Friday, August 31, 2007

New time and a beehive of lurve.

Happy ginger day chumlies. I have shaved yet another half a minute off my row time. I am now 24:30 for 5000M. I don't know if this is good or not as I have no one to compare it with, but it is faster for me, so that will have to do. So happy am I with this improvement that the only way I can impart my joy it to give you a splendid helping of Gingerosity. I particularly like his Beth Lynch-iness in this one. He's just short the dangly earings and the leopard print.



I found it! Although I don't like them, I must doff my cap to this tattoo. It is a work of art. There's definitely a whiff of William Blake to it, no?


Thank Freddie it's Friday.

You have to wonder why people do the things they do. What goes through their minds? What went throught their minds when they got up that morning? Did they brush their teeth, have a shower check for blackheads, and then think, 'Bugger it, I'll call in sick and go get some horns put in instead.'?
It's a wild wild world out there, thank marmalade.


Thursday, August 30, 2007

Heroin at Dublin Airport.

Holy crap this was a big haul. It makes you wonder just how much heroin is coming into the country? You know, as stupid as it sounds, I almost forgot heroin there for a long time, such is the amount of coke swashing about the place. No wonder the criminals are getting so upset over the sniffer dogs.
From breaking news.

"A record 2.4 million euro heroin seizure has been made by customs officials at Dublin airport.

12 kilos of the drug was discovered concealed in two wood burning ranges, which had arrived in Dublin Port from Rotterdam.

Cocaine with a street value of 175,000 euro was also seized.

Customs officers discovered the drugs with the help of a sniffer dog.

The seizure is the second major find of heroin by customs this year.

In June, 2.1 million euro worth of the drug was discovered in a van coming through Rosslare from France."


Crossfit rocks!

I love crossfit, ( love it with the fervour I normally reserve for rum. Everyday I log on to their website and read what torture is lined up for that day and I marvel at the devious and dastardedly mind behind it. After Tuesday's agonising and arse numbing 400m lunge walk I still cannot sit into my chair without yelping or muttering in fear. Climbing the stairs is almost tear inducing, coming back down them is worse. I thought I was going to die getting out of bed yesterday.
So what does the coach dish up for us this very morning?
A 5k run. For time.
Oh Coach, we are not worthy, we truly are not.
I"m going to the gym now, I may be some time, if I don't come back give Shebah my shoes.


Dog Fighting.

The programe will be shown on BBC 1 tonight at 9pm.

From Breaking

"A top Gaelic footballer’s future career was in doubt today after he was exposed as being heavily involved in an illegal international dog-fighting ring.

Gerard Cavlan, 30, a member of Tyrone’s 2003 All-Ireland Championship-winning side, helped run an operation in which pit bull terriers were brutally pitched against each other, an undercover investigation has revealed.

During secret filming, he boasted about the animals’ strength and skill in a fight and claimed to have up to 15 dogs.

Cavlan reportedly said of a dog: “Sure he had him in the chest, and he shook him and he shook him for 25 minutes. If he hadn’t got you killed in half an hour… he was in trouble, you know. A real hard-mouthed dog.”

The revelations appear to have shattered Cavlan’s claims earlier this year that he was not involved in the blood sport.

Even though he was fined £650 (€960) after pleading guilty to possession of a dangerous dog, and banned for five years from keeping certain breeds, his lawyer denied the GAA star had any links to illegal activities.

Cavlan had simply collected the dog from kennels for a man from Dublin, Dungannon Magistrates’ Court was told.

The investigation also uncovered a trail to Finland where breeders prepare animals from as young as 10 months to be exported to the North.

One breeder reportedly said: “I’ve imported a lot of dogs so I know how to fool, fool the customs… all you need is a computer and a printer.”

The investigation discovered 15 illegal dog-fighting gangs in the North - five in Belfast and some with connections to international organisations.

One gang, The Farmer Boys based in Tandragee, Co Armagh, was infiltrated and found to be involved in fighting matches across the North and abroad.

The USPCA is understood to be preparing to act on the revelations once the Spotlight programme is screened tonight.

Cavlan’s future now looks bleak. He was in the Tyrone team that lost to Meath in the quarter-finals of this year’s All-Ireland Championships.

But earlier this year a magistrate warned him that he must remember his position as a role model.

Fining him, Eamon King said: “We want people to imitate you in all that’s good - ie, your successful football career, not in the type of activity that takes place in backyards in the dark of night involving one animal going face-to-face against another.”"

I don't know how any person can raise a pup to fight. I just can't get my head around it. What sort of person cares for an animal's well being one minute, then and uses that animal for fighting the next? How can they clean that dogs wounds and tears, stitch up ripped skin, listen to it whimper in pain and then prepare him for battle once again.
It's disgusting. Dogs are loyal, loving animals. Most dogs will do anything they can to please an owner, they're happiest when with their owner. For an owner to abuse this trust and force his animal to fight time and time again for sport, for kicks, for a few quid, is disgusting. It truly is.
I hope they throw the book at him. Role Model? Don't make me laugh.


Wednesday, August 29, 2007

A semi-naked Daniel?

Is this a joke? First bad butter and now a picture of a semi naked Daniel O'Donnell, crooner to cardigans, professional beard and spangle wearer? What the F? ( as a certain someone might say) Damn you indo. Damn you to hell.
Pass the Listerine, I don't care if it's not for eyes.



Is there anything worse than biting into your toast only to find the butter is gone off and has that bittery oily taste?
Yack. The only thing worse is gone off sausages ( which thankfully I haven't had since my college days)
Yack. Pass the Listerine-which is also yack, but a different kind of yack.
I knew I should have stuck with Ready Brek.
Gross, Yack.


Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Blonde Moment.

A transcript, provided from PamelaV on Feministing, really helps in case you don't get the answer in all its glory.

"I personally believe... that U.S. Americans are unable to do so... because...uh... some people out there in our nation don't have maps...
And... uh... I believe that our education, like such as in South Africa and... uh... the Iraq, everywhere, like, such as...and I believe that they should... Our education over here in the U.S. should help the U.S... uh...or, should help South Africa and should help the Iraq and the Asian we will be able to build up our future... for our children."

The little Goth Kid was here a few minutes ago ( looking for a loan of my knee high boots) and I played her the above clip. Her verdict,
'You know I'm not a natural blonde right?'
"Hmm, I know you're not a natural blue /black gothy, but I'm fairly certain you're-'
'Light Brown.' Said she, firmly.
'Indeed, don't get those boot scuffed.'
'I won't.'
And we parted company in a most bemused fashion.
I got the clip from Feministing.

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Bullies/murderers and feral children.

It is seldom that I am moved to tears-other than tears of fury- by the Brenda Power show, but god damn it, I was moved today.
There was a woman on called Collete, whose teenage daughter Leanne killed herself after years of relentless bullying. It was very hard to listen to her story, but listen I did and I was shocked to say the least.
These bullies pulled Leanne's hair, ripping patches from her head with such force they left bald patches. They blackened her eye, they destroyed her car her dad had bought her for her birthday, egging it and covering it with flour, they spread vicious rumours about her, shaming the girl horribly. It seems to have been sustained, prolonged and vicious.
The mother was very brave and very firm, she tried to approach the bullies, she approached the mother of the main bully and was told she was wrong. She is angry, but the heartbreak in her voice was clear.
She read some of the things her daughter had written in her diary and what that poor girl wrote was so hopeless and despairing that it horrified me. To think that any girl at 15/16/17 should suffer so much for no reason is beyond my scope of understanding. Her mother said at the end, even the smallest things hurt her daughter, the bullies had broken her down so much. And then Leanne reached the point where she didn't think she could go on with the torture. She texted her mam and dad that night, telling them they were the best parents any girl could have and she loved them. Then she killed herself.

Across the water this morning, the parents of Rhys Jones are also reeling form the loss of a child. Football-mad Rhys was murdered last Wednesday in Croxteth, Liverpool. His parents.Melanie and Stephen said they were shocked to learn his bike-riding killer is thought to be between just 13 and 15 years old.
This little boy who was shot in cold blood as he walked home from football practice.

"The mother of Rhys Jones yesterday blamed the parents of his killer for her son's murder.
Melanie Jones accused the gunman's mother of bringing her child up to have no respect for others.
She said the 11-year-old was shot dead because the woman did not care what her own son was up to or who he was with.
Mrs Jones, 41, added that the killer's parents lack the courage to turn him in."

Country gay lives in a estate, it's small private and well maintained with a mix of families. It's a lovely street, or rather it would be if not for one family. This family have three children, girls, and these kids are out day and night. They trample flowerbeds, call people names, put bottles under the wheels of cars and terrorize an Indian man who lives alone, by ringing his door bell day and night. They are fearless, they are rude, their language is unreal, they are little monsters, they are under the age of ten. The smallest one- who can be no more than five- is the worst, she has ABSOLUTELY no fear of anyone and will be a complete vicious bitch in another few years and you can be sure she'll be a total bully-she is now, but when she's bigger she'll be better.

I don't know what is is that makes parents lose interest in their children, what makes them not care what they're children are up to, what makes them defend their children's actions even when it is clear that their children are causing pain, discomfort and misery for others. I really don't get it. If someone had gone to my parents house to complain about me I'd have been in so much trouble...If someone came to my home to complain about my children I'd be mortified and my children facing some serious questions about their behaviour.
When did kids get this power? When did they become so aggressive and fearless? I told the smallest one of those kids to get the hell of CG's flowers last week and she did, but slowly and with a lot of cheek. The fact that she knows I can't drop kick her out of his garden probably has a lot to do with her attitude.
Little monsters grow to be bigger monsters. Children need boundries, they need rules and regulations, They need to know they can rely on parents but also that parents are not there to cover for them. Respect and social conscience needs to be instilled in the young from an early age. To ignore this is to ignore it at our peril.


Monday, August 27, 2007

Poor Jesus.

So another loser has found Jesus. Vick Mick, American footballer and multi-millionaire has pled guilty to being a total wanker.
From TMZ

""I will redeem myself" said Vick, "I have to."

Vick wasn't specific about the acts he was sorry for, but declared, "Dogfighting is a terrible thing. I reject it."

Between apologies to everyone from NFL commissioner Roger Goodell to Atlanta Falcons owner Arthur Blank -- to all the kids who used to look up to him, Vick declared that he's found Jesus and has turned his life over to God.

"I was ashamed and totally disappointed in myself, to say the least. I want to apologize to all the young kids out there for my immature acts. What I did was very immature, so that means I need to grow up."

Vick also dropped part of his apology in the third person saying, "I totally ask for forgiveness and understanding as I move forward to be a better Michael Vick the person, not the football player."

During the presser, Vick made it clear several times that he never "pointed the finger" and is prepared to face the consequences of his actions.

After speaking for nearly five minutes, Vick left the podium without taking any questions."

What the hell is it with folk that the minute the shit hits the fan they suddenly dial up Jesus' gaff and want to hang out? Lohan did it after crashing her car while off her face, Paris Hilton waffled on about meeting Jesus and doing each other's hair while she was in prison for being an idiot and a spoilt brat. Reverend Ted Haggard ditched Jesus and went to hang out/do crystal meth with a male prostitute, then got caught and went hightailing it back to Jesus faster then I can type 'busted.'
Poor old Jesus, he's like that kid that lives on the street that no one really likes, but they'll hang around with him when they have fights with their real friends, but as soon as they make up with their pals he gets dumped and has to spend the rest of his time building forts alone and talking to his dog a lot. Seriously, if I was Jesus I'd just say, 'dude, don't call me, okay, I"m busy, I've got real friends of my own now. I had to raise them from the dead, but their mine. Dig your own ass out of trouble.'
That's what I would do. Then I'd totally smote them. Smote them like a fox.


Football, Irish style.

I went to a bar with some chumlies and the Paramour to watch Dublin v Kerry yesterday. Being the sort of gal who can explain offside and who likes to yell abuse at referees on television and wonder aloud if Jens is going the way of Seaman, it should be clear that soccer is more my game than Gaelige football. However it was a bar, it was sunday afternoon and there was beer so I went along.
It would be safe to say I wasn't expecting much.
But slap my thigh and call my lady patch babs, what a game! So fast, so brutal, so skilled, what speed, what guts, what bravery and balls! I loved it! I know at one point I slapped the arm off Chumley sitting to my right yelling, 'DID YOU SEE THAT!? THAT"S SOME KICK!" And it was.
Oh it was splendid, real end to end stuff with a nerve wracking few minutes from the end when I really did think Dublin might just claw their way back level. It was really very thrilling indeed.
So much so that I'm going to go and watch the all Ireland final between Kerry and Cork in that very same bar, although I may have to go alone. The paramour says he's still slightly deaf.
Eeeeee, discovering new things to enjoy is terrific. I'm very much for that.
Gaelige football, super stuff all together.
Now, who do we think will win between Cork and Kerry?


Saturday, August 25, 2007

Pissing in the wind.

Honestly, that's how it feels. I got up early, went for my x-ray had it done (3 photos) sat outside for a moment, and then the lady came out and said, 'your doctor should have the results in a week to 10 days.'
WHAT? Why can't you tell me, I might have asked.
She repeated her first line and wandered off.
A week to 10 days? What about my fucking training! I wanted to yell, but there was nobody to yell at except the girl whose turn it was next. So I didn't yell. I went home instead. Then I went to the gym and in my fury knocked 2 mins 26 seconds off my 5000m row.
Which was awesome.
I"m still mad, but less so, aren't gyms the dog's bollocks.


Friday, August 24, 2007

A minor adjustment.

Dear Chulutha, I almost forgot! I knew something was mising, I just felt it in my water. Happy Gingerday everyone, have a stonking weekend.


Amy Winehouse.

This is the love Amy Winehouse and her darling husband Blake managed to inflict on each other last night. They're married a wet weekend right? This must be what people mean when the honeymoon period wears off.


Let's give Friday a big hand.

I don't know how I missed this, but....

" during the week 24 year old macrodactyly patient Liu Hua from Jiangsu, the arrived at the Shanghai No. 9 People's Hospital for radical plastic surgery. He was born with a left thumb, index and middle finger much larger than normal, which grew dramatically together with his arm as he grew older and this had a serious impact on his work and day-to-day life. From Shanghai Daily:

When Liu was hospitalized in Shanghai last month, his left thumb measured 26 centimeters, his index finger was 30cm and his middle finger 15cm. The overall weight of his left arm was about 10 kilograms.
"It was the biggest hand in the world," said Chen Zuliang, a hospital official. "Liu's fingers stopped growing in recent years so plastic surgery was at last possible to correct the malformation."

On July 20 surgeons began a seven-hour operation to reduce the size of Liu's fingers and thumb. Doctors removed 5.1kg of flesh and bone in the procedure.

Doctors say Liu will have to come back to the hospital in another six months for surgery to reshape his left arm and shoulder. He is now left with three fingers on his left hand -- the thumb, the ring finger and his little finger, but it is hoped that with some training and rehabilitation, life will soon be back to normal for him, and he will no longer have to find ways and means to hide his hand whenever he goes out."

I'm baffled how he ever hid it, but yikes, really, yikes.


Thursday, August 23, 2007

Mr. July for Shebah.

I'm guessing this chap could easily pull a gal from a burning building. Now, where did I put those matches?


Gardai fitness.

There is a bit of a bruhaha in the media about whether or not a sikh man- who applied to join the Gardai reserves-should be allowed wear his turban. Personally I think a uniform is a uniform and let that be that. However I"m not too bothered about it one way or another, but I do wonder will he be asking to carry his sword too, and if not, why not?
Like I say, I'm not too bothered.
On the other hand I am bothered by lardy-arsed cops.
Yesterday I made my way to a cheese and wine thingie at a dear friend's home. I was heading down the canal and due to some roadworks I had to make a minor change to my route which took me through the leafy gorgeousness that is Dartmouth Square. Velly pleasant it was too, windows open, cats lounging in the warm evening air, a bottle of perfectly chilled wine in my backpack...delightful.
I was almost at the Lesson street church when URHRHHRHRHHRHRHRHHRHRH, a bloomin' squad car screeched to a halt in front of me and out popped Police chief Wigam.
Now naturally my first thoughts were, 'I'm innocent I swear. I did take her watch but I was young and it got broken in a basketball game. Tell my mother I"m sorry.' But my mild panic abated when PCW thundered past me, clutching his walkie talkie to his anti-stab vest, and lumbered up the road at the speed of snow.
Now as he huffed and puffed his way along a second man came around the church and roared. 'He went the other way.'
PCW waved breathlessly and took off at a crawl up Lesson street towards the bridge. I-ambling along behind him- almost caught up to him at the lights.
He turned and came back down the street towards me , just as a blonde woman wearing a sun dress and dirty white socks came out of one of the buildings.
'DID YA GET HIM?' quoth she.
PCW-quite out of breath from his 40 metre trundle- squints at her. ' 'Who are you now?"
Ye Fucking thick,' quoth she most unamused, 'I'm the one he done it to.'
And at this point I passed them and missed out on any more of their delightful conversation and what exactly the missing suspect might have 'done'.
But see here, even if the suspect had been standing across he road eating a bag of chips PCW wouldn't have caught him, not unless the suspect was slower than a one legged dog. And that's ridiculous.
But not as ridiculous as having unfit Gardai. The job of the Gardai is to protect us tax paying citizens from miscreants and reprobates. To protect us Gardai should be able to do one of two things in my view, catch and subdue suspects. Now I have no doubt that PCW could have subdued a suspect merely by sitting on him, but unless said suspect lay down voluntarily, no dice.
Certain jobs require a certain physique. Firemen need to be strong enough to drag or carry an unconscious person from a building and lug hoses around, and if my semi naked char-idee calendar is anything to go by they seem to be hitting the weights room regularly, (phoawoor Fireman July).
So what of the Gardai? Isn't there a physical? Don't they have to maintain a level of fitness?


Wednesday, August 22, 2007

A running question.

Morning, Finn is away taking a well earned break so I can't ask her. But I have a question to any runners out there who might be able to advise.
I hurt my right ankle some weeks back in the addias 5 mile road race. It happened when a fellow runner clobbered me while leaping out of the way of a garda bike. She knocked me into a ditch and I landed awkwardly. I finished the race, but I was hobbling for a few days after. There was no swelling and no bruising but some pain.
Since then I have had on and off pain in my right ankle-which I will be getting x-rayed next Saturday. I took a few weeks off, and began to run again on it two weeks ago, I did a 12 k and a 16 K run and it held fine, then I did another run and it ached about a kilometre ffrom home, and was sore for two days after. There appear to be a ridge of 'bumps' on the lateral line above the ankle bone.
I"m not running on it at all right now in the hope that whatever is wrong will be satisfied by more rest.
The marathon is the end of October and the sole reason I've been running (I'm not a natural runner, but I do love a challange). However this injury has ballsed up my training schedule and so my question is, factoring in a probable two more weeks of rest and a clear call on the x-ray, can I get my training back on track in time for a marathon at the end of October? I was runing 35 to 45K a week and up to 20 k on the long runs. I've kept my fitness levels up using the rowing machine 5000m and 10,000m rows, 20/30k bikes rides.


Tuesday, August 21, 2007

Having children seems to be a bit of a bother.

There was an article in the Daily Mail to day that made both my eyebrows engage in St Vitus Dance.
Corinne Maier, mother of two children aged 13 and 10 has just published a book called, No Kid, 40 Reasons Not To Have Children, and naturally it has caused considerable outrage in France where it was first published.
Her arguments against having children most boil down to how inconvenient they are. Well yes, I imagine they are, so if you don't want to be inconvenienced perhaps you should not have them. Certainly writing a book about how distasteful is is to have children while you have two of your own is just down right cruel.

"I found the hardest thing to give up when I had my children was my personal freedom.
There is no time left to be you any more. If I hadn't had them, I would have spent my money travelling the world. I could enjoy my money, rather than being stuck at home waking them up every day in time for school.

Once you have children, there is no space for spontaneity any more. We tried to go to an art exhibition last weekend which we'd been looking forward to for ages, but we had to take the kids along and they hate art.
They whined so much that we gave up and left without seeing anything.'

Whinge moan, aren't they little bastards for not liking art. Poor kids. I feel very sorry for them. But this one nailed it for me.

"People often ask me what my children think of the book, but they don't give a damn.
They live in their own world and I live in mine. I would never give my daughter advice on whether she should have children. I don't care if I have grandchildren or not, but I know that if I do, I don't want to look after them too often."


I also feel sorry for the kids of the rebuttal woman. Her name is Ursula Hirschkorm and she has two children aged 3 and 1. Her reasons to have children seem to center on the fact that she can now let her body go and ease into middle age guilt free. Although she claims becoming a parent makes you be less selfish most of her points seem to be centered on her and how she feels.

"My husband would come home from work and our entire dinner conversation would be about the milestones Jacob had reached, no matter how infinitesimal."
"Now I know that not all pregnancies are as rosy as mine, which were a round of cat naps and guilt-free chocolate scoffing, but the end result makes it all worthwhile even if you've spent nine months fighting morning sickness."
"When I was a new mum to Jacob, I remember saying to my husband that if I were to die then that it wouldn't matter so much because I had done the best thing I ever could in having my son."

Sweet Jebus on a moped. She's frightening. What is she going to do when her kids grow up and she's not the center of their world any longer? Will she call them up every night to make sure they say 'I love you Mommy'?

In an ideal world having children should boil down to this. Have them if you want, don't have them if you don't want them. But if you do have them you shouldn't lay all your anger and guilt and emotional well being on them. They are people too. Maybe adults should just consider that.


Monday, August 20, 2007

Richard Dawkins takes on the real frauds! part 2

Don't forget, Dawkins is going after Reiki-spit spit- and 'alternative medicine' tonight, chanel 4 eight o'clock.
Must see TV.


Teenagers can be critical.

I was at the gym early yesterday morning. Surprisingly it was packed. I didn't realise so many people spent Sunday morning there.
I was doing sets of curls, push jerks, dips and 5000m of rowing(I have an x-ray apt for next Saturday on the ankle). I felt tired, good and pink faced when I was finished.
I went to the changing room. My locker is at the back of the room and around the corner from a mirror. I was walking towards it when I noticed a girl blow drying her hair.
YOu couldn't help but notice her. She was beautiful in the same way swans are beautiful.
She was about 6 feet tall, slender- not even an extra fold of skin as far as I could see, damn her. She had long almost waist length hair rich brown hair and golden skin, she looked part Asian. She was blow drying her hair. She wore a red bra, slim fit jeans and high heeled sandals, nothing else.
She was absolutely beautiful. Just one of those stunningly perfect freaks of nature.
I reached my locker and started getting out of my sweaty clothing. As I was getting changed I noticed two young ones sitting half swaddled in towels on the bench to my right. They wore swimming costumes and were yacking away, but every now and again on of them would check out the girl drying her hair, on the sly of course. Sly like a hippo in a tutu is sly.
The hair dryer stopped and the beautiful girl walked away.
That was when I heard...
'Did you see the state of her feet?"
'Jesus they were manky.'
They flip-flopped past me and made their way to the pool. Short, pale, big thighed but heads held high.
I wrapped a towel around me and headed for the showers. The stunner was in the second aisle, closing her locker door.
I couldn't help it. I glanced down.
She did have horrible feet.
I love teenagers sometimes.


Friday, August 17, 2007

An author is born!

Twenty's cover is unleashed. Congratulations sir, may the next round be on you.


A pair of boobies for Birthday boy Kim.

Picture the scene. It's a grey day in Scotland, a brittle breeze is bustling through the croft as Kim Ayres, resident thinker, ponders whether or not his dreams are trying to tell him something, or if they're just dreams, the workings of the subconscious mind.
His family are at the shops, buying all manner of boring food that his good lady wife will turn into delightful food, and Kim, enjoying a few moments tranquility and quiet, is at peace with the world.
When suddenly...

'Well hey there!'
'What the hell?"
'I"m Ambyr-with a 'y' and this is jSondra, with a 'o'
'An O' ' Kim sputters.
'Dayet what I sayed, with a 'o'. Anyways, we was jist passin' and we got a call from our agent Bennly, dayet is wit a silent 'L' -
'Passing? From where?'
'and he sayed us we was hired by some gal in Dublin to perform. He sayed you was havin' some kind of birthday this week? So me and jSondra decided we'd come on by know, help you celebrate n' shit.'
'Urgh, stop stop, stop taking off clothes. I'm a family man, and this-'
'jSondra, show him yer moves grl! Move yer bad face.'
'Mf trypm, bur ir nr eary when mr libs dis swulln.'
'Oh that jSondra, such a kidders, ain't ya grl. Kim, I sure do hope you don't mind if I use masking tape on you. I find most men jist cain't resist them little paw paws when we gets to ballin'. Hold his legs jSondra-'
'Ur gr 'em.'
'NO! NO!. Please, get off me, arrrrgggghhh. Good God, what is that?'
'Oh that? That's nuthin' jSondra cover that thing will ya Hun? You know folk get funny when it's lookin' at 'em lyke dat.'
'Dis urgay?'
'Okay Grl, this puppie's a cutie patootie ain't he..'
'Arrrghhhh! Stop patting me. Get out, I demand-'
'Okay, now, where did I put the microphone- Oh my GOSH! Jsondra! That's where you bin carryin' dem? Lord grl, what else you go stored away up there. Hahahahahhahaa.'
'Well, that's plain dumb, how you gonna keep it cool?'
'Ice. Ur luurk iz belted.
'Oh Jesus, Oh Jesus, Help! Help me someone!'
'Quit hollerin' Kim, we're almost ready. Lord men jist so impatient. jSondra put yer fancy hat back on. We ain't got all day grl. Now. Okay, where was we? Oh yeah.'

They grab their mikes.

'This here song, Bennly sayed wuz requested for you special like. Now normally we don't sing this kind of song, but well, shit, it's your birthday ain't it? so we'll do it.'
'But I didn't request anything, other than 'get out of my house.''
'Sure sugar.'
'Sr surgr.'
'He sure is lively. Now. One two three.'

"I will have all the things that I desire, and my passions flow like rivers in the sky,

And after the loves of my life, after all the loves of my life,

You'll still gonna be the one.

MacArthur Park is melting in the dark, all the sweet, green icing flowing down,

Someone left the cake out in the rain,

I don't think I can take it, cause it took so long to bake it,

And I'll never have that recipe again, oh no, oh no!""

'Umber, lurk, es faintured.'
'Well dayum jSondra. I cain't hardly believe it. That's the second one dis week.'
'Thurs bloods in ees eurs?'
'Maybe we best be gettin' goin'.'
'But whud a bur ma sexy dance?'
'Shit Jsondra, if our singing blitzed him what in tarnation do you think your dance would do grl? No jSondra, some men caint handle the goodies, and that's a fact.'
'jSondra Hon, I"m not meanin' to be cruel nor nuthin', but grl, you really need to get that thing looked at, it's starin' at me again.'
'I think ids grurning teedh.'


Children are really entertaining.

Happy Ginger day. I laughed, then I re-watched it and laughed some more. Yes, I do find that sort of thing hilarious. Maybe I am mean, who can say?
Now, what did I do with that post for kim and his blog birthday. Hum... not quite ready, but looking as vile as I like them to look.


Thursday, August 16, 2007

An expensive visit.

I have just been to my GP to have my ankle checked out. She looked at it, felt it and said, 'hummm.'
Then she said 'you'll need to get it X-rayed.'
Then she charged me 60 Euros.
The end.

Coming up next week, will fatmammycat get an appointment with a hospital for an X-ray this side of Christmas? Or will the fact that they 'close' at 4:30 play any part in her efforts. Stay tuned and find out.


Super powers.

If you could choose one, which super power would you like to have?

I have had a very dreamy nights sleep. Lots of war, and land mines and tanks with eels in them that protect where Tom Cruise and Kate (ie) Holmes are doing their best to re-enact that scene from V where the baby comes out and then hisses with a forked tongue.
Also I could fly, and I really like those dreams. You spread your arms, run a bit and VOILA, up you go. YAY!
So, I pick that. So did the paramour, although he didn't seem to give it a lot of thought. Perhaps he wanted me to stop talking to him until the snooze button had gone off fifty-five times (velly annoying that, why can't people just set alarms for when they get up?)
Although maybe I'd like telekinisis...
NO! Flying. I pick flying.
How 'bout you?


Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Seriously, that had to hurt... a lot.

Eel Bites Off Divers Thumb - Watch more free videos

Speaking of nibbly fish...


Sleep and rape, the perfect unicrime.

The following story if so fucking ludicrous it would be laughable if it wasn't so bloody serious.
From the daily Telegraph.

"A BRITISH RAF mechanic who claimed he was sleepwalking when he had sex with a 15-year-old girl has been cleared of rape.

Senior Aircraftsman Kenneth Ecott, 26, wept after a jury took two hours to find he was not responsible for his actions.

Mr Ecott did not deny having sex with the girl, but said he had no memory of it happening.

Instead he insisted he had a condition known as sexsomnia in which sufferers carry out indecent acts in their sleep.

It was this affliction that made him climb naked on top of the girl at a friend's birthday party sleepover in Poole, Dorset, the Bournemouth Crown Court heard.

The girl screamed when she awoke.

Mr Ecott was said to have confessed to the girl's family and apologised for having sex with her.

But when he was arrested in his barracks at RAF Brize Norton, Oxfordshire, he told police he was prone to sleepwalking.

He claimed to have been in a state of automatism while with the girl, meaning he was not aware of his actions.

His girlfriend told the court that he had fondled her in bed while asleep.'

Sexsomnia? SEXSOMNIA? That's new to me, but not to the courts it seems, this next one is from 2005,

"A Toronto area man was acquitted this week of sexual assault after a judge ruled he was asleep during the attack, a Canadian newspaper reported.

The acquitted 33-year-old landscaper had met a woman at a party in July. Both had been drinking and fell asleep on a couch.

The woman woke up to find the landscaper having sex with her and pushed him off. He immediately woke up, but told the court he only suspected they had had sex after going to the bathroom and finding he was still wearing a condom.

A sleep expert testified at his trial that the man suffered from sexomnia, a sort of sleep walking that includes sexual acts, likely brought on by alcohol, sleep deprivation and genetics.

The man had previously had “sleep sex” with four girlfriends, the court heard."

Sleep sex? What the fuck is sleep sex? who was asleep him or his girlfriends?

Wouldn't you think that if he knew he had this 'problem' he might reconsider sleeping next to drunk women he had only just met. The whole thing stink to the high heaven. And that RAF guy ADMITTED he had sex with that poor kid. Why did it even go to court?
Sleep groping? Sleep fucking? Sleep raping? What the hell is next, sleep stabbing, sleep shooting? Sleep driving car drunk?
If I killed someone while driving drunk do you think a jury would let me away with it if I said I was asleep? Fuck no. Only sleep rape gets to use that out of jail free card.
Poor kid.
This is an outrage.


Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Exfoliating fish?

I"m thinking blee, serious fucking blee.
From boing boing.

"Garra Rufa, a type of small tropical fish, also nicknamed Chinchin Yu, nibble fish or simply doctor fish, are put in hot springs. As they can live and swim freely in at least 43-degree-hot waters, they are naturally used for the treatment of skin diseases in such spas. When placed in the spa, these fish can feed themselves on the dead cells of the human body, since they only consume such cells, leaving the healthy skin of the human body to grow. The whole process is reportedly free of pain. It won't hurt and the bather might feel a pleasant tingling on his or her skin."

No really, bleeeeeee. Why can't folk just use loofahs? Or soap. Soap is good.


Hollywood fairy dust in short supply.

Being fabulous and glamorous is a full time bloody job and I have a grudging respect for folk who never have a hair out of place nor lipstick on their gleaming teeth. I really do. Gamma was like that, no matter what hour of the day or night she wore full make up and her hair was set, set like iron. She could have wandered through a hurricane and her hair would not have moved an inch.
My Spanish Friend is like that too, I have known her ten years and I have never -not even once- seen her in jeans, or indeed any kind of trousers. Or a jumper. She owns no t-shirts.
How odd actually.
I rather like old time movie stars for just the same reason, were there ever snaps of Ava Gardner standing smoking a fag in slippers or flipflops? Did Marlena wander through Kitsons in a tracksuit? Did Lana Turner ever leave the house with greasy hair, denim shorts, braless and unwashed?
I think not.
Back in the day stars had no choice but to look fabulous at all times in public. The studios owned them and they were film stars, they had to be otherworldly, unattainable, not like mere mortals, not like you and me, they were demi-gods. They were the orchids, the rare and beautiful, that folk- the humble daisies and buttercups- gawped at and dreamed about becoming.
These days, not so much.
Today our actors have feet of clay and in some cases plain old hooves. Mixed among the 'exhausted' the break ups, tattoos, adoptions, malnourished, coked out, bennied up, heroin smoking, dog carrying, car crashing, closet gay, cheating, lying, stealing, clothes grabbing, face lifting, score settling, dog fighting, house buying, trout lipped, lap top throwing megalomaniacs, there are still some actors and singers who operate with style and grace, but it seems that they are in the minority. They're probably not, but it just seem that way.
Anyway, with the advent of gossip sites and glossy weekly magazines we can see for ourselves that Hollywood is a ghastly blood sucking youth obsessed dump. But then it always was.
In the old days however Hollywood kept a lid on its grosser activities, a tight rein on the press, a dust pan and brush at the ready to sweep under the carpet all manner of scandals. There were drugs and abortions, affairs, underage sex, 'suspicious' deaths and closet gays in abundance, but hoi polloi new bugger all about it-except for the very occasional leak, and I blame Hedda Hopper for that, the clever minx.
Of course they did not have photoshop. Which is where I came in.
You can be as bad, sad, mad, deranged, junked up and in need of a decent parent all you like, but no matter. Sit still for a moment, shut up and smile. Don't worry about the track marks and the bags under your eyes, the bloated, belly, the sickly pallor, the washed out gaze.
Sit still for one moment and Hollywood will screw the lid back on, if only for a moment. Ah, there it is, the unattainable, the star quality. Too bad it won't last, fairy dust never does.
There will always be photoshop.
Photoshop is the news rehab.

Monday, August 13, 2007

Dawkins Update.

Don't forget chumlies, Dawkins takes on the mighty woo tonight, eight o'clock, Channel 4, for anybot who's interested. This bot will be glued to her seat and probably yelling, 'SEE SEE! WOO!I PHOOEY, BOSH, FLUMMERY!! TOLD YOU PARAMOUR, WOO!'
Then I'll ring my friend who believes in mediums and crystals and fuck knows what else and annoy her until she tells me to fuck right off. It's annoying and I'll be super smug and argumentative, it's the Dawkins' way.


A costly bare arse.

Have you ever looked on in annoyance at large drunken groups shouting and acting the maggot? * Been mooned by a load of arses on a bus? Flashed by a busty wretch and her equally busty hag friend? Yes?
Well then you might snicker a bit at the following story of bare arse cheek.
From the Sunday Times.

Patrick Devine 19 from Dunfanaghy was arrested on July 27th for exposing himself outside the house of a provincial Governor in Saint-Louis in Northwestern Senegal. Devin who has limited French, was in Senegal as part of a programme organished Teaching and Projects Abroad, working with street cildren. He was arrested and charged with Outrage du publique á la pudeur (indecent conduct) and has since been confined to a cell wth 40 other inmates. He appeared before a judge last Wednesday and has been ordered to remain in detention until August 29th.
His mother and uncles are on their way there now to see if they can free him.

Well now, I guess some folk take serious exception to mooning. Personally I have never been in favour of viewing pasty hairy arses nor ever understood why men and women think it's so hilarious. Whenever I see mooning I always wish I carried an air rifle or a blunderbuss, hell even a sling shot and some ball bearings, with me.
It ain't cute and it ain't funny.
According to the article Devin had been complaining on his Bebo site of having his 'worst week ever' due to losing his little toe to amputation ( pretty bad in fairness). But that was before his bare arse antics landed him in the clink. I'm willing to lay a safe bet that he is having a much more terrible week right about now. The stupid eegit.

* Before anyone starts I mean vomiting and being aggressive and in general being intimidating.


Saturday, August 11, 2007

Oh my God...

It is a day of beauty for most women, a day when families join, when a husband and wife declare their love and commitment to each other. For others however it is a day to spend loadsamoney on a chavtastic abomination.
Still, may they never waddle asunder, til knock off Channel, tan beds and Deee-ooor do them part.


Friday, August 10, 2007

Happy Blog Birthday Ladies!

"Pull up to my bumper ladies,
Feel my brand new package deal,
Pull up to my bumper ladies,
Doesn't it look just like an eel

Sparrow, Hanger,
Feel my,

Pull up to my bumper ladies.
Run your fingers through my hair.
Pull up to my bumper laydeees,
No, I meant the hair down there.

Hanger, Sparrow,
Feel my,

Pull up to my bumper Laydees....
and now I'm going to dance for you....
Awww yeah, watch me wink.'

Happy bloggy day laydees, whenever you feel glum I want you to think of David, no matter how drunk he gets or what he eats laying on the floor, he always gets jiggy with it.
Mwoah Mwoah,


Happy Gingerday everyone!

A ginger combo for Monstee, a Hucktop, if you will.

Well now, here it is, 'nother weekend is upon us, Chumly Warners, most swiftly too, the best way to get a weekend.
I"m feeling rather chipper for some reason. Perhaps it is because I have yet to read a newspaper or check my email. Maybe i should keep it like that.
It has been a sunny week here, apart from the evening I went on my run, my first since my injury in the addidas road race. Then it rained, a lot. But no matter. I ran, the ankle held and tomorrow I"m going to take Country Gay's mad lovable dog on a hike that will wreck the two of us.
This week I also spent a goodly time doing crossfit (we're not worthy!) and noticing things like, hey, I can lift that and I couldn't last month, and almost perfecting the squat, which I hate and my heels still come slightly off the floor. I am learning to do push ups while in a hand stand position. That is velly difficult and I have fallen over more than once. But how nice to be in your mid-thirties and learn new stuff that half kills you and also makes you look great. Me likey. Me sore, but me likey.
It was a bloggy birthday for FatSparrow and The Hanger Queen and I have a photo and a song coming up in dedication, poor old Hanger was trying to organise a blogger meet up but was shot out of the sky by unfortunate circumstances, however I say fuck that shit Devin, re-start those engines and fly high and proud.
But it is another sunny day here in Dublin and the paramour is talking feverishly about bar-b-cuing stuff, and I have a lunch date with my Spanish friend- these are always entertaining. I will wave my arms a lot and talk pidgin English even though I am fluent in English and she will get mad because people 'don unner-sta' 'er when she talk-it.' This always happens and at some point she will look at me wearily and say, 'Cheesus, de peoples r estupid or wadt?" And I will shrug, 'No, de jus don leesten.' (which I'm glad about for they would think me a moron, we have tried in Spanish but she claims my accent makes her laugh)
We will then drink sambuca which I will remember I don like-it attall so I will pour the rest of mine into her glass while she's not looking.
So a fine start to the weekend so! The summer is nearly over, the days are growing shorter, I hope everyone has a super mega hella cracking weekend doing velly nice things with friends and family and for people going to Gorey, well, yes. I really hope you have a good weekend, just remember the Wicker man and Hill street Blues and stay out of Frenchs, it's a local bar for local people.


Thursday, August 09, 2007

Monkey Business.

I laughed, from the BBC

"A man has been questioned by police at LaGuardia airport in New York after smuggling a monkey onto a flight from Florida by hiding it under his hat.
Passengers spotted the animal when it climbed out and perched on the man's ponytail, Spirit Airlines spokeswoman Alison Russell told reporters.

Ms Russell said the monkey - a marmoset - spent the remainder of the flight in the man's seat and was well-behaved.

It is unclear whether the unnamed man will face any criminal charges.

The man's journey originated in Lima, Peru. Ms Russell said it was not known how the man avoided detection there, and during a several-hour stopover in Fort Lauderdale, Florida.

When passengers noticed the fist-sized primate on the flight, they asked the man "if he knew he had a monkey on him", Ms Russell said.

New York animal control officials said the monkey appeared to be healthy, the Associated Press news agency reported.

It said the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention was planning to quarantine the animal for a month.

After that, the monkey could be sent to a zoo, AP said.'

That monkey is better behaved than my nephew.


Richard Dawkins takes on the real frauds!

Golly I haven't been this excited since, well, whenever the last time I was excited about something.

The God Delusion was an interesting read up to a point, but then that point got obliterated by Dawkins' 'I am so smart, s.m.r.t, I mean s.m.a.r.t.' act. But nonetheless, kudos to the man for not sitting on the fence and having the balls to take on the 'there is a god cause I say so' crowd. ("Oh you I say there isn't you say there is, let's call the whole thing la de la.')
But gadzooks! chumie warners, he is about to embark on a new series for the telly, it's called. The enemies of Reason and it start on C4 on August 13th. In it Dawkins will level his Sauran's eye on...MUMBO JUMBO! Woo hoo, everything from tarot cards to all the new agey bollocks I hate so very much.
Oh joy, oh glee, oh if only it was me. We hates them precious, don't we piggy? Hates them with all our liver. I despise them frauds more than is natural and take great pleasure in fleering and snorting and rejecting with every beat of my heart with ever swoosh of my pancreas, with whatever my appendix actually does. Hates them! As Melvin says, 'I'm using the word hate here.'
Well since it's not me and a blunderbuss, I'm super glad it's Dawkins and his brain. No better man to bestir the crackpots and call them out on their nonsense. Reiki,-spit-spit-, homeopathy, mediums, witches and warlocks...actually I made up the last two but you know there are people who watched too much charmed and are convinced they've got 'powaaars.'
There was a wonderful excerpt in the Time about when Dawkins consults a medium- who is appears on TV and charge 50 pounds (sterling!) for instant phone readings. She told him she could see his father on' the other side' and that Dawkins' father was 'right behind him'. After blathering woo for a few minutes she ask Dawkins why he desn't have his father's photo out, only to learn that Dawkins' father is alive and well and visits with Dawkins every week.
The medium's reply? 'I don't feel it's working.' And my personal favourite gem, 'as a clairvoyant you're only as good as the client'. That's right honey, if you can't cold read them you're basically fucked.
Oh and it's a beautiful sunny day in Ireland, blue blue skies, warm, birds singing. It's a sign I tell you, some karmic sign, Dawkins, woo and sun...I believe! I BELIEVE! I believe I will have a glorious day.


Wednesday, August 08, 2007

Rent-a-pet, part time love.

I'm only getting round to reading the Sunday papers now, but a small article in the Times left me scratching my head. I cannot decide if it is a good idea or just plain nuts.
Flex-Petz has the solution for folk who want to spend time with a pooch but just don't want or can't have a pet.
'Some people buy time-shares in condos, others in canines. Yes, pet sharing--once the province solely of divorced couples--is giving free-market forces a scratch behind the ears. The nation's first rent-a-pup store opened its doors six months ago in San Diego when FlexPetz started rescuing dogs from animal shelters and renting them out for as little as a few hours or as long as a week. The company is doing so well it opened a branch in Los Angeles in June, and will be in San Francisco and New York City by September.

But while many shelters think the business plan is a win-win for time-pressed humans and dogs that would otherwise be homeless or euthanized, opponents say pet sharing is morally irresponsible and traumatic for animals that get passed around among temporary owners. "Dogs are a lifetime friend and companion, not a two-hour piece of rental equipment," says Michael Markarian, executive vice president of the Humane Society of the U.S., which encourages busy canine lovers to volunteer at shelters or hospitals instead.

FlexPetz founder Marlena Cervantes counters that the firm safeguards its animals through customer screening and mandatory training. "We are giving these pets an opportunity to be taken care of," she says. And with $700 in annual fees, plus $25 per weekday rental and $40 per day on the weekend, these pets don't come cheap. But that hasn't kept animal lovers from ponying up."

Seriously, I just don't know what to make of it. I often take Country Gay's dog with me for a gad about the park, so I understand the company issue, plus he enjoys it too-especially if there is water involved- so it's win win. But to hire a dog for weekends?
That said, I would like to hire a Clydesdale and ride him up down Grafton Street on a Saturday, looking for people with visible thongs and spitters. So far no dice, but I"ll find one eventually. I will wear leather, he will wear a silver breast plate and martingale.


Clothes in my wardrobe.

Have you ever looked into your wardrobe and thought, 'I hate everything that is in here and I have absolutely nothing to wear so I"m going to wear these jeans and this t-shirt until they fall off me' ?
I mean, there are clothes in there, but I think I hate them all, except maybe on or two dresses that are not exactly suitable to faffing about and cleaning out the cat litter.
I really feel like getting a couple of bin bags and tossing the whole lot into them- bar some jeans, those dresses, my footwear and my sports gear-and dragging the whole useless pile to a charity shop and starting again from scratch.
I'm sick looking at them, but of course the moment I toss one thing away I'll want it, IMMEDIATELY.
Maybe I can get away with just jeans and a white t-shirt all year round. I can pretend I"m a Ralph Lauren ad and when people ask in January, 'aren't you cold?' I can toss my head back, shiver and laugh and pretend I'm a marina somewhere about to go sailing for the afternoon with a picnic hamper full of berries and smoked salmon. I might knot a pastel jumper around my shulders for really cold days.
No wonder Hugh Hefner just wear pyjamas day in day out.


Tuesday, August 07, 2007

For Jack.

Miss Finn, we didn't find it, but ths struck me as apt.


Happy bleeding day! (this post may contain swear words)

Monstee, in his usual purple pawed way had drawn my attention to this piece of fucking nonsense...

Celebrate being a girl? Because I bleed?
Firstly I ain't no girl I'm a woman, and secondly why would that make me celebrate? I didn't have any say in the matter. Do men celebrate being men? Do toads celebrate being toads? No, they just fucking well are what they are.

I mean seriously, are they fucking kidding me? Who the hell are they trying to fool? What woman in her right mind goes, 'YEAHHHH PERIOD DAY!" (unless she was worried about 'the change' or pregnancy) time to celebrate being a woman?'
I notice in their coping tripe there is not a single mention of 'taking a handful of painkillers and gulping them down with a glass of lukewarm water', oh no, not rosy and smiley enough.
Herbal tea? HERBAL TEA?
Maybe I should just go the fuck to a pet store and buy two Dalmations and get them to pull me along a boardwalk somewhere sunny while I wear in-line skatezz and WHITE FUCKING SHORTS to show how happy I am that the lining of my womb and whatever fucking egg I didn't get fertilized is sloughing painfully out. I mean, it makes women happy, right? RIGHT? I can strap up my sore breasts and do yoga, maybe rub my bloated and swollen stomach and eat chocolate, ooooohhh yeah, that will make it all worth while. UUUUU go me! Fuck the back ache and the backwards typing, maybe hang-gliding would make me enjoy happy time all the more.

DEAR ALWAYS, shove it up yer ronson. You know fucking what, women get periods all the bloody time, one a month in fact, it's part of who we are, we don't fucking fall apart when we get them, despite them being a HUGE pain in the arse. We don't need to resort to spoiling our pretty little selves, laughing, drinking herbal tea and sleeping in watching old movies while consuming buckets loads of chocolate. And the sooner you lot get your fat heads around that and governments stop taxing the fuck out of sanitary towels and tampons the fucking better.


Fat Cats, more common than I thought.

Apparently lying around the house all day eating and taking no exercise increases the chance that you will grow fat and- at some point-develop diabetes.
I"d like to say I"m shocked but...well, I'm not.

From the BBC

"Cat owners have been urged to watch the waistlines of their pets as a rising number of felines are diagnosed with obesity-related diabetes.
A study by Edinburgh University has shown that one in 230 pet cats in the UK is now diabetic.

Overweight cats are said to be more than three times as likely to suffer from diabetes, which develops when the body has problems making insulin.

Neutered males that do not get adequate exercise are particularly at risk.

Cat lovers have been warned to crack down on treats for their pets if they are to avoid the risk of them developing the potentially fatal condition.

Professor Danielle Gunn-Moore, from Edinburgh University's Royal (Dick) School of Veterinary Studies, said: "This is the first study of its kind to try to quantify diabetes among cats in the UK and the results show extremely worrying levels.

"To reduce your cat's risk of developing this often fatal disease you need to keep them active, and not allow them to gain too much weight."

Between 85% and 95% of diabetic cats suffer from type II diabetes, which is commonly associated with obesity.

More than two million people in the UK have the condition.

Prof Gunn-Moore said: "The lifestyle of cats, just like their owners, is changing.

"They are tending to eat too much, gain weight, and take less exercise.

"Unfortunately, just like people, cats will overeat if they are offered too much tasty food, particularly if they are bored and have little else to do.

"While cats would naturally exercise outside, many cats are now housebound - perhaps because they live in a flat or because their owners feel that it is too dangerous to let them out - so they have little to do all day but eat, sleep, and gain weight.""

It's true you know. I've just come back from holiday and Puddy, who stayed with my Spanish friend in an apartment in town, put on exactly one and a half pounds in weight in ten days. This is because my Spanish friend spoiled her rotten for the time she was there, giving her milk instead of water and cooked ham instead of dry food flavoured with sachets. As a result Puddy was delighted and rounder. The other two cats- who did not live the high life for a week- lost weight, mostly due to stress.
I only feed my cats once a day, and that is at night when they are going in to bed, left to their own devices they would quite cheerfully eat all day. A bit like my mother.
Cats are natural scavengers and my lot are no different, who the bloody hell knows what they're eating throughout the day, but other than what they find their food intake is not enormous and they all appear fit and healthy, even Puddy who is 16 and has had cancer.
Overfeeding your pets is not a kindness, especially as they get older. But try telling that to an owner whose cat is doing loops under their feet and meowing.


Monday, August 06, 2007

Transformers! A fatcat review.

Transformers: A short and spoiler free review.

'What the fuck? Baby daughter? Oh ahahahah, Marines don't curse.'
Verump! Love you honey! Boom! Verump! SUPER HELLA BOOM!Verump! SMASH BOOM BOOM!
'Cooooooool, did you see that paramour? It was a sonic boom!! Look at the tanks, see how they...wooooooaaahhhh!'
Boom, bang bang bang, Urgh.
"LOOK OUT! this popcorn is yicky. I'm gonna call it poopcorn. Golly, you're very fucking stoned."
"Is Jon Voight in every film out now?'
'Heee heee, he's funny, Perez hates him but fuck Perez, she's no Angelina,'
'Weeeeeeeee, it's not a car! We should have got chewy snakes, I love them.'
'I should have got M&Ms.'
'Presto chango!!!! "Transformers Robots in Disguise!!!"
'Honey stop singing.'
'Honey, shusssh!'
'Hey look, that's fucking cool!'
Crash,wallops, heee heeee.
Get the glasses! Quick! Offer to kill the small dog.
'That's like Toffee/Poppy's Big surprise!'
'John Tuturro! Whaaaaaaaa?'
Blam, slam explosion!
'He's mean! Get back to the Cohen brothers' you filthy bum! They've done the Cormac McCarthy's bloody book you know!'
'Weee, don't give up BUMBLEBEE! WE LOVE YOU! Why would a robot have eyelashes?'
Let's go to the super secret base camp with these nobodies.
Oh oh, Megatron's pissed!
Fight! Fight! Shoot Shoot, type type!
KIsssy kisssy,
Fight to somebody's death,
'Did you know he's going out with Fergie from Black Eyed Peas? Bleee, HOLY SHIT! IT"S FALLING!'
'Weeeee, noble speeches suck, who the fuck cares, bring back the sounds!'
Urgh, KIssy kissy,
noble speech.
"This is the worst popcorn ever. Where's the car again?'
'I thought you were going to call it poopcorn?'
'What's with the spirit fingers?"
'That was some good grass.'
'It is the only way to see films.'


Friday, August 03, 2007

Ode to Ginger

Or, a love that cannot be denied. Have a wonderful weekend chumley warners!

Oh ginger one,
so peach and curly,
with freckly skin
and arms most burly
my chumlies here,
cannot yet grasp,
my fascination with
your ass
and face and hair and
mouth so trouty
like a toad, but more
But fear not
Ginger prince, my heart's possession
I know my not so secret obsession
is wiggling its way into their
they'll dream of you, your pink behind
all glistening oily,
faintly smutty
like a pink sliced peanut butter
fried jam butty
And when they wake all tingly, heart racing,
they'll know exactly where
the blame to be placing,
On me! My prince,
my ginger bread man,
yer number one fan.


MegRyanFish. A Fishy Friday Foto For Finn

This ladies and gennellmenz is MegRyanFish, won for me by a drunken Paramour, using only one eye and three pointy darts, on our holiday. Some alcohol was involved. I then took MegRyanFish to a turkish bar and charmed the owner into pouring yet more rum into our bellies by making MegRyanFish dance/swim and sing, 'Somewhere beyond the Sea.' Also I took MegRyanFish up a Ferris wheel. But that was scary and no rum was involved, although there were two terrified Spanish/Estonians and one praying Irish woman. But MegRyanFish was a trouper and I"m taking him to Glendalough next time I go.
Piggy is not fond of MegRyanFish, but that is because he is a pig and does not like sharing the bed.


Hey hey hey, pow pow, bazonga.

'Hey Carrot top, over here! Sign these.'


A foto filled Friday! Ginger, Ginger, whatcha gonna do?

Remember a few weeks ago I posted a picture of that dude with the deformed arms? 'member? I laughed about steroids? And how chances are they might be bollocksing up folk's bodies? But then I went into one about how much I loved the gym, blah di blah, and I probably bowed and uttered the words 'cross fit' (We're NOT WORTHY!) 'member?
From Michael K's personal drawers.


Thursday, August 02, 2007

Work. A vile, but necessary evil.

Having read Manuel's post about how he deals-quite admirably-with the people who frequent his restaurant, I am filled with a mild awe. I don't now how he does it. I don't know how anyone does it-work with people that is. I couldn't do it. I'd get fired. Probably very rapidly indeed. Or arrested. Hummm, yes that seems more likely.
How do people do it? It can't just be me? Can it? Have any of you just upped and left a job because you simply couldn't carry on without throttling someone or pitching them out a third floor window? I once vomited going to work in a place I hated, not just once actually. And in another I left mid way through my third day having told my short lived boss to shove his job up his rancid hole, then I walked two miles home and went to bed for the day.

I am self employed, and -apart for the normal fear of failure that comes with self-employment - I rather like my job for great tracts of the year. So bearing that in mind I feel rather churlish about bitching, churlish but not churlish enough to not go right ahead and bitch. Once or twice a year I have got to put on my petticoats and best hat and go out and drum up more business. I am forced to bridle up and rein in my firm belief that most people are idiots and I don't like talking to them, or worse, have them talking AT me. I must shut my yap, nod a lot and deal with agencies and all manner of folk, who are fickle and highly strung and give me the heaving jeebies.

I am further pitched in to deep gloom by the knowledge that this month is one of those times.

My appointment book is quite full over the next few weeks, full of people I must speak with in a work capacity. Because I don't do this sort of thing very often, indeed I can go months without ever having to dress up, tone down, cease eye rolling, and stop snorting in mild amusement, I don't expect any of you to have an sympathy. Indeed I am not looking for any. Just grumbling.

I could never do PR, I could never work in the service industry. If I was a guard I would be Captain Dudley Smith and I would wear black gloves, a lot.
Mornings like this, when the sun don't shine and the very first email of the day is a frothy two lines that already has the bubbles of misanthropic bile popping with ease are the very worst.
And I am gloomy. I suspect this is day is going to be full of pointless frothy emails. Emails I must answer with a degree of civility. And worse than anything, it appears I must spend time on the PHONE today. And I hate phones. Then I must have a meeting this afternoon, and I hate meetings.
So can I just say, to all of you who work with folk on a daily basis, who deal with the public, who must have meetings, share space and offices and answer phones and tolerate managers and idiotic bosses and lazy staff and people who refuse to get back to you when they say the will thus causing you to yell at your entirely blameless dApple computer, can I just say, I, Fatmammycat, salute you all.

Working with other folk, I"m so AGAINST IT I could weep!


Wednesday, August 01, 2007

A quite distressing phone call.

Well, how DO we feel about old school reunions? I feel a bit chaffed myself. Has anyone gone on one? What is the protocol? Are revenge fantasty style dreams just that, dreams? Are they as ghastly as I suppose? I need views, I need answers, I need valium.


Transformers! Rodorks in disguise.

Freaking awesome. I think I might have to go see this on Gingerday.