A pain in the dole

I know these are trying times for most of us. Some people are saying though that the Irish are now way smarter than the bucktoothed, pig-under-the-arm, banjo twanging brigade that used to populate this island back in the 80’s, and that we can cope and survive with a recession better now, armed as we are armed with fois gras, B&Q decking and fake breasts. Yes, the smarter do have a greater chance of surviving, but just because you own 3 properties in rapidly declining areas, send your kids to an Irish speaking school and a share your living room with a enormous LCD TV doesn’t make you smart. And even if it did, I have none of those things anyway.

My employmortality (you heard it here first kids) has been staring me in the face for the last few months, and is threatening to reach a head. Simply put, a big giant corporation bought out my little homely and cutesy jobbity and has begun swinging the sword. Christmas in a skip is looking more and more likely.

One thing unemployment might do is finally encourage me to write my book..

The only thing is, it’ll go something along the lines of this:

“The lady in FAS wondered why I didn’t have a moustache. I explained I’m not a naturally hairy person and she gave me one of those looks. You know the type of look, the ones that bitches give you. She stamped the card, and looked at me again. She commented that if I wanted to be a real unemployed person I should consider growing one. I said if she wanted to be considered a real woman, she should get rid of hers. I then jokingly asked her to consider me for any jobs in Freddy Mercury tribute acts, pointing to my obvious lack of moustache. She explained to me that he had died of aids. A fight broke out between a father and son in the other Q, so I left.

After FAS, I was so hell-bent on getting a job that I went straight to the pub. This action is the main reason I’ve had to advertise my liver on Buy and Sell.”

Yep, I need to keep this job. I really do.

Three Elbows

So, the Luas Displays that normally tell you how much longer you have to stand beside the Peado in the trench coat before you can get on the Tram and sit beside the Skobie with the can of Dutch Gold and Dunnes Jumper, so you can get to the Hospital where you'll have to sit beside the heroin addict who's on fire and has three elbows, before you get seen by a nurse who is half cyborg and get put on a trolley that gets pushed into a storeroom, where you get to shoot the breeze with some skeletons who did the same shit a couple of weeks ago, only now they've gone to a better place, are out of order. I know that cos the display actually says 'DISPLAY OUT OF ORDER'.

Isn't that a bit like a bus driving by with a sign on it saying, 'Broken Down'?

While I'm at it, what about Our Lady's Hospital for Sick Children?.. Well, it's hardly Our Lady's Hospital for WELL Children....

(I may have done that one before, but either way, I expect Tommy Teirnan to be using it as part of his sets from tonight)

ND: Cynical, to a fault.