Rollerskate Skinny - Speed to my Side

The greatest Irish single of all time?

Reality Check

Life isn't all about ridiculous flathunting stories and Bertie Ahern in lingerie you know...

Flat Hunting

So, Disgrace is already regretting his decision to stick around this one horse town. I've been flat hunting you see. If you ever wanted a reason to do a 'Bertie' (kill yourself) then I urge you to join me as I take a tour of the seediest places in existence. Last night I went to see an 'apartment' that was advertised as 'stunning'. Obviously they mean stunning in the same way that being ejected out the windscreen of a moving car is stunning. 'All Mod Cons' was bandied about, but unless a dangerously wired 3 ring heater is considered the must have accessory of the noughties, then I didn't see much to get me excited. And you'd be more correct in saying that the dirt had windows attached to them than you would by saying the windows were dirty. Still, as anyone who knew me circa 1996 will know, I'm not fussy. I can handle a little bit of 'slumming' it as long as the people I'm with are worth the effort. The guy who was showing me the flat looking like a rapist Wurrzel Gummidge and I figured the term 'power shower' was as alien to him as a girlfriend. Still, he showed me around and was courteous. I enquired about Broadband and got shown a television in the corner. The tour didn't last long as the flat could be viewed in one 360 degree movement and soon I was sitting on the sofa answering personal questions about myself.

'Do you have a girlfriend' he asked. I noted at this stage that his left hand had been out of view for quite a long time. His demeanour startled me as he shuffled in a mixture of nervousness and personal ecstasy.. 'Or pets', he went on, his voice beginning to quiver a little. I left.

So, what's going on? So far this week I've seen places that look like Paedophiles lairs, Snuff movie sets, and Bela's gaff from Fair City, yet none of them, nor the beings that stalk their corridors, should be allowed exist.

Oh, and he offered the flat to someone else

Floating with Jape

After being out for around 15 years, Floating by Jape finally get's the full release treatment, on the Jape is Grape EP.. I got my hands on a 3 track promo of this and it's top stuff again. The video is below, and nearly 300,000 plays on youtube can't be bad..

Oh, and I have the exact same hat as the one on 17 secs....

How many HSE workers does it take to change a lightbulb?

I suppose, if you've spent 7 years at lightbulb changing college, you'd be a little upset that 'anyone' could come in and do your job for you. I mean, I would be a little miffed if I arrived into work tomorrow and found someone pressing the buttons on this black thing on my desk and walking around the office with blank pages of paper in their hands and drinking coffee and nodding intently, so I can understand what the professional light bulb replacement engineers are thinking.

Still, they can always reciprocate and offer their services to the Health Service Executive in exchange. Sample headline "Heart Shock! - Electrician ruins cardiac op, kills 26 in process"

See if they like it then

*Credit to Mrs Cunningham for the scoop

Goldfinger, Bloc Party, Flux.

..from the Peter Serafinowicz show



..and the divisive new Bloc Party video. Amazing

Bibi Baskin

A few posts back, Disgrace shocked the Nation by declaring his intent to assume exile status and leave behind the country of his great emergence. There was poetry in the air that day, and perhaps a little too much cognac.

Now, barely weeks later, old N Dissy, has been persuaded to stay. Following an emotional number of weeks where Mac Disgracey faced off with 3 of the 10 most stressful things in life, the decision to keep the N boy and his valuable sperm in Ireland is sure to delight the masses.

So, rather than feeling the sand of freedom caress his toes, Disgrace will now be seen queuing for the 15B. Instead of sharing linguistics with the ancient Aztecs, he will be watching Fair City. Instead of dancing with passion to a street tango under an Argentinean moon, he will be raped and burgled..

Viva Irlanda

Monday Mournings

I came within a whisker of unleashing a cup of coffee into a colleagues face there. They were smiling. On a Monday. They were talking about Soccer or Profit/loss elasticity or something completely annoying and I just stood there, quivering with violent calm. It was probably just that I really wanted the coffee and that scalding would not be conducive to a career masterplan but I swear to god, it was nearly burn baby burn. Anyway, so I even went into the toilet to check my appearance in case I did anything that would end up on Sky News. My fellow workers will be glad to know that I'm not happy with my hair.

Perhaps it might be an idea not to watch 'Office Space' every Sunday night

I actually googled Bagpipes there to see how difficult they would be to buy. I just fancy arriving into work tomorrow and playing them at my desk.

Gonna write a classic

So, Myself and Fakey have decided to write a Sitcom. As of yet, the details are still being ironed out, but we have agreed that an element of 'humour' is important, if not crucial. 'Make it funny' Fakey said, 'and work backwards'..

Fakey likes to work backwards (No, not in that way!) and who am I to argue? I have first hand experience of working with Fakester so I know what to expect. A strong work ethic with a dash of 'looking at lesbians on the internet'. There'll be espressos, double espressos and double espressos with beer in them. There'll be inspirational board meetings and lavish orgies of ideas interspersed with nights in custody and hospitalisation. Working with Fake Daddy is like riding a bike without a saddle.. Yep, that's right, hugely enjoyable..

We've already started. In fact, all those years ago when a homemade Ireland flag we made nearly caused a Dublin Bus to crash, we vowed to get on the payroll with each other. There have been moments since, such as our glorious Petrol Station days, but only now are we taking it seriously.

Fakey is hell-bent on the series revolving around two polar opposites, living against the backdrop of a dying Celtic Tiger. I kinda prefer two Polar Bears living with a Celtic loving Tiger but we'll reach a compromise. We have some ideas, some good, all bad.

Vince and Onions - Vince is a 32 year old over achiever. He likes the fine things in life and Onions, a 35 year old slacker, with a secluded rural background, living in the big 'smoke' for the first time ever... Episode one - Onions goes on a date with his cousin and Vince is heavily taxed on imported wine

Bronx-itis - Comedy set in the US starring Charlie Sheen as a washed up baseball player. In the first episode his Mother comes to visit and gets electrocuted whilst his love life goes from bad to worse when Sheila admits to having a 'fling' with his dog, snappy

Maxi Priest - Father Ted rip off featuring a taxi driving father who delivers his sermons to his captive audience. Every episode ends in a tragic traffic accident, with the priest delivering the last rites, usually, and hilariously, whilst he asks for the fare..

Here we come Stardom!!

'Dead' míle fáilte

So, Ireland is 'The Friendliest country in the world' according to Lonely planet..

Ok, I've just checked my dictionary and there is no mention of friendliness involving a fire extinguisher in the face. Even Foreign students being strangled? The dictionary doesn't refer to this as being a one of our hundreds of thousands of welcomes. Baffling. And what about our daily murders and shootings? Not there I'm afraid, maybe that'll be in the next edition..

And what about the gang of Americans I met on Saturday night who witnessed, not one, not two, BUT FIVE, fist fights break out at the corner of Auinger St and Stephens St. Do you think they ran away because they felt welcomed? Are they writing postcards right now to their parents

'Dear Mom and Dad, I think I'm going to stay here for good. I saw a guy use a chainsaw on a postman earlier. It was so exciting. And I was in a big supermarket and an old woman, with lots of gold jewellery (she must be rich!!) punched her 5 year old child in the face for crying because it was cold and she'd just sold his jacket for heroin. The Irish are so nice. Oh, as I write this I'm being raped. Wish you were here, Stacey'

Still, the guy who drove by me at great speed, hanging out of the window of his luminous car on Wexford st the other night and told me he would 'set fire to my oul one' was being friendly. Wasn't he?

Just call me 'el Disgracó'

So ND is thinking of leaving the country. It's not personal but I just gotta go. Like James Joyce, the Duke of Wellington and Barry McGuigan, I think my cause will be better served if I took it to the globe. I hope you understand.

I'll do up a knapsack, pop it on a stick and take to the highway. It'll be feverishly romantic. My clothes will have the distressed look of a drifter, with a dash of hero. Strangers, will be high fiving me from passing trucks. I'll beat the dusty paths and cross the locomotive trail to the strains of Crosby, Stills and Nash. Dogs and goats will gallop along side me as I gather pace through the council estates, and will sleep beneath the stars with me, gently unrolling their tongues on my sweaty brow. I may or may not hire a Peruvian boy to carry my laptop and CD's. The days will become weeks and the weeks will become, strangely, days. I will know the stars by name, and each night I will serenade a different one. Wolves, will be repelled with ease and would be rapists will be invited to discuss their problems. Ticker tape will greet me in each town, the mothers will send their young with baskets of fresh bread. There'll be many a frothy one waiting for me in the bars. Local broadsheets will refer to me as the 'Mr Drift' and will count down my arrival. Flags will half-mast as I leave, the name 'Disgrace' will be a popular one for newly born kids for many a year to come.

Either that or I could fly Ryanair

Beirut - Nantes

So myself and Fakey have fallen out over these guys. I didn't rate them you see, and we engaged in a little bit of fist fighting over this. It's pretty much how we do things. However, I was alerted to their appearance on Blogotheque and I must admit to being mildly seduced by their charms. I love the industrial apartment complex as it reminds me of the place I lived in when I 'studied' in Dundalk (as it happened, it was a recently bombed hotel, but the rent was cheap and the corpses made great eating) and the tune itself is a raggle taggle folk drifter that makes you wanna go straight up to the attic and grab that banjo.

Of course this doesn't mean that Fakey was right... but it was worth the argument, if you get my drift?

BEIRUT - Nantes - from The Flying Club Cup
Uploaded by flyingclubcup

Horses

So, Disgrace is back. I'm saving most of the details for the book, but let's just say that being tied to a radiator and forced to tongue kiss a man dressed as Brian Keenan sounds like Funderland compared to what I've been through. Still, we learn and we live, and as long as the radiator has an eco friendly setting, we should all be ok

Anyway, horses. I was on my way to work this morning and a kid raced by on the back of one. At 8.30 am. On the Rathmines rd.

I note that top Jockey Kieran Fallon has been found guilty of fixing races. I also note that Kuerten's horse's B sample has been found guilty. Is this meandering nations love affair with horses over? I mean, other than having them in for dinner like they do in parts of Clondalkin, haven't we been guilty of mistreating them for too long?

Still, it is nice to see them in positions of power

Later

DCB

Non Stick

Last night, Disgrace could be seen bent uncomfortably over the cooker, flapping about manically with a spatula (and no, he wasn't filming a scene from Fake Empires latest porn flick). Amid the pots, pans and (strangely) shampoo, was what the lord of the Manor later wearily referred to as dinner. It was Chicken, Pollock style. With a gentle touch of Major Roadwork's.

Even members of the National Disgrace Cat fraternity were disgusted, and considering one of them had just spent a good 20 minutes choking on his own testicles, that's pretty severe. Anyway, it was during the 'cooking' of this meal that something interesting happened. Having almost lost a leg whilst trying to crush garlic, and just about preventing a major fire whilst boiling the rice, the 'BFD' (Big Fucking Disgrace) was having problems with his 'fried something'. It was stuck to the pan, in the same way a hedgehog sticks to a motorway. It was obviously a non-stick pan and this infuriated Disgrace as it quite obviously had some kind of food stuff stuck to it. So, naturally, he took out a ultra pointy and sharp knife and began to hack at the skillet like he was some sort of crazy kitchen based lumberjack. Of course, this act of chef rage did not help and soon Captain D was staring at a pan with it's Teflon surface in tatters and hanging off the side. It was just at this second, that one of the cats (obviously giving his balls a rest) somehow un-muted the TV by stepping on the remote. As the non-stick pan lost the stuff that makes it non-stick because something stuck to it, the air was filled with sinister tones of Bertie Ahern on 6:01 News, explaining to the Mahon Tribunal how he wasn't even born in 1997. Again, for the second post in a matter of weeks, old el Disgraceó was impressed by the irony

French to be Fried

Despite the rumours. Despite the performance. Despite the poor choice as replacement Back. Despite form. Despite reason. Despite everything.

This match is now on

Ballymun in the Rain

Now, it's well known that 50% of people who arrive into Ireland and travel along the Aircoach route to Dublin City Centre, request that the driver turn around and return them to the Airport. Some of the others, particularly the Germans, will have dropped a cyanide tab, and it's not unusual to hear foreign tongued squeals before ultimately, gunshots. Those that do stay on, are usually the Driver and Dubliners.

Strategically planned, the route takes in all the glories of destructed and desolate Dublin. It's a beautiful sight, to be safely sped along Dorset St as track suited grannies engage in fist fights outside the Bookies and Pubs. I can only imagine tourists mouths salivating as they press up against the glass and look on jealously at Ginos chipper or any of the 70 or so fast food joints on the route, full to the brim with Celtic jerseys and drunks.

Disgrace took this route at the weekend as he returned from his holler's. Swapping the Prado and St Peters for the Sun and the Sea, our hero had one week earlier, nervously approached his first resort holiday. Filled with images of stabbings, England jerseys and 'Ballymun in the Sun', I arrived and spend a wonderful week of relaxation and non life threatening incidents. The sun beamed down of me like a huge hot ball of light and the Beer, ice cold in nature, went down easier than a paraplegic prostitute. Put simply, it was bliss on a stick. Without the stick.

Disgrace even ventured into a bar that was showing a televised soccer event featuring England. Half joking to Mrs D that she'd better get ready 'to be glassed and savagely beaten' they enjoyed nothing but courtesy from our cross channel cousins.

So, having tasted this and being completely surprised by it, I returned home to Ireland with a spring in my step. As the Aircoach sped along Dorset St, with all the jerseys gathered around corners like a Finglas funeral, and the men urinating against passing dogs, and the girls with skirts over their heads, and the drunks walking on their elbows and head butting themselves, I finally understood irony

It's not like he invaded Poland or anything

"Ireland is a coarse place with a sad history where the natives are obsessed by money" <linky>

He's right though, isn't he?

Martina Navratilova in Hulk Hogan Outift

Inspired by onefortheorads hilarious post about sick surfers, I decided to lay down a test and see if the following search terms are used and how much traffic it generates. This, I must stress, is not to garner traffic, but more to expose the sick nature of the general public. I refer back to this as an example...

So.. Let's drop some keywords and see how sick you guys are.

'Mickey sandwich'
'Nude pictures free in cornflakes'
'Romantic Rapist'
'Martina Navratilova in Hulk Hogan outfit'
'Sucking off Elephant'
'Dead Corpse Tits'
'Postcard with picture of pineapple in bikini on it'
'Nun face painting'
'Bertie Ahern in Lingerie'
'Balls the size of Jupiter'
'Kangaroo kissing Granny'
'Gentleman fiddling with penis'
'US drop Slut Bomb'
''Shamrock rovers fan naked'
'Where did you put the bounty bar? Urrghh, I'm not eating that now'
'Queen romps with Monkey'
'US ambassador covered in chocolate'
'Arse filled with tennis balls'
'Santa and dog action videos'
'Horse found in hotel room with TD'
'The Knuckle Jam Rap'
'Major sperm spillage on main street'
'Derek Davies talks 'boob jobs''
'Jim's Seedy Syrup'
'Sexy Sadamn Hussein'
'Set fire to pants and ride a bike'
'Naked golf players'
Jesus' cock'
'Sliced pan nude'
'Removing foreskin with stapler'
'Carrot stuck to donkeys back in orgy'

Not Again!!

Airbus treated Hong Kong residents to an an exciting fly over by the worlds largest aircraft yesterday, in a bid to recover from recent bad publicity.

Perhaps they should of chosen a better photo then?

Celebrating Stupidity - Brian wins the UK's Big Brother

I was watching a cleverly shot, art house classic about a train driver who gets a haircut the other night when one of my feline friends accidentally stood on the battery powered television channel switcher and changed my viewing from sexy film noir, to sexless bag of shit. He had switched on Big Brother.

There, parading in front of me like a procession of members of the Myra Hindley appreciation club at the world crèche championships, were a veritable who's who of absolute stupidity. First, we had two vacuous twins. Giggling and bouncing around like a duo of happy ping-pong balls, and just as pointless. Where in the world could you be presented with two attractive and innocent blonde twins and not be remotely interested in naughty thoughts? On Big Brother that's where. This pair, with their ringtone charm and fake telepathy, are so devoid of sex that it make a month old pancake with pencils stuck in it attractive..

But that's not what this is about.

You see, the next character to present themselves for my accidental viewing was a gentleman by the name of Brian. Brian, from here on in will be a metaphor for Britain in general.

Brian was the winner of this years show, a show that I like to think of a reverse quiz show. A competition whereby the most stupid person wins. Less 'Where in the world' and more 'Where is my brain'. Possibly Brian, it could be on the moon, which according to you, is MUCH bigger than the earth. Yes Brian, the Earth. You do remember you telling one of the Lobotomy Twins that we lived on Earth, but being a little unsure?. I'm not too sure either Brian...

So this guys wins. He was a likeable sort nonetheless, but then again, Battenberg cake is likable, but I wouldn't rely on it to fill in my tax returns. Despite him being 'astonished' that Ireland had it's own flag, because he thought it 'was an island'. He was right about that at least.

What is it with Britain and it's rewards for stupidity. Remember this is the country that voted David Beckham as prime minister (well, kind of). This is the country where Ant and Dec are the high brow, high point of entertainment, despite the two of them being captains of the idiotic.

Then again, we were all conned. I mean, once I discovered that William Shakespeare DIRECTED Romeo and Juliet, I knew that the Brits had been having us on all along