Work tomorrow.. Yay Hay!!

You know it's time to visit irishjobs.ie when..

You tear your apartment apart looking for a shotgun, but find only (suspiciously, considering the last bicycle you cycled had three wheels and a bell that played ‘chopsticks’) a bicycle pump and wonder if it’ll do. You curse your landlord for installing an electrical oven and wonder if baking will do the same job as a gas one. You produce a spool of string and look for a lofty beam, but give up when you realise that you’re actually taller than the flat you live in. You rifle through your medicine cabinet and only finding 4 packs of lemsip ponder if you’ll either arrive at the pearly gates OD’d out of your head, but dead, or simply make yourself immune from colds until 2017. You quickly realise that any attempts to drown in your shower, with its power rating something similar to a gentle licking from a drowsy cat, would only result in a slight dampness. Your investigation of the bedroom floor reveals no train tracks on which to strap yourself to, and even if it did the corrupt planning process in this country surely would not stretch to building a mainline express route through a third floor Rathgar flat. You curse Gillette for putting safety bars across their razors, but are impressed with the fact that those troublesome wrist hairs have now been dispensed with. You’re frustrated that the expensive ‘handpicked by a virgin from space’ Olive Oil has the same fire warning rating as a block of cheese. You give up and give in to the fact that you have work tomorrow.

...Bicycle pump noise...

A moan again, naturally.

Maybe I’m slightly bitter thanks to my recent break up (18 months ago) or maybe I’m just a normal guy who doesn’t like his early morning bus journey ruined by a pair of nymphomaniacs trying to ingest each other on the seat in front of me. Even above the top volume of my iPod I could hear their slurpy symphony as it played out. I averted my eyes and found some floor to look at but their shadows danced all over it like some sort of seedy puppet show. I closed my eyes but I could soon feel the sickly arrival of escaped saliva on my skin. Each time I opened them to check where we were I’d be greeted once again with their disgusting early morning face wrestle. Tongues dancing around each others faces like out of control garden hoses. I dunno, like Ketchup at the breakfast table, the planned Kilkenny City inner relief road and the child sex trade, it’s just wrong. At 8am on an otherwise silent and slightly depressed bus full of people whose lives had most recently been seen in a rearview mirror the last thing you want to see is someone being happy. That, and Helen Keller at the wheel and/or Godzilla.

Got me thinking though, how did such an ugly bastard get such a hot chick?

Agony Aunt

My Aunt Eileen (whose generosity clothed the young college going Disgrace back in the 90's) wants me to publish this picture of my mothers leg after her New Years tumble. I guess after 2 years of bringing mine to you, it's refreshing to share the misery of others. The disturbing thing is that I'm actually concerned that falling off unstable armchairs and breaking your legs in multiple places may be hereditary.. To be honest though, I'd take it over both their madness!