Update

Hello fatmammycatters,

this is Twenty Major. Fatmammycat has concussion. She is seeing stars like a common Warner Brothers cartoon character. Will be out Thursday. Hospital food terrible, mixed. Mixed is bad.

That is all.

Twenty

ps - cunt. heh.

Me, Memnoch and Gutsy.

Sorry about the late post, but me and my split lip were busy vomiting and laying down.
Split lip? Oh yes, that is exactly what I have.
I was at kickboxing this morning, well wait, let me start again, firstly I was out gallavanting about last night until all hours with French Gay, some of the Italians and more than one guy called Steve. There were cocktails and so on. It was Tuesday, what was I thinking?
I came home late,('bout 5) woke up hungover, didn't eat anything, hurried to kickboxing and this was the day Memnoch, who is a total and utter heartless bastard by the way, decided to do some conditioning training because according to him we are 'getting lazy and soft.'
Well half way throught my tenth lap of the gym I puked, no warning no nothing, I just vomited.
I won't bore you all with the details, but after I cleaned it up a disgusted Memnoch started lecturing us all on the 'temple' that is our bodies, and that if we 'abuse the temple' the 'temple' will fall. Then the stupid psycho made us spar and he chose me to demonstrate some moves. So after holding up the focus pads for what seemed like an age, my arms trembling with exertion, I mistakenly thought he had called switch. So I dropped my left pad and WAP!! I got suckerpunched in the mouth.
Hence the lip.
And also I was sick again. And yes, that might be sissy and girlie and whatever else anyone wants to say about it, but that's what happens to me when I can't see straight and my pain threshold has been breached. I puke.
Then Memnoch lectured me soome more and told me to go home.
So here I am, home, bloodied, beaten, feeling miserable and totally disgusted with myself. I'm going off the booze for a while too, at least until I can get back to the shape I was in a few months back. Very down. And I'm never like that. Very sore too. Although I've been like that before.
Most miserable.

news.

News, sterling news I'm sure. It appears the paramour's offer on the earwigs' country pile has been accepted. Oh yay. I"m positively quivering with...well I'm quivering at any rate.

Noise.

There are some noises that can literally drive a person crazy. Car alarms at three in the morning, a bored dog barking for hours on end, Puddy when she is looking for ham, Memnoch when he is being sarcastic, mobile phones with stupid ring tones, mobile phones, phones, people who say 'like' at the end of every sentence, People who murder songs or over sing them like xtina, my mother when she think she is being sly, people who snort a lot when they laugh...the list is endless. But we, as adults, must accept that in life there is a certain amount of tolerance required. Sometimes we must put up and shut up. We can switch off radios, move away from people who say 'like', ignore phones, turn ringers down and bury our heads under the pillow while vowing revenge.
But this story is sad. That poor kid must be going crazy. But by the same token why court? If the construction company has offered to help relocaate the family why are they there? Construction work drives everyone crazy, drilling and hammering, trucks beeping and men whistling...it is almost unbearable. But it happens to everyone. The child affected is autistic and must be suffereing terribly, but it is not the job of a contruction company to care for him or minimize his distress, it is the job of the parents.

Vicious dogs are just like loaded guns.

My God some folk are dumb. I read http://www.sun-sentinel.com/news/local/southflorida/sfl-cpresa20aug20%2C0%2C7940536.story?coll=sfla-home-headlines earlier and was throughly shocked. Not because the dog attacked that woman- even the most easy going mutt can snap- but the attitude of the people with the little kids is nothing short of lunacy. Sure all dogs can bite, but a dog of that size could actually eat a nine month old baby. And at 95 to 120 pounds nothing any one can do if one of those animals decides it doesn't like the look of you.
Can you imagine one of those animals in the wrong hands? Being trained to attack? Ergh. I like dogs a whole lot, but really animals of that size should be licensed and severe restrictions should be in place on who owns them.

Rum, the mystery drink.

Rum ought to be called something else, like...abracadabra or something. You just never know with it. Some is lovely, more is better, but then if you have that extra glass or so you enter a different world, a world of mystery and 'did we?' isms. Like reverse Narnia or The Twilight Zone or something ever rummier.
It appears some of us were out last night, it appears there was some rum drunk. It appears there is someone sleeping in my spare room. It appears there was some singing and there was some walking because some taxi drivers who are not called Tommy are complete and utter bastards and I would like to say a pox be on them and their not stopping ways...
I would like to say more on this topic, but it appears I seem to having some difficulty holding the back of my head on while (st) typing. I may need toast. It appears I may also need to go back to bed.
Rum, I won't say I'm against it- because snarf, that would be silly- but I am suspicious of it. It is going on the list for sure.

Disgusting.

THis woman has nailed herself a world record - by revealing grotesque 33 inch fingernails. Lee Redmond has not cut her nails since 1979. Okay, but how the hell does she wipe her arse? Or diall a phone number? Or make toast? Seriously? How?

Friday Morning tennis, the lob and the backhand.

Now I love Friday, to me it is a perfectly delightful day, a day of whimsy, a day of music and song, of work and rewards, of rum and coke. Friday is the start of the weekend, it retains-despite arriving every week- that glow of the unknown, a tiny sliver of last day of schoolishness that has never diminished for this fatcat. I love Friday so much I would let it marry my sister.
So when the doorbell went at an unspeakably early hour this morning I did not automatically tremble, or hide. I rolled out of bed and answered the buzzer with a relatively cheery, 'mumphff?'
''Hello.'
You know in films when the camera suddenly zooms in on the main character's face, revealing its stricken form in all its glory while the background remains murky and full of zigzagging lines and stuff? Kind of a like an acid flashback but without the coppery taste? You don't? Oh you do. Phew.
For it was she, giver of birth, giver of life, giver of headaches and ulcers. My mother, the fattest cat of 'em all.
Now things with my mother have been a bit off ever since the 'lift' episode, futher sullied no doubt by the 'phone call of forgiveness and blame', so naturally I was a bit surprised to learn she had descended from her stormy petrel and further perturbed by the fact that my torpid brain could find no reasonable way of avoiding opening the door.
'Oh hello there.' I shrieked. Nice, very casual.
'Can I come up?'
'Surely.'
I buzz her in. So far so good. I resist running to the kitchen, best not have knives or sharp metal object to hand. Despite our current imbroglio I see no reason for murder just yet. I spy the bigger of the cats peeping araound the hall door. He is not a peeper so I can only surmise my mother's perfume is already in the wind. Either that or he can hear something in my voice that troubles him.
'Shoo.' I said, It's her.'
He shodded.
I hear the lift and open the door. I am greeted by a panoply of lilac. Her hair glistened in a bouffant of highlights and lowlights and headlights, no, strike the last one, that's just my deer caught thoughts.
' Hope I didn't wake you.' she lied.
'You didn't, I was just getting up.' I lied back. 'New?' I nod towards the chiffon wrap/tent/parachute thingie she has draped over her shoulders.
'Yes, do you like it?'
I freeze, she locks eyes with me. There is a rumble of thunder in the distance.
'It's very ...you.'
'Thanks.'
We offer each other twin smiles of triumph.
'So, what brings you here?'
'I thought you might like to have breakfast.'
I mentally scan my list of excuses, there are none fresh enough to ward off such an invite so I come up with the very lame... 'Oh, well okay, but I've got a mountain of work on.'
It was a feeble shot and it did not even the slightest dent in the miasma of Yves St Laurent that now filled my hall.
So okay, I dress while she terrifies the cats into huffling under the bed and presently we find ourselves down the street ordering toasted cheese and ham sambos and a large pot of tea for her, coffee for me. We make polite small talk over our food, but it is not long before the true nature of her visit leaks out.
'I hear congratulation are in order.'
'Conctatyuaioonnss?' I say, spraying crumbs like a blunderbuss.
'On your new house, Etheline tells me you might be moving.'
That preppy quisling, owner of shivering dogs and cream carpets. That silthery Morgan, Benedict Arnold, vile beast, most unclean...rat fink! My sister. I swallow.
'The paramour is buying a crumbling filthy rat infested house with a view to doing it up.' I say, affecting a weary air.
'It's up in ***********?'
'That's right.'
'Fine houses up that way.'
So now I know, she has already been up that way, snooping about. It would not surprise me if she can recite the exact details of the house the Paramour has an offer on.
'Um.' I say.
'Surely it makes sense to move.' she sniffs, 'I mean it is what most people do when they plan to get married.'
'Do they?' I say. I begin to regret not bringing a knife after all, these cafe knifes would only ding her and make her madder.
Her eyes glitter. ' Yes, they do. I don't understand why anyone would turn their noses up at the offer of a house. I just don't understand it.'
'I haven't turned my nose up at anything.'
'No?'
'No.'
She sips her tea and regards me. 'You know, I"d like nothing more than to see all my children settled and happy before I die.'
'Well two of your children are married and two of them are engaged, how much settling do you require? Although,' I lean across the table and lower my voice, 'if you ask me it should be Etheline you have a word with.'
My mother looks startled. 'What?'
'Well, look, I shouldn't...no, never mind it doesn't matter.' I wave a disgusted hand and return to my coffee.
'What are you saying?" My mother demands.
'Nothing nothing...it's just,' I try to rearrange my features into a picture of pained dismay, as though my confiding in her was costing me a great deal, ' Well, have you ever wondered why Etheline has never actually...you know, set a date? Country Gay asked me about it the other day. It's weird, they've been engaged for ever, don't you think it's strange? She gets so mad if you bring it up.'
'No, I just assumed...'
'Look, I shouldn't have said anything, it's nothing, forget I brought it up.'
My mother is aghast. She has put a lot of stock in Etheline's marriage to that Kevin, a lot. I think she might even have an outfit picked out. I have killed the fattened calf, well not killed exactly, but I have sure as shit stunned the hell out if it.
Breakfast was over soon after and here I am back at my desk. There was no more talk of houses and judging by my mother's hasty retreat ( she did not even offer to come in) a certain Judas is going to find herself on the receiving end of some pertinent and tiresome questions.
Out of a little acorn the great oak grows.
I love Fridays.

Oh my, now that is condescending!

Twenty Major's post today (use of the word cunt) reminds me of something completely different. What is the most infuriating thing you've ever been called? I can tell you what mine is immediately.
Sweetheart.
One time- in the middle of a ferocious row with an overlord-or manager if you will, the stupid sap actually leaned across his desk and said 'Look Sweetheart, there's no need for you to get all bent out of shape. If you don't understand something just ask and I"ll explain it to you.'
I swear to god,
'Sweetheart?'
Excuse me? You want to give the little woman a pat on the arse too?
You cannot not imagine the minor explosion that occurred moments after that utterance. Dogs streets away whimpered and tucked their tails between their legs. Little children cried, old folk cast nervous glances over their shoulders, half expecting to see the four riders arrive on the foam flecked mounts.
SWEETHEART!?
Even now, years later I can still feel the hackles rise on my neck. And the very air around me seems to have darkened.
Then I laugh, remembering the look on that chap's face as he ran out of that office to find his boss. Come to think of it, that was the fastest sacking I have in my resumé, and that's saying something...
Being called Sweetheart in a condescending manner... I'm against it!

JonBenet.

I was amazed to see this last night, amazed.


"A US man arrested in Thailand has said the death of child beauty queen JonBenet Ramsey 10 years ago in Colorado was an accident.
John Mark Karr, 41, who lived in Boulder at the time of the killing, told reporters: "I was with JonBenet when she died. Her death was an accident."

Thai police had earlier said Mr Karr had confessed to the 1996 killing.

The six-year-old was found beaten and strangled in the basement of her family's home in Boulder, in a case that shocked the US public.

Mr Karr, a former teacher, was arrested at an apartment in the Thai capital Bangkok.

He was arrested on a US warrant after being tracked by police as he sought to find a teaching job in Thailand, officials said.

Boulder District Attorney Mary Lacey said the arrest had followed "several months of a focused and complex investigation".

Mr Karr will be sent to Colorado within days to face charges of murder, kidnapping and child sexual assault, said US official Ann Hurst.

Thai police chief Lt Gen Suwat Tumrongsiskul told reporters: "He said it was second-degree murder. He said it was unintentional. He said he was in love with the child. She was a pageant queen."

Okay, I will-hands up-say I really thought the parent were involved with the poor little girl's death. There was even a pointed reference to them in Southpark... Well, if I had a hat I'd eat it. Of course it's horrible what happened to them, losing their little girl, but to live with the clouds of suspicion over their heads must have been really difficult. Poor people. I was glad to read Patsy Ramsay knew an arrest was imminent before she passed away.

Intervention needed, part 2.

Nicole Ritchie is not only a walking skeleton, she is probably destroying her body for ever, and yet she is feted as a style icon and countless magazine covers and web sites applaud her 'individual look.' Kiera Knightly has been quoted this week as saying ' I don't have breasts, I have pecs!'
Jesus Christ. No wonder the Little Goth Kid gets notions in her head about her supposed 'fatness'.

On a lighter note.

Eeeee, just when I was feeling glummy glum glum I got this in the mail. Snarf.

Domestic violence? Or...

a hot moment, instantly regretted?
Last night while I was working, sipping a coke-no rum and no diet, stupid local shop- a friend of mine called with a major problem.
She is five foot nuthin', dating a six foot something guy and they have a baby together. I knew immediately from her voice something was wrong, I could hear the anguish, the pain, the sorrow. I cut to the chase immediately.
'What's happened?'
'He's gone.' She said, crying. 'We had a blazing row, I shoved him in the shoulder during an argument and he said that was it. He said he didn't grow up that way and he sure as shit wasn't having his daughter grow up watching her parents fight. He packed his stuff yesterday when I was in work, he's gone.'
'Have you spoken to him?'
'He says that's it... he's done.'
'Oh Honey.'
'What am I going to do?'
Well now. What indeed? I was a good friend, I listened, I made the right noise. I was sympathic...but I was also thinking to myself-and I did say it to her- that if she had called me saying he had shoved her or struck her, I would naturally have had a big problem. As it was I told her she should never have put her hands on him, that no person deserved to be struck (except maybe Memnoch, I'd super like to wallop him one) But then there is her...she has always been fiery (very), always been physical ( in every aspect, she's huggy and kissy too) So for her a shove is maybe not what it was for him...but this was the second time she shoved him. The first time he warned her, 'don't do this again or I'm out of here,' that was over a year ago.
She has 'done it again' and he followed through with his threat.
So my useless advice was give him time to cool off. But I don't know. I don't know that two people who fight non-stop should try to get back together. I don't really see the point. Surely when you chose to live as a couple you do so because you love each and respect each other. I don't actually know anyone who thrives on fighting. So as upset as she is I'm am also thinking perhaps this separation is not the worst thing in the world, but then there is the child...
I am conflicted.

Boy will be...er drunken boys really.

'Oh prince Charming, with deeez keeeses ju are rily spoiling me no?'
Can't wait for his girlfriend Chelsey to get back from holiday...

Boy George he's done it!

Fair play to him, but I think it would have been much better if he had carried it out his community service in full makeup
He could have dragged old Amanda Lapore there along for the ride. See kiddies...stay away from the drugs.

Bigots, living hale and hearty and on the school boards.

Thank God I come from an 'enlightened' Ireland. Where people are not discriminated against and everyone is tolerant and kind. Well actually, that's not true now is it? Not when there is this kind of nonsense
I saw the headmaster on TV3 (whispered) defending this action yesterday and was amazed that in a society that prides itself on forward thinking and religious freedom that he had the neck to go on camera at all.
I wonder just what kind of person complained? I wonder would this kind of thing happen if the children had been from a different denomination? If they had been Muslim or Jewish? Or if they had been black? Or refugees? There would be outrage,(rightly so)and the head master would have been cringing on screen. But no, the two kids were white, middle class and Catholic, ergo, they can take care of themselves.


UPDATE: I have just received a phone call from a delighted and happy paramour. The bank surveyer type chappie who went and looked at the shack..er house has declared it SOUND???(did he not see the roof?) And the bank would be happy to marrange a mortgage for it????? ( did he not notice the 'bathroom'?)So lover boy is putting in his offer today. Confound it, zounds and eeek!

2nd Update: For folk like Docky who might not be registered to that piece of crap paper, the story was ....
"THE parents of two Catholic students forbidden to travel on the State-funded bus to their predominantly Protestant school because of their religion last night vowed to take their case before the Equality Authority.

Limerick business consultant Harry Gleeson and his wife Bernadette said they still can't believe the letter they received last week from their local Vocational Educational Committee (VEC) informing them their application for school bus passes for their two teenage children has been denied because they are not Protestant.

The couple's children, Edmond (17) who is entering his Leaving Cert year this autumn and his 15-year-old sister Margaret, who will be entering her Transition Year, have been attending Villiers School on the city's North Circular Road for several years.

The school - which is predominantly Protestant but has students of other faiths - is offering students a new free bus service to and from the school this autumn that will pass close to the Gleeson home.

But when Mr Gleeson (45) sent an application form for the free passes, he received a terse response from the VEC's Transport Liaison Officer, Deirdre Frawley, on Thursday informing him that they were ineligible for the bus passes on religious grounds.
The letter states: "Villiers School is a school under Protestant management and only children of Protestant denominations have an entitlement to transport on the The Special Adare Villiers School Bus Service."

Mr Gleeson said he rang the VEC out of disbelief after receiving the letter and was effectively told "that's just the way it is".

Despite contacting his local county councillor, Niall Collins (FF), who has attempted to intervene with the VEC on his behalf, Mr Gleeson said he still has not heard a work back from the VEC or received any reasonable explanation for the so-called policy.

He added: "To me it's stating quite clearly if you're Catholic, you're gone," told the Irish Independent last night.

"This is a multi-cultural and multi-denominational school and our kids are very happy there. These kids grow up in an culture where there is no distinction between religion and races and we're offended that someone on this committee is saying they are different. In this day and age this is crazy," he said."

Disaster! No wait...

sunshine and lollipops all round!
I am posting this from my brand spanking new iMac and it is the dog's bollix. Bigger screen, faster, keyboard that actually lets me type the letter 's' whenever I want and no box, I mean the whole computer is this screen. And it has a remote control. It's bloomin' AWESOME!
The disaster part was this morning when I got up, made coffee, padded in here and turned on my old computer. There was a fizzing sound, followed by a crackling, the the hair on my arm rose and the cats all ran off, then a loud POP. Then, most terribly, nothing at all.
I swung into action, trying out my extended range of skills, such as turning the screen on and off and saying things like, 'Oh no, oh no ohnooh nno you wouldn't do this to me...'
So I called the paramour in a bit of a state. He arrived toot sweet and had a look.
'Honey, your screen is dead.' He said after a while.
'But what shall I do?'I said peering fearfully over his shoulder at the blackness, the unbearable deep blackness. I clutched the bigger of the cats to my boosom. He's not much of a struggler.
'Did you back everything up?'
'It's on the stick.'
'Good. Well, I don't know love, but honestly, you've been complaining about your old computer for a while now haven't you? Maybe it is time to get a new one.'
I nodded, gibberingly under my breath. Perhaps I should try the on/off switch once more.
But that didn't help and after some more muttering I was resigned. New computer, here I come.
Well it should have been easy but it was not to be. It took three different shops before I could get this model. And we actually went back to the first shop to get this one (it was on display). Remarkable that shops are so loathe to take a person's money. I couldn't believe the attitude of one lady, she actually said 'pffft', when we asked how long it might take for her to give us the one she hand on display. So the paramour-not a chap to be 'pffted'- told her not to bother and off we trundled.
But I digress. It is here, it is sleek, it is a thing of beauty.
I love it.
All right I might have to hide my credit card for while, but still. Dontcha love when sucky mornings turn into much better days?

Hell's sodding bells!

After a rather delicious dinner of steak and mushrooms, I, patting my full belly with one eye on Tomb Raider the movie and a bottle of German wine chilling nicely in the fridge, was half considering to retire to my jammies. When suddenly the paramour's phone rang.
'Don't answer it.' I said, feeding the bigger of the cats some fat.
He rolled his eyes and picked up. Clearly my phone paranoia has yet to rub off on him.
'Oh, hey there! Long time no hear, what are you up to?' he said.' No no, nothing much, you?'
I carried the plates into the kitchen and washed them off. By the time I returned he was hanging up.
'We're going out.'
'We are?'
'yes, that was Matt. He's coming into town and he wants us to meet his new girlfriend.'
'Matt...Matt? The chap who spreads all his words out?'
'Yup.'
'The eco warrior...that Matt?'
'Uh-huh.'
'The one with the red indian tattoed on his upper arm? The non meat-eating guy who thinks we should all live off one acre of land? That one? And his new girlfriend?'
'Cat-'
'No no, I just want to be sure, I want to be prepared.'
'yes well... he's a good guy you know.'
'Hitler liked dogs too.'
He frowned at me, his greeney/brown eyes narrowed.
I rolled my own eyes...'All right all right. Pour me a rum and diet coke. I'll go have a shower and get ready.'
'Thank you.'
We kiss. I cop a quick feel and trundle off.
I wander off down the hall, the bigger of the cats trailing me-as is his wont. I tap my lower lip with my index finger. Now where did I put that leather pencil skirt again? And would wearing the vintage mink be over kill?

For Eva!

Eva, meet Puddy, as you can see, when she isn't hangin off the end of my desk, she has been eating.
Have a lovely weekend bloggers, off to the cinema now to watch Pirates of the Carribean 2, with the Little Goth Kid From Downstairs (LGKFDS)!

Boring children or selfish hussy?

Oh now, everyone is up in arms over this
My eldest sister is incensed. Well? What do we think? Is this lady being honest? Personally I don't see why she bothered having children in the first place if she doesn't want to spend any time at all with them, but that's just me.
My nieces and nephews are hilarious, exhausting but really really funny and it is a real eye opener spending time with them. I can't imagine spending every waking moment with my children, but surely watching Spongebob, days at the zoo and bringing them to a science museum/cinema and watching their faces absorb things is one of the perks of motherhood? No? Am I wrong?

Pig in a pork.

Blogger is acting all polly pissy pants today so I'm not even sure if this will post but here goes...


ANGRY viewers have complained to telly watchdogs after Chef Gordon Ramsay killed off his pet pigs.

Four million watched Gordon, 39, take the two porkers to the abattoir on his Channel 4 show The F Word.

The pigs, called Trinny and Susannah, were seen having their throats slit then being disembowelled.

Even the hard-nosed chef looked horrified as he watched, saying: “F***k, I’m going to get the hell out of here ... f***ing hell.” Outside he admitted: “I felt sick as a dog in there. Not pleasant.”

No, not pleasant, but this is how animals like pigs are killed in abattoirs. Not very nice to watch, but as I"ve said before, people should know where their food comes from. Remember when Jamies Oliver killed that lamb and cooked it, and everyone was all 'oh my god!' Well folks, roast lamb is delicious ( so it slow roast pork in a honey glaze with crackling) and I would sooner eat that than a frozen pizza or a breaded something or other from the freezer any day of the week.
A generation of kids now are growing up with no concept that the food on their plate-if they're lucky- comes from actual living things. KFC, McDonalds, Burger King, while not exactly what I would call food, have all over the last few years started phasing out the actual names of the animals they use in their product. Thus Whoppers and Grillers have replaced burgers and Twisty and Snackers exist where chicken used to be. Why? Because if you take away the association you strip away the guilt.
I remember going to the butcher as a kid and he would have great big sides of beef hanging behind him on hooks, he made the sausages right then and there and ground up meat for mince. There were sheep skin rugs for sale and huge chunks of pork that he would slice for rashers. There were real eggs on the counter and the chickens were large, yellow! Yes yellow, chicken shouldn't look pale pink- and in most cases still had their heads and feet on, which I would chop with glee when I went home and chase my younger brother about with. Everything was fresh and it tasted absolutely wonderful.
Nowadays everything is shrink wrapped, plastic, uniform in size and half the flavour. Is this food? Sort of, but is it good food... Dunno. Don't really think so.
So yes, people are annoyed/upset/outraged that Gordan's pigs got the chop, perhaps they thought pigs died of old age and then we ate them. Maybe they thought Gordan-a chef- might retire them to the Cotswolds someday. But he didn't, he grew them, fed them, slaughtered them and I would imagine he will make something very delicious out of them. And I think it was quite right of him to go along and watch. More people need to do so. Then they might appreciate what an animal goes through for us to have a bacon sandwich (with lashing of white pepper). It is up to each of us to decide if we eat meat or not. I do, but I don't try and pretend it is anything other than what it is, so no faux outrage here. If someone watched Gordan's show last night and said, 'I am going to be a vegetarian from this day forward' I would respect that too. But don't express horror or shock and then carry on scoffing meat. At least don't express it to me. Especially when I"m eating. I'll tell you to bugger off.

Swearing. You know what...

I fucking hate? Swearing.
I fucking hate it when people curse every two fucking seconds. Like, every other fucking word out of their fucking mouth is a fucking motherfucking swear word. I mean, shit, for fuck's sake, what's the fucking point? Doesn't all that fucking swearing get on their nerves, have they no fucking mothers to clip them round the bollixing head, or a fucking sister or some shit to tell them to cop fucking on and stop fucking swearing.
Ever sat upstairs on a fucking bus and listened to a shower of fucking school kids calling each other 'fucking waaaaankers' and 'fuckin' jammy cuuuunts' for a whole fucking bus ride? And then when the cunts get off, your fucking ears are fucking ringing? And call me cunting old fashioned, but it's much fucking worse when it's a fucking bunch of girls doing the fucking swearing. Nothing like a fucking foul mouth on a bitch to get my fucking dander up. Don't get me wrong, I swear every so often. I mean sometimes you just gotta fucking curse when there's something to fucking curse about, like, 'Ow get off my fucking foot you flabby arsed motherfucking douchebag or I"ll bleeding slap your arseface back to fuckin 1980.' Or' Faaacckk me, Memnoch kicked me half way across the fucking room!' But not, 'Good fucking morning. Did you see the fucking state of 'em on Love Island last night?'
All right? Stop fucking cursing all the time! You sound like a fucking foulmouth cocksucking cunt bag. Stop it.
Swearing willy nilly...I'm against it!

Lazy bones.

Gah, I thought it was Friday when I woke up, but it is not, it is Thursday, which means I have one more day of this wretched week to get through. I really really hate it when that happens.
Anyhoo, A quck read of the papers this morning has set me to thinking. I speak only of Irish folk here but I'd imagine the situation is not too far removed from folk in other countries.
We are turning into a lazy shower of lazy arses...

'IRISH car owners are driving shorter distances than previously believed, covering an average of 10,500 miles annually.

This is well below previous estimates of 15,000.

However, energy consumption is continuing to rise thanks to the increasing number of cars, commercial and freight traffic on our roads.

As a result of strong economic growth there has been a 151pc jump in energy use for transport between 1990 and 2005."

Loosly traslated, this means Irish people are too lazy to walk even short distances. I'm going to use my mother has a prime example. Follow me.
My mother lives just outside a village, she is over weight. She buys a newspaper and a pint of milk every day. She gets into her car and drives the one mile to the village shop and drives the one mile back again, probably snacking on jellybabies (common family addiction).
Naturally this behaviour adds roughly one pound of fat to my mother ever two to three months or so which she then complains and moans about to whichever child might be stupid enough to pick up a ringing phone in their otherwise peaceful home.
Now, see what we have here? Cause and effect. If my mother, oh say, walked to the shop for the paper and milk every day she would be doing a few things, she would be getting exercise -good for bones and heart- she would lose some weight- good for blood pressure and heart and mental well being, she would conserve fuel and energy-good for environment. Pretty much win win? No? Wouldn't ya think?
We are not a nation of walkers. But as every years passes and waistlines expand and fuel prices rise maybe someone might-some day- ask the pertinent question. Do we really need to drive there? All those people waiting on Dawson Street to catch a bus to Rathmines, a fifteen minute walk at best. Grey faced, bored, chewing gum, shuffling their feet. Teenagers standing outside Gigs Place in Portollo waiting for a bus to take them to O'Connell Street... walk dammit. It will do you good.

Working with people...

I'm against it!
I don't know how you people do it, but I applaud you all. Yes you lot, you people who read this blog. You who get up in the morning every day, shower, get dressed, grab a bowl of cereal and leave your homes to travel to work. You're probably sitting at a desk right this second, aren't you? I bet some of you have said 'good morning' at least eight times by now. Urghhh. I never thought I'd say it, but you have my deepest and profoundest respect.
Today is Wednesday and in one hours time I must again work with 'people'. I have been working with people all week.
It is killing me.
Perhaps I am spoiled ( what?), perhaps I take working for myself for granted (moi?) either way after this week I do solemnly swear to NEVER again EVER complain about it. I will read other folks' blogs and tremble at the mention of offices and managers and financial thingimijiggies. I will quietly press a damp face cloth to the nape of my neck when I hear about watercooler conversations and traffic problems, vindictive bosses, bitchy colleagues. Because I see it now, the anger, the hatred, the slap a hand off your forehead hard enough to knock yourself out with frustration-ness of dealing with other people on a daily basis.
Working with other folk...I"m against it I tell you! Against!

Hypocrite? Madonna? never!

Oh this woman confuses the hell out of me. On the one hand I admire her because of her longevity in a fickle industry. But then there is her acting, her new accent, the way she blinks and now this
Actually this is all fine and dandy too, except reportedly she is furious with Mel Gibson's less than delightful comments about Jewish folk, and has penned a four page letter angrily telling him off and yet offering her 'help'.
Now, I'm no religous expert but should a woman who spends much of her time of late hanging from a brightly lit cross with a crown of thorns around her head really be scribbling snarky notes to a man in rehab over his vile yet uttered while drunk as a skunk comments?
Just so I'm clear on this. Insulting Jews-bad, offending Catholics-okey dokey then. Hum...Madonna, Kabbalah might help you find your place in the world but it doesn't make you any less of a hypocritical shite bag.

Vacant.

Sweet shoes of Dorothy. Paris Hilton cannot seriously be that stupid, it has to be an act, someone tell me it is an act.
"The hotel heir-head displayed her knowledge of current events when a magazine asked whether she’s a fan of British Prime Minister Tony Blair. “Who’s Tony Blair?” she mused. “Oh, yeah…he’s like your president? I don’t know what he looks like.”

I'm very tired this morning, and this has made me shake my head is utter dismay.

Still Beautiful...

but what a difference lighting and photoshop makes. Personally I think more photo shoots like this might remind us that these women are mortal, like the rest of us.

Bastard.

Sometimes someone comes along so deviant and twisted that nothing, short of a bullet to the back of the head, is good enough. This is that someone.

CLEVELAND — A man accused of sexually assaulting nine boys with physical or mental disabilities told a judge that having sex with children is a sacred ritual protected by civil rights laws.

Phillip Distasio, who said he is the leader of a church called Arcadian Fields Ministries, represented himself at his pretrial hearing Wednesday. He is charged with 74 counts including rape, pandering obscenity to minors and corrupting another with drugs.

"I'm a pedophile. I've been a pedophile for 20 years," he said in Cuyahoga County Common Pleas Court Wednesday. "The only reason I'm charged with rape is that no one believes a child can consent to sex. The role of my ministry is to get these cases out of the courtrooms."

Distasio said some of his congregants are among the victims in this case. Distacio, of Rocky River, is accused of molesting two disabled boys he tutored at his home and raping seven autistic boys at a Cleveland school for special-needs students where he was a teacher's aide. All but one of the victims were under 13.

A conviction on rape counts involving any of the eight younger boys would mean an automatic sentence of life in prison without parole eligibility, prosecutors said.

Distasio tried unsuccessfully in June to fire his court-appointed lawyer because he wouldn't pursue a religious freedom defense. Distasio could represent himself if the attorney remained as an adviser, Judge Kathleen Sutula said.

Rocky River is 9 miles west of Cleveland.

Vaginal spasams? Madam, go...

sit over there.
I was out last night and I'm sure I caught something perfectly filthy from the crowd of reprobabtes that were also out. I don't feel well. It hurts to swallow and only for the paramours willingness to get up at half five in the morning and find painkillers while still asleep, I wouldn't have surfaced at all today. But I am here, what a little trouper I am. And it is Friday, I refuse point blank to be ill on a Friday.

It is very strange the things folk will talk about to absolute strangers. Last night a delightful woman told me about her trip around Europe and the fun time she had letting off illegal fireworks in Cork. I -and my third rum-found her most entertaining.
But then an artist French Gay is considering entered the frey and next bloody thing you know she's talking about vaginal spasams ( more common than the meedja would have us believe apparently)
I mean the conversation had drifted along with art, Pollock, Kadinski, The Hours, Barbara Streisland, Jools Holland, wolves, Chanel, African bag sellers, bitches, Modigliani, ex lovers, death, Jade Goody's autobiography, Anna wintour, Cork fireworks.
Then bam!
Vaginal spasams. Or rather, 'I suffer from vaginal spasams you know.'
'Really? How...er, awful for you.'
I can tell you nothing killed the mood quicker. I had to have another rum to recover.
What is the strangest thing a complete stranger has ever said to you?

Unbelieveable! Why not buy Southfork?

What with house hunting, and not sleeping right I am a touch crankified this morning. And then I read this...

"AN accommodation centre on Limerick city's suburbs for seven Traveller families remains idle eight months after it was completed at a cost of €2m.

A legal dispute is continuing between Limerick County Council and the families about the site at Kilmurry View in Castletroy.

The seven families - O'Reillys, McCarthys and Ryans - who live beside the new accommodation centre have refused to move into the new facility.

The dispute centres around the families' claims that the local authority has not provided them with anywhere to keep their horses.

Both parties involved are now receiving legal advice on how to resolve the issue.

A Limerick County Council spokesperson said they could not comment as it was "a legal issue".

Junior Health Minister Tim O'Malley said he would not listen to "any more nonsense about local authorities being obliged to provide special transient facilities for these obviously well-to-do Travellers".

He described their attitude as "grasping and inconsiderate".

I am boggled, actually I'm too tired to be boggled, I'm seething instead. All the folk that emailed the other day worried about getting onto the property ladder and worried about mortgage hikes....and this shower are turning down a 2 million Euro centre because the government didn't provide stables!
Ridiculous.

You talkin' to me?

I'm a tall woman and I walk fast and usually I'm thinking about work when I walk. But no matter what I"m thinking of I always try to keep my wits about me. Because I live in a city there are time when I come across other folk. Like last week when I was picking up a coat from the dry cleaners. I was stomping down the street and ahead of me I spied a chap loitering about.
Now you know the type, kind of scruffy looking, kind of wasted. As soon as I draw close he says...'Hey beautiful...hey hey, hey where you going? Hey nice arse.'
I keep on walking, get my coat, pay the girl and return home. There you go, no biggie right?
Right, except if I had been walking down the same street with Etheline it would have gone like this...
'Hey beautiful...hey hey, hey where you going? hey nice arse.'
'Excuse me! Are you talkin' to me?'
'Where you going?'
'Etheline come on.'
'None of your fucking business, that's where I"m going. Where do you get off talking to me. Why can't you just shut your mouth. You think I want to hear this kind of shit when I'm going about my business.'
'Hey fuck off lady.'
'No you fuck off.'
'Etheline come on.'
'No Cat, it's bollocks, what we can't even walk down the street now without some fucking creep insulting us?'
And blah blah blah....
Now some women think what Etheline does (confronting every whisperer, whistler, cat-caller) is right on! And lots of yeah, why should we put up with it and so on. One of her friends even advocates slapping men who mutter stuff.
There is a whole site now devoted to naming and shaming bozos on the street. You can find it at www.hollabacknyc.blogspot.com. On this site gals take pictures and post the pictures on the web. Thus the next time some guy whistles at you, you can snap his photo and yell abuse at him as he passes by.
Right on!
Except it is not right on. It's pretty bloody stupid in my view. It's the one sure way to escalate a non-situation into a situation. Not always, but more often than not and it only takes one time for someone to get hurt. Maybe some guy really does not want his photo taken and decides you're not going anywhere with your phone. What then?
I can fight, I'm a fairly good fighter. Years of being knocked about in kickboxing have made me reasonably strong and fit, but I've said this before and I'll say it again, I'm not half as strong as the flabbiest non fighting man out there. I don't think my knowing that is letting the sisterhood down, I'm simply stating a fact. I have one third of the testosterone, ergo I'm not as strong.
It is not weakness to know your physical capabilities. It is not weakness to avoid conflict, it is not weakness to ignore obviously mentally deficient men on the streets, it is not weakness to ignore 'lookin' good baby', it is not weakness to ignore 'show us your cunt' and carry on your way.
It is not weakness to know how to avoid a confrontation.
A generation of girls are growing up fed on a diet of Buffy and Tomb Raider and Resident Evil. They equate risk with fearlessness, cocksure that if they get in trouble they can 'HI- YAH KAZAMM!' their way out of it. The little goth kid used to suffer from kickassitedness until I set her straight by holding her in a very simple lock that she could not break out of and then convincing her that a man could easily do the same.
I wasn't trying to frighten her. Of course women should have the right to go where they want at any time they want, wear what they want, in any state they want and still be safe. But this is the real world, and the real world doesn't give two shits about what feminists or ass kicking girls or their snappy sisters think. The real world can slap you one in the chops faster that you can say 'hey' or whip out your mobile phone. The real world can smell weakness like a fart in a lift.
Think before you holla back. You might not always get away with it.

For Andraste, happy vacation!

Peter Stringfellow...and thong.

For John Mc!