Archive for May, 2009

Whistle While You Work – Incidentally Friday Appropriate

May 29, 2009

Yesterday evening, Norbert took up the ancient art of whistling.

Whistling while he worked. Whistling while I worked. Whistling while he irked… me… severely.

blurryaxlStop that now. It’s annoying. And it makes you look like a twat.

But here’s the kicker. Norbert doesn’t just whistle tunelessly in meandering melodically ever changing nonsense.
Nor does he whistle classic whistleable tunes – the kinds that might be crap but at least suit the method of delivery.

 Never seen this before – too funny not to post.

Fuck no.

Norbert sits and contemplates his choice. It must be a cool tune. Then the one, catchiest phrase from that tune is to be whistled, on repeat, six or seven times in fifteen minutes.

Yesterday evening he fucking ruined the main melodic phrase in:

The Specials – Message To You Rudy 

What an asshole.
Not only for wrecking buzz at work, but now I need to actively seek out a new decent association for this tune, lest I think of bespeckled semi-bonkers Norbert annoying the crap outtame each time I hear it.
[Any suggestions on how to actually accomplish this? – On repeat next sexy time?.. nah… that’s not terribly conducive for the romanceyness.]

Today he passed me whistling this:

Theme from Airwolf

Oh shit – as I type, he’s reverted back to The Specials.

All I’ll say is Norbert better watch out. I’m serious


Dad Jokes

May 28, 2009

Wrong has it down – the ‘Funky Dad’. It’s a dance he’s been perfecting for over a decade now, specifically designed to be as embarrassing to children, but hilarious to adults, as possible.

 You go girl!

My father never did the Funky Dad, but he does have that wicked sense of humour only male parents are capable of developing (…a sick addiction for).
The jokes which kill yourself to tell, but are like scratching shards of glass down a blackboard for your audience.

Dad: Here, read this.
Me: Ah, what’s the point?
Dad: It’s a concert venue in town. 

Dad: Bah!
Me: What’s the matter?
Dad: It’s a hospital on the Northside.

Me: Dad, I’m hungry.
Dad: Hello Hungry, my name is Dad, pleased to meet you.


May 27, 2009

Over lunch, when not sniping at one another, engaged in sandwich melodrama or verbal gross misconduct, we sometimes like to peruse the classifieds for some sad bastard to slag off for the ensuing weeks his ad remains.

We still wonder about “Mine’s a Pint” every once in a while. Did he score? Did he die? Is he just too drunk to keep bothering?

Maybe his honesty worked. We were trying to suss out how genuine these people are about their ‘long walks’.

Is it perhaps code for something – if ya knowarra mean?
Or is it (more likely) that the type of people who print such ads are the type of people who actually “enjoy long walks”?
Are long walks seriously high on many people’s genuine lists of interests and activities? Aren’t they just something you do when you need excercise or have a long way to go and can’t abide the bus journey, or the very odd time, for pleasure when there’s bugger all else to do?

short pierGeddit?

I’ve yet to read a full-on honest ad.

Women seeking men:
“Hi, I’m lonely and quite depressed. I’m getting fat too. My friend said I should lay off the gin and meet a man. This is my effort. Call me!”

Men seeking women:
“Ugly man, no charisma, seeks woman. Preferably unbearably good looking, but will settle for a hand job from a lonely, depressed gin soaked fatty.” 

Women seeking women:
“Femme seeks butch for good time and possibly more”.

“Butch seeks femme for good time and possibly more”.

Men seeking men:
“Man seeking cock, looking for similar”.

A Post?

May 26, 2009

Sometimes sheer laziness combines with total lack of inspiration.

Sometimes you just need a break.

Sometimes you realise there’s more than some vague ‘dedication’ to something you’re not all that bad at and dismiss it for a while.

And you look around and notice others doing similar.

Change of season? Spring cleaning of the mind? Time to reflect, take stock and meditate on the essence of one’s own being?

Or just sheer laziness?

lazySheer and absolute laziness.

All Night Long

May 18, 2009

Me and Gordy went to check out the statue of Jimi Hendrix on Saturday.

Lionel and his bass

That was after getting our photo took at The Temple Bar.

Strike a pose

And yesterday I took a stroll for stroll’s sake – Stoneybatter, over the river to the Liberties and back through Christchurch and on to Capel Street.

nochrcToo scenic

Except for Christchurch, I’m the best tourist ever.

Can u turn on a Blue Light? (Friday appropriate)

May 15, 2009

Depending on the weather, we shall end up in the best pub in Dublin this evening.



That’s all I got, not even a suitable tune, sorry! But have a good un for yourself. Rock on up and buy me a whiskey if you fancy.

The What Now?

May 14, 2009

You have to love silly wordplay. It’s like slapstick but wiff werds.

[09:02:44] PRyin says: Who Shot Twice?
[09:15:06] PRyin says: There are better sketches of the music version I’m sure – this is the only ojne I could find (and pro0bably the one I remember from childhood) 


Who’s on first?

Who Shot Twice?

There are better sketches of the music version I’m sure – this is the only one I could find (and it’s probably the one I remember from childhood). 

Who’s on Stage?

And finally, slapstick instead of words.
Stephen’s pissing me off no end on twitter (“Just unsubscribe!” says Red Leeroy), but Hugh is still doing the do for me on House).

Your Name, Sir?

Weather Vane

May 13, 2009

I am officially a weather vane.

I am a vain cock

I noticed an odd phenomenon a while back and decided to make the most of a bad situation.
It would seem, especially when I’m cycling, that the wind always blows into my face.

I contacted met eireann, and while you would imagine they would dismiss such a claim, especially having far more pressing issues (like accurate weather predictions), they were actually very interested and agreed to study the anomoly. (Some would say desperate straw clutching, but hey).

They discovered that with an 85% accuracy, the wind will blow within 8 degrees of the direction I am facing.
This makes walking and cycling more bearable to me (I’ve always detested the damn wind).
met eireann fitted me with a GPS device and pay me thirty seven euro seventy a week for the privilege of always knowing the direction in which I’m facing.

*Update* the weather scienticians have just informed me the accuracy has gone up by another 3% over the past three days (the accuracy level seems to increase in direct proportion to wind strength).

Health Kick

May 12, 2009

Thursday night. Boiling hot detoxifying bath and sweat-box bathroom. Herbal tea. Bed by nine, candlelit phone call.

Friday night in. Herbal teas and..? (I find it really odd that I can’t recall, especially since I wasn’t drinking – looks like my shit memory is down to… just having a shit memory I guess).

Saturday. Banana, dark chocolate and espresso for late lunch (naughty!). Health shop snack while shopping in the sunshine.
Saturday night party. Specifically bring only four 50cl bottles of the healthiest feeling beers, Tiger. One shared bottle back home.

Sunday. Indian take out. (Oooh cheeky devil!). Herbal teas, incense and the like.

Monday ngiht. Same (with leftovers).

Tonight. ‘Hot yoga’. Something healthy out of fancy healthfood supermarche.

Sick bastard

Why do we do it to ourselves?!

Party Conversation

May 11, 2009

What’s the best way to open a conversation with someone you don’t know at a party?
Well, if they’re friends of facebook friends you can always go straight to:
Saw that photo on Tamela’s facebook… ooh man, that looked painful.
Too fuckin’ right dude, still getting physio on the old groin twice a week. 


The old staple is never much appreciated by me, and I was particularly caustic the other night. Sorry Imelda.

Me: Pleased to meet you Imelda.
Imelda: So, what do you two do?
Me: What do we do about what Imelda?
Imelda: (Awkward) – Uhm, just… what do you do?
Me: I eat, sleep… wash clothes. I shop for necessities… that kind of thing.
…(silence)… (Imelda turns in hope to L’Italiana)
L’Italiana: We do each other(!?!)*
Me: *guffaw* … You mean professionally don’t you?
Imelda: (Now suitably embarrassed). Yeah. Yeah, I know – I hate that question… eh… too.

Poor Imelda. She was rather the nerdette, somewhat socially inept. But no, Imelda, falling back on cliched conversation conventions doesn’t cut it with us, regardless of your willingness in spite of inability to interact socially.

Poor Imelda

For your information, Imelda turned out to be a historian. Particularly into Irish Medieval.

Me: Monks ‘n’ shit?
Imelda: Eh… not so much.

Sorry Imelda. You do actually rock. 

*total imbellishment alert!