K8 the GR8

Nope, I’m not talking about dad’s recent plug for the Jack and Jill foundation, though it’s a worthy post to read.

I’m talking about gratuitous violence. The type that many would label inhumane, but that leads to a happy ending. Fishing, for example. If I ever find myself lucky enough to tag along on a fishing trip and accidently catch a fish, I’ll happily brain the thing on a rock if it means I get to eat it. If not, I’ll send it back to it’s home with a sore lip.

I’m not a fan of furs, or foxhunting, or frying ants with magnifying glasses. Random death isn’t that amusing or pretty to me. Death needs a cause. Survival being the main cause I suppose. This brings me to Audrey III.

It’s not the most original name I suppose, but I had to name her after the leading actor in ‘Little Shop of Horrors’, it only seems right.

Audrey III is a Venus Fly Trap. The Accidental Terrorist found her in LIDL one day, and brought her home to me. She sits on my windowsill in her little swampy patch and waits. She is, however, only a baby which means she’s quite naive when it comes to feeding herself. Flies just simply didn’t fancy alighting on her open jaws, for some reason, and she grew weak. I realised that she needed some mothering. So, I bought myself a fly swat.

The weeks that followed found me yelping with delight when a fly entered my territory. I would chase it around the room, swatting at random. Eventually the fly and swatter would connect, thus batting the wounded insect out of sight. I’d then have to crawl around on hands and knees, searching for the body. Once found, the tweezers would come out, and the sick fly would then be placed gently in the open jaw of Audrey III. The smallest movement from the insect would stimulate the tiny hairs on her tongue, and *SNAP*, her jaw would shut, remaining glued until the unfortunate insect was sucked dry.

I fed her on every opportunity. I experimented with various food types. Earwigs are no good as they’re too tough. Slugs are just too big altogether. Spiders are the most interesting items to feed Audrey III. She’ll close her jaws, suck on the carcass for a few days, then open up again to reveal a macabre spider skeleton still clinging, it’s eyes rolled back from the horror of it all. Amazing stuff.

You might think this a slightly twisted pre-occupation for a young mother, but like I say, it’s to a good cause.

My little plant, you see, had not left my hard work un-noticed. She grew very quiet suddenly… her little piping ‘Feed Me!’ voice was still. I tried to offer up a few carcasses, but she refused to shut her jaws. She was obviously working on something.

Sure enough, a growth developed at the center of the plant. The appendage grew and grew, eventually to quite a ridiculous length. It’s tip grew to heavy for Audrey to support it, so I propped her new growth against the window pane. Then, she flowered.

Isn’t she pretty in a strange sort of way?

Ed Harcourt – Something in My Eye

I was really annoyed at first. The arrogant old git. How dare he try a new hobby, work half-assed at it for a bit, then just suddenly shoot to fame?! He wins a prestigious award and signs a book deal within the same week? The cheek of some people. I’m starting to believe dad now, when he says he’s in league with the devil.

Then I saw the bright side.

I’m joining the ranks of Peaches Geldof, Lourdes Leon and Blanket Jackson! Yep, I get to ride on the back of my father’s fame, strutting around on red carpets without having to do anything at all! Second-hand fame really has to be the best, just ask Mzzz Beckam. I might even have a shot at releasing a clothes line!

Where will it go from here? Presidency? Global Domination? *GASP* The Oprah Winfrey Show?

* * *

Here’s the follically enhanced freak himself!

But wait, who’s the guy behind him?! Why that’s Cully! Cully introduced Grandad to his first groupie, then bought us all a dose of Bolly!

His website got two awards, including the Grand Prix! Fair play t’them.

* * *

I’ve to go now, and practice my catwalk pout.

 

A newborn expels its own body weight in waste every 60 hours.

Just about 3 people are born every second, and about 1.3333 people die every second. The result is about a 2 and 2/3 net increase of people every second. Almost 10 people more live on this Earth now, than before you finished reading this.

The number of people alive on earth right now is higher than the number of all the people that have died. Ever.

The Population of the world can live within the state boundaries of Texas. 

The total combined weight of the world’s ant population is heavier than the weight of the human population.

The number of cars on the planet is increasing three times faster than the population growth.

And finally, unrelated but still warranting a mention: 

Every day is about 55 billionths of a second longer than the day before it.

I don’t like myself lately.  I keep making disparaging remarks, and just generally taking the piss out of everything I do.  I think it’s because I’ve been hanging around myself too much. 

Is it possible to go away on holiday from one’s self for a while? 

If it is, who would I hire to take care of myself while I’m gone?

It started with games like Batty, Manic Miner and Jet Set Willy on the ZX Spectrum. Then, when Tandems arrived it was all about flight simulators, Indiana Jones/The Hobbit adventure games and Rogue. Sure, they took an age to load, but by the time came to start playing it was all so worth it! How simple our needs were back then.

A college buddy of mine then introduced me to console gaming. Many late night MarioKart contests were held in the bloke’s living quarters including me, the novelty girly gamer.

Most of my courtship with The Accidental Terrorist involved a PlayStation. In fact, it was how he used to lure me into his room. Wanna play the playstation? Works far better for me than something cheesy like; Shall we take this upstairs? (I know - yes I am a serious geek.) We played Crash Bandicoot, Worms and Micro Maniacs ’till our fingers bled, and had many sessions involving blokes coming over with beer for Gran Turismo races. I was referred to as ‘One of the Lads’, which was nice. It’s a rare doorway into the world of men and their true colours, it really is. As for trouncing them at Tekken?! Now that’s a moment to be proud of.

Then came the gaming revolution. Vice City. The Godfather. Scarface. You get the choice to walk around or hope on a bike. You can even steal a car and start riots if you like. You can conduct forceful negotiations with shop owners to win turf, or just go around lobbing hand-grenades onto beaches full of Americans. (Introducing this concept to my dad might at least keep him off the streets?) Then there’s Splinter Cellwith it’s gizmets and gadgos. I’m currently taking pot-shots at Germans in ‘Medal of Honour’, but if the game gets much harder, I’ll be winding that one up. I hate repetition.

In Canis Canem Edit, you get to re-live your school days. Health is gained from kissing girls, who will only put out if you buy them flowers or beat up the leader of a rival gang. You get to flush cherry bombs in the toilet and shoot rats with a slingshot. You also have to sit through class and complete puzzles to graduate -it is most definately my favourite game so far.

Console gaming is a wonderful, consequence free world. It also improves hand-eye co-ordination and bladder control. Everyone should have one.

The real shame is that gaming itself is such a male dominated activity. It’s not the fault of the game makers.. they tried to appeal to the girlies with games like The Sims, Wii, and of course BUZZ, but whenever I’m invited to a girly session in someones house and suggest I bring the Playstation, I get comments like; Sure! If you want to BORE us to death! I ask you though… how exciting is it really, to hear about the cost of hair-doos or discuss new shopping centers?

I would have lost faith in the whole matter if it weren’t for my discovering Cat’s Blog, I tell you.

Why aren’t there more of us out there?

Deck the turkey’s balls with holly!  I can’t wait for Christmas, my childish enthusiasm has been re-awakened by my 3 year old who asks me every day when the big C will arrive.  In the spirit of giving, I dedicate this post to Jennifer (Nelly) O’Shea, an old school buddy of mine with a twisted sense of humour. 

One day, on the last day of school term before we broke for Christmas holidays, Nelly gave me a beautifully wrapped gift.  It was small and rectangular, with no rattle or distinguishing clues as to what it could be.

“Get it home as soon as you can and put it in your fridge or it’ll go off.” she said.

“Jesus!  Is it a bomb?!?” I exclaimed, knowing well that Nelly isn’t the chocolate-giving kind.

“I’m not telling you… just keep it cold until Christmas morning, and open it as soon as you take it out of the fridge.  It’s very important that you keep it cold.”

“Is it roadkill?  I told you my mum doesn’t like me keeping stuff like that.” I said, brimming with curiosity.

She winked, and walked away.

I went home, re-arranged the anonymous tin-foil wrappings in the fridge, and stashed the gift.  It teased me cruelly every day… it consumed me.  Then, finally when Christmas morning arrived, I ran downstairs, opened the fridge and ripped the paper wrapping away.

It was a book.

‘Complete Uses of a Dead Cat’ by Simon Bond.

Here are a few excerpts from this amazing insightful piece of literary genius…

A pair of aces grinned from the flop, the group was being cagey, the atmosphere thick.  Several players folded while they were still ahead. 

“Hey!  I have a story!”  says the magnetically interesting girl with the voice of an angel to my right.  Our attention shifted and the tension broke.

My sister’s friend has one of those pet snakes, you know those really big ones?

The conversation lapses into the dietary habits of pet snakes for a while (a rabbit?!  seriously?  live or frozen?!).

So anyway, she had this snake for years.  It grew so big that she had to stop housing it in it’s tank, and just let it sleep coiled up at the foot of her bed every night.  She loved this thing.  So, when it suddenly began to refuse it’s mice every week, she began to worry.  She marked it down to the fact that it could be shedding it’s skin and decided to leave it a while to see what happened.

The poker game was momentarily put aside.

Then, one morning she woke to find that the snake had stopped sleeping at the foot of the bed, and was now lying parallel to her body, with it’s head on the pillow.  This was seriously odd behaviour, so she brought it to the vet.  Well!  The vet listened to her descriptions of the snake’s behaviour and told her instantly to get rid of it, fast!  She was mortified, seeing as she loved this thing so much, and asked why…

(Baited breath)

“He’s sizing you up.”  he said.

We all gasped and made a similar *AAUUGGH* sound whilst imagining the feeling of waking up half way down a pet snake’s gullet.

NASTY

I’m finding myself with spare time suddenly but with nothing much to say.  Then I decided that it is very rare for a blogger to post a post and use all of their tags at once (Bloggers such as Brian F and Stupid Irish Daddy are disqualified for lack of imagination of course).  This is my challenge,  and I’m giving myself an award for it.  You can have one too if you can do it.

What is both strange and unusual is that marijuana is illegal.  This subject is taboo, but it’s just something to think about.  Once one partakes in the activity of having a spliff, one is immediately part of the chain.  One is working hand in hand with the drug-lord and his artillery, and my philosophy is that this is unfair burden on us stoners.  It’s a little known fact that weed is quite benign, that it’s worst effects are the munchies and diminished brain capacity, but we accept this, and we take responsibility for it quietly and with a few giggles thrown in. 

Working the daily job is not easy.  Neither is dealing with the family and it’s shortcomings.  My weakness is that I would like to sit back and be able to put up with the tripe on the box and find it humourarse.  Sometimes it’s nice to listen to music or glance at the uncategorised pleasures of this life and be inspired to write new poems and things.  Contrary to public rantings, weed does not generally make us want to take up smack or turn bi-polar.

That’s all I’m saying because this is supposed to be a quickie.

Here’s my award.

Do you want it?  I’d offer it up for general grabs but seeing as memememe is one of my tags, I have to name names.

Me aul’ f’la

Irish Flirty Something

Scribbles by Hanulf

(You know you want it)

My Accidental Terrorist has jippy back pains due to a dodgy discus.  When I say Jippy, I mean mind numbingly puke-inducingly excrutiating back pains.  These tend to arrive in the form of electric jolts that recently have begun to render TAT a bruised and angry man due to the public humiliation of collapsing unexpectedly.

This first happened on Tuesday in the G.P.’s carpark.  He was whisked away by ambulance in an ether induced haze, and dosed on Morphine which made him a very happy little egg for a while.  The only problem was that the hospital refused to book him in because they were self-confessed ignoramii on the subject of spines.  They did say that if it happened again, we were to zoom right into another hospital in west Dublin where his back-gurus were.

It did happen again.  On Wednesday, an eerie thump resonated through the house.  I rushed upstairs to find TAT in the foetal position looking like roadkill.  I called the hospital and they played ‘pass the problem lady on the phone’ around within their system until I gave up and just decided to drive TAT in myself.

7.30pm:  We arrived.  I gave TAT’s info to the administrator.  I wrestled a wheelchair (literally) off a porter and helped TAT out of the car.

8.00pm: TAT was seen by the triage nurse.  He was told that he was #8 on the priority list.  We began to wait.

9.00pm: Still waiting.

10.00pm: Still waiting.

11.00pm: Still waiting.  Light entertainment is provided by a drunk and slurring skanger who attempts to order “shickkenballs an’ a tree in wan” loudly over the phone from the local Chinese.  When he is asked for his number, he reads the product I.D. number from the back of the handset and gets mightily pissed off when Chinese lady hangs up.  He tries again.  And again.  Finally he begins to call out what sounds like a genuine mobile number.  Two lads handcuffed to each other behind us hurriedly begin to jot down said number with a view to prank-calling skobie.  All are dismayed to find that skobie’s number is three digits short.  All patients wait until Skobie leaves for a smoke and lapse into piss-taking skobie impressions.

12.00am: Still waiting.  TAT is now very pale from all his squirming.

1.00am: Still waiting.  Dissapointed to find that pub closing time has not produced new and interesting A & E victims.  Turns out Ireland isn’t as full of booze hounds as was previously alleged.

1.10am: TAT is given Pethidine injection which was as useful as saline to TAT.  He is X-Rayed.

2.10am: Dozy doctor spends an hour deliberating and poking TAT.

3.00am: Dozy doctor #2 explains that TAT can’t be admitted because of Protocol.

4.00am: Nurse gives TAT watered down injection of Morphine. 

4.30am: TAT and I are found spooning on a hospital bed in the corridor while TAT squirms and we both try to sleep despite repetitive renditions of;

*retch*

“Simon, stop sticking your fingers down your throat!”

*retch*

“Simon, stoppit!  You’re making it worse now, lookit!”

*retch*

“Ahhh Simon, will you please stop putting your fingers down your throat?!”

*retch*  *gurgle* *splash*

“See, now look at this mess!”

7.00am: TAT and I decide to leave, cursing Harney all the way to the car.  We note that despite the fact that there are many many patients lying in corridors, A & E is now completely empty, as are most of the stalls.  We decide that this must be a nightmare and begin pinching ourselves until we cry.

8.30am: We arrive home to disbelieving parents who kindly distract toddler while we grab an hour or two’s kip.

Now: Completely and utterly totally wasted. 

Roishe.  Let’s get this one over with, shall we?  It took two full containers of Omega Fish Oil before I could get my noggin around this.

This evil evil meme is a twisted form of Chinese Whispers and goes like this:

There are a set of statements below that are all of the form:”The best [subgenre] [medium] in [genre] is…”. Copy the statements, you may modify them in a limited way, carrying out no more than two of these operations:

You can leave them exactly as is.
You can delete any one
You can mutate either the genre, medium, or subgenre of any one question.

For instance, you could change “The best time travel novel in SF/Fantasy is…” to “The best time travel novel in Westerns is…”, or “The best time travel movie in SF/Fantasy is…”, or “The best romance novel in SF/Fantasy is…”.

You can add a completely new question of your choice to the end of the list, as long as it is still in the form “The best [subgenre] [medium] in [genre] is…”. You must have at least one question in your set, or you’ve gone extinct, and you must be able to answer it yourself, or you’re not viable.Then answer your possibly mutant set of questions. Please do include a link back to the blog you got them from, to simplify tracing the ancestry, and include these instructions.

Finally, pass it along to any number of your fellow bloggers. Remember, though, your success as a Darwinian replicator is going to be measured by the propagation of your variants, which is going to be a function of both the interest your well-honed questions generate and the number of successful attempts at reproducing them.

My Ancestry:

My great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandparent is Pharyngula.
My great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandparent is Metamagician and the Hellfire Club.
My great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandparent is Flying Trilobite.
My great-great-great-great-great-great grandparent is A Blog Around the Clock.
My great-great-great-great-great grandparent is archy.
My great-great-great-great grandparent is Why Now?
My great-great-great grandparent is Hipparchia.
My great-great grandfathers are Archaeopteryx and Kiefus.
My great grandfather is Catnapping.
My grandmother is BirdAnonymous  

My mummy is Baino.

My statements:

• The best “badâ€? movie in comedy is: Grandma’s Boy
• The worst earworm in pop music is: “Every time we touch” by Cascada(aarrgh)
• The best re-readable novel in school-days literature is: “The Catcher in the Rye” by J.D. Salinger

And now, with much evil laughter I pass this infection to you:

Going Like Sixty *mwa ha ha ha*

Brian F *mwa ha ha ha ha*

Foreigner by Default *mwa ha ha ha ha ha*

Best of feckin’ luck to you.