Archive for October, 2011

Skipping Links

Lads, the world is fucked.

We are living in an age where people are inventing mind control devices, invisibility shields and a robot that can wash your hair, but also they are inventing pigs that fit in your handbag. I mean, I’m not immune to the whole smaller = cuter thing, but I am pretty against carrying animals around all day in bags for fashion. What if they poop on your wallet? Do you have to carry two bags, one for your keys and stuff and one for your tiny pig? Because even then, there has got to be a time when it poops in the bag, and you are carrying all your important shit in one hand and actual shit in the other. Bit mental.

Even if you have a pooper scooper, you are just taking the poop out of one bag and putting it in another, and then putting it in a bin, and really there should not be that many stages to pooping, in my opinion. And pigs are exceptionally clean animals, so I guess they would probably agree with me.

And if you used a device to move the poop with your mind, or hide it behind an invisibility shield, and then use the hair washing robot as a bag washing robot, I am not sure that that would make up for the fact that you just let a pig poop in a handbag. Willingly.

Imma stop talking about poop now because I’m making a point- people are fucking stupid, and those people are taking over.  The rest of us are boned.

The signs are everywhere, but the most depressing ones are visible to me when I am at work. For example, you know what bar of chocolate is the one we sell most of where I work? The most delicious bar on the shelf, according to customers? It’s a fucking Twirl. Like, I don’t mean to say a Twirl is inferior or anything, it’s a great tea straw, but come on- if you are living in a world where more people are interested in a Twirl than in, say, a Milka Daim, then you gotta start believing that something is very wrong. Plain is not a preference dudes, I am sure even the Amish prefer Crunchies [SIDE NOTE: Did you guys know the Amish are having serious shenanigans right now? A group of ‘Rogue Amish’ have totally broken away from the main Amish community, and are committing terrorist attacks on the regular Amish people. And by terrorist attacks, I mean they are going to other Amish peoples houses in the middle of the night and fucking shaving them. Having no beard for the Amish is like having no turban for a Sikh, or no white tracksuit for a Sham. Serious business, y’all. I mean, I know this isn’t a funny thing, but I think it’s kind of amusing that some Amish dudes actually think their culture isn’t extreme ENOUGH. I guess everybody has to rebel sometime,  at least they are doing it with chins and not explosions. Although both chins, explosions and the Amish went together really well with synth music and Harrison Ford in a movie one time, remember that? And there was that one scene where Harrison Ford was just staring at this Amish woman washing her boobs, and for some reason that meant he was falling in love with her and not that he was perving on a topless lady? Watching that movie taught me the most important thing I learned in my leaving cert, you guys – Amish Women totally shave their armpits].

Also, apparently it is a truth universally acknowledged that a single woman in possesion of a disposable income must be in want of a fucking stupid magazine. When this happened was probably around the time Jane Austen finished writing the real version of that sentence. Except back then, they didn’t call them stupid fucking magazines, they called them ‘Everything The Brontes Ever Wrote Forever’. I’m not saying those girls were ridiculous, I’m just saying that if they were around today, they would totally be massive Twilight fans, you know?

The amount of magazines we sell that have headlines like ‘HELP! My sister married an Alien!’, or ‘Evil Stepdad killed our dog… Then moved into the shed!’ is fucking ridiculous. Like, I get that they are hilarious, and that reading about a dude who accidentely cut his own balls off with a hedge trimmer is probably the closest we can ever get to true comedic gold, but I really don’t think the people buying these magazines do. I think they are genuinely concerned about the fucking idiots in those stories. And that idea scares the shit out of me. I mean, I can tell you exactly why terrible things keep happening to the people who have stories based about them written in Take A Break- it’s called Natural Selection. These dudes are not the fittest and we gotta stop letting them profit off that. I mean, if a dude is so fat his pants have to be made out of tents, then I don’t think we should feel sorry for that guy. I think we should stop feeding him. And if Take A Break is giving him money, or jelly beans or whatever it is incredibly fat/ stupid people barter in, he’s probably gonna just put jam on that shit and have a nurse feed it to him. Probably through a drip.

It’s not even the obviously stupid magazines that are stupid, it’s the Ladies Magazines, too. You know, magazines for ladies. You can tell the difference between them because Ladies Magazines are written on shinier paper, cost more and usually have Cheryl Cole on the cover. Older Ladies Magazines are pretty much the same but they have a picture of someone from Loose Women on the front. I guess as you age, it’s not just your boobs that drop, it is also your standards.

I was sending back a pile of these magazines the other day because they hadn’t sold, and I was thinking about how stupid they were, when I saw the most gloriously stupid article advertised on the front page. It was right in between ‘300 Ways To Make Your Husband Respect You as A Woman Or Some Shit’, and ‘Autumn Accessories: What Your Ankles Say About YOU’. Those two article titles might not be entirely accurate, but they mostly are. Anyway, this most glorious article was called ‘INSIDE: THREE ways to make sure you are NEVER sick again!’

Let me just recap this for you real quick: This magazine was advertising three techniques to ensure perfect health forever. Three rules, which, if followed, mean that your immune system is fucking superfluous. Fuck medicine, guys, this article promised to make all doctors join the Dole queue.

Did I read the article?

You bet your ass I did. FOR SCIENCE:

Rule 1: ‘Don’t Get Stressed!’

My favourite thing about rule one was definitely the exclamation point. Gee, Ladies Magazine, thanks for informing me that this statement was to be exclaimed, my attention would never have been drawn to it otherwise. I wonder was it there to infer that I should have shouted it while I read, or that the statement was a shock, or that I should feel really strongly about it. Man, all this confusion is kind of stressful, I hope this new stress I have doesn’t lead to Lupus or something.

Rule 2: ‘Make More Time For Friends!’

This rule really should have specified that you should only make more time for your healthy friends. Don’t make more time for that guy you know who has Leprosy. Or maybe it should say ‘Make More Time For Friends But Always Wear A Mask Because You Know Bird Flu Is Still A Thing I Think’, but then where would you put the exclamation point?

Rule 3: ‘Have More Sex!’

I think this article forgot that STIs were a real thing. Also, not even STIs, what about UTIs? This rule is probably the one that is most likely to blow up in your face [and also the one that I am most likely to incorporate into my diet, LADIES]

I would definitely not advice doing all three rules at once, dudes. Spending stress free time with your mates while having sex is a surefire way to recieving no Christmas cards this year. Unless you’re having stress free sex with your mates, but if you have a lot of mates then probably you’re going to be exhausted all of the times. Zen, sure, but it’ll be hard to go to work.

The thing is, it ‘s almost definitely advice like this that got Snooki where she is today. Sure, she’s a millionaire, but she also says things like ‘Oops, my vagina’s out’, and she means them. Also, bitch is radioactive, you know? Bad calls have been made in her life. And yet, she is profiting from them. And I totally help her do that because Jersey Shore is hilarious. Why am I enabling this thing that is so obviously terrible? Because it’s comedy gold, that’s why. That is why we all do it. Except th actually stupid, who don’t get the joke, bless them, but still get the flu because sex has never been known to cure any serious illness, except Ineedtogetlaiditus, or shitwheresmyboner disease, which flare up a lot around Lent, especially if you are starring in a mid level comedy about how sex is less important than lilies.

I do have a real serious point to make about this dumbing down of society that is going on, chaps, and it is this- If the choice is between saving the world by getting rid of stupid people, or laughing at the shit they do and keeping them around, then I have only one thing to say on the matter:

Can we talk about the pig pooping thing again, or is it Too Soon?

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Never Take A Button From A Stranger

You guys, something is happening and I am not a fan of it, but I think I’ve figured out what it is.

I’m pretty sure my blog is under a Gypsy Curse.

I mean, I hate to jump to conclusions, but I saw that movie where the hot chick disappeared under a train, so I am pretty confidant I know the signs. Firstly, last time I deleted all my spam comments [spam comments are wicked harsh, by the way, every day I get like fifty billion of them and they are all about the ‘About’ section of this thing, which if you haven’t read it is some of my best work. If you have, it didn’t take long. Anyway, they all say things like ‘So this utile friendly taught me everything I need to know about your services. Please to have all your hens in one basket’ and I’m like ‘Toms Shoes, I know you have better grammar than that’. Make an effort like, jeez.] there was one there from a ‘Dancing Goat Company’. I am pretty sure dancing goats have no place being a business, unless that is the business of GYPSY CURSES.

Also, a friend of mine who is making shapes in the world of comedy over in that foreign place [London] asked me to write a blog for her around about the time of the Edinburgh Fringe, so I was like ‘Obviously chalk it down, I’m mad for attention’. So I wrote it, sent it off and it never went up on her site thing. ‘Oh well’, I thought, ‘Guess I am not actually as class as I thought. How embarrassing’, and then I ate my weight in biscuits [which gets more impressive every time you do it, by the way. My ultimate goal is to be able to say ‘More biscuits please’, and someone will legitimately have to answer ‘..There are no more’. Perfect days.], cried myself to sleep and forgot about it. Rejection is harsh, but it is way less harsh than dating someone who is a bit of a dickhead, you know?

Anyway, so I moved on, seasons changed, and then a few days ago I decided ‘Fuck it, I have actually no social or personal life, why not organise my gmail into interesting and complicated folders,that sounds like a great way to spend an evening’. So while I was doing that, I found an email I sent to Topman  looking for a job [like, not literally, I know Topman is not a person. You only make that mistake once, Miss Fantasia. In hindsight, the clues were there]. Dudes, if there is one thing in this world I am sure of, it is that I was born to represent that place. Even their new highly offensive t shirts would look great on me.  Someday, after I get my job as a well paid rich person, Imma have a Topman installed in my house, but I’m just going to call it ‘my wardrobe’, and everytime I walk by, Imma say BOOM and it will be totally justified.

ANYWAY, I’m mad for digressions, soz babes, I sent them this email with a cover letter that said something like

‘Dear dude at Topman, I’m pure class, see you Monday,

Sinead

PS: Here’s my CV or whatever xxx’

And I had my CV attached. Only I didn’t in fact. I had sent Topman an attachment alright, but not one that represented my employment and education history. You see where this is going, right?

I emailed my blog post to Topman, and they didn’t hire me for it.

Gypsy fucking Curse.

And to make it worse, I totally DID NOT email my blog post to the comedy website, thus killing two carreer birds with the one Gypsy Curse/ bad computer skillz. Shit buzz, amiright?

But the final straw came the day before yesterday. Oh what a great day that was. I learned so much about time travel that day, dudes, it was a fucking good time. And on top of that, I found a really awesome book about dinosaurs that had equal amounts science and pictures [which is also how I like my ladies, LADIES], and I totally planned on updating this motherfucker, and so I fucking did. Not only did I update this bitch, I fucking explained shit.

I gave a hilarious history of all the rad reasons I didn’t put any writing in this space for like two months. And all of the reasons were brilliant. Gold, even. You dudes would not have been pissed at all if you had read them, swear down. Also, I wrote a very short story entitled ‘Dinosaur Boob Explosions’, and that was literally the subject matter. Think about that for a second, and weep for what might have been.

I even made jokes about an old lady who is in Mountjoy because of her trees and the ESB [not immediately hilarious, I grant you, but when you take into account that two of the quotes from the article about her in the paper were ‘The ESB has been quoted as saying they ‘Are not PROUD of how things worked out..’, and also an old man saying ‘I’m willing to die for this woman’s right to have trees’ or something, it got pretty funny. Trust].

I was on fire. I was on such fire, I did something I have never done on this blog before, and probably never will again because who the fuck is bothered- I PROOFREAD the bastard. I am fairly sure I didn’t proofread my college work, but I proofread that bad boy. And then I sat back because that’s what you do when you are Reaganing. You enjoy that shit. And then I pressed ‘PUBLISH’

And then Eircom farted.

Or maybe it didn’t fart. It is possible that Eircom was fine, and that unfortunately for me, some Neutrinos which were travelling through time escaped from underneath Sweden and travelled along an uncharted path to my very house, whereupon they got mixed up in whatever magic makes wireless internet A Thing That Is Real, and entered my computer through science exactly 20 parts per million faster than light, and then ate my blog post.

I mean, who really knows what those dudes are doing under there. Those guys are planning something, I know it. And whatever it is, I just bet it involves a Dinosaur boob explosion, because if you can travel in time, what the fuck else would it involve, setting you parents up at a school disco? They could have been planning this shit from the very beginning, you guys. In fact, they probably were.

 

 

They might even have hired the Gypsy.