Time to move on.

Ok the new site is up and I've changed my name by deed pole. The finishing touches are nearly done and the first couple of posts are up.

So....... without further ado let me please introduce to you, despite what Blackadder said there is no-one madder than, Mad JackMcMad.

b3n is dead, Long Live Jack!!!

Apologies and New Details

How are yiz all?

First off major apologies for the lack of communication lately. A severe dose of Bloggers Block coupled with a very hectic work schedule prevented me from doing any posting, commenting etc but I have been reading, slyly in the background!

Now to business, I have decided to kill off Bertie (of Third Nipple not of Ahern, although we can still wish). I felt that it was going nowhere and I also wanted to distance myself from the other two nipples that are still attached to the lying toe rag that is our glorious leader. But, and it's a big but, I will rematerialize very soon comme le papillon from his pupa, born anew and under a different name.

I've opened new blog on wordpress but haven't posted anything yet. Over the next couple of weeks I'll be finalising the layout, themes etc and then will start posting.

Somethings to look forward to in the new blog will be podcasts with Mandonkey, Giblets and Gorf entitled '4 Men and a Bottle' (as soon as I can get my recording gear in order that is), a silly song or two from your's truly and other general rantings.

I will update this site with the new link when I'm ready to launch so until then, many thanks to all of Berties 3rd Nipple's regular readers, commenters etc in particular, Grandad (best of luck with the awards, I voted for you many times), Grannymar,K8 and Baino. I hope you will all join me over on wordpress soon.

Granny

I've blogged before about how I ended up buying the house that my paternal Grandmother was born in without knowing it, (those of you who haven't read about it can do so here) so it's probably about time I blogged a bit about her, my Grandmother.
A tall, elegant eighty nine year old lady with a hearty laugh and a razor sharp wit that not even a couple of recent strokes could dull, she has visited the house of her birth on a few occasions and I loved listening to her reminisce about my great grandparents as she pointed to the various locations around the house where each humourous incident occurred.
One of the hardest things that I ever saw my Granny having to cope with was the death of her eldest son nine years ago, my uncle Podger, a very acomplished musician who, during the course of his long musical career played with many famous bands including The Rolling Stones and Gladys Knight and the Pips but was probably most famous for his years on the Showband scene in Las Vegas in the 1960s and 70s.
The respect that was afforded to my Grandmother at Podger's funeral by people such as the Dubliners and Paddy Cole was astounding and it was as I was helping her into the funeral car and Joe Dolan came over to help me with her that I realised that this lady was very special.
Always fond of family get togethers, sing songs and what not, her favourite singer was Pavorotti, who passed away yesterday 6th Sept at 4am. I'd love to kow how she felt about that but I never will because forty two minutes later she too passed away. At least she had good company for her onward journey.

Curiosity Killed the Cat?

Not this time, it was a mad Australian woman! The aptly named Kat Kessing (honest to Jaysus, you couldn't make this stuff up), a childrens author from near Alice Springs (beware of what you let your kids read folks) has been roaming the Outback catching, killing, cooking and eating feral cats and has now produced a recipe book stuffed full of moggy masterpieces.
However, her plans to introduce the feline cuisine at an Outback food contest turned into a bit of a cat-astrophe when the tasting judges couldn't keep the cat meat down. Pussies!!
For anyone interested in experimenting, her recipe for a Stewed Cat-erole is:
Chop and Brown 2 small feral cats on a pan. Add a couple of dashes of LemonGrass, Salt, Pepper, Wild Peach, Spinach Leaves and Mistletoe berries and water. Cook on a high heat for 5 hours. Now if that don't get the taste buds goin' I don't know what will. Here puss, puss, puss!!

Stop sniffling, there's no more coke and that's it!

There’s been something in the news in the last couple of days that has rightly pissed me off. Coca Cola are closing their plant in Drogheda with the loss of more than 250 jobs. Wha.. de..!?!
Has there been a huge downturn in worldwide sales? Are they on the brink of bankruptcy? Has Pepsi stolen their secret formula and are they holding it to ransom? Are they fuck?!?!
In all probability what’s actually happened is that some bean counter or other in Atlanta head office has got promoted and in order to impress his new bosses with his business savoir faire has, with one stroke of a pen, consigned 250 hard working people to next year’s unemployment statistics. It sickens my hole!
Of course you know who I blame? All of the local organisations in Drogheda that ever begged Coca Cola for sponsorship for what ever event they were holding, be it the Knitathon or the Puddle Jumping Championships when all Coke wanted to do was to repatriate all of their hard earned profits.
Damn you ‘Lourdes Brass Band', damn you ‘Droichead Arts Centre’ and damn you ‘Drogheda and District Bridge Congress’ you should ALL be ashamed of yourselves!

Things have been manic at work recently so please excuse the 'not up to the usual standard' posting. With a bit of luck, it will quiet down very soon. It better, I cant take much more!

The Day just Keeps Getting Better

User: I've deleted a file that I've just realised I need. Can you restore it?
Me: Certainly can, I'll restore it from last nights backup.
User: Eh, I actually deleted it over a month ago, but I've just realised that I need it now.
Me: Hmmmm OK, that'll take a while longer, what was the file name?
User: Eh.... I can't remember.
Me: So you want me to restore a file whose name you can't remember and you can't remember when you deleted it?
User: Yes, that would be gre...

****CLICK*****

10 Minutes later. Another user.

User: Hello? I've just sent a mail but I don't think the person received it, can you please check my inbox to see if it was sent?

****CLICK****

No More, No more!!!

A Bigger Bastard than the BOFH

Some people really know how to rub me up the wrong way. Not a good thing to do first thing on a Monday morning. I came in this morning after been out on Friday and the following E-mail was in my inbox.

-----Original Message-----
From: O'Sullivan Mary
Sent: 27 August 2007 08.33
To: Berties 3rd Nipple
Subject: James Dillon??????? Thanks!!!

That was it! Nothing in the body text, just that subject line! So, not only in my capacity as Systems Administrator do I have to fix the mundane tedious problems of moronic users, but now I have to be psychic too.
Wait a minute, I know what this is about! I fixed that problem last Thursday and sent her a mail about it! Right, that’s her on my list. I’m going to make the rest of her week hell! Just think, hourly account lockouts, daily changing passwords and missing files from her home folder. The BOFH will have nothing on me!

A Typical Day in the Port Tunnel!

A Wee Problem

It all started last week around my birthday. I’ve discovered that I have to wee a lot. After coming home from several beers on my birthday night I spent about 2 hours weeing. It must be contagious as MsB3N spent about an hour weeing too, eventually getting tired she headed off to bed. I stayed up weeing for another hour or so.
Friday, I took the day off and I weed for most of the day. MsB3n came home from work and caught me weeing in the sitting room. She wasn’t too happy. I suggested that she try it as there was more room in the sitting room. She eventually agreed so we moved all the furniture and she had a go.
Saturday, we had some friends over and after dinner I suggested that we retire to the sitting room for a wee. They were all a bit apprehensive at first but I reassured them that although I had only ever weed on my own before, all of us weeing together might be a bit of craic. Mia said she was game and would happily wee anywhere. She is pregnant after all. So we all weed in the sitting room well into the early hours of Sunday morning.
I now find myself with a constant need to wee, every spare minute I get I have to wee. Not only that, with all the weeing I'm doing, my arms, shoulders and back are starting to ache. It must be my age. What’s wrong with me? What can I do?

Should've used a Dyson!

Edinburgh Fringe Festival has always been home to the weird and wonderful, but none so strange as Captain Dan The Demon Dwarf, a diminutive performer with the Circus of Horrors who was rushed to hospital after his act the other day with a vacuum cleaner attached to his mickey.
Why, you ask? Well, as part of his act he inexplicably pulls the device across the stage with his todger. According to the Evening Standard, on this occasion, "the attachment came loose before a performance so he tried to glue it back on", and having misread the superglue instructions he found himself permanently attached to the household device.
Commenting on his ordeal, The Demon Dwarf says, "It was the most embarrassing moment of my life. When I got wheeled into a packed A&E on a wheelchair with a hoover attached to my willie, I just wished the ground could swallow me up."
Surely a case of premature attachuation if I ever saw one and it begs to be said, next time use a Dyson, 100% suction 100% of the time!

Hair of the Dog

‘Are you going to Slane, Bertie?’
‘Am I fuck, Giblets.’
‘But it’ll be your last chance to see them.’
‘Me Da said that twenty five years ago!’

So that’s what’s going on, I forgot, The Strolling Bones are playing in Slane castle tomorrow a few miles out the road. There’s definitely a buzz around town but it’s not the usual Slane buzz, too many Zimmer frames. I thought it was an outing for the Day Care Centre.
After last night’s Birthday shenanigans, I’ve taken the day off work. Giblets stayed off in sympathy and we’re sitting in McFools about to start on our third hair of the dog.

I go to Slane every year, with the exception of Madonna and U2 (I fuckin hate U2!) and once I even bought a ticket. Slane was always the opportunity to put into practice our guerrilla training, sneaking in was an obligation. No way was I buying a ticket to walk on that stolen land.

Me: So, where did you get this land?
Lord Henry Mount Charles: My ancestors fought for it, Bertie.
Me: I’ll fight you for it now!

Sometimes we’d hide in the trees, for days, and wait for them to build the fence around us, and on the day we’d climb down and go crawling through the woods in our camouflage to the gig. Them was the days!

A couple of motorised wheelchairs pass by.

‘I see Hell’s Grannies are doing the security this year.’
‘Anything’s better than those usual goons they hire!’

I’m convinced that The Strolling Bones’ P.A. System has a secret, more sinister function. Not only does it amplify the geriatric warblings of the once great band, it also sucks the life force out of the entire audience and injects it into the aging rockers through their instruments. It’s how they’ve lasted so long. Just look at Jagger, he can hardly contain the rush of youthful vibrations as he gyrates maniacally across the stage clutching his microphone/youth juice injector. And Keith Richards? He clinically died years ago, leaving the energy leeching ghoul that we know today.

‘So you’re not going, no?’
‘No.’
‘You know ManDonkey’s found an underground dried up river, it’ll get us right into the middle of the village without having to go through any checkpoints, if we leave now we can be in the gig just before The Bones come on’
‘Don’t care.’
‘That’s not like you Bertie, what’s up?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Are ya havin' another?’
‘Yeah.’

On this day....

On this day 30 years ago, Elvis Presley, had a heart attack and fell off the throne in Graceland with his big, bare King of Rock and Roll Ass in the air and his final act of Richard the Turd still in the bowl, which his dutiful butler, on finding the dead King, flushed away. I still wonder how much that turd would have been worth today if that butler preserved and mounted it with a little brass plate on the front saying ‘Elvis’ Last Dump. Aug 16th 1977’.

Another very notable death to occur on this day was that of legendary Delta Blues musician and song writer Robert Johnson who was poisoned and died at a crossroads in Mississippi on Aug 16th 1938 at the ripe old age of 27.

Other famous people to die on this day were, 1956 Bela Lugosi, 1419 King Wenceslas and 1944 Roman Padlewski.

But on this day, in 197* Berties 3rd Nipple was born! So I share a birthday with Madonna and James Taylor (no not thee James Taylor, James J.T Taylor from Kool and the Gang!). Marvellous, bloody marvellous!!

My first award

I've just been nominated for my first award. Grandad saw fit to recognise my day in day out tireless efforts (yeah right) that I put into bloggging. I'm a 'schmoozer' (a casual conversationalist, I think).
Anyway I proudly display the award on the left, may it be the first of many.

So, by the power invested in me, I hereby nominate:

Swiss, come on lad, get schmoozing!

and

K8, a very wise and funny girl!!

Water water everywhere.

I was reading a book recently, ‘The Hidden Messages in Water’, by Dr. Masaru Emoto, a Japanese Scientist. What he does is, he subjects jars of water to different types of external stimuli, quickly freezes them then takes pictures of the crystals that form. I have included some of the pictures that Dr. Emoto has taken. He claims that the stimuli greatly affect the way in which the water forms the crystals and certainly his photographic evidence supports this.
Another theory, one that forms the basis of Homeopathy is that water has memory, i.e. it can remember everything that has ever been dissolved in it so you can take the smallest amounts of a substance, dilute it in water, take a small amount of that dilution and dilute it even further and this solution will have the same properties as the original solution.
Some facts about water, the average human is composed of 70% water but that water is constantly changing as we absorb more, secrete sweat etc. We live in an enclosed system (planet Earth and its atmosphere) so water is a finite resource and is constantly being recycled around the planet, from sky to earth, through flora and fauna and so on.
Armed with all this information, I had one of my realizations (one of the ones that I only used to get whilst smoking herbal cigarettes). My new theory about Life is that, what if we are just vessels for the true Earthly conscience, Water? What if our conscience, thoughts, feelings of Déjà vu, dreams etc are just the vibrations of previous generations recycled in the water we absorb. Dr Emoto’s photos show that water is not happy cooped up in pipes and thrives in clean, unpolluted streams and rivers. I need to get access to a well and sing to my water from now on to keep it happy.





You Make me Sick
















Love and Gratitude















Mozart Symphony







Heavy Metal

What the Bock?

What has Bock posted today? Is it rude, pornographic, what? My work firewall is blocking his site. It never does that, not even to Twenty. Somebody, please tell me!!

Open Letter to Robin Williams

I got this email today. It looks as if Robin Williams is sticking his nose into the political ring for a bit of a laugh during his tours to entertain the troops. He's made a list of points that the US government should follow in their endeavour in the Middle East. I hereby write this open letter to him or to the composer of the mail which addresses each of the points in question.

Firstly the email I received:

Leave it to Robin Williams to come up with the perfect plan... what we need now is for our UN Ambassador to stand up and repeat this message.

Robin Williams' plan...(Hard to argue with this logic!)
I see a lot of people yelling for peace but I have not heard of a plan for peace. So, here's one plan:

1) The US will apologize to the world for our "interference" in their affairs, past & present. We will promise never to "interfere" again.

2) We will withdraw our troops from all over the world, starting with Germany, South Korea and the Philippines. They don't want us there. We would station troops at our borders. No more sneaking through holes in the fence.

3) All illegal aliens have 90 days to get their affairs together and leave. We'll give them a free trip home. After 90 days the remainder will be gathered up and deported immediately, regardless of who or wherethey are. France would welcome them.

4) All future visitors will be thoroughly checked and limited to 90 day visits unless given a special permit. No one from a terrorist nation would be allowed in. If you don't like it there, change it yourself,don't hide here. Asylum would not ever be available to anyone. We don't need any more cab drivers.

5) No "students" over age 21. The older ones are the bombers. If they don't attend classes, they get a "D" and it's back home, baby.

6) The US will make a strong effort to become self sufficient energy wise. This will include developing non polluting sources of energy but will require a temporary drilling of oil in the Alaskan wilderness. The caribou will have to cope for a while.

7) Offer Saudi Arabia and other oil producing countries $10 a barrel for their oil. If they don't like it, we go someplace else.

8) If there is a famine or other natural catastrophe in the world, we will not "interfere". They can pray to Allah or whomever, for seeds,rain, cement or whatever they need. Besides, most of what we give them gets "lost" or is taken by their army. The people who need it most get very little, anyway.

9) Ship the UN Headquarters to an island some place. We don't need the spies and fair weather friends here. Besides, it would make a good homeless shelter or lockup for illegal aliens.

10) All Americans must go to charm and beauty school. That way, no one can call us "Ugly Americans" any longer.

The Language we speak is ENGLISH...learn it or LEAVE...Now, ain't that a winner of a plan. "The Statue of Liberty is no longer saying 'Give me your poor, your tired, your huddled masses.' She's got a baseball bat and she's yelling, 'You want a piece of me?"
Robin


Now my reply. I apologise to any decent American out there, this is aimed at the composer of the above mail and the U.S Government.

Mr Williams,

In light of your recent comments regarding the United States of America’s position on the world stage, I feel obliged to comment on each one. I don’t expect a reply as I think that the facts speak for themselves. You used to be funny, now you’re just a fat boring old fart.


1. Yes Mr. Williams, you are perfectly correct the US should apologize to the world, especially to Venezuela for trying to depose a democratically elected leader, to Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia for years of unrelenting bombing and usage of gene altering chemicals, to Iran for the reinstatement and support of the tyrannical Shah and to all of those other countries that the US government mucked up.

2. Most of your troops stationed abroad are young kids who were practically press ganged into service and would love nothing more than to be back to the safety of the good ole US of A.

3. America without immigrants?!!? What a joke! I hope you’re ready for living in a place of high labour costs and high consumer prices. A study found that illegal immigrants make up 24 percent of all workers in the agricultural sector, 14 percent of all workers in construction and 12 percent in food preparation. Certain industries in the country, such as California's agriculture industry, would likely disappear if immigrant labour were not available. That would mean the loss of a $30 billion dollar sector of California's economy, a sector that according to a 2005 report from the University of California Davis, creates a domino effect of more than $70 billion in economic activity in the state each year. Need I say more?

4. No-one from a terrorist nation eh? Well, I guess all you ‘White Americans’ better leave then! Your state was founded on the terrorising and mass murder of it’s native people. How soon you forget, IT WAS ONLY 150 YEARS AGO!!!!!! Oh yeah, before you pull outta there, please apologise to each and every single Native American for the genocide inflicted on their people.

5. Why the hell would any one go to the US for an education? In the United States, one in seven people (more than 40 million people) can barely read a job offer or utility bill, which arguably makes them functionally illiterate in a developed country such as the US. In 2003, the National Assessment of Adult Literacy (NAAL), conducted by the US Department of Education, found that fourteen percent of American adults scored at this “below basic” level in prose literacy. More than half of these persons did not have a high-school diploma or GED. I think I’d prefer to go to Cuba where the literacy rate is 96.9%.

6. How thick are you? Do you really think that the Oil Companies and your Government (one in the same really) will let you get away with this one? What will Hank the Yank do without his 24 Litre Gas Guzzler getting 3 miles to the Oil Field. Lets look at the Number of Energy Invention Suppression Incidents:
- 53 Number of Dead, Missing, or Injured Energy Inventors, Activists, and Associates
- 13 Number of Energy Inventors Threatened with Death
- 16 Number of Energy Researchers and Associates Imprisoned
- 7 Number of Incidents Involving the US Central Intelligence Agency (CIA)
- 4 Number of Incidents Involving the US Government
- 27 Number of Inventions Classified Secret by US Patent Office
- Approximately 4000 Number of Incidents Involving Oil Companies.

7. Where else are you going to get your juice to drive your big fat Burgerking ass around in your 20 ton monster trucks? You’re running out of stocks at home. As per point 2, you’re whole army is back in the safety of the US of A and you’re running out of countries to invade for their oil. So if you don’t buy from the Arabs, the rest of the world gets a surplus and much lower prices. It’s simple economics (something you showed not to have a grasp of in point 3).

8. Hmmmm..... let’s see what Americans do with the Aid money given to them. Failure to check the identity of applicants by FEMA, has resulted in the misuse of about £750 million of disaster relief intended for Hurricane Katrina victims. Bogus applicants are said to have used the money on porn videos, strippers and holidays. Claimants used false details for names and addresses, one claimant is said to have used the money to obtain a sex change operation and 13 other payments were made to the same address for an applicant who used 13 social security numbers. So you see Charity really does begin at home but for you guys, it usually stays there.

9. Of course, the UN is too good for you. Name one recent UN Mandate the US government has agreed to support. Why bother trying to be part of a team?? It’s just US US US all the way!!!

10. You’re perfectly right, all Americans should go to charm and beauty school, no more fat, loud, balding American tourists ambling around looking for directions to Don Leg-a-haira.

11. No.. No.. No!!!! The language you speak is NOT English. It’s a bastardised version of English. Labor, color etc etc. All spelling mistakes on my spell check. Even your president can’t speak English.

"I've reminded the prime minister-the American people, Mr. Prime Minister, over the past months that it was not always a given that the United States and America would have a close relationship." --George W. Bush, Washington, D.C., June 29, 2006

"I think -- tide turning -- see, as I remember -- I was raised in the desert, but tides kind of -- it's easy to see a tide turn -- did I say those words?" --George W. Bush, asked if the tide was turning in Iraq, Washington, D.C., June 14, 2006

So, while you’re arming your Statue of Bigotry with a baseball bat, please turn it around to face the other way to keep all you f*ckers in!!!

Nanu nanu, shazbat!!

They know... THEY KNOW!!!!

I can't sleep! It's 2.09am and MsB3n is out for the count. Something's keeping me awake. Pangs of guilt I have been feeling for the last week or so. Y'see on holidays, I was solely responsible for the death of an animal, one of Mother Nature's magical creations and it's been bugging me ever since. I have a very strict list of things that I will kill on sight only if they breach my comfort zone and until very recently that list had one thing on it, Wasps, the skinheads of the insect world, since then I've added Mosquitos, devilish little blood sucking vampires. This one was different. I killed a fish, whipped him (or her I couldn't tell) right out of the water and killed it and no-one even ate it, such a waste.
Most days during the week I went fishing, but the worst thing that can happen to me when I go fishing is that I actually catch something. I dont fish very often but when I do, I don't fish with the intention of catching anything just the mantra of casting out and reeling in, casting out and reeling in, casting out and reeling in can be so meditative that I could happily do it for hours and it's not to be spoiled by a sudden jerking on the rod that starts the brutal series of events that you must complete in order to let the poor bugger go.
So there I was, casting out and reeling in, casting out and reeling in, casting out and reeling ...... FUCK ..... I've got a bite!!
Bollocks!!
Don't panic, let it run a bit then turn it's head!
Ok now pull on the rod!
Reel it back!
Pull on the rod!
Reel it back!
Pull on the rod...
Reel it back....
Take it in to the shallows, the line will break if you try to reel it straight out!
Got it!
Get the hook out!
FUCK!
He's swallowed the whole fucking thing, get the hook disgorger!
Easy....... easy
The fish wriggles too much, the disgorger slips and removes the hook, along with most of the fish's gills
SHIT!
Only one thing for it, smash it's head off a rock..... PLAPP!!

For the rest of the week I set the rod up to catch things that I knew definitely didn't swim in that lake, Manta Rays and Giant Squid etc. And as I type I'm looking at my aquarium and at my own fish. They're looking at me funny... They know..... THEY KNOW!!!

Emotional Wrecks

I heard a new word last week. Emo. Apparently it describes a teenage clan in where members are purported to be emotionally disturbed and scratch (I say scratch coz they don't actually cut anything) their wrists in an attempt to show that they are so fucked up they have tried to commit suicide (it has social status in the group). They are the new Cureheads and Goths but instead they listen to My Chemical Romance (now I get the wrist scratching).
Now I don't have kids so I can't say for sure but I was a teenager (Curehead/Goth) so I think I have some idea. Has teenage rebellion come to a head now because we (the older generation, used loosely of course) have become so apathetic to their cause because we've been through it, that they have to beef it up a bit more and get more extreme with their rebellion, or are they short of the one thing I got when I was a kid, when I did anything stupid, and that was 'Le Bon Juttering'?
In my day we just talked about how miserable we were, hung our heads to the side clasped our hands together between our knees and wobbled, and that was how we danced.

'I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour
But Heaven Knows I'm Miserable now.'

Old Post Re-Hashed

Cheers to k8 for the idea to repost an old blog. I picked this one as it is a chance to re-introduce some of the crazy people that inhabit my world. Judging by the comments I don't think anybody read it so here we go for the second time. Some of me mates. You will be hearing a lot from them in the future.

The green green grass of home

Wahaay, it’s great to be back!! I know I’m in Ireland coz my train to work this morning was late. Finland is a strange country, where public transport runs on time, to the second! One ticket will get you a bus, tram, metro and even a boat.
You can even make money while you’re drinking, you get 15 cent back for every empty undamaged beercan that you push through a machine that is in every supermarket. We made the grand total of €43.20 during our week in the cabin not including plastic or glass bottles.
I was able to drive from Helsinki centre to the cabin 200km away and not only did I not have to apply the brakes in traffic, I didn’t even have to change down a gear. In a recent election one party said that they were going to reduce tax. Sound good? They LOST!!!
NO squandering of public funds on poxy tribunals in Finland and money is used where it’s needed mind you, the Finns do moan a bit. They moan when their train is late, if you park facing the wrong way, if you’re taking too much time at the machine in the supermarket recycling many, many empty beercans but they do have some great sports, wife carrying, naked anthill sitting and sauna championships, the latter of which we took part in and managed to stay in at 105 degrees Celsius before running out and taking a dip in the lake.

Not fallen off

OK, here's the alcohol count so far for the cabin.

Beer 288 cans
Vodka 3.75 litres
Rum 1 litre
Tequila 1 litre
Triple Sec 1 litre
Cointreau 1 litre
Gin 1 litre
Wine 6 litres

That was for the week. In Helsinki now. Normal service will resume next Thursday with full accounts of what I can remember from the last couiple of weeks.

Oh Christ it's followed us

I can't believe it!! It's pissing rain and today started off so promisingly (is that a word?). It reminds me of the time when Giblets and meself were in the Western Sahara. We decided we were going to camp out for a while. No sooner had we put up our tents and it pissed rain..... for three days! Just to put that into context, it hadn't rained there in forty years until two Paddies arrived over and pitched a tent. The local Bedouins were over the moon and running around like they had just won the lotto. I'm really begining to think that it is me!

Planes, trains and the Divil knows what else

A half hour car journey, a three hour flight, a half hour bus trip, a quick stop for a chat and a pizza with Finnish Euge in Helsinki, a twenty minute tram ride, a two hour boat trip and a half hour walk and I'm finally here in Tallinn and trying to get to grips with this cyrillic keyboard. The Tallinn trip is just a detour to buy shit loads of cheap booze before heading to our lakeside cabin in Finland on Saturday where we will be joined by Finnish Euge and his girlfriend Spolkki, Mr and Mrs Man Donkey and Giblets. It has the making of a crazy week. On the other hand it has the makings of a horror movie where there is a mad axe murderer on the loose in the woods and people disappear one by one. Better sharpen me axe so!

Out of Office Reply

Posting will be a bit sporadic for the next couple of weeks, I'm going on me holliers tomorrow. I don't know what d'Internet situation is like in Estonia and there's definitely none in the forests of central Finland but I will try and get one or two down. Until then, I'll talk to yiz all soon!!

The Child Particle Accelerator Experiment

Last night in Gorf’s house whilst sipping on a few alcoholic beverages I decided to conduct a scientific experiment. I’m sure you’ve heard of CERN and the work they do in particle physics, well my experiment was similar but instead of using electrons and what not, I used children, Gorf’s and Man Donkey’s to be precise, four and three years old respectively.
The particle accelerator itself was the kitchen, the sitting room and the hallway. You can walk in a loop from the kitchen into the sitting room to the hallway and back into the kitchen via the other door.
Acceleration was provided by the ‘Rarrghh!’ game, you know the one, you shout ‘Rarrghhh!’ at the top of your voice and the child, through the primal flight or fight instinct, loses all control of itself and half giggling, half screaming turns and runs away. Extra distance and velocity can be achieved by the stamping of your feet a few of times after them.
A couple of ‘Rarrghhhs!’ into the game I successfully manipulated the kids so that Gorf junior was constantly coming to one of the kitchen doors and Man Donkey Junior to the other. The experiment was ready to begin and by my calculations the ‘particles’ should collide somewhere around the sitting room door. The results were as follows:

Attempt 1:
Gorf Junior didn’t quite make it to the sitting room door. Longer ‘Rarrrgh!’ for him next time.
Man Donkey junior didn’t attempt the turn into the sitting room, instead he ran straight for the front door.
Attempt 1. Failed.

Attempt 2:
Gorf Junior behaved perfectly, turned and ran straight out the kitchen door through the sitting room door and into the hallway.
Man Donkey junior’s flight or fight mechanism decided to fight this time. He let out a huge ‘Rarrrghhh!’ back and battered me in the nuts. A much louder ‘Rarrrgh!’ for him with some very loud stamps next time.
Attempt 2. Failed.

Attempt 3:
Gorf junior behaved as before and ran straight out into the hallway.
Man Donkey junior, with some extra coaxing turned and ran back out the kitchen door into the hallway.
There followed a couple of milliseconds of silence, a loud smack, more silence, then an unmerciful cacophony the likes of which had never before been heard in 27 Andrews Park as two small children made their way back to the kitchen and their respective parents in floods of tears.
Attempt 3. Success!!

I can be an evil bastard sometimes.

Unbeatable Value!!

There’s a massive sale in Dunne’s, Tallaght today. Everything’s gotta go!

42” Plasma T.V €300
Laptops €150
Car Stereos €15
Digital Camera €30

Call to Skobie Dunne, 123 Fettercairn, Tallaght. Tel: 083 9375368 and tell him, I sent you.

Dave...... What are you doing Dave?

What’s going on today? I’m reading around a few blogs and nobody is saying anything major in particular. There are none of the usual fiery, witty cynicisms that always populate the blogosphere.
Twenty’s apathetic about the news, Sweary’s regurgitating the current state of things without her usual poignant, razor sharp edge and Grandad has withdrawn his fatwah on sunglasses on head people and tourists.
Even I was on my way into work this morning with a big bag of ‘I’ll kill ya’ ready to write about how MCD are cunts but now that I’m here, it’s like a wave of apathy has swept over me and I couldn’t give a shite whether or not they continue to rip kids off or, by providing piss poor security, endanger people’s lives.
It’s got me thinking though, something’s going on. I think that bloggers are being taken over by mysterious forces controlled by his Bertness or some other superior power in an effort to control what we say. A huge cloud of ‘I don’t know the fuck’ has descended over the blogosphere and is seeping through our neural cortices.
It hasn’t fully got me yet though but I may not last much longer, people, if there is anyone left out there that has full cranial control you need to do something fast!

S.P.A.C.E.R.O.C.K

The planet Uranus, the first planet to be discovered using technology other than the naked eye, was discovered on March 13th 1781 by the German born, music teaching, band leading, telescope constructing Frederick William Herschel and named after a conversation that he had with his wife Mary soon afterwards.

Frederick: ‘Mary! Mary! Come quick!’
Mary: ‘What is it Frederick?’
Frederick: ‘Quick Look!’

Mary peers through the newly constructed telescope.

Mary: ‘What is it that I am looking for, Frederick?’
Frederick: ‘Tis a new planet that I have just discovered.’
Mary: ‘A What?’
Frederick: ‘A new planet, never before been seen by anyone else but us two. This is going to make us famous Mary.’

Mary is unimpressed

Mary: ‘New planet My Arse!’

Aarrrggghhhh!!!

Sorry guys, no post today, this is doing my freaking head in. I'm at question 45.

Update @ 19.17: At question 81 now, is there no end to this madness??!!

Dumb-rellas!

What is it about rainy days that makes me want to smash people's heads in? Nope, it's not the obvious one, the rain, nor is it the fact that I can't go and lounge around Stephen's Green or Iveagh Gardens on my lunch break, I'm afraid it's the potentially lethal weapon that many idiots carry around with them and use so carelessly, i.e. d'umbrella, that really gets my goat up.
I'm not long back from strolling around Grafton street for my lunch (Yes, I know, I'm working strange hours this week) and I feel, and look like I've just gone twelve rounds with Mike Tyson and a pack of rabid dogs. And it's always little people (I'm six foot two) that carry them and wave them around like they're in a frigging Harry Potter movie. And as for the suits with their humungous golf umbrellas, how big do they think their fucking heads are?
One would need the reflexes of a Ninja on speed and the footwork of an irradiated uber Flately just to get from one end of Grafton Street to the other without being horribly disfigured. Come the time of my Socialist Republic, all umbrellas will be banned and the people will be issued with the instructions 'Take your Raincoat you stupid Fucker!'.

Knowledge

Recently, I bought a copy of the Encyclopaedia Britannica, not the DVD or the CD version for PC, but the proper, stick it on a shelf in the sitting room and hope it doesn't snap in two, turny page multiple volumes of it and of course, me being me, I didn't opt for the nice brand spanking new 2007 edition of the encyclopaedia, oh no, instead, I bought a beautifully reproduced replica of the first ever edition of the encyclopaedia, from 1768, and I haven't stopped laughing since.
It was the brainchild of three scotsmen, one of which was a mere fifty four inches high, had a huge nose that he accentuated by wearing an even larger paper maché one over it and another was a veritable drinking buddy of Robbie Burns', just the kind of guys that you want publishing the sum of the worlds knowledge in 1768.
The encyclopaedia was published in three volumes. Bell, McFarquhar and Smellie (guess which one used to get plastered with Burnsy) obviously started out with great gusto and intention as the first volume covers A to B, but this intention seems to have petered out as the second volume covers C to L while the third covers M to Z, presumably it was a case of, 'Quick lads, get this finished, Burnsy's got the pints on!'
The thing I love most in reading the books is the dropped 's', this is an 'f' where an 's' should be and it should be pronounced as an 'f'. It just begs to be read aloud in company.

'The word ELECTRICITY fignifies, in general, the effects of a very fubtile fluid matter, different in it's properties from every other fluid we are aquainted with. The fluid is capable of uniting with almoft every body, but unites more readily with fome particular bodies than with others: its motion is amazingly quick, is regulated by peculiar laws, and produces a vaft variety of fingular phenomena, the principal of which fhall be enumerated in this article.'

There are some great wisdoms in the encyclopaedia. A few of my particular favourites are:

On California: 'a large country of the Weft Indies,... It is uncertain whether it be a peninfula or an ifland.'

On Marriage: 'truly a contract, and fo requires the confent of parties. Ideots, therefore and furious perfons cannot marry.'

On Woman: 'the female of the man.'

and the entire chapter on medicine which I'm not going to quote here as it's about a hundred or so pages long but it does say that the cure for piles is to blow a mixture of tobacco smoke and lavendar up one's anus. If you have a couple of hours, it's side splittingly funny and it makes me thank my lucky stars that I was born in the 20th century.
Every now and then I'll take it down from the shelf and have a good laugh and think, 'Jaysus, they knew so much back then but then again, they knew fuck all!'

Missing, Please Help!!

Missing,

Round yellow thing usually floats around in the sky, answers to the name 'Sun'. If found please tell him, It's FUCKING JULY!!!

Here's an artists impression of what he should look like:

Family ties

I'm not one for believing in fate or destiny or anything like that, but the following story really challenges that belief. It's a completely true story except I have changed a couple of details, like the address, as I don't want any Internet freaks calling to my door. Each time someone new visits the house they get this story, so it's about time I published it.
About 5 years ago, Ms B3n and I were house hunting, looking for the ideal location where we could set up home together. We had decided that we were going to live in Drogheda. I'm from Drogheda and it was a relatively easy commute for both of us to work. While we were saving for the house we were living with her parents in the countryside about 25km from Drogheda.
One evening, we went to look at a house for sale in Drogheda. From the outside it looked like an ordinary end of terrace house built in the very early 1900s. The inside was, however, unlike anything we had seen so far. A young architect had owned the house and was in the final stages of renovating it, but had run out of funds. Among the improvements she made was to build a two storey extension on the back of the house that was bigger than the original house. The interior was roomy, airy and had a great sense of space but was completely unfinished. The extension wasn't rendered, the sitting room had no floor, there was still quite a bit of work to be done. Both MsB3N and I instantly loved the place and decided that this was the one for us. We put an offer on the house and then let the slow, arduous process of buying a house take it's course.
Over the course of the next few of months as it was looking increasingly likely that we were going to be successful in our bid, we made several visits to the house. We had quite a bit to do to make it livable and we were getting the various quotes from the various tradesmen for the work. It was after one of those visits that we called up to my parents who still live in Drogheda.
After a couple of minutes the conversation went thus:

My Ma: What are you doing in town?
Me: We're looking at this house that we have an offer on.
My Ma: Ahh very good. Where is it?
Me: Merchant Street.
My Ma: What Number?
Me: 15

With that me Da piped up from watching the T.V.

My Da: 15 Merchant Street?
Me: Yeah.
My Da: I was born in that house.
Me: Really?
My Da: Yeah, and your granny was born in that house too.

As it transpires my father moved out of that house when he was five years old to the house that I know today as being my Granny's. A couple of months later MsB3n and I moved in to what we originally thought was going to be our new house but turns out to be my old family home. My Granny is still alive, she's eighty nine years old and has been in our house several times. A while ago I was also presented with a photo of my great grandmother standing at the front door of our house, It was badly cracked but I'm working on it in photoshop. I don't know what it is but from the very first visit to this house I have always felt comfortable here

My Great Grandmother at my doorstep.

Breaking Moos!!!

For several months, I had been observing and closely monitoring an unusual kind of bovine behaviour. My journey to and from work on the train takes me past several fields of grazing cows. In each field and with each herd the behavioural pattern is the same, and that is, whenever a herd is grazing, every cow will face in exactly the same direction.
At first I thought it was to do with the wind until I noticed that on a particularly breezy day, the wind was from the East and the cows in one field faced North East but the cows in the next field faced North West. I could rule wind direction out.
For my next theory I had to look to the skies and to flocks of birds. I had often wondered how birds that flew in massive flocks knew when to turn so that they didn’t all collide until an ornithologist friend told me that they keep an eye on the bird to their front and the bird to their right and maintain the same distance apart.
Maybe I could apply this to my cow theory but after several days of observing the movements of the herds, I couldn’t find the pattern that could lead me to conclusively prove that this was the case.
I was at a dead end with my theorising, until last night that is. I was casually chatting to my Druid friend, Lugh, who whilst recently reading ancient Gaelic texts discovered that the nearby Newgrange or Brú na Bóinne as it is in the Gaelic was mistranslated from the original text and should actually read as Mú na Bóinne.
This was the breakthrough I was waiting for, Mú na Bóinne, the Moo of the Cows! What did the cows have to do with Newgrange, or Moogrange as it should be correctly called? When I explained my recent theories to Lugh he got very excited and explained that as a dowser he found that Moogrange was built on an intersection of leylines. So the cows built Moogrange? They must have done, along with other similar structures at Cowth and Loughmoo near Oldcastle. What a bombshell!!
Lugh showed me the map that he had drawn up from his dowsing. I had the answer right there. A series of leylines running parallel to the train tracks. They all face the same direction because of leylines. I’ve always believed that cows retained an ancient knowledge and knew stuff, and you know, they've never found a cow that has died of natural causes so for all we know they may live forever.

Mememememememe.... wha de fuh?

K8 sent me this thing where I have to put 8 things about meself on my blog. Being new to this blogology I thought that I just had to comment on her post. Ah well, I'm a poor simple fool. SO.... here we go.

1. I used to do the hands by the side jumping up and down dance to ‘Birdhouse in your Soul’ in the discas.
2. I’m a vegetarian, but then again so was Hitler.
3. My hobbies are clay pigeon shooting and greeetings card making.
4. I have earrings and a tattoo.
5. I was in a big budget Thai movie a few years ago.
6. I think that celery is the Devil’s poo.
7. I HATE flying but LOVE travelling.
8. Ronnie Drew once told me to F*ck Off!!

Now, I dont know anybody else to send this to so, I'll leave it there.

Nine hundred and ninety nine thousand nine hundred and ninety nine.... One Million!! Coming ready or not!

Hey, check out this dude, either he’s completely nuts or playing one serious game of hide ‘n’ seek. He’s counting to one million live on the net. Unfortunately, as he’s in the US you’re not going to see him in action until about 3pm G.M.T but you can check him out now as he sleeps.
I think I’d rather do a fun run or something else for charity. Apparently it going to take him about four months to complete, counting for about sixteen hours a day and he’s not going to leave the house until he’s done. What if he loses his place, will he start over?
Speaking of hide ’n’ seek, if I ever get the money I’m going to organise a game of international hide ‘n’ seek for my mates. We’ll all arrive at the airport, whoever is on, counts to 10 000 and the rest buy tickets and fly off to wherever they want. It could go on for years!

Why does it always......... OH F**K OFF!!!!

OK, it’s my turn now! I’m really fuckin fed up with this rain. It’s finally got to me. I always had the belief that there’s no such thing as bad weather, there’s only the wrong clothes. Fuck that! Even with my hi-tech, new fangled, Gortex superclothes (yes, they even repel bad vibes and keep my aura intact) I’m getting multiple soakings each day now and am starting to think I live in the middle of that poxy Travis song. I’m going to spend my luchtime battering SUV drivers.
All in favour of cutting out a sizable slice of this country, attaching an outboard motor and putting off down to the Med say ‘Aye!’ Which part of the country will we take? Preferably some part that has a EuroSpar and a Bagel factory.

In other news, it’s absolutely great to see that BBC journalist Alan Johnston and his head have been released together after 4 months of captivity.

You are what you read

Last year, I was mainly reading non-fiction, a couple of books on Rwanda, a few on Bosnia, Kosovo and Robert Fisk's mammoth The Great War for Civilisation. The year progressed, the books were getting more depressing and I was starting to become more and more disillusioned with this tiny planet in this vast universe.
Why couldn't the US State department have just admitted that what was going on in Rwanda WAS genocide and set wheels in motion to save the lives of 800 000 people? Why couldn't the UN peacekeepers in the safe enclave of Srebrenica have just done that and kept the peace instead of handing 8 000 muslim men and young boys over to their executioners? Why did the world stand by (and continues to do so) while the Israelis carried out acts against the Palestinians that can only be described as criminal? Fuck, I hated the world.

This year, as a remedy, I have prescribed myself a strict dose of Terry Pratchett's Discworld novels. I've read fourteen so far and intend to read the whole thirty odd of them by the end of the year. The change is for the better, instead of being Berties3rdNipple, an unimportant, anonymous blogger from Ireland, I am Abdoo Djellibelli a Klatchian fisherman from Al Khali. Or maybe that's just because it's 0.30 and I'm feeling the after effects of a monstrous weekend session and this is my first night since last Wednesday without beer. I'm sure to get the screaming heebee geebees later. I think I'll have a glass of wine!


Abdoo Djellibelli. Klatchian Fisherman

Test Card

Due to an intense weekend of booze and other things, today's post has been cancelled. Normal services will resume as soon as I can get my head to stop fizzing. Apologies for any inconvenience caused.


And now for something completely different:
How to calculate Pi by throwing frozen Hotdogs.

A fishy tale

I’ve always thought that Gorf was a bit of a mentaller, it’s part of his charm, but last night didn’t just confirm that, it rammed it home sideways with a pick axe that the guy is without a doubt, a complete certifiable, lock him up in a rubber room in a straight jacket, nut job.
We were in McFool’s having our usual Thursday evening beverages, Giblets was also present and Gorf was telling me about how he noticed that something was wrong with his fish, for the last couple of days they were swimming up at the surface and looked as if they were gasping for air.

‘It’s your water quality’, sez I, knowing a thing or two about fishes,’ you’ll need to change about a third of it, the level of nitrate has increased.’
‘It’s OK’, sez he, ‘I fixed them.’
‘What did you do?’ I asked, expecting him to say that he added a nitrogen remover media to his filter.
‘I took them out and gave each of them a squeeze.’
‘Ye Whah?!’
‘I thought that they had a bit of trapped wind that was stopping them from swimming to the bottom so I winded them. It worked, they don’t swim at the top anymore.’
‘I’m not fuckin surprised’, sez I, ‘coz the last time they were up there, a huge fucking hand reached in, pulled them out and squeezed the shite out of them!!’

This man has children! I don’t know whether to call the I.S.P.C.F or Social Services to warn them of an impending disaster!

Bertie can dance!

Last night I had to finally bite the bullet, bury the hatchet, wear the wellies and whatever else you do and I fulfilled an age old promise to Mrs B3N and went to Salsa dancing lessons. It’s become a bone of contention between us lately, especially at social functions where she loves to dance and I don’t. It’s not that I have the, Salsa dancing is gay and I’m just going to sit here and drink fifty pints, manly male response to everything other than sitting there and drinking fifty pints, and it’s not that I don’t have rhythm or don’t like the music, I can play several musical instruments and have a huge appreciation for all music (except Country), it’s just that what I see as dancing, other people see as the maniacal gyrations of a mentally traumatised baboon, on crack. And so it was that at a recent wedding were all she had to make do with was the dance floor antics of a drunken uncle and so that she would not hassle me to dance for the rest of the night, I made a promise to her that I would go to Salsa Lessons.
I fought it right up to the point where we went upstairs in one of my locals (where the lessons were being held), hoping that none of the lads were going to be at the bar, with teenage tantrums of ‘I’m Not Going!’. The first thing I noticed in the class was the severe lack of men, I made up one hundred percent of the paying male clientele. This, I later heard is endemic of salsa lessons throughout the country. I felt like the Sultan of Borneo with his harem, loads of lovely ladies queuing up to dance with ME! Finally, I thought, Karma has seen a way to pay me back for all of those rejections in the No-Name Club when I was a spotty teenager. It didn’t matter that I had just started, only knew two steps, had more left feet than Lefty the Left Footed Leftipede and spent all of the dance looking at my feet, the ladies were just delighted that they didn’t have to be men (in the Salsa sense) for the night. YES, I was a Dancing GOD!!! This has got to be one of Irelands best kept secrets so lads, forget I said anything, Salsa IS gay, ladies, I’ll see you next week!

The Horror

Two days now in the shit and filth, crawling on our bellies like the worms we are. It’s dark and eerily quiet. It hasn’t been this quiet for so long now. What are they up to? The rain beats down and drenches us in our water sodden coffins. There are only two of us left.
Giblets was the first to go, he lost his mind, said he’d had enough and made the dash out into no-mans land. Gorf tried to restrain him but it was no good, he was gone before we could do anything. I don’t expect we’ll see him again.
Man Donkey’s demise was the hardest to take. There we were, the three of us laughing for the first time in days when suddenly he took four hits and toppled like a giant oak tree felled by a foresters axe. All attempts to revive him failed. That leaves Gorf and me, we’ve been like this for hours, waiting, afraid to move.
Suddenly, there’s a WHOOOSH off to our left then a huge explosion. The sky lights up. This is followed by more explosions, the noise is deafening. Among the explosions we can hear the screams of what sounds like thousands of people hysterically crying out. This must be it! They’re coming. In the light of one of the explosions I look over at Gorf, he looks pale, almost dead. This is it! Footsteps approaching and a voice crying out over the din;

‘Bertie, Bertie!!!’
Thank fuck, it’s Giblets!
‘Over here!’ I cry, ‘Over here!’
‘Oh man, I found yiz, Quick c’mon The Killers are coming on to the stage’
‘Right so, I’ll get me wellies!’

I lash out and give Man Donkey an unmerciful boot in the hole.

‘GET UP YOU STONEY BASTARD!!’

Shitney's new album - can you help?

Shitney Spears is seeking help from her most die hard fans for her new album, according to her website. She is apparently stuck for a name and as we all know, her talent well dried up about 5 mins after she was born. Oh the poor baldy dear whose more famous now for flashing her ladybits than singing.

Top of the list is:

OMG is like Lindsay Lohan like OK like

I've got a few. How about'

Fuck off and Die, Britney

Poxy

I'm one troubled, whinging bitch

and

I've got a minge like a Wizard's Sleeve.

Tell you what love, I'll come up with a name if you give me half your fucking money you tight fisted talentless twat!

Longest Day

'Get UP Bertie!!'
'zzz... wha ....huh ...??!'
'Get UP!'

Mrs B3N is rousing me from my recurring dream of being Master of the Universe.

'Yaaawwwn.... wha time is it?'
'It's four o clock'
'In the furghin mawnin??'
'Yeah, you're not forgetting, are you?'.

With great difficulty I prise my eyelids apart and gaze in to her eyes. I see the expectant and excited look and then I remember. Of course, it's the 21st June, the solstice, she's been waiting for this for 5 years. I happen to know one of the curators in Newgrange and it's taken me 5 years to get a place in the chamber for the sunrise.

Mrs B3N is already dressed and and chattering away excitedly. It takes me a couple of more minutes to wake up properly. I turn on the light, sit up and get out of bed.

Then, I look out the window. It's lashing rain.

'I can't wait...... are you excited....?', sez she.
'Am I fuck!', sez I, 'Now go back to bed!'

How not to be a clever DICK!!

Looks like someone at Sky Handling partners is in for some big doo doo! The technofool thought he was being a clever dick by signing an irate customer up to some gay dating sites. NAIL 'EM TO THE FUCKIN WALL I SAY, THE BAG LOOSING CUNTS!!!!!!

Grafton Street's got talent

Took a stroll up Grafton street and the amount of talent there would put any ITV/TV3 bollox to shame. And no, I’m not talking about the ladies. At BT there was the string quartet and the guy that plays the dulcimer, further up, a group of kids playing trad, the Romanian accordion/trumpet Polka combo and the guy that dances with the shop dummy, all excellent and talented people but the further up Grafton St you go, alas sadly, the talent dimishes.

There’s any amount of students who’ll stand there and play their one or two good songs on the guitar over and over again (I was that soldier once), then we have the lowest form of entertainment on the planet, the mime.

Fuckers who don’t even bother to do anything to entertain you, they just stand there, on a box, and when you give them money they do a half arsed ‘80s Robotica dance for a couple of seconds and then stop. Four years in uni and a degree in performing arts and this is the best you can come up with? And the tourists go mad for them!!

Then it hit me!! Why the fuck haven’t the Simon community latched on to this. Instead of passing out sandwiches and blankets, hand out sparkly costumes and bucket loads of face paints, clean up the image of the optionally residential, put them on boxes and give them a career doing what they do best, tapping money!!

The foreign question

I'm all on for cultural diversity and I have great respect for any foreign person, where ever they're from who are willing to uproot from their homes and come to this shithole to try to earn a living, but what I can't stand and am finding increasingly frustrating is the amount of foreign workers being employed in customer service roles when they can't communicate effectively in English.

I've just got off the phone to the G.P.O (Gormless Pillocks Office) trying to trace a parcel that was posted to me. The conversation went thus:

Me: Hello?
Him: Unintelligble grunt, men zor de po.
Me: Oh, sorry I must have rang the wrong number....... click

Ring ring..

Him: Unintelligble grunt, men zor de po.
Me: Hello is this the G.P.O?
Him: yiieehh, gee pee ohhh men zor de po.
Me: Ahh OK..... DO YOU SPEAK ENGLISH?
Him: eeY'amm speekin eeglish
Me: WHERE ARE YOU FROM?
Him: I'm from Moolin Gyar.
Me: Oh good fuck, put me through to Peggy will you?

Saggy Trousers Madness

Dunno if you've read this? Which is more disturbing, the fact that they have a guy in charge called Carol or the fact that he wants everybody to wear dresses?

Six months in Jail?? What's quite ironic is that the lowrider jeans buzz was born in American jails. Prisoner's belts were removed to stop them from hanging themselves, then it caught on with the young black population, presumably because there is some connection or other between young black people and jail in America.

Added 11.51:

Overheard on the way in this morning. A young woman with two very young children, one of which was obviously hers.

"No Julian, you're from Malahide, Craig, is from Dublin"

What a cunt!

Some of me mates....

Here's a short list of some of me mates, in no particular order:

ManDonkey

ManDonkey is a beast of burden. With hands the size of shovels and feet that will only fit into shoe boxes, ManDonkey once carried his then 5 yr old daughter on his shoulders, a rucksack on his back, a rucksack on his chest and a rolled up 4st Tibetan carpet on his head whilst trekking through the Himalayas for a month. Many Yak, at the spectacle of such a feat, died of shame.

Gorf

Gorf is a very talented chef whose signature dishes include, 'Sausage a la Botulism' which he fed to the extremely yappy neighbours' dog and 'Pan Fried chicken with stuffing a la Gentleman's Relish' which was served up to restaurant staff that pissed him off once. One fucker you don't want to be stuck on a desert island with as he's just waiting for the opportunity to cook up and eat some 'Long Pig'. Once gave himself a dose of salmonella just to get 6 months off work.

Giblets

Giblets is ......well..... just giblets.

It's MY fucking seat!!!

Now...... there's times when I like being a creature of habit. There's certain things that just have to be the same for me. I'm not saying that I don't like being spontaneous, at times I have been known to go completely mad and do crazy things like ............. put salad cream on me toasted cheese sandwich instead of mayonnaise, but there are some things that just have to be the same for me every day, especially early in the morning when, as most of ye who know me will vouch for my early morning cheery dispostion and gentle, caring nature.

Call it routine. I get up at the same time each day, I put my various items of clothing on in the same order (although logic rather than routine should dictate in what order you put your clothes on), I go to the train station via the same route, I stand in the exact same position on the platform, I board the train by the same door, and until quite recently, I sit in the exact same seat.

There are many reasons for this, but the main one is that during the course of my 1hr 10min train journey I like to read for a bit and then sleep for approx 20 mins. While I'm sleeping I like to rest my head on that little red box that contains the emergency hammer, it's my, sort of pillow if you will.

In the last couple of weeks however my routine has been severly disrupted by one of those goons that you see walking around everywhere, you know the type, just learned to walk upright a couple of days ago, knuckles trailing along the ground, is usually found attached to the other end of enormous power tools or swinging out of scaffolding on building sites wearing illuminous vests, although judging by the size of this fucker I'm amazed that anyone would fail to see him.

He practically stands on top of me waiting for the train, when it arrives we both do the sideways platform shuffle, elbows flying, trying be at the door when the train stops. When the door opens we both make a beeline for the same seat. It's all out war!

So far it's 50/50, but what I can't understand is ........ we are the only two people in the fucking station at that fucking hour of the fucking morning and the only two fucking people getting onto that fucking train, why can't he fuck the way away to some other fucking carraige and sit in another fucking seat because that fucking seat, yes THAT seat is MY.. FUCKING.. SEAT!!!!!!

A taste of ....... me hole

The Taste of Dublin kicks off today which acccording to some, is the most significant food event in Dublin. A 4 day celebration of fine food and drink in Iveagh Gardens. What a load of wank.

Wannabe Posh bints (Real posh bints can actually afford to eat full portions in the restaurants that are showcasing their signature dishes without having to mix with the neuveautarts in the middle of a field) wanderin around going:

"Jurry, hey Jurry, did you taste the cilantro in this? Isn't it absolutely fontawstic?"

Celebrity chefs that think that they are rock gods, so what, I mean, good lad you can cook but Jesus, get off the fuckin stage! If being able to cook is today's equivalent of Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock, my grandmother should release a Top Ten recipe book, do a world tour, end each gig by setting fire to the food processor and then choke in her sleep coz she drank too much Horlicks before going to bed and forgot to take her false teeth out.

And the prices? The standard ticket is €25(entrance only). Twenty five fuckin euro just to wander around what you can wander around at any other time of year for free. Still I suppose they have to keep the Iveagh Gardens' regulars (wineos and junkies) away just for this weekend. Platinum tickets are €134, with that you get to lick the bowls and spatulas clean of the celebrity chefs at the end of each demonstration.

Anyway, as is usual with any outdoor event in this country, it looks as if it's going to piss down upon their posh heads for the weekend. Good enough for the cunts.

Death nell for the Greens

Well, this morning it looks like the Green Party will help the Fianna Failures form the next Irish Government. What a bunch of tossers. Do they really think that they can solve the country's problems by getting involved with that shower of robbing, lying wankers. I feel sorry for them having been duped by the fuckers who always fuck things up and manage to come out on top smelling of roses whilst their coalition partners smell of shite.

Fianna Fail won the election on the promise that the economy was strong and was only going to get stronger and yet not 2 weeks after the election, that Bertie cunt was in the media saying that there will be tough times ahead for the Irish people and that we need to tighten our belts. All of us peasant Irish people that is, and none of his fuckin fat loan shark business mates!!!!!

I really did try to like the Greens, but I'm sorry lads it looks like you got involved in Government a bit too soon and with the wrong people. I hope that this isn't the end of yiz.

Letter to Customer Services

I don't know if any of you travel by public transport in Ireland. I do and it's shite. Every day delays, train failures. This one's the latest.



Dear Sir/Madam,

It's great to see that the summer has finally arrived. But all of this beautiful weather has it's draw backs, namely travelling to and from work with Iarnroid Eireann.

Yesterday, 11.06.07, I took the 6.** train from D******* to Dublin Pearse. At that time, the dawn chill was still in the air and I was very surprised to find that the aircon was up full, generating what could only be described as near Arctic conditions on the train. This wasn't too bad as I had a fleece and was able to keep warm by flapping my arms vigorously by my side and running up and down the carriage making penguin noises.

The really big issue I had was on the way home, I took the 16.** train from Pearse to D*******. When the train arrived, I got on and stepped into what could only be described as a smelting furnnace. There was NO aircon on in this one and I nearly melted on the spot. This was also one of those cleverly designed trains, you know the ones, airtight with no windows that could double up as gas chambers should the need arise. The journey was one of the most uncomfortable journeys I have ever undertaken, and I've done a few, including a 28 hour bus journey through mountain dirt roads in China.

This ranks as one of the worst. I'd say I lost approx 5 Kg in sweat and the air was so stifling that it almost brought on several Asthma attacks (luckily I had my inhaler with me)*.

Now, it doesn't take the logic of Einstein to figure this one out so I'm not going to go into what the solution would be, but I would be very grateful if you could please advise the drivers to switch on the air conditioning at the appropriate times.

Thanks and best regards,

Berties 3rd Nipple

*I'm not joking about the Asthma attacks. The little emergency hammer was nearly used to break open a window to let some air in.

Can't wait to see if the cunts reply, although given their previous track record they probably won't.

How are yiz?

How are yiz? I'm Bertie's 3rd Nipple from Ireland and I'm pissed off. Too much shite going on in this wee country so I'm going to write about some of it. I hope you like it, please comment on it or don't, I couldn't give a fuck.