AUSTRALIAN DONGER TAKES ONE FOR THE TEAM

Well, it should.

Donger? 
Those crazy Ozzies with their colourful(google is telling me this is spelt(grr) incorrectly...well, screw you google) language.
In any case, this story revolves around some drongo being sent off a fottie pitch for being in breach of the flaming rules. 


And what pray tell was his violation? Well, it was his donger of course, his old fella, his doodle (master your own oz slang here)
Anywho, during the first half of the match poor old Aaron took a direct hit to the old fellas. "Stone the crows". Queue wincing pain and raucous laughter from so called mates. 


This, of course wouldn't result in a sending off. No it was while receiving treatment (a bag of birdseye frozen peas, one assumes) that his transgression was discovered. 
It was discovered that this galah had a piercing in a rather intimate place. No, not his shoulder, that would be silly. His other intimate place. To quote: 

"At this point the referee became aware that he had a body piercing.

  "He subsequently received two yellow cards, firstly for re-entering the field of play without the referee's permission, and secondly for privacy reasons being unable to prove that he had removed the piercing."

Well isnt that a kick in the knackers. What a fruit-loop. I need to stop looking at that slang page. For those of you interested in the hilarity, watch the video below. 

LINKS!! MEANINGFUL LINKS

God left the oven open.

Crazy Chilean Volcano Pics

Amazing pictures of the Chilean Volcano erupting. We all knew a volcano in Chile was kicking off, right? 

Cyanide and Happiness

These comics are a a bit removed from Garfield and Dilbert. These guys would eat Dilbert and stuff Garfield....literally. 

Grammar Nazi

If like me, you like correcting other people's grammar but hate when your  own is called into question then this is your website. (nobody correct my grammar)

Internet Sonage

Need a song? Then go here. You could also try youtube. But this works too. 

Mood Stream

This is a really cool little gadget to play around with. 

Website Database

Finally. Cant find a website to while away hours of time. Then go here. Millions of websites broken down into categories and countries. So if you want to find out whats the number three website in Kyrgyzstan this is for you. FYI its http://odnoklassniki.ru/ 

VAN DAMME THE MAN

This week Id like to recommend a rather delightful film to watch. Known around the world as JCVD which doesnt stand for Jim Clancys Vehicle of Death (not a short lived Simpsons spinoff) about an Irish farmer with a modified death tractor. No. In fact it refers to the daddy of all 80's action movie stars. No not Stallone. No not Arnie (couldnt spell his surname and I refuse to use google.) Not even Steven Seagulll. No this acronym alludes to the wonderboy Jean Claude Van Damme.

However this incarnation of J. C. doesnt involve him being a hard target or a kick boxing master. No. This time round Jeanny takes on the his toughest role yet. He decides to tackle himself. Yes, he plays himself.

In fact I have to give him kudos for attempting this. It is certainly original. And to all those nay sayers out there who believe he cant act and his only talents revolve around kicks and punches. I urge you to watch this movie. Its not half bad.

In the movie we are presented with a withered husk of an action star. An ageing Damme is the wrong side of his grandiose youth tackling tax evasion problems and a prolonged legal battle with his ex wife. To rub salt in the wounds Steven Seagull has just beaten him to his next job. Seagull secured the role by chopping his luscious pony tail. Anything for a job Steve. The movie does draw on some real life troubles the VanDamme has experienced. i.e. tax trouble and child troubles.

To escape this bleak life in Hollywoodland, Jeanny decides to return to his homeland, Belgium where the people see him as some sort of  god, who has returned from Olympus.

Nonetheless, money troubles still haunt Dammy. Forced to make a pitstop at a local post office to pay cab fare, our hero unwittingly disturbs a robbery in progress. When police come to investigate they mistakenly believe Claude to be the perpetrator using the robbery as a means to pay his legal bills.

From here on out the story is told from several out of sync sequences ala Pulp fiction.
All in all I was surprised that I liked this movie. The last flick of Jeans that blew me away was Timecop. But I think age and nostalgia account for that.

This is at least 10 kicks better than that. Rent it, download it, ask me for a copy. But see this movie and be pleasantly surprised.

Are you wide to……. Soap Operas by EB

Your life is rubbish. I’ll say that again, your life is rubbish. So its understandable that you need escapism. Its Regrettable, but understandable. But rather than my usual pseudo-intellectual rants where I pretend that I’m very important and know the key to enlightenment and feed my ego and and and……. Today im going to simply suggest other forms of escapism that are less pathetic and pointless that watching soap operas. 

Here goes (in no particular order): Exercise, Go-Karting, Pornography, Playstation, Paragliding, hide and Seek, Heroin, Reading, S & M, Sport, Alcohol, Writing silly articles for a website, Night courses in Reiki, auto-erotic asphyxiation, pet ownership, hunting, social interaction, WWF wrestling, feeding the birds in the park, doing the washing up, experimenting with fire, dogging, shop lifting, downloading movies, downloading songs, putting all the cushions on the floor and pretending to be In gladiators. Sodomy, pizza, cigarettes, self-harm, cow-tipping, genocide, holidays, gambling, making scones, eating scones and finally suicide.

Seriously, anything’s got to be better than the bullshit that is eastenders, corrie, hollyoaks, neighbours, Home & away, el dorado and emmer dale farm. Utter fucking tosh.

Are you wide to……….The Price of Misinformation? by EB

Information is one of the most valuable tools of our society. It must be agreed that television is the greatest media tool in terms of both comfort and ease of access. I realise the Irony of conveying this message through an alternate medium, however the point must be made. In Ireland we have a state broadcaster- RTE. RTE provide a government funded state broadcasting network. Great! And we pay a tax for such a service. Fair enough. But there’s two problems:

1. They commercially advertise.

They force product onto to you, the consumer, to make money to fund their programmes. Now a lot of TV companies will do that, but we don’t pay Bravo, ITV, Virgin 1, TV3 and UK living €160 for the privilege. RTE get a personal donation from each household and business in the country, yet still whore themselves out to the likes of Harry Corry, Nike and Cilit Bang. Is our money not enough. How much does it take to run a tv station? Especially one who’s original programming looks like it was made on a nokia 5310 with a cast of presenters and actors who were (mis)fortunate enough to be in the dole office that day, Which brings me to my second point.

2. RTE is unashamedly Crap.

I mean really, really crap. With all the production value of a transition year project and the talent roster of a Heroin addiction support group it is a wonder the RTE brass don’t pay us to watch this nonsense. After all, state broadcasters have to follow their mandate to reflect the “climate of the Republic”. Even the news, the only thing it is very difficult to make a balls of, smacks of amateurism genetically spliced with Fianna Fail Cronyism, the catalyst for which being Anne Doyle’s Peroxide. If I’d know all I had to do was hang around in Donny and Nesbitt’s for a few weeks and I’d be offered a job as head of Current affairs, or chief Cable operator on Fair City then I’d have never bothered with the painstaking years of college being forced to go without Sky and having to spend my days with RTE’s pathetic (CHEAP) imports of terrible shows like Dr. Phil, Shortland Street and re-re-re-re-repeats of Murder She wrote (although it was great the first 3 times).

I don’t watch RTE. Ever. Not even sport. Why would I pay to see alcoholics make fools of themselves. I can get the drunk around the corner to dance for two cigarettes and a can of Lynden village. But I still have to pay a licence. It kills me. Id rather go through childbirth, while having Marty Whelan’s face tattooed on my scrotum, drinking domestos and trying to have semi-consensual sex with a porcupine. Bloody RTE. Bloody TV licences.

Sensationalism. by Frank Lee

Sensationalism is how we organise our news. Each month we have a new concern that we must dread. I first recall this dread machine with the AIDS scare. We were all to die if we went within ten yards of an infected person. This pestilence would wipe out the human race within ten years. Of course, it didn't quite happen as planned. We're all still alive, surprise, surprise. But the scares persist; drugs, weapons of mass destruction, guns, bird flu. The list continues but mankind's population keeps exploding, so somehow the attrition of these scares is minimal. No end to wars, huge famines, car crashes, terrorism, State or otherwise, have barely dented the exponential growth of the human race. Onward we race, six billion and growing. Maybe obesity will be our saving grace, killed of by over indulgence on cream buns and burgers. Yes, newspapers and other media outlets have sensationalised obesity and anorexia, the list continues. On top of all this we have the fear of fear itself.

How sad can you get? Whilst this sensationalism continues we ignore real problems, such as the dire state of fashion these days. One only need look at the design of shirts this last decade, drabness personified. Also the uniform look of all fashions; “designer” worn out jeans and drab polo shirts. Yes we have a lot to fear. Not an overcrowded world, but a world that has no differences; same food, same clothes, same cars, same music. Same BRANDS. What a nightmare. So stop this crap. Who cares that Jordan has three tits! So what if David Beckham is screwing around. Who cares? Each village should have their own celebrity, who would be the bearer of local fashion, (iconography at home), that each locality could relate to. Let us kill off the brands with their complete boredom and lack of style and originality. Not sensationalism but individuality. Instead of international rules, each county has it's own rules for sport, driving laws, etc. lets go local.

Are you wide to……Irish Drunks?

Why is it that we as a nation, cannot sit down with a glass of wine or a bottle of beer and enjoy each others company? Why is it necessary for us to drink two litres of cider and/or vodka? Sure, its terrible fun drinking till you pass out and vomit a strange blueish yellow colour of liquid. My god, you look good when this happens. Well, maybe when your 16 and that rainbow of vomit signifies to everyone that, yes, you were drinking. You are the man.

Now, you’ve grown up. Have the lessons of years gone by been forgotten? Quite possible, considering your inability to regulate your devil juice intake. We still drink ourselves into a state of George Best type stupidity. Am I Guilty of such acts of lunacy? Of course I am. However, through the wisdom of the ages I have come to realise that stealing a traffic cone at 2 in the morning or falling asleep against a wheelie bin are not the be all and end all of a good nights fun. Maybe I'm old-fashioned that way.

If those of you who believe that a drunken stupor is the bees knees (really showing my age and geekiness here) then I suggest you film your exploits on your next adventure. I can guarantee that some modicum of shame will swell up inside you. That swell is shame....not vomit. The sight of yourself with your inhibitions in tatters and fighting over a spilled drink will not endear yourself to yourself. Also the sight of a doorman throwing you out for falling down the stairs and or accidentally head butting a lady on the dance floor ,should reinforce your desire to .maybe stay home next Saturday. Good idea.

Are you wide to................Writer's block

Well I am. The beast, which besieges us conveyors of opinion, can strike at any time. It inhibits you, entangling all bursts of imagination. Frustration inevitably ensues which only serves to prolong the frustration and lead to bouts of staring at the cursor in vain………….

I’ve just returned from grooming myself as a result of the aforementioned frustration. Its hard writing interesting crap for my loyal readers. Although the vast majority of you who began reading this have probably given up and returned to looking at porn, youtube or youporn. The rest who remain reading are incredibly bored or cannot access any other websites. Writers block anyway. Its like erectile dysfunction from what I’ve read. You really want to write. I mean really really want to do it. Its an attractive subject your about to tackle and you’ve been thinking about it for ages. You get to the point where you’ve got a naked word document in front of you. The cursor is winking as if to say “I’m ready; put your fingers on the keyboard and lets get going”. 

"Sure, I look cool but Ive been staring at that lamp for 6 hours"

The writer just stares and nothing happens. Zip, nada, zilch. It’s a depressing feeling. A feeling of embarrassment and shame. This block is only over when the pressure is relieved. After this release, the desire and ability to spurn out any old crap to my readers returns. Anyway, apparently it happens to most men, I mean writers.  

Are you wide to............ Supermarkets?

"Mmm....frozen wookie"

Of course you are. What a ridiculous question. What I refer to is the little routines we go through when traversing this labyrinth of dam fine deals. Shelf after shelf of foods, all scrambling for my attention. I say attention, of course I mean wallet.

Supermarket design is also something inexplicitly universal. Why am I always immediately met head on with carrots and aubergines? I have absolutely no idea why fruit and veg is at the forefront of supermarkets push for profit. If these companies wished to increase their profits then perhaps consider moving the alcohol aisle from the end of the store to the beginning. God knows that the sight of mood altering substances would put us in a better frame of mind when undertaking the task of shopping. Shopping in the incorrect frame of mind can result in many frozen goods being purchased. Nobody likes frozen pizza, peas or even chips. Stop fooling yourself. Fresh food trumps all.

Ah fresh food. Remember the days of free samples being handed out in the aisles. Comely maidens

cooking up and dishing out treats for the family. Many an hour has been spent lurking behind shelves waiting for the right moment to strike. The right moment being the time after the food is cooked but before its all gone. A delicate balance. Alas, these days are no longer. Greedy corporate giants now expect us to buy our own food. Dam you capitalism. I want my free sample(s).

The supermarket experience has changed in the years since my youth. For one, where the hell has the music gone? In the past some inane melody usually wafted through the trolley aisles bent on making you go stir crazy. It usually worked and many people couldn't wait to escape via aisle 2. In recent years however, supermarkets have coped on to the fact that the longer someone stays in their food emporium, the more money they are likely to spend. Money before inane music. Bah! I'm not saying I liked the music but it was all part of the experience. Its like mass without Jesus bread or drinking excessively without making an ass out of yourself. They go together. These formulae should not be trifled with.

Supermarkets these days, especially the German ones (you know who you are) bring an air of sterility to the wonderful shopping trip. Silence, coldness and the sound of other people shuffling between bargains are now the inane music of the present.

?

And then there's the checkout. That conveyor belt of freedom. But you'll pay for that freedom. The silent nod with the checkout girl. And its always a girl. Why is that? Are men not capable of waving things in front of a scanner thingy? Ill have you know that I'm quite capable of waving my things about.

Then the death knell that reinforces your hatred for this place. “That'll be 75 cents”. Those hippys are charging me for using non-biodegradable bags! What is this, communist China? All because I didn't have the foresight to bring my own. Should I be punished for my extreme lack of common sense? I think not. I should be given a medal of some sort. Preferably platinum with diamond inlay. …....what was I saying.  

Are you wide to………..Whats on the shelves in your local DVD shop/torrent

Not everyone was excited about 3d porn

1.Cloverfield: The Godzilla flick for the Youtube generation. JJ Abrahams vomit inducing movie, utilises the first person Handycam perspective, which leads the viewer to wonder why they would put themselves through such an experience. The POV film has it roots in the Blair Witch corner where we are at the mercy of the shaky hand of one of the lead protagonists. Short movie, that wont tax the brain too much and will make you look hard in front of the missus when you don’t get scared at the big bad monster.

2. Rambo: Having defeated the Viet Cong and Communism single-handily, Stallone is back in his trade mark bandana sticking it to Burmese Junta. He kills, maims and then kills some more in his latest incarnation, racking up an impressive 236 kills. This man has some serious blood on his hands. Don’t expect intricate plots combined with Oscar winning performances. Instead we’re greeted with images of a once great hero, now aged 60, pulling off kills, that a man half his age wouldn’t contemplate. Terrible movie, but you’ll definitely watch it if you grew up with these films, and yearn for the days when men were men and women needed to be rescued. Please God don’t make another one.

3. No Country for Old Men: Rent this movie NOW. That is all.

4. Jumper: Mediocre sci-fi flick that sees Hayden Christianson (You remember, he ruined Star Wars with his portrayal of Darth Vadar) adorned with the ability to teleport anywhere in the world. Madness and some impressive action sequences ensue with Sam Jackson proving, once again, that he WILL take any role. If I had a super power, it would be the power of invisibility……. I’m watching you NOW!

5. Semi-Pro: Apparently the producers of this movie walked into the studio and said: “Will Ferrell plays basketball”. They were promptly issued with several million dollars to make this Ferrell comedy, which will provide the odd laugh but nothing on the scale of the legendary Anchorman. C’mon Will, when the hell is Burgandy making a comeback? I love lamp.

6. There Will be Blood: Name one film Day-Lewis was in, that wasn’t good? I dare ya! Plus it won a wheelbarrow load of Oscars. Get it now.

Are you wide to……Continental Kids?

Every summer the entire country is inundated with swarms of continental kids. Actually its more like a planned invasion, with hundreds of them taking up residence in strategic parts of Irish society. And the reason behind this mass exodus from the mainland to Ireland? Well, it’s to learn English apparently. It’s like us heading to Conemaera to learn the cupla focal. There was no talk of heading to Ibiza to learn Spanish when I was a young boy. And why on earth would they pick Ireland as their English educator? God knows we can barly spaek it ourselves.

No, the real reason behind their jaunt to Ireland is to piss off the locals. You can’t enter a shop or get on a bus without 50 of them following you in there. Why the hell do they travel in packs? Are they afraid that one of us shady Irish will steal one of them to buy potatoes and stout? Also they seem to really piss off our own youth. There’s always one Don Juan among them that Irish lasses swoon over. He has that well sexy accent and the skin tone of one of those lads form Hollywood. My god, our women don’t stand a chance. As a result of this Irish lads go crazy and try to out do their rivals by performing more and more death defying acts of coolness. This is why A&E admissions for the summer months increase for youngsters. The lads, on the other hand, despite being pissed off by their rivals, are glad, because puberty now seems complete. The sexy chick that accompanies the continentals is always the most beautiful girl they’ve ever seen. That crumbled up issue of Playboy from 1994 will never be used again. Despite this, however the lads don’t play it cool like the local girls. Instead they lurk in the corners leering at them, not sure whether or not she’s real.        

Are you wide to………Old People?

Paddy and Irene weren't too impressed with the hotels no hats policy.

Is anyone else scared about becoming 65? Apparently this is the age you officially become old. You’re forced out of your job because someone younger and more attractive can do it better. Which is fair, to be honest. Can you imagine your Granddad serving you a Big Mac with his pants up to his nipples? That, surely has to be a health and safety violation? Or Granny pouring you shots of tequila in a nightclub at 2 in the morning. Probably best we cart them off to a house in the country where we visit them once year; usually Christmas.

Also, we have to listen to them; because, apparently they have the wisdom of the ages trapped within the folds of their wrinkles. I think there must be some sort of switch inside everyone that triggers this compulsion to tell anyone who’ll listen how life used to better in the good ole days, when a half penny could get you a trip to the cinema, some hard-boiled sweets and enough money to buy some chips for the bus home. Ah, the past, so much better than the present, where we have the Internet, wide screen TV’s and subscription porn. Lets be honest, the past was only better because you were younger and you had more sex.

Nowadays, the octogenarian generation wile away there hours pissing off us younger, more attractive versions of themselves. Why am I always stuck beyond one of them when walking around town, with those bags on wheels, which I can only assume are stocked extensively with Wurther’s original; designed to give them that pick me up (akin to a line of cocaine) when they need it.

"two lines please"

And, why in the name of all that’s sacred do we have to show them respect? Because they’re old? Is it a case of well-done, you’ve lived to be 98….Congrats, heres some cake. Some of these people could be registered sex offenders, murderers or politicians and we’re still expected to respect our elders. The word elder, itself conjures up images of sage old men with staffs discussing matters of great importance. Me hole. Go to your local pub any afternoon at three and you’ll see one old man in the corner sipping his 7^th pint wishing it would all end. Is that something we aspire to?

Not for me! I’m going out in a blaze of glory, aged 29, with my youth intact and a blonde’s breasts in my mouth. Nice.      

  

Are you wide to …………Taxi Drivers?

"Listen buddy, I aint going north of the river, this hour of the night"

Aren’t you just sick of them harping on about how tough their jobs are? You cant get into a cab these days without one of them chewing the ear off ya about how hard it is to make a living because of the amount of part-timers stealing their business. Here’s a crazy, off the wall, idea; quit your bitching and get a different job, which will pay the bills and put a cease to your incessant moaning, that only serves to make the general public feel less sympathy towards you. I just want to get to the pub and awkwardly talk to you about how busy it is tonight. Don’t get me involved in a subject that I care little about and in all likelihood will cause me to get out of the car and insist you drive erratically at the nearest black-spot.

What I don’t understand is why they are bitching. Not to be flippant about the subject but why do I constantly keep seeing signs (usually on the back of taxis) stating that they “Need more drivers: Call 086 blah blah blah.” And why is it that I can never get a taxi at 2 o’clock in the morning on a weekend night? I gotta get me babe home while she’s still drunk enough to do that thing we never do. Too much competition me hole! They’re only whinging because the cost of living is going up. Well tough cookies. The rest of the country has to put up with and survive on their wages. We all had it good in the past and no one complained. Now thing are tightening, time to put a squeeze on it. Live with it and stop buying those ivory backscraters. Drive more efficiently and save some cash. Or stop including that meal in between lunch and snack time…..fatty. Less weight in the car means more savings in the pocket. Plus you’ll probably live 10 years longer and die.......... aged 67..  

Are you wide to………..Nightclubs?

With new laws on their way, designed to curtail nightclub opening hours, aywtt asks:

why do we insist on going to these cattle marts?

You pay anything up to E25 euro to get in. Twenty-five fucking euro! Id expect free drinks and lapdances for that price. But no. What you get are overpriced drinks, crap music and the realisation that your younger sisters illegal friend is there, looking scarily attractive. Why is she there? Probably showed a bit of leg to the bouncer…at best. At worst she brought him round back and …….well you know what she did.

And why is the floor always sticky? You’re paying more than the GNP of a small country for a pint; why the hell would you let half of it end up on the floor? I guard my drinks with more zeal than an Auschwitz prison guard. I paid for it, I’m drinking it.

And fuck off, Johnny “gis a fag, I only smoke when I’m drinking”. If you want one, pay the ridiculous price I did. And no, I don’t want the 25 cent you’re offering me for it. I’d rather break it in half, throw it at your feet and laugh menacingly while pulling on my lovely fag, which by the way makes me look really, really cool. Leave me alone; I just want to get drunk, dance like a champion and go home with my younger sisters stunningly attractive friend. Don’t judge me.

Are you wide to the……………….Recession

"Grr....must destroy capitalism"

Written sometime in 2008. May not have dated well......

You’d want to blind deaf and living under a rock somewhere not to be aware of the impending apocalypse.

Well according to the media anyway. You can’t turn on a radio, open a paper or switch on the television without being confronted by our impending doom. So whats it all about? Basically we’re all fucked. Buy your ferry ticket now for the building sites in London or hop on the next coffin ship to Yankee land and start sending home money to the mammy and daddy.

We’ve had so good for so long that people, like this young hack don’t know what its like to make a tea bag last more than one cup.

Unemployment is up, which means that going on the dole doesn’t have the same stigma attached to it as it once did. Shur it’s the economy’s fault. Beyond your control. Just go with it. Lets be honest with ourselves, we’d all like to go on the dole. Sitting at home all day watching repeats of Judge Judy and Murder She Wrote on the plasma (providing you haven’t sold it to put shoes on the kids)

So you have to cut down on the mochas and stop spending your weight in alcohol at the weekend. Big deal.

You’re missing the advantages of the months ahead. We can start becoming nostalgic and yearning for the “good ole days”. We have to make the best of a bad situation. Whats wrong with sitting in the pub, nursing the same half pint for two hours, in the jumper granny knitted for ya, talking about the time you went “mad” and bought that limited edition mobile phone that cost E400 that everyone seemed to have.

Who remembers “The Van” or the Commitments? Remember how much fun they had in those films? It can be like that again. We can all be wheeler-dealers and look for the next way to make a quick buck. The streets will be lined with jazz singing chip vans. Tasty and musical!

We’ll also become friendlier with the neighbours. Who else are you going to ask for a cup of moisturiser when you’ve run out and need to look fantastic for the interview that could be “it”.

Also the national football team might start performing. We’re always banging on about the golden age of Irish soccer when some tall chap from Donegal stopped an Italian lad scoring a goal. Jesus, we never shut up about that. This golden age happened when the country was begging for money all over Europe. With the neo-recession on its way, maybe we’ll start winning matches again. Here’s hoping, anyway.     

Are you wide to...............LordWilmore

You know that old guy who sits in the corner of the pub waiting for someone to buy him a pint, so he can rant on about the state of the country; well, that isn’t Lordwilmore. Lordwilmore is his better groomed, less informed and poorly educated son, who spends most of the day staring in the mirror, sipping a glass of sherry, wrapped in the warmth of his semi-imported Japanese kimono. What he lacks in common sense and fact; he makes up for in self-appointed all knowingness. This man knows his stuff…..at least he thinks he does. Just humour him. What he really wishes for is the days when women were women and men discussed the state of the empire in cigar smoke filled rooms, where the only women were the ones you paid to be there.

Unable to find a venue such as this in the 21^st century, he has turned his attention that new fangled contraption for communication; the t’internet. The possibility of an audience in the dozens was all that was required to snare this cranky soul.