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.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Poem Trilogy
Nightboat
-----------------------
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
-----------------------
Beanz Meanz Heinz
Ariston and on,
The Milkybar Kid is strong and tough,
Bang and the dirt is gone.
-----------------------
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
-----------------------
Beanz Meanz Heinz
Ariston and on,
The Milkybar Kid is strong and tough,
Bang and the dirt is gone.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
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
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
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Recession, Anarchy, Irish Corn and Proximity: A Reprise
Part of me gets a sick pleasure in hearing our country is fucked.
Greed is an awful virtue and Irish people with power are the WORST.
Even though I know in these cases, the little man always suffers the most, there's a little voice inside me laughing at hearing Ireland is in debt to the tune of 8 Billion. I think I hope somehow, somewhere the smug grin will be wiped deservingly of someones face. I think somewhere deep down, part of me wants it to get so bad that even the suited pigs suffer. I know it sounds childish and anarchic but I hate how greedy the Irish as businessmen, employers and governing bodies have become.
This is mostly unconscious thoughts/feelings that I'm trying to explore and explain, as opposed to something Ive been thinking about. The subconscious is always more of a Black Comedy than the Romantic Feelgood Summer Blockbuster that is our conscious.
Most people that wish anarchy and disruption are just shock merchants looking for attention, anyway.
Irish Corn
There's only one word I can use to describe Irish television and that is CORNY. Embarrassing it is. Irish presenters, and probably more to the point, the producers are so blunt edged, it's painful. That TV3 show Xpose? OUCH! Never let the lowest common denominators of Blackrock talk about fashion. They're CORNY. That new Irish Cd being advertised, The Three Priests singing "YOU RRAAIISSEE MME UUPP" and also we have The Celtic Woman singing... yeah, "YOOUU RAAIISSEE MMEE UUPPP".. Man we are Corny fucks. I'm ashamed. I guess it's not as bad as Irish Clubland : techno versions of the Fields Of Athenry and "Ill Tell Me Ma" and whatnot. That's up there with the Famine and Omagh.
What is WRONG with some people???
Proximity: A Reprise.
In my last blog about personal space issues I forgot to mention that I hate when your waking in a tight space and some CROWN WARDEN is letting a line of people past and feels the need to tap each one or touch each one on the back or shoulder as they go.
I hate having to warn them about not doing it to me before they even think about it...
..but what I hate even more than that is some people's "OOhhhh, are you a molestee??" attitude you get just because you don't like PEOPLE YOU DON'T KNOW putting their hands on you. Why are more people not creeped out by this? Ive gotten that from a couple of people in the past.
"You don't had to have been molested, to have your personal boundaries tested" that's what I always say :)
Greed is an awful virtue and Irish people with power are the WORST.
Even though I know in these cases, the little man always suffers the most, there's a little voice inside me laughing at hearing Ireland is in debt to the tune of 8 Billion. I think I hope somehow, somewhere the smug grin will be wiped deservingly of someones face. I think somewhere deep down, part of me wants it to get so bad that even the suited pigs suffer. I know it sounds childish and anarchic but I hate how greedy the Irish as businessmen, employers and governing bodies have become.
This is mostly unconscious thoughts/feelings that I'm trying to explore and explain, as opposed to something Ive been thinking about. The subconscious is always more of a Black Comedy than the Romantic Feelgood Summer Blockbuster that is our conscious.
Most people that wish anarchy and disruption are just shock merchants looking for attention, anyway.
Irish Corn
There's only one word I can use to describe Irish television and that is CORNY. Embarrassing it is. Irish presenters, and probably more to the point, the producers are so blunt edged, it's painful. That TV3 show Xpose? OUCH! Never let the lowest common denominators of Blackrock talk about fashion. They're CORNY. That new Irish Cd being advertised, The Three Priests singing "YOU RRAAIISSEE MME UUPP" and also we have The Celtic Woman singing... yeah, "YOOUU RAAIISSEE MMEE UUPPP".. Man we are Corny fucks. I'm ashamed. I guess it's not as bad as Irish Clubland : techno versions of the Fields Of Athenry and "Ill Tell Me Ma" and whatnot. That's up there with the Famine and Omagh.
What is WRONG with some people???
Proximity: A Reprise.
In my last blog about personal space issues I forgot to mention that I hate when your waking in a tight space and some CROWN WARDEN is letting a line of people past and feels the need to tap each one or touch each one on the back or shoulder as they go.
I hate having to warn them about not doing it to me before they even think about it...
..but what I hate even more than that is some people's "OOhhhh, are you a molestee??" attitude you get just because you don't like PEOPLE YOU DON'T KNOW putting their hands on you. Why are more people not creeped out by this? Ive gotten that from a couple of people in the past.
"You don't had to have been molested, to have your personal boundaries tested" that's what I always say :)
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