Cocaine, drugs, robots, porky-pies, mmmmmmpies.

Is it too early in the morning for this I wonder?
Bah, nope, let the mockery begin.
Not that I would doubt the veracity of a paper like the Sindo,(Sunday Independent for all you non Irish). Not that I think for one tini-tiny second it would make up sources, steal stories from innocent bloggers or use hyperbolic tactics to sell its delightful paper, but, and there is a mighty big 'but' blowing in the wind this very morning, the lead story from the Life section yesterday had me falling about the place laughing and shaking all over.
Well I wasn't but I might as well have been.
'The end Of The Line' was a story of drugs, cocaine (the champagne of drugs), to be exact and how it is rampant in Irish society and how it's... DUN... DUN... DUN, sorta addictive 'n stuff.
In a less than shocking expose, Niamh Horan goes on to interview some addicts about their experiences.
Except well, who knows if she did or not? Niamh Horan might have interviewed a pigeon outside her bedroom window and her teddy bear Walter (not his real name) for all the sense her 'interviews' made.
First up was the complete and utterly stinking rich Ian (not his real name) He started on the old coke at 19, pretty soon he was hooked and (shaking all over) spending up to 600 and 700 euros on the old coke a week. Like most 19 year olds, Ian ( not his real name) seems to have had an almost unlimited supply of money. But fortunately Ian (not his real name) got help. He told his Mammy (possibly not her real name) and she wasn't too pleased. Then he 'put more cocaine into his body' and his friends weren't too pleased, they took him (shaking all over) off to hospital where Ian (not his real name) was "put on a blood-pressure machine and a heart monitor. Then my family came in. They were very concerned, but I was on a lot of medication at the time, so the rest of it's kind of a blank."
Indeed.
He then attended (shaking all over) the Rutland Centre* and after a few false starts he stopped 'putting cocaine into his body' although no one will employ him -possibly due to the shaking- and he reckons his 'airwaves'are a bit blocked.
But before he returned to the hinterlands he had some words of wisdom to impart. 'At the moment there's an epidemic in Ireland, and it's like America was in the eighties. Nobody knows the dangers of it. People think that it's the champagne, the Rolls-Royce, of all drugs, but I can tell you first-hand that it's probably the most dangerous of them all.'
Quite.
Next up Philip! (not real name) Come on down dude! You're older right? Cause we're trying to go cross the boards here, last dude was 19, what are you? 27? Awesome!
Okay, so Philip, (not his real name) was working in "a high-profile computer company when he reached rock bottom" (those damn high-profile computer companies will do that to a person, heartless they are)
Philip (not his real name) had it worse than Ian, he 'turned into a robot' from taking cocaine. (at least he wasn't shaking all over).
But after missing a few Mondays at work and going beep-beep-beep when reversing, clippity-clop, off to the Rutland Centre* Philip (not his real name) went and despite worrying that he might 'have to live on a mountain" (clearly a fate worse than death), Philip was finally free of the dreaded drug and he returned to 'playing sport' (robots make terrific golfers)
Onwards dear readers!
Next!
Connor (not his real name)was "nearly addicted after the first time". At a mere 26 Connor was spending the 'guts of 300 Euros a day on cocaine' . Fortunately Connor (not his real name) told his family, made his Mam cry, skippity-hopped into The Forest rehab treatment centre (a place I cannot find) and before you can say 'wait, how much money were you-'he was cured.
Huzzah!
Next up Marie Byrne, (possibly real name) founder and director of the Aisling Group and she says, 'It's at epidemic proportions now, we knew it was going to happen more than 13 years ago.'
Marie talks a lot of talk, most of it anecdotal, but my personal favourite line was, 'I find that the scale of it is astronomical. Even with the schoolchildren (not real people-that was me) it's not a small number of them doing it, it's a lot. We can see that it's being used in house parties all over the country and in toilets in every pub in the country".
(Man that woman and her spies get everywhere, this is going to play havoc on my bladder, I don't even like to pee when someone can hear me)

Now like I said I simply could not accuse the Sindo of hyperbole, that wouldn't be right, but sources shaking all over, robots, epidemics, everyone's doing it in every toilet in the land? My word! Who knew? Did you? I was out and about this weekend not doing it and the people I was with were not doing it too! What's wrong with us?
You're probably doing it right now, aren't you?

Cocaine! While I don't give a rat's ass about it, I find I'm against it, purely on the grounds that I don't want to turn into a robot (unless it's a robot like Bender, that would be way cool)and I want to pee in peace.

* The paramour pointed out that the article in question might be a spoof and just an ad for the Rutland Centre. He might be correct.
There was a model used throughout said article and despite the fact that they had tried to gussy her up to look like a 'user' she was impossibly glamourous. I super especially liked the crotch shot, nothing says 'cocaine' quite like it.

UPDATE, using the power of his fingertips, Major has found The Forest rehab centre, it's in Wicklow.

Size zero and the morons that buy into it.

Now I wrote about this some time ago, October 20th to be precise, I called that post The Emperor's New Clothes, you know, in case anyone needs to borrow it.
Anyhoo. Squeaking in slightly horrified mirth at the tini-tiny clothing and wondering aloud what in God's name it was all about I remember laughing at the stupidity of it all and going about my business of eating and not fainting from hunger. I decided I rather like having breasts and a backside. It's important to me. It seems very important to the paramour.
So all good then.
Yesterday I picked up the Sunday Review from the Times and my eyes fell on-well to be honest my eyes were almost seared straight out of my head by that disgusting photo of Nicole Ritchie running on a beach in a blue bikini last year, you know the one, where she looks like she's fleeing a concentration camp.
But then mine eyes did see,
'My 6-week journey to the land of the Thin,' (they have their own land now? Who knew?) and check out the byline, ' What does it take for a normal woman to achieve size zero? In this graphic account of extreme dieting Kate Spicer reveals the revolting cost.'
Yep, so revolting Kate Spicer appears in her smalls showing off said new figure.
To save you from reading it all, let me condense it for you.
Healthy girl does really stupid diet. Loses weight by not eating very much at all, gets grumpy, feels unwell, chainsmokes, takes laxatives, abuses body, gets grumpier and teary, continues to not eat very much at all, ignores medical advice, gets grumpier still, becomes very unhappy, continues to abuse self, sticks fingers down throat, reaches week six, feels miserable and a failure-she says- while also bleating that she is a whole stone lighter. Writes article, poses in underwear, gets TV show, enrages fatcat reader.

Next! Move it along, nothing to see here. This schtick has been done to death.
Haven't we already had Louise Rednapp wasting away before our eyes on a television show called 'The truth about size Zero.' Was there not some other gal on in February munching her way miserably through a cabbage soup and laxative diet?
Who is this crap for exactly?
Spicer says at one point, 'Almost all women want to be thinner' This might be true, maybe we do, but you know what, most women I know don't want to be sick, they don't want to be miserable, they don't want to faint and have enemas, they don't want to be so obsessed with whether or not they lost that extra half pound that they cry, they don't want stick thin-bobble headed stars who look like they might snap in the wind to be held up as the 'ideal'.
This kind of article makes me want to hurl-but I won't because I liked my breakfast which was toast and-shock horror-cheese and ham spread. At no point does Spicer sound scathing about the situation she find herself in, at no point does she utterly decry the 'diet' as ridiculous. One senses in fact that she is rather impressed with herself and her determination. This journalist has just bought straight into the whole bloody game without even realising it.
And thanks for the glorious gleaned information on how to get to size zero. Who whould have thunk it? Not eating makes you super skinny! Taking laxatives makes you shit more. WOW! Thank you Kate Spicer, for your Herculean effort to debunk the revolting myth that starving yourself won't affect you at all.
Oh now, wait, hold up. That's not right now is it?
Give me a bloody break here. Is this supposed to be journalisim? This is news? This is even interesting? What does it take for a normal woman to live a normal life and not cry and not vomit? Why, not very much at all.
People starving themselves to death when perfectly good food is available, whether it be for fashion, meedja, or sheer stupidity, I"M AGAINST IT!