Leccy Piccy

I might go to Electric Picnic this year.

I have no interest in all the trendy bullshit music. "See that band over there dude, guys with the purple hair over their eyes and black and white striped jumpers, ja?, well they play keyboards run through distortion peddles, ja and they're called "Le" something... something French.. whatever is French is for "Theory"... but they're Welsh or Belgian or something and they are proper PROPER, loike". "Tiesto is playing, and we can hang with the knackers and pretend the world is grand, loike. Knackers are grand, jyaknow! Once you get yo know them they're the proper buzz, just like us, loike"

I don't want to go for the food, obviously. "Man go over to that little bus beside the bin area, mon, it's proper proper, loike. The Humous to Falafel ratio is loike.. sooo ledge. The Paella in the place beside it is so ledge and epic and they give you so many epic ledge chic peas that you can't even hold them on the soggy paper plate loike, ledge. I can't wait to get binned out of it, loike and scream how ledge Faithless are in my mates faces with garlic breath, loike ledge.

I don't want to go for the "buzz". I hate college people. I hate hippies. I hate college hippies. They're annoying. Especially culchie ones. They say things like "Oooooh my mate Bernard has a unicycle and a free gaff in Wexford" and they write shit like "No More Blood For Oil" in tip-ex on their bags. They tie-dye Led Zeppelin shirts that already come tie-died. Saps. I don't want to hang around with people who wear Crocs. You have to be simple to wear Crocs. Simple IN YOUR BRAIN. Fuck dreadlocks, they look shite if you're white. Go ahead. Grow dreadlocks, wear tie-dyed shit and crocs. You look like an European ad for LILT. Fuck the 5587375 engineering/art/whatever students calling each other epic ledges for falling over a fold up chair. Let's get this straight. AN EPIC NIGHT. What IS an epic night? Is it when Wicklow Mick climbed a tree after 4 sambucas? Is that all it takes? SOMEONE TELL KIRK DOUGLAS, THE DOPE, THAT SPARTACUS COULD HAVE BEEN MADE FOR A TENNER. EPIC LEGEND EPIC LEGEND. Fuck off.

So why then? Why do I want to go to Leccy?.. to EP10.. to LEC-PIC?-

Head shops are gone.

I want to go to see these people convulse on the ground somewhere between the David Gray tent and the Daft Punk tent, after taking really, really real, hard, illegal nasty, dirty, junkie drugs. This year, Epileptic Picnic is going to be a sea of vomit, murder and rape and I want to take photos of it and laugh at them ever day until I die, consumed by bitterness and hatred for everyone who isn't just like me.

Yeah...

Gay Day

Today I watched "Milk". Sean Penn was great in it. It musty have been strange to do gay love scenes if you're not gay. That thought kinda reminded me of that time I played a gay extra in an RTE show, years ago.

My mate rang me a few days before it was shooting and told me there was a few quid in it. About 7 of us, guys and girls, got on a bus to Bray. It wasn't a gay bus, just a regular one. When we got there everybody was checked up and down and sent to wardrobe. I wasn't sent to wardrobe. I didn't know if I should be embarrassed or chuffed. Not only was I not sent to wardrobe, but the guy told me to take my t-shirt off and give it to my mate, as my outer shirt, he said, looked perfect. I was too gay looking for one dude. We went into the toilet to make the switch. Some of this felt like beyond the call of duty method acting research.

While we were in the toilet, there was drag queens getting changed. These guys made me feel ill. Don't get me wrong, I don't have any issues with drag queens, but these dudes were fucking lazy bastards. One was putting on tights over hairy legs. It looked horrible. Mashed hair under what looked like his Granny's tights. One dude was putting on lipstick, but cheap looking poundshop stuff. He had stubble, so I guess it didn't take too much away from the look. I don't know much about transvestites, but I'm pretty sure these dudes were an absolute disgrace, AND they're going to be on television. Shirley Temple bar would have a mickey-fit if she saw. My shirt barely fit on my mate. Mad tight and ..well... A class move by the wardrobe direction guy.

We get out on the set and are assigned our positions (Insert suggestive murmer here). Shirley Temple Bar is there, beside a bingo machine, on the stage. Spoke too soon. This place is done up to look like the George someone said. There's a creepy old dude telling everyone that this is his 50th extra appearance. He was half shaved. He had missed a lot of spots. At least he tried harder than Bruno the half arsed tranny.

My two mates were put over beside the stage and me and another friend were put near the bar. Film sets are so boring. Hours filming the same scene where the main dude wins a round of Bingo and is called to the stage, we all clap and look as homosexual.. or at least as into Bingo as we can. My two mates were being too "cool dude" to get into it, so they were moved to the back and me and my friend were moved up to the seats. I guess we looked awkward and shy like perfect gay bar noobs. Between takes I was parched and went to drink some orange from a glass on the table but someone told me not to touch the prop drinks. Wouldnt want to get a continuity error there, no sir. Glasses don't empty or move postittion in pubs, sure.

That day ended, weeks passed and I had kinda forgotten all about it, apart from the money I was supposed to be getting sent out. I was out in town and I received a text from a friend. She wrote something along the lines of "SwitzSwoo Yougfelleh, you look FABULOUS on the screen"

I didn't get to see my "performance" until a few years later when it came out on double DVD and a friend bought it just to show everyone for the laugh . When we found the episode and the scene, there I was. just for a second. I looked bored. I think my mate was expecting me to be riding a pink donkey through the pub showering everyone with flowers and blowing kisses at the bar boys, but no. The camera then shot to me and my friend again. Still pretty bored. Then a third time. Same. Then a FOURTH. Hang on. Should I have been paid more than fifty quid for this?? I'm becoming an integral plot point, or at least a red herring. Then, when the guy finally wins the bingo, the camera shot around the pub and there we are, ....my friend and I,... looking like WE just won the gay lottery. Clapping like it's a new Christina Aguilera music video routine. Fake smiles and open eyed delight. At least that's what it felt like watching it through my finghers. It's probabaly not that bad.

Laugh were had, but I never want to be an extra again. It's insanely boring, but it was fun to try. it was an interesting experience, I guess. Ill try anything once.

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EVERYBODY DANCE NOW.

Public Toilets: An Emergency Guide

Tonight I was waiting for a mate on Grafton Street. Some junkbag asked me if I wanted any coke. My mouth was full at the time so I just shook my head. He looked real pissed off that I didn't respond with words. He would have ended up a whole lot more pissed off if my mouth hadn't been full of creamy Galaxy Fruit and Nut. Coke, Coke Heads and Coke Dealers can eat a big bowl of dick and choke.

My mate rang and said he would be a bit late. I needed to kill some more time. Standing around town makes you look suspicious, or at least that's what the people who were looking at me suspiciously would have me believe. I'll go the loo. Just a tinkle before the gig. I've only been to the place where the gig that we are going to is on once before, and I couldn't remember what the toilets were like, so I wont chance it. Is that a big deal for me? Welcome to this blog entry.

I went into McDonald's and I remembered the last time I needed to use McDonald's for an emergency drop off. Not the pee thing. The other thing. It was one of the worst experiences of my life and I'm not going into it. Emergency public toilet drop-offs are my worst nightmare. I usually have to try 4-5 different places in town before I can set down. There's two main problems with using public toilets that I encounter.

ONE
Usually there is three cubicles. One will be full of .. "spray"... one will be full of .... "marks" and the other will be covered in both. All will be covered in cigarette burns, but they don't bother me so much as I cover the seats in paper, like 50 ply. Sometimes people don't flush. I've been scabby in the past and used the disabled toilets and I gotta say, ...clean as a whistle. Disabled people, people who possibly have trouble using the toilet, keep cleaner bowl than able-bodied Joes. Insane.

TWO
There's people outside the door who can hear you poop. They're listening. What if.. I dunno.. your poo makes funny sounds. Sometimes...I'm just gonna say it.... my butt sings. Only sometimes. As a result I can't do it when there's people outside the door. So what to do? Well.. here's a small guide with the main moves. From the title menu, press and hold Start and Select...

The Hitman
Wait until you're certain the place is empty and do the job. This can take a while and you can never be too sure if you're alone.

Army Of Two & The Back Stab
Some people aren't lunatics and will let loose in a toilet like people probably should. I wish I could but I'm weird. The plan is to wait until someone else does what you wanna do... and join in. At least you wont be alone. ALWAYS let him walk out first to face the awkwardness. Alone.

The Silencer/ Muffler
Take a hand full of toilet ro...... No.
Not even going to explain that one. It's straight up wrong, like.

Distractor Fan
Since the middle ages, assassins and criminals would use distractions or loud noises to cover the sound of a hit or a heist. Later on, in centuries to follow, sometimes snipers would wait until the bell tower struck 12 to take a shot covering up the sound of the gunshot. Well nowadays the common Hand Dryer is your friend. Some of those yokes are JET-ENGINE-LOUD. Wait till one goes off and get ready to push it to the limit.

I hope these help somebody someday. Getting caught out in town is no joke. I will leave you with this glimmer of hope. Yamamori on Georges St has the single most amazing toilet in the history of public toilets. It's you... in a room... on your own. Mega clean. A big thick door locks you in and there is a good stroll down to the toilet bowl itself, meaning people outside waiting can't hear what goes on with you and your loo.

Maybe someday we can all live in a world where public toilets are even half this amazing but I guess not all restaurants serve bowel destroying Wasabi every day.

Bye for now. Happy Holodecks if I don't blog to you before then.

The Walk

It was Arctic weather. I entered a room and saw the Moldovan. He was speaking some sort of Romanian dialect with the Hungarians. The Chinese men entered. One was full of cheer and the other seemed happy but remained his usual silent self. The Italian was drunk and merry. The Frenchman and the Russian girl were chatting away in good spirits. I was informed that the Pole and the only two other Irishmen were a no show due to illness. We would have to do this without them.

There wasn't any tension, just anticipation. I knew that the Hungarians had starved themselves all day in preparation. The Slovakian was staying behind to keep the house in order. If she needs any help she can radio across to the sister building and the Mongolian girl would help out. When the final Hungarian arrived, we set outside our comfort zone to head 20 minutes across the city by foot.
I knew I was the real foreigner my Christmas Dinner Party.

One of the Hungarians took photos along the way. He photographed a car being driven, and occupied by two African women. As soon as the flash went off, the car shrieked to a halt and the door open. None of us could grasp what she was screaming at him but It sounded like she didn't appreciate having her photo taken and I'm pretty sure she thought he was someone hired to do so. Another classic snap was of a Sex Shop on Caple St., but just as he took the photo a nervous customer was entering and was startled by the flash.

The dinner was blah, yeah, good I wont bore you with the details. I sat with the Moldovan and asked him about his homeland, the mafia, prison and other cool shit.

The stockier, older Hungarian who turns out to be Romanian, asked me if I could make him a cd of music. When I asked him what he would like, he said, in one breath with no facial expression : "The Homosexual Freddy Mercury".
Not "That homosexual?...eh.. whats his name ...oh!! Freddy Mercury!", so I don't think he was trying to be shocking but ..it sounded weird. He then said and I quote" I like music of the fags, Freddy Mercury, Elton John, George Michael, Rod Steward but I am not fag, I just like the music'". It was just getting weird. He's a fitness freak with a bit of a flouncy name who lives alone and I think he's gonna make an important discovery someday..... about himself.

Oh... and probably one or two things about Rob Steward too.

Poem Trilogy

Nightboat
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Nightboat,
Human contraband afloat
Police cruiser nears, lump in throat
Nightboat.




CP Girl
--------------------------

She dont mind the boys at lunchtime, in a line,
grabbing touchies and feelies.
She'll let you do that thing behind Crazy Prices
for a Chomp and a packet of Meanies.



Ad Break
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Beanz Meanz Heinz
Ariston and on,
The Milkybar Kid is strong and tough,
Bang and the dirt is gone.

Super Market Crime Operation

Me and a friend were talking about our disgraceful CVs. My first ever job was helping to dismantle trucks for 2 weeks. My second job has much more Blog material, however if you don't want a spiel about school and the starting of my second job, skip ahead to the section entitled The Dairy. It's slightly shorter. I think. I wont be upset.

My second Job

I got a job in a super market years ago. Lots of years ago. I'm not going to go and complain about this in any kind of obvious way, like that I wasn't treated with respect or even that I wasn't paid properly. I didn't know the meaning of respect and I bought a load of useless shite when I was 17, so we wont linger in any "My So Called Life" kinda way. (On a side note, in the "Wanna See Which Celebrity You Look Most Like Because You're Bored On Myspace Picture Analysis Thingie", I was likened 90% to Claire Danes of MSCL and a load of Asian actresses. Thank you internet, you cockboat)

YADA\ My interview for the super market was awkward. It ended up like my entrance exam for Secondary School. I would end up in the middle class. Not too clever, not too smart, under-radar flying, low profile keeping, jack of all trades - master of none. Suits me. I'm an observer. Balls, I'm good at art. I'll keep it basic though, don't wanna end up in any award situations or special after school projects. YADA. Although I never let it show, school was hell. Even though I ducked most of the drama and bullshit, I hated trying to fill my brain with nonsense that my real brain was laughing at. Equations, Oxbow Lakes, Dutch wars and the French word for Party (I think it's "Boom" but that might be slang or just plain false information - My teacher looked like John Malkovich and was insane.) /YADA

And what was like middle class in terms of my position in the Super Market?
Well between the shop floor and the payroll offices was the STOCK ROOM . The girl told me : "Paul you will be working with Bernard in the stock room". I automatically imagined me and Bernard in brown coats passing out boxes from a small room. Two stools, one newspaper, I was a MAN now... or something.

No way. This place was HUGE! Floor to ceiling ketchup and toilet roll. Mr. Bernard Finglas had his own office and there was 12 lads working in the stock room and one of them could eat a whole big chicken on his lunch break. I saw it, it was horrible. I could probably do that now for a bet but we were 17, like. I'd say he's dead now. I soon got mouthy with the wrong shop floor managers who would frequent the Stock Room to hurry us up and also...my pet name for Mister Finglas has gotten back to him through a loudmouth saying it too... eh.. loud. Burn Hard Finger Ass. Although Bernard liked the cut of my gib, I was soon moved to the Dairy which was the mini stock room in a FRIDGE. Not quite the Frozen Foods room, which was an actual Freezer, occupied by poor, frail, freakish zombies with no souls and empty stares.

Now I was in the middle OF the middle.

-----The Halfway Mark , You have completed 50% of this blog entry ---

The Dairy
The story of my first day in the Dairy is where this blog entry will end. I have wiped the mind numbing experiences of the year which followed from my thoughts.

I was unloading milk from a pallet when two lads closed the door of the Dairy over. Older lads. Just the three of us in the fridge. Three lads in a fridge. One of them was staring at me. I knew the other lad from the stock room days (fourteen days, not quite the ERA I make it sound) I knew (presumed) ..(? still presume) that Kerry was the heaviest of all butters. If I swing a box of that at the taller fella... I might avoid boy rape. The small one muttered to the fella that I kinda knew "Will he rat on us?".... ????

- Nah he wont..
- He looks like he might rat
- He wont rat, he started Burn Hard Finger Ass, sure - Paul put down that butter for a sec and cm'ere.

Bollox I will.

Were gonna trust you, d'ya want to help us?

The rapey suspicion kinda went away and I knew they were up to something much less worrying but more exiting for me.

I wondered if they were stashing money from the tills. Maybe one of the girls gives them a few quid here and there hidden in he returns basket ... and they divvy it up at the end of the day???
Were they stashing lost wallets there??
Jazz mags? (I'm seventeen here, I'm not talking about the music kind) It's something good I know it is. Older lads are into mad shit. Mad older shit.

One of them held the door open a bit and told me to "Keep Sketch" while the smaller fella ran into the corner and slid a box out from behind the CrackerBarrels. I was confused by this as I was staring at them and they then asked if I knew what keeping sketch meant. I turned away to see if anyone was about. They were mumbling. They were up to something class!

One of the old shop floor ladies walked by the door. I said hello. She said "You must be freezing" She always said that and it annoyed me because her and her mates came in early to steal our fridge jackets to wear on the floor where it wasn't even that cold. She turned the corner and I then turned and finally got to see what kinda class things the class older lads were up to.



!

...

?


SAPS.

Ya know what?, ... fuck that and fuck them...... The smaller lad was eating a CheeseString and the other lad was just sitting there watching that lad eat the newly opened, stolen Cheesestring. They were giggling. Like a couple of cheese stealing, cheese eating, cheese watching little dopes. There was no class older lad scheme with money, wallets or pornography. I felt like a gimp holding the door.

A few weeks later a fella in the Deli was done for selling choice cuts on the cheap to his neighbours I think. Cops involved and all. He had been doing it for ages! He hated the place!

...

I was hanging with the fuckin' Cheesestring bandits.

I'm not even going to try to choose my words carefully.

I found my girlfriends flute on her bed today. She was playing it before I got there. I can usually play any instrument to a passable degree after a couple of minutes. She has some Turkish violin made out of a hollowed coconut and intestines or something and a bow that looked like shred of swan wing in her basement and I rocked that motherfucker automatically.

The flute is impossible. Hardest instrument ever. Harder than the Thermin.

While we were walking through town today I saw a scrotebag and his mate throw an egg down a busy Henry Street. My Spidey senses alerted me to it as soon as it was thrown. I looked back and an Indian lad was milled in the back with it. I eyeballed the knackerbastards and they looked like they were gonna start something but they bottled it. As we walked down the end of the road (I walked backwards to make sure they didnt make a go of me from a distance) we saw a lot more broken eggs and an older dude wiping gloop off his bag.

SCUM.

Were watching Zack And Mirri Make A Porno. Its decent. Shes on her way back upstairs with food so.. laterz