” I blinked back the new wave of tears I was feeling and gave a stifled “Good stuff, where are you going bro?” “To the beach my man” “Oh sweet can I come?” “I’d like to bring you bra, but my hos take first preference in the seating arrangements, but if you can find your own way there, I might let you have one after I’m done”.

An Approximation of Ray and his Ladies.

This was too good an opportunity to pass up, spending time with Ray is an altogether underwhelming experience but I needed to get out of the city, and get my toes wet. I was starting to hallucinate in the heat. After Richard Nixon stopped breakdancing on his bonnet, Ray drove off in a cloud of smoke chuckling like a mad man at the hurtful goodbye he gave me. I quickly ran home and got my beach equipment, a bucket, a spade, some electrical tape, a WWI gas mask, sunscreen and of course my swimming outfit. I ran down the stairs to find my neighbour Ol’ Toady on his way in the door wearing what looked suspiciously like a wet suit under his dungarees. He saw me staring open mouthed at him and informed me he was going to the beach, but he forgot his oxygen tank upstairs. Seizing my opportunity I broke into Toady’s car and hid in the boot.

It took some time before Toady’s car came to a standstill. I could hear the sounds of Children laughing and waves crashing. I waited until I believed Toady was safely out of the way and broke out into the sunlight. It wasn’t at all what I expected, I expected the toned buff bodies of the Baywatch crew but I was instead faced with the pale pastiness of Irish bodies all in varying positions of betdownedness. Nevertheless I decided I would still have a magical day. I quickly went off to find Slick Ritz Ray, and it wasn’t long before I found him face down being covered in sun screen by his bevy of trannies. I decided to leave him alone he gets awfully crabby if I interrupt him during any form of human (or animal) contact. I decided it would be a wise idea to get into the water as the sand was starting to hurt my poor wittle feet with the heat of it. I quickly changed into my yellow speedo, and I found it hard to believe that it still fit. It was originally a birthday present from my parish priest that was a great 8^th birthday. It fit, but was inevitably snug, this only accentuated what God gave me you know what I mean (for those who can’t read between the lines, I’m implying that my Penis and Buttocks looked superb in the Speedos, actually should I write this because people who can’t read between the lines won’t be able to read between brackets!). I thought I saw the prettiest of Ray’s trannies look up and nod in an impressed fashion, but her penis was much bigger than mine.

I quickly ran down to the water and put my feet in they were met by ice cold water, “Why is the water cold, it’s so hot outside” I shrieked but was answered by no one, I looked around expecting one for a moment and decided to throw myself in. Once I started swimming I became used to the water, the water glistened off my taught haunches and the sunlight gleamed on my muscled back. After 5 minutes of splashing about in the water I became very bored and alighted onto the beach. I was feeling quite peckish and headed for the snack cart I found Ray there, he was wearing an old timey swimsuit and moon boots he was visibly drunk and was attempting to buy Crack cocaine from the cashier, the cashier told him in a polite manner that and began throwing hot dogs at him and then told him in a very thorough manner just where he could stick those hot dogs. I quickly dragged him away and we went back to his spot he lay down and began muttering something about Sandra Bullock being the leader of a covenant of witches and fell asleep. I noticed that he was looking a little red so I put some cooking oil on his face because I know just how savage he thinks a tan is. I then had a flash of genius I could go around the beach asking people if they would like a savage tan just like a Hollywood moviestar, and charge people for the privilege. This went very well and I made a hefty profit. With my new found wealth I decided it might be fun to rent a jet ski. I took the Jet Ski out for my maiden voyage, whilst out on the resplendent ocean I decided that it would be fun to try to take the thing to Mexico, I had never been but I assumed it was only a short distance from the Irish coast. I made it about what I thought was halfway there, but ran out of petrol thankfully enough the coastguard was doing his rounds and towed me back to the shore . On my trip back to the shore I noticed a number of Lobster people pointing at me and speaking in an excited manner, they must be relieved that I was safe. I got back to the shore to find these people weren’t lobsters but were my customers from earlier. “That’s him” Shouted Ray “He’s the one, who burnt us all, let’s drown him and eat his soul” I attempted to reason with this unruly mob, but was faced by complete and total anger. I quickly scampered off along the beach and onto the main road, where a man in a panel van with tinted windows pulled me into his car. What followed was a very strange drive home where the man informed me the same thing happened to him when he was trying to sell cat foetuses to the patrons of the beach. He dropped me home after spending an hour trying to get me to blow him. I was exhausted but I think that all in all it was a very successful day at the beach

Escape From France Part 1

2011-03-19T16:07:00.000+00:00

The following events actually happened, some of the names have been changed to avoid lawsuits and so on.

"What do you mean I can't bring a scimitar on my hand luggage" Scrumpy Lungs McCracken screamed at the baggage check attendant, "I swear the whole world has gone mad after this 9/11 business". "I am sorry sir but if you feel my English is not sufficient, I will have no choice but to cease talking to you" the baggage attendant sneered in the only way the French can. Scrumpy Lungs sighed deeply and resigned himself to the fact he wouldn't be able to wear his beloved scimitar on the plane. "Fucking bullshit" he cried, "I remember when you could bring two handguns and a large hunting knife on in your hand luggage now you can't even bring a switchblade on". "I don't think you could even do that in the 50's man" the Man From Mars said in a jovial manner. I laughed inwardly, Scrumpy Lungs was usually quite an obliging chap but something about airports brought out the warrior in him. We finished checking our bags and stepped outside in the frigid cold of the Parisian winter, we stood idly smoking our cigarettes discussing the events that led us here.

I had been hiding out in the city of Orleans to escape a particularly nasty creditor, I had run up quite a large bill in one of his Casinos. Thankfully during my self-imposed exile he was attacked by a vicious mob Elvis impersonators and perished in the onslaught. These Silly Boys kindly offered to visit me and help me to transport the lucre I had amassed back to Ireland. It was meant to be a relatively easy job, we would fill a number of suitcases full of the fruits of my labour and then take them back to Ireland, but the good lord Excelsior had other plans for us intrepid followers, he would send us on an odyssey that would send us all over the North of France and test the bounds of our sanity and our friendship.

Dating Tips For The Unitiated. Part 2

2010-11-18T16:26:00.000+00:00

Well hello there avid readers I have returned after my lengthy stint of publicizing my book, which I'm sure my twelve readers have signed copies of, so I shall forgo plugging it here.

When I was writing last I informed you I was going on what you would call a 'date' (I have just learned how to use quotation marks so excuse my liberal use of 'them' 'in' this 'column'). As I have previously stated this dating world was new and 'exciting' to me. I will now relate to you what occurred on this most important event of my adult life.

The big night had finally arrived I sat at home rocking anxiously back and forth with my head between my legs. What was I going to do on this date? (Seriously? what do I wear? do I talk to her?). I attempted to call my friend Man from Mars for some last minute dating 'advice', but just as I suspected his phone line was disconnected. (Playing hard to get, as usual). So I quickly visited his blog and lo and behold he had submitted his column

7 Dating Tips For Those Who Like To Date

So armed with this insightful knowledge I sat down and memorized every commandment to a tee.

I was also curious as to what I would wear on this social interaction because the Man from Mars in all infinite wisdom had forgot to mention this in his column. So I did what I do whenever I have an unsolvable problem and I watched videos of kittens on Youtube. Whilst looking at these adorable balls of fur something in the recommended videos caught my eye. It was a man named 'Mystery' who was case and point a 'pickup artist' a man who treated woman like ten year old boys treat soccer stickers. This man was dressed in a highly ludicrous fashion akin to what the lovechild of Liberace and a retarded peacock's offspring may very well look like. I decided the only way I would wow my date tonight would be to dress and act exactly like Mystery.

I quickly went through my clothes but I found nothing of use, just the leftover tracksuits from my Ali G phase. It was clear I would have to go clothes shopping. As I have never purchased any item of clothes I had to call my most stylish friend who kindly asked me to omit his name from this column so in future he shall be referred to as D.Foran. D.Foran was happy to talk to me which I found strange as the last time I met him he had called me horrible names some of which I refuse to type (Not because they are so vile, but because my spell check does not have them). When I told D.Foran that I wanted to dress like 'Mystery', he launched into his tirade of abuse against me and said "Listen honey if you think I'm going to go to my favesie stores with you and buy clothes that are just.... the worst you have another thing coming sister" he then audibly clicked his fingers and hung up. I was literally up shit creek without a raft, (Lovely place but you'd at least need a raft to enjoy it.) I quickly printed a photo of my idol and ran to the nearest Tesco to find the outfit.

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/b/b1/Mysterypeople.png

The man behind the counter once he finished laughing maniacally told me the best place to find my hero's garb was a lovely French place called Goons et Douches which was located in a seedy part of the seediest street in town. Once I arrived at Goons et Douches a lovely gentleman with a French accent greeted me this was obviously Goon (because he seemed more Goonish than the gentleman who sat cross legged on the counter). "Oh ho ho ho aren't vous a preety un ah, end vat can I do four vous thees day ah?" he said; whilst grabbing his 'crotch' and tweaking one of his nipples. I showed him the picture of Mystery and told him I needed to look exactly like him right down to his cool furry hat and his binoculars (which are obviously used to watch birds if your date is boring). “Ah Alors Mon Cheri vut vous err so mvuch more jolie then thees". I told him that if he was not going to help me I would take my business elsewhere Douche called Goon over and they had a very violent exchange of words in what I can only assume was one of those languages they used in lords of the rings. After this exchange Goon came back and his accent had changed immensely "Hi my name is Gary he said I'm sorry about the whole act it's just for the tourists". I accepted his apology and he located all the items I needed to become as sexy and as 'interesting' looking as Mystery. As I was leaving Gary turned to me and said "Hi, listen I know the whole French thing was an act but I really do find you interesting even if you do seem a little imbalanced, would you like to go out on a date some time". I laughed at him for what seemed an eternity and said that I was going out on a date with the future mother of my kids and would call him if things didn't work out. Sadly for him, with the knowledge and look that I had accrued from the last six hours I definitely would not be calling him.

So now I had the look down, I felt just about ready to go. I powdered my armpits and my testicles and threw on the outfit that Gary had assembled for me. I looked positively divine, obviously not as good as 'Mystery' but I found if I squinted my eyes so hard they were closed and pictured 'Mystery', well I looked exactly like him. I quickly bounced down the hall carrying the plant and food item that is customary to bring on all dates. I was so excited about this date that when I arrived at the door I realized how nervous I was. I stood doubled up from the butterflies in my stomach (this isn't metaphorically speaking people I literally swallowed butterfly cocoons as part of a hazing ritual for a fraternity of homeless men).

When she opened the door I was still in my slouched over pose breathing heavily and sweating profusely. “These are for you” I said in a voice that was have lion, half pigeon and all man as I presented her with the Venus fly trap and batch of fresh garlic. “You shouldn’t have” She moaned seductively. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with this, What the fuck are you wearing (obviously quite impressed with my attire) I have to change so go in there and make yourself comfortable but don’t touch anything”. I started walking down the hall to her living room and along the way I have couldn’t help but think she was much more attractive last night. It must have been the Blasket Island Brew, it has been the bane of my life since I was a teen (It may also be the reason I took an orangutan to the debs). In the living room I was greeted by an elderly Asian gentleman who I assumed to be her father. “Oh come in he said you must be (name omitted for legal reasons)’s date”, he greeted me in a jovial manner. I attempted to greet him in his native tongue but was disappointed when all I received was a blank stare. I complimented him on his daughter’s fine physique noting that it must be her Asian genes that keep her so trim. “Oh she’s not my daughter” He replied in a flustered manner, “She is my wife!”. I felt what I can only describe as an intense feeling of awkwardness, this was strange as I have never experienced anything like it in my life. Obviously sensing my great discomfort he assured me that they enjoyed an open relationship and that they had not ‘consumated’ their relationship. This was good news or so I thought and I quickly relaxed and made my self comfortable.

A couple of hours later she arrived in the room looking marginally different to how I first saw her when she greeted me at the door. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing” She screeched in a pleasing manner. “I did as you asked and made myself comfortable” I replied safe in the confines of the fort I had built using her furniture. “Would you come along you messer” she laughed in a hearty tone, “I’ll have to keep my eye on you”.

We drove to the restaurant in her car, as I do not have one for various reasons which I will save for another day. At the restaurant I ordered a table, but was met with another blank stare by the concierge. I then began throwing euro coins at him as I knew from Hollywood films that bribing the restaurant staff was a guaranteed way to get a table without a reservation. When the concierge grew bruised and bloody from the contact wounds of the coin he sighed and led us to a table right beside the toilets. Best seat in the house I thought to myself. My date seemed less than impressed she was obviously someone who was not used to the finer things in life.

I began to use the tips from the Man from Mars blog:

1. Make Them Laugh

I attempted to start things off with a joke about a monkey who attempts to get a bank loan using a coconut as collateral. I evidently found the joke so funny that I was not able to finish it pausing after every word to laugh for an extended period of time. She then sighed and told me she was going to the bathroom.

Tips 2 through 7

As part one failed I regrouped while my date applied make up or took cocaine or whatever girls do behind that mysterious door. I would have to show an avid interest in her life. She arrived back from the toilet in a jovial mood saying that the toilet attendant was out so she swiped all the mints and a bottle of perfume. I told she was a regular Winona Ryder, she asked me was she a Star Trek character I glared at her for a few minutes and then resumed my interrogation. I began by asking her about her childhood barely giving her time to register the question never mind answer them. I continued with my line of question while following MFM’s instructions to the nth degree. When it came time to pay the bill I told her I forgot my wallet while winking at the waitress. She sighed and paid it. I then removed a crisp 100 euro note put it in the waitresses’ cleavage (I saw Burt Reynolds do this in a movie and women find him sexy). “Right lets go home” she said. “I think I’ve had enough”.

When we arrived at her apartment she announced to me she was moving and that I should never attempt to contact her again. I told her I would call her, she the laughed and closed the door in my face. I was deeply confused was this just a ploy of hers you know the way women say one thing but mean another. It was all too much for me this dating lark I realized I would just have to put my ‘Mystery’ outfit in the back of the closet along with my Ali G outfits and Power Rangers helmets. This Dater was going to hang up his guns.

I had fun on my little excursion into the dating world, and I hope you have had fun following my foray into it. I genuinely hope you will have more success than I have in this realm. Though I have given up hope I know the right girl is out there for me, in fact I have been looking on this charming site http://www.russianbrides.com/?afid=15501 her name is Anoushka she is from Ukraine and I think we will be very happy together. A bientot fair reader and happy hunting.

Dating Tips For The Unitiated. Part 1

2010-10-12T20:50:00.000+01:00

During the past year I have gone on many what you mortals confusingly call dates. Where I would call a date a sweet African fruit, Human's call a social interaction with someone of the opposite sex (or the same sex in some cases) a date. This social interaction is ually carried out in a variety of different locations the most popular among these would be; a restaurant, where a meal is usually consumed, a cinema where a film is usually viewed, or a park bench, where numerous bottles of wine are consumed. the sole goal of these "dates" is for someone to hook up (have sexual intercourse with or on) with their prospective partners. This idea both aroused and troubled me. I had never been on a date before (in fact I had never spent more than 10 minutes alone in the company of a woman, and that 9 and half minutes was spent in a halted elevator). I decided that I would have to master this skill through trial and error. On my many dates I have built up a knowledge that may even compare to the entire database of Yahoo answers, and I will take you through this most bizarre of human rituals.

The first problem was finding one of these dates. Women are very tricky to decipher. I turned to my friend Man From Mars for some advice. Man From Mars is very skilled in the art of seduction and has slept with over 2 conscious women (12 semi conscious) so I would be a damn fool if I didn't get some tips from him. I phoned him at 4 in the morning as everyone knows one's brain is most active in the morning, I also took the liberty of recording the conversation without his permission it's juicier that way, it went as follows:

Man From Mars: Ughhh (coughs for 30 secs) Hello, who the fuck is this?

Me: It's your old pal Hugh B. Hateful, listen....

MFM: Look I told you before not to call me between 0000 hours and 2400 hours.

Me: Yeah I know that, but this is an emergency!

MFM: What? did Brown Thomas close down, oh Shit (sobs uncontrollably for 2 minutes)

Me: No, no, no don't be sick that will never happen. No I'm thinking about giving this dating lark a go.

MFM: What are you serious.... but you don't have any social skills.

Me: No it's cool I went on a course, I think I'm getting the hang of it.

MFM: but you're devoid of any charisma or any natrual charm

Me: Yeah but neither does John Mayer and he gets on alright (I cackle dementedly at my very clever joke, while MFM sighs)

MFM: Fine if I give you some tips will you never call me again

Me: I can still fax you though?

MFM: Nobody uses a fax anymore.

Me: Ok........ so that's a yes?

MFM: (sighs and hangs up)

I attempted to call back but he had disconnected his phone, the wiley minx was quite obviously playing hard to get with me, but that would have to wait.

So with no date and no leads on one I did what any self respecting grown man would do; I phoned my Mother:

Mom: Hello, Hugh are you ok. Are you in trouble?

Me: Hells yeah I got trouble, I got girl trouble, that is I'm having trouble finding a girl.

Mom: I told you before don't call at four in the morning unless you're really in trouble.

Me: But Mommmmmm ......

My plea fell on deaf ears. She had obviously hung up. I was now completely lost. I crawled out from the utility closet in my appartment building (it's the safest place to make calls, the goverment can't monitor you there), shuffled dejected back to my appartment and sobbed deeply while playing my milk carton ukelele. I was wailing for close to an hour when a knock came on my door. It was my neighbour (Name ommited for legal reasons) but she looked like never had before. Now it may have been the Blasket Island Brew I had as I do before every ukelele jam but she looked ravishing.

"Would you keep it the fuck down you fucking creep! I'm trying to sleep" She screeched in a sultry tone. "That fucking thing sounds like shit and you sing like a wet sponge being drained into a sink full of shit". I found myself experiencing a very unfamiliar tightening of my pants, luckily I was wearing my ukelele costume which consists of one sumo suit. She looked absolutely resplendent in her stretched out t-shirt, tie-dye pajama bottoms and the depiladatory cream under her nose seemed to glisten in the neon lights in the hallway. "Ok, I'll keep it down but only if you agree on going on a date with me", I was obviously delirous, this angel would never go on a "date" with a misunderstood genius such as myself. That's when I heard "Fine, you look like you could be a good ride, creeps usually are". She told me to call round at seven the next day, I had to clarify if she meant a.m or p.m I have often mistaken them before, often with disastrous results. I then asked her if I should bring anything? as I believed this was the appropriate thing to do. She said just bring "a hard-on and your wallet". I informed I would once I found out what either of these things meant. I then bid her goodbye and crawled under my sink to sleep.

I did it, I finally had a date.

The Final Climax of I Dream Of Stevie!!!

2010-10-12T12:16:00.000+01:00

Cont. The Websites Opinion:

Seeing no explanation for this dream, I emailed their queries. In the email I outlined my dream and impatiently waited for an answer. Five days later I received this reply:

Dear Hugh,

We are sorry to inform you that we don't deal with dreams of this nature, but we do strongly advise you get some medical help. We hope you feel better.

Yours etc.

Seeing as they obviously had no desire to help me I decided I would no longer use their website in my experiment.

Dr. Bartleby's Professional opinion:

"You are obviously quite deranged and you have made lose all faith in human kind. I refuse to take part in this any more. Goodbye"

I attempted to phone the doctor back several times, but it was clear he disconnected his phone. I was not used to men doing this to me. Women have disconnected their phones many times in their quest to play hard to get, but men never have. I had clearly sunk to a new low.

I sat in my room weeping for several hours strumming a ukelele I had fashioned out of a milk carton and some elastic bands. As you could probably guess, this was not the most melodic instrument under Excelsiors sun. When I had weeped myself out. I decided I didn't need any help, I had gleamed enough Psychiatric knowledge from hours of Frasier re-runs. I would analyse the dreams myself.

Steve and Hugh do Grease:

I decided to save the most bizarre dream for last. This dream was in my opinion the most deranged of all (that is saying a lot for me). In this dream Steve and I acted the entire run of Grease where we played all the characters. You may think this would be a two man play, but technically it wasn't. We were supported by hundreds of clones of ourselves. The dream began with that sugary pop confection known as Summer Nights. As I do not have the necessary prowess to edit a video of Steve and I singing it. You will have to make do with the film's version:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FpJUrt0O7uY

Now try to imagine if you will this song except Steve in the role of Sandy and her friends, and I in the role of Danny and those greaser goons he is chums with. Are you suitably terrified? I was. I of course made a great Danny with my movie star looks and natural charisma, I made John Travolta look like an extra in a school play. Steve however did not make a very convincing Sandy.

the film trundled on like the nightmare it was until the big finale was interrupted by a gang of flying ninjas. Luckily they were no match for me and my flaming sword I quickly dispatched wave after wave of flying ninja pausing only briefly to fix my hair in the reflection my car. Exhausted, as I had weaved through all of these ninjas. Steve turned to me and revealed that he was a vampire. This I could not tolerate. Vampires are my least favourite movie monster besides of course Ashton Kutcher, but my flame sword proved no match for Steve. He quickly reachd into my chest and drew out my heart, which was surpringly a component of a computer.

I quickly woke from this dream my sheets covered in what I can only hope was ectoplasm (there are a lit of ghosts in my area, friendly people but awful messy). I quickly jotted down all I can remember from the dream and attempted to decipher.

I tried and I tried but for the life of me I could not figure out what my subconscious was trying to tell me. Was it that; Steve was the one that I want, that I should devoted my life to fighting ninjas, or is it that Steve really is a vampire (though he has on many occasions assured me that he wasn't). after hours of scrawling possible interpretations on my wall. I gave up hope.

It was quite an interesting experience deciphering these unusual dreams, and although I did not even come close to completing my quest. I learned alot about myself and how I interact with others.

I attempted to call round to Dr. Bartleby's to patch things up but apparently he doesn't like people hiding in closets and jumping out with a surprise sorry (weirdo). He is now taking what is known as a restraining order against me. I look forward to discovering what this is.

Steve thought it would be a good idea if I did not talk to him for at least 6 months. I had to agree with him as I found it diffcult to talk to him after those crazy stunts he pulled in my dreams.

Finally I managed to get a good nights rest free from the horrible clutches of B.I.B. In my dreams I was walking down a long boring road. I had finally removed Steve from my subconscious

I Dream of Stevie: Part Deux

2010-10-10T20:47:00.000+01:00

Cont. from previous blog.

With my human body I managed to run from the scuffle leaving Steve in his velociraptor from still battling with Hemingway. While De Sade flayed himself with an apple in his mouth. I then awoke from this dream being utterly bewildered. I then noticed I was not in my bed at all but in a barn several miles from my home. So I then started the Trek home but was picked up by some rather gruff policemen, apparently it is not legal to walk nude in France. Who knew?

The Websites Opinion:

Surprisingly enough the website did not offer any interpretation of this dream. This was surprising because I believed it to be a common dream.

Dr. Bartleby's Professional opinion:

Well judging by your subconcious' use of literary greats such as Hemingway and De Sade I believe it is clear that their is a great struggle in you to become a writer. The fact that your friend Steven was clearly stifling you during this dream is a clear indication that you feel he is doing so in real life. The fact that your head was replaced by that of a turtles, evokes the theory that you often hide in your shell much like a turtle does

As strange and perplexing as well as slightly arousing that last dream was it was nothing compared to the horror that would unfold in my next dream.

Steve Tries To Kill Me:

This dream began quite innocently. I was languishing in the Bell Tower of my Bavarian castle dressed as Spiderman and I was reading a pamphlet on "How to Woo Fair Maidens" by Ben Waddell when there came a kncoking on the door. I webbed my way down the stairs, to see who was there. It was none other than my good friend Steve who was dressed as a knight in purple armour. "I have come to bring the funk" Steve cried loudly and began break dancing. This as you can imagine was quite impressive. He then stopped mid pose and handed me a tamagotchi. "What is this" I enquired "Some kind of watch perhaps". "No" Steve replied "he is my son, his name is Wittikens. I need you to mind him while I go to Arabia and convert the heathens". I gladly complied, foolishly thinking it would be easy to mind a watch while my friend went on a holiday.

The tamagotchi died within ten minutes of Steve leaving. I attempted to give it a scotch and it made some strange noises and exploded. Steve retruned several days later to discover I had killed his tamagotchi. He flew into a violent rage and removed all his armour in what I believe is a record time. He then chased me through the house, even though I was Spiderman in my fear I forgot that I was able to basically fly. Steve managed to catch me and stood above me with an axe in one hand and his penis in the other and screamed " Now look what you made me do! This is what happens when you fuck with the Steve"

I Dream of Stevie

2010-10-01T14:11:00.000+01:00

Recently I have had many a strange dream about a Mr. Steve MacSweeney. I find this quite perplexing because usually my dreams are so drab and mundane and usually involve me walking down a particularly dull road. Steve is a friend of mine, he likes all the things guys his age enjoy doing, drinking to excess, shouting sexist remarks at women and of course light sodomy. As sexy as Steve is, I firstly still don't understand why I am having all these dreams and secondly what do they symbolise.
These dreams began about a month ago when I moved to France I was having trouble sleeping as insomnia seems to be as a part of French life as being emotionally unstable. So unable to sleep I decided to try my sworn enemy and occasional lover Manfrommars' tip and create what he calls the Blasket Island Brew(B.I.B). For the unacquainted the Blasket Island Brew(from here on out will be referred to as the B.I.B) is the most potent sleeping tonic known to man. It's comprised of; any alcohol you have left in your fridge, Ten sleeping tablets crushed up and used as a powder round the edge of the glass. It is to be consumed swiftly and immediately preferrably all in one go. If it you follow these directions to a tee you will have the most deep sleep you have ever experienced. One friend has described a B.I.B slumber "like death only not permanent or somethin". Well I had consumed my delicious beverage and was feeling rather saucy so I flipped open facebook to find some masturbatory fodder, I began by searching the tasty lil' trick I know called Stella MacSwiney only to get Steve's page instead. I quickly lost my semi-flaccid erection and began to weep. The page would not leave my computer screen it was like the God of Facebook wanted Steve to be frozen on my computer screen for all eternity. I turned off Firefox, logged out of Facebook and powered down my computer but to no avail Steve's cheeky grin was plastered all over my screen like Jizz all over an orphan in a seminary. Being too delirious to even put my penis back in my trousers I failed to move to a bed.

There it all began the most vivid, lucid you gotta be shitting me dreams began storming all over my mind like fat men at an all you can eat buffet. These were not like the dreams I had before, these were actually interesting, fun, exciting and in some cases sexually confusing. In order to Interpret these dreams I had to find some help as I have little or no training in the art of the human mind. So I did what any dilligent dream interpreter would do and looked up some shitty website on google.

http://www.suite101.com/content/dream-analysis-and-interpretation-sources-a273421

This is the website I found and I have to say I found it quite amazing it proved an outrageously helpful tool in the dissecting of my dreams and I'd higly recommend it to any one else who has a number of screws loose in their head. Some sage advice offered by the site was ;

"Whether nightmares or revelations, dreams are commonly evaluated to find their deeper meaning.". I also decided to enlist the help of my good friend Dr. Englebert Bartley

I decided to evaluate the best dreams for the sake of keeping this article brief. These Dreams included Cards with literary heroes, Steve tries to Kill me, And Steve and Hugh do Grease.

Cards With Literary Heroes:

This dream began with me, Steve, Ernest Hemingway and the Marquis de Sade sitting at a table playing cards. Steve turns to me and whispers in my ear that he thinks the Marquis is a cheat. I do not undestand what he is saying because I have a turtle's head and it has retreated into my body. Steve who is dressed as an astronaut by the way begins singing the theme song from Cheers in Portoguese which is odd because in real life Steve can't even speak English never mind Portoguese.(And he's a native English speaker). Ernest Hemingway takes great umbridge to this and pulls out a gun. Steve then turns into a velociraptor and begins chasing The Marquis while Hemingway fires madly at him screaming "You shalt not pass". I in the mean time have fallen on my back laughing but in my turtle voice, but I manage to get up because I have a human's body.

The Forgotten Starchild?

2010-04-21T12:21:00.000+01:00

Who is this man? Is he really who he says he is?

My sources tell me that he is an illegal immigrant who originated in Georgia, but this is the kind of information one gets when their sources are two crack addicts who live under a bridge ( Hi Suzie and Darren... Thanks again). Quite obviously the man is a crackpot of the highest order, but crackpots sell these days (e.g Big Brother, I bet if they ever have another series they are just going to give everyone inside a blowtorch and tell them to go nuts). He is the host of a number of Youtube Shorts under the name Forgotten Starchild. They feature on his producer's Youtube page http://www.youtube.com/user/bcbowes#p/u.

BC Bowes

The Last Known Image Of BC Bowes

First the man behind the Starchild. The producer of these shorts BCBowes is quite obviously as deranged as his subject. Deranged but obviously Savvy. His barely lucid inquisitions lead the Starchild off on ever increasingly detached diatribes. He seems to have an exceptional talent of making this eccentric being take linguistic flight and escort us through the valley of his Mind. very little is known about BC Bowes accept he has a diluted Northern English accent

The Starchild: Man Or Fallen Celestial Being

The Starchild markets himself as some sort of intergalactic guru, a modern day Jesus of the third kind; who speaks on all topics supernatural and seems to have an opinion on everything. His Monologues on how he perceives the solar system are quite bizarre. These are quite obviously staged I hear you cry. No not at all actually my sources will verify(Thanks again Suzie, Fuck you Darren). The man believes these ramblings on our cousins from another Planet, and who can actually prove him wrong. As well as it is for our to dispute his claims can any of us actually disprove them? Who knows maybe there are such things as Space Pirates; Maybe Aliens do want our gold, and maybe his explanation of the Bermuda triangle is somewhat..... No never mind that one.

Down To Earth

His "Down to Earth Videos" really give us an insight into this lovable kook. In them he discusses his sexual preferences and his views on morality.

The Starchild describes his dream woman as being

"Six foot, Slim and Slender and really fine"

personality seems to be an afterthought over her physical attributes. Something which might upset his feminist fans. When accused of being shallow by his director BCBowes he backpedals by saying he was

"with many rather ugly chicks because their personalities were rather nice".

I agree with the Starchild; a dream is something that is usually unobtainable like a very slippery cat one is trying to drown. The Woman who the starchild has described is off somewhere in New York, Paris or Milan Strutting their stuff on a catwalk. What the audience would prefer to hear is what Starchild would be willing to settle for or what he thought he meant by his motto

"Beauty is skin deep but ugliness goes to the bone".

I know what the phrase means but does he? I'm a little confused by the previous sentences claim of accepting women regardless of their appearance.

Perfect Date

His Perfect date is also quite amusing, judging by his choice of an afternoon setting he seems to want to bring this girl for an earlybird meal perhaps. His choice of Paris as the setting demonstrates his lack of dating etiquette. I believe bringing a girl to Paris on a first date would most likely be coming on too strong considering the Starchild is not a mutlti-millionaire and would cripple himself financially in pursuit of this perfect date but I digress. In his defence, The Starchild never once mentioned that this date was a feasible idea, but rather that it is another Fantasy scenario much like his "perfect" woman.

Overall I find these topics much more intriguing, but I guess the previous "Alien Discussions: were imperative in creating the Starchild's je ne sais quoi(if you'll pardon the French). These topics are much more interesting than the frankly worrying alien monologues and I look forward to seeing more of these in the future.