“Look at the lovely American girl singing or reciting poetry in a bid to be called the lovliest girl in the land”

Get ta fuck.

And as if that wasn’t enough this year we have Daithí “Horse and cart of a cunt” O’Shea.

I take a lot of flack about degrading women both here and over on Boob.ie, but holy fuck sticks, how can anyone watch this “competition” and think it’s anything other than degrading?  Both to women and Ireland.

It’s worse than watching the Irish soccer team line up.  The minority of these women are actually Irish.

As I type this, the South Australia Rose is on the stage gushing to Daithí about how she’s 5th generation Irish.  That’s not Irish.

My Great Great Grand mother was Norwegian or some shit, but I’m hardly going to go knocking on their door looking for a passport or claiming that I know everything about the country and feigning patriotism.

The families of these people are even more vomit inducing.  Sitting there with glassy eyes as their daughter/sister/whatever becomes a walking advertisement for Newbridge shitebox jewellery and trying not to let their fake smile slip.

Why are you so proud?

There is only one reason that this travesty is still on the television is because it still gets the ratings.  The day the ratings fall, this will be dropped quicker than a runner’s up self esteem.

Shame on RTÉ.

Shame on the sponsors.

Shame on the contestants.

Shame on the families.

Shame on the escorts.

Sure they’ll get sticky dickies off them, but it’s too easy.

This is why.

As you may or may not know I work in the aptly named Hospitality industry.  If I deliver a steak that isn’t cooked the way it was requested, it’ll be sent back.  By the more cuntish of customer, it’ll be sent back along with a mouthful of abuse.

If I don’t pick up the phone before the fourth ring, the customer then greets me with a snarky “Well thanks for finally deciding to answer the phone”.

Or if I accidentally book someone into room 212 instead of 211 I’ll be subjected to a 20 minute lecture about how it’s just not good enough and that if any other hotel had made the same mistake, they wouldn’t be presented with a bill on checkout.

So, when I go to an ATM that takes my card, my PIN and doesn’t give me the money I asked for because “an error has occurred”, I get pissed off.  I get pissed off because I haven’t gotten my own money, but the machine has taken it from my account and now it’s floating around limbo.

I get pissed off when I go to the bank and am told that it’s not their ATM so I have to go to the bank responsible.

I get even more pissed off when I go to said bank and they tell me that because I’m not their customer, I should lodge a complaint through my own bank.

I get genocidal when I get passed from window to window in the bank because “That’s not my area”.  This really grates on me because if I tried telling someone that I couldn’t wait on their table because I was a bar tender, or vice versa, I’d be on the business end of a rant.  One that tells me that I should be trained in all aspects of the business.

I get really pissed off when I’m sitting on my well earned break and a customer seeks out the staff break room to ask me for an ironing board that they didn’t need until the following day.

Turns out this cunt works in a bank.

Turns out that this cunt doesn’t work passed 5.30pm.

Turns out this cunt gets scheduled breaks for coffee and lunch.

I know this sort of cunt.  The sort of cunt who sticks a “window closed” sign up just when the queue is growing.

The sort of cunt who will insist that a little deposit slip is filled out in full despite the fact that chip and pin virtually eliminates the need for paper.

The sort of cunt who, even though just a clerk will lecture you about the dates of direct debits you have set up.

The sort of absolute walking cunt fart who will grimace and grump their way through your time at their window, but fuck a deli girl out of it for not smiling when handing over her bagel.

I wonder what would have happened if I had tried to walk around the private areas of the bank in search of a clerk for a draft that I didn’t need until the next day.

I wonder what would have happened if I had put a sign up saying “window closed” on reception, or the bar, or the restaurant or wherever.

The sort of cunts who will charge you €22.50 for going over drawn, but complain that they can’t get breakfast for free.

I’ve a massive pain in me hole and I don’t care how this sounds, but the fuckers and cunts in these banks have only got jobs because our fucking money bailed out their employers.

My employer doesn’t have the same safety net.

If we close down, the bank cunts just find another “hospitable” establishment to abuse.

I’ve a massive pain in me hole and one of these days I will actually go completely insane and bring a flame thrower to their room in place of the ironing board that they “just have to have in case someone else wants one and there isn’t enough to go around”.

I’ve such a massive pain in me hole that I’d actually take a barb wire covered dildo to my arse as a little relief.  Then squat myself into a vat of salt and vinegar.

Oh and every fucker that works in the public sector who gets a tea break after 90 minutes work is just as bad.

My father once had the notion that every person, regardless of who they are or where they’re from should spend at least 6 months either working in a bar or waiting tables.  This, in theory would show them what it’s like to be on the receiving end of a cunty cunt and thus stop their own cuntiness.

Eventually, this cunty behaviour would be eliminated.

It’s a nice notion, but I’m guessing that there are some princesses and their daddies who would rather die than let it come to that.

Get ta fuck each and every one of you non working, no respect for other cunts having, massive pain in the hole giving cunt puddles.

Aside from Boob.ie I’ve been asked to take part in a super secret project that will have me travelling between LA and London.  Yeah baby.

But I won’t reveal details until it’s worth talking about.

I’ve also just opened my feed reader for the first time in about 3 months.  Not as much there as I expected, so maybe I’m not the only one letting their blog slide a bit.

Onto the more filthy side of this blog that made it, and me what we are.

I have some Wanks of the week planned in the form of Emma Stone.  Jaysus, but where did she ever come from?  I would literally be her cup if she had a friend over.

Then if that wasn’t enough, I watched Mission Impossible 2 the other night and Thandie Newton was looking distinctly wankable.

And then, remember the shitty program “Dharma and Greg”  Well the only good thing about it was the chick playing Dharma, Jenna Elfman.

You may or may not have caught her new sitcom, “Accidentally on Purpose”.  It’s not bad, but not brilliant, but she’s in it and looking as wanktastic as ever.  Check it.

Aside from all of that, I’ve also discovered that in Ireland even when a sign is covered up, it’s your business to know what the speed limit is on a stretch of road 500m long that has 3 different speed limits on it.

This makes the local council, the Gardaí, the Road Safety Authority and by default, Gay Byrne a collective massive cunt.

Two penalty points and a fine because they don’t want to trim some hedges to make visible the fact that the speed limit goes from 80kpm to 50pkh and back again in less time than it takes Gary Glitter to get an erection parked outside the school gates at break time.

On the plus side, I’ve gone back to being a chef and thus have given up smoking.  Three months in new job and three weeks smoke free.  After all, when I’m not dealing with drunks and unemployed upper classes with superiority complexes there’s no need to smoke, is there?

I swear by all holy Lucifer that I’ll be back on here more often.

Probably.

Never before have such sounds emanated from within with such enthusiasm.

It could have been the new kebab house that opened up, but I’ve tried their stuff before and it hasn’t had that affect on me before.

It could have been the curried beans on cheesy toast I had, but nothing there spells disaster to me.

Then again it could have been the raw chicken breast I licked after having if shmeared all over my nut sack because a customer had sent their meal back for the third time and I wanted some revenge.

Funnily enough they then said it was the best chicken they’d ever had, so I may be onto something.

I just don’t think my stingy ring or the toilet can take any more of it.

What was it?

What was it?

It was just there, oh wait!

Nope, gone again.

Someone remind me….

I called in chopper gunners and stealth bombers and sentry guns and mopped the airport’s floor with them.

To see my name on top of the list along with the cries of said 11 year olds that I’m apparently a faggot and a queer was enough to give me a horn.  Justice.

It was short lived.

Herself let a scream of pain from the bedroom and I found her on the bed.  She’d put her back out.  Last time this happened I had to take her to hospital for more drugs than your average dealer.

Now she’s on the floor in front of me with her feet up on the couch playing air guitar to Train’s Soul Sister.

Typical, just when we had decided to do a spring clean on the house she “accidentally” puts her back out.

I’ll tell you what love, if you’re well enough to swallow Nurofen like they’re Smarties and play air guitar to songs you demand I play on Youtube, you’re well enough to clean the fucking kitchen.

I have more 11 year olds to put manners on.

On the plus side she still says she’s in too much pain to do anything so I can mess with her and stick my willy anywhere I want.

On the down side, who’s going to make me dinner?

I just can’t do it.

I think I’ve reached my porn threshold.

It’s been cumming for a while I suppose.  But no amount of porn gives me a horn anymore.  No matter how much Asian lesbian shemale fisting I watch, nothing.

I could watch hours of incestuous twin sister rimming and ne’er a stir.

There was one in particular called “65 guy Creampie” where a woman get tenderised by 65 men who give her a creamy filling.  There was a day when I’d have been stiffer than an invisible pedo in the under 11′s football changing room after that.  But nothing.

I’ve tried not wanking for at least 6 hours, y’know to let the pressure build up.  Didn’t do any good.  I tried watching some bald midget bukkake sessions, but once again nothing.  It’s like my balls have been put on industrial notice by the splooge union.

It’s like my cock has gone anorexic, as opposed to the bulimic nature of gorging on grainy streaming donkey gobbling and then vomiting up the gloopy left overs.

I don’t know what to do.

I might have to get some pills.  I don’t want to get any of those pills that get offered to me through my “dear friend” from China.  I’ll have to go to the doctor.

I wonder how many blokes have gotten Viagra for wanking purposes.

I can just imagine the conversation now…

“Doctor Doctor, I can’t pull me plum anymore”

“Hmm, I see.  When did the problem start?”

“Well when I tried to burp the worm to some Croation OAP strap on love, something just stopped working”

“Wow, really?  That should have had you needing a squeegy for your screen, twice”

“I know.  Now I can’t even get a twinge from the sight of a bald minge”

“Right, we’ll have to sort that out.  Here’s a prescription for some Viagra, and a password to the members area of fritzl’ssecrethomevids.com.  That’ll sort you out.”

“But Doctor, what if it doesn’t?”

“Stop by here next Thursday.  My 17 year old daughter will be here giving my receptionist a hand with some stock taking”

“And?”

“I’ve been hiding her bras since last Monday”

“See you then”

*** *** ***

Actually, you know what?  I think I’ve just gotten myself back into the game.

Now if you’ll excuse me….

Oh, but if you’re having the same problem as me, stay away from a certain “exit” route on this page.

Boob.ie has taken up all of my time.  It’s great though, getting more and more popular each week with visitors and traffic far surpassing what we thought it would at this early stage.

But I am making a vow, Maxi Cane will return to his usual filthy self with regular posting again, for those of you who have missed my shenanigans.

So before I delve into getting this thing going again, I’ll leave you with this quick one….

I don’t think I can wank any more.

Yeah well I had one of those moments yesterday.

Watching something on the telly and just like George Hook assured me I could, when the phone rang, I paused the live TV.  Then when my call was over, I rewound it a few seconds to pick up where I left off.

Then it hit me.

All of this beautiful technology, but still we can’t do what we really want to do.

I pushed the button hoping it would happen.  It didn’t.

I looked up the instructions but nothing could help.

Time to call the lovely Scottish people in Sky customer service.

Just as my call was being answered I had a crystallising moment that if there was an option to fast forward live TV surely they would have provided it by now.

Still, at least I copped on before I asked them for a time travelling upgrade.

Get your car serviced when you’re supposed to?  Probably not.  I do, because I have a fear of being stranded somewhere in the middle of the night and being left at the mercy of my insurance company and whatever yahoo they send out with a tow truck.  At least if it’s serviced there’s less chance of something going wrong.  Or so I’ve heard.

But when ever I go to a garage to get a quote of a service, I ask what’s done, how much it’ll be and how long it’ll take.  That’s all the info I need.

I’ve never gone into a garage and had a conversation like this:

“Howya, looking to book my car in for a service”

“Grand”

“It’s a ’04 Almera, here’s the reg and mileage and everything else you need”

“Grand”

“So, what do you do in a service?”

“Oh the usual, change the things that need to be changed like fluids, filters, spark plugs, bulbs.  Then we’ll check the clutch, timing belt, tyres and make recommendations if something needs to be replaced that would cause more cost.”

“Great, I’ve a budget of about €75″

“Sorry?”

“I was thinking of just spending €75.  The garage down the road will do it for €75″

“You don’t want to get a service done and only be charged €75, they won’t put all the neccessary work into it”

“Right.  Well I want the spark plugs changed, but I don’t want to pay for them”

“Er”

“And I need new wipers, but I’m not paying for something you already have lying around the garage, so I’ll take them for free as well”

“But”

“And I’ve a few bulbs out, but there’s no way I’m paying for them – the garage down the road doesn’t charge for bulbs”

“Hang on, let me get this straight.  You want a FULL service with free bulbs, plugs and wipers for €75?”

“Well if you want the business you have to listen to the market”

“Get the fuck off my property before I get my gun”

You wouldn’t do it either, would you?

Nor would you go to collect your car and then have a shit fit when you see that VAT is added to the bottom of the invoice because you “Weren’t told about that on the phone”, would you?

No you wouldn’t.  Whatever about negotiations, you wouldn’t take the piss.

Behold a conversation I had last week in work.

“Hello *hotel*, Maxi speaking”

“Yes, I have a contract here for my wedding booking next year but I won’t be handing it over with my deposit cheque until I get some details clarified”

“Righto, shoot”

“You say that the tea/coffee, finger food and punch reception is charged per head?”

“That’s correct”

“Yeah, we want that free”

“Remind me how many people your wedding is for?”

“200″

“Right, we can’t offer that complimentary”

“The other hotel does”

“Ok”

“We’ll get back to that.  I want you to drop your prices on everything in the bar for my guests”

“You want us to change every price we have for your wedding day?”

“Correct”

“We can’t do that either”

“We’ll circle back to that.  We don’t like the draught beer you have on offer, so we’d like you to open an account with a different supplier, get the beer in at no cost to us”

“Have you any idea of the logisitcs and cost of setting up accounts and plumbing in a new draught system?”

“No, but that’s not my problem, it’s yours”

“Right, anything else?”

“Our wedding cake”

“Ok?”

“Can your chef provide a wedding cake?”

“It’s not something we usually do, but I’m sure if you speak to him he’ll be more than happy to see what he can do”

“Great, but we’re not paying for it”

“So, just so that I have it right.  You have your date provisionally booked for next year for 200 people.  You want free reception refreshments, cheaper bar prices, a whole different line of draught beers and a free wedding cake?”

“Correct.  Now if this is going to be a problem, I’ll book it with the other hotel”

“Which hotel is the other one?”

” *names hotel* and they said they’d give us all of that free of charge.”

“Right, well we have their packages on file, just like they have ours.  The package they offer that on is twice the price of the package you’ve chosen with us.”

“And?”

“It’s not free at all, you’re paying for everything.  Now we could possibly talk about a discounted room rate for your guests on the night?  We could supply complimentary flowers and chair covers as our gift to you”

“Not good enough”

“Well if you were concerned about the price of our wine you could supply your own and we could look at waiving the corkage charge”

“Still not good enough”

“I see, well you have a think about it and get back to me when you’ve made a choice.”

“So you obviously don’t want our wedding in your hotel?”

Fuck, she’s on to me.

“We’d love to host your wedding here, but the requests you’ve made are a little unrealistic on your package”

“Fine, I’ll be in touch”

And just like that, she was gone.  She had one day left before her provisional booking ran out and she called back two days later.  I told her the date was booked and paid for by another bride to be.  It wasn’t, but if this is the kind of cunt she was going to be before handing over a single penny in deposit, what was she going to be like on the day?

I’ll tell you what, a mega cunt.

Here’s a word of advice to anyone booking any kind of function – yes you can negotiate, but if you take the piss, you won’t get what you’re looking for.  In fact you’ll be lucky to be let in the door of the place.

Why?  You’re more hassle and cost than you’re worth.

Sorry princess, you’re big day will have to be somewhere else, but do let us know which hotel you do get.  I want to drive up and give my deepest sympathies because you’ll probably demand that the staff work for free and that the time of sunset be changed to best suit your arrival for the first dance.

I use the word cunt a bit on this blog, but I think it best describes cunts like this.

Cunts.