A month without alcohol

Sock-child: The accidental child of a desperate and (undoubtably) drunken night where, in the absense of a condom, a sock was ‘used’*

Tayto-baby: similar to a sock child but with much less sympathetic parents. Tayto-babys are also more likely to be the final addition to the family, Tayto packets have sharp corners**

Poncometer(pronounced ponSometer): a scale on which to judge any venue, it goes from ‘Eircom League Division 2 relegation playoff’(1-no messin’abou’der’sunshoine) to ‘fashion, design and philosophy students hangout’((55-no, we don’t accept money for payment on alcohol-that’d conflict with our fair trade(except bright green lycra)/no fur(except gifts)/free speech(as long as its us) philosophy. Just put 50c in the jar every time you quote Foucault, we make more money that way anyway)). The scale is of course logorithmic

Liver abuse: when you spend 3 full days in the library and then go out and drink a glass of Hennessy, a shot of sambuka, a naggin of Jameson and 8 pints of Smithwicks in under 3 hours as I did last Friday. Side-effects may include death. Also known as self-induced retardation

*you really wouldn’t want to have athletes foot to try that one

**and salt and vinegar flavour probably burns somethin’awful

Went swimming in the sea yesterday, when I came out I looked like a fem-bot with a beer belly. You could cut glass with those nipples!

I just read a quote from Fintan O’Toole on the madness of traditional music when it reaches that tipping point where it feels too fast too loud and downright irresistable:

“the feeling of release (is) in direct proportion to the repression* from which it sprang”

fucking brilliant, perfectly describes that moment in a céilí when the walls are heaving with sweat, your legs feel as if they’re about to fall off but you just keep going gripped by that blind limb flailing passion that good trad not only evokes but demands

*England then the church then sobriety

Tá daoine áirithe a bíonn ag gearáin an t-ám ar fad faoi an tslí nach ritheann na mbusanna seachas nuair is miain leo, na ‘gadaí’ sa Dáil, faidbeanna le teifigh, an bochtanas gur féidir leat fheiceál ar fud na cathrach agus roinnt rudaí eile nach bhfuil cearrt nó cóir. Is rud maith é gur féidir leo fheiceál nach bhfuil gach rud foirfe ar an oileán beag seo nó sa domhain mór ach oiread, dáríre, maith sibh-níl sibh dáil. An t-aon faidb a bhfuil agam, agus is rud mór é, ná gurb iad seo na daoine ceannain céanna a sheasainn os mo comhair, súil le súil, is a deireann gur chuma leo faoin politíocht!?

Níl sé do chearrta againn a bheith ag gearráin faoin na politóirí a chuir muid féin i gceannas trí easpa eolas, suim nó tuiscint. Tá sé leisciúl agus páistiúl.

I’ve just sent out 15 web texts that read as follows:

“I’m in the library going slowly insane. It would be a great service to me if there was anyone around at 9pm with whome I can get destroyed with, anyone about?”

I have a plan and I’m sticking to it

I’ve done nothing today or yesterday and I’m completely fucked for my exams. Ah fuck it, lets get loaded up and taste sweet oblivion! I’ll have a triple whiskey, a pint of the black stuff and whatever god forsaken demon breath concoction I can get my hands on!

I had the last of a series of lectures today, a series I’m sure to have ranted about on an earlier occasion. The very last day and the fat lazy cunt still doesn’t know how we’re going to be graded, we had to tell him to go down to his office and get the handbook that says exactly what he’s supposed to already fucking know. We should’ve been told this stuff in September-its disgraceful

Help me come to a decision here people, ‘76 or ‘83. I have to get one of them, its been decided

Heffos classic, looking at the Meath game its obvious that not that much has changed

This reminds me of the last Dublin jersey I owned(at the height of Jayo fever) despite the fact that it pre-dates my existance by a solid 4 years

sorry there are no photos but yet again I can’t work wordpress. Incidentally, where the hell has my handy little wordcounter gone?

lol

wtf?

pda

OMG

If you use any of these abreviations in your general speech you are a shit person. This refers solely to speech and the ‘real world’, its ok to use them in internet forums, world of warcraft and stuff like that. But, I repeat, use them outloud as if they were real words and you shall suffer my wrath. I also have a beef with people who say ‘etc’ instead of ‘et cetra’-cunts

No, I do not play Warcraft and I do not want to be your ally in the quest for Gambonomets magic dildo

Gods loves a tryer and I love Emile Heskey. Heskey played up front for Liverpool during a rather painful period in my adolescence(anyone who has ever owned a football jersey can relate) when your clubs faults were YOUR faults. Actually, fuck adolescence, when my dads on his deathbed my bro and I will still be giving him stick about being from Donegal-the only Northern county to experiment(unsuccesfully) with that ‘fancy short passing shite’.

Anyway, I’m going off the point. Heskey was shite, the butt and inspiration of a thousand jibes. He couldn’t hit a barn door with a tractor. Milk turned faster and wasn’t quite so thick. Remember David Blaine? Even he got in on it: “Who can spend years in a box without doing anything? Emile Heskey!”. During Houlliers reign, Emile William Ivanhoe Heskey summed up Liverpudlian mediocrity-but he hung in there.

Heskey, who scored less often than some centrebacks, managed to play premiership football almost every week-and for an alright team too! It wasn’t raw talent that got him there, not by a long shot, but pure selfless honesty, guts and hard work(or what must’ve been one hell of an agent)(or the fact that Gerard Houllier was the craziest mutha to ever be left in charge of a premiership football team-seriously, Jimmy Traore?)). In retrospect, it was fantastic-at the time-I turned away every time he touched the ball. His time at Liverpool is best described with figures: in the year 2000 he signed for 11million, in 2004 he was sold for 3. A star striker he most certainly was not.

But again, he hung in there. Heskey is still playing premiership football week in week out, albeit for Wigan. Dwight Yorke and Aunty Cole aren’t. Roy Keane and Patrick Viera aren’t. Gus Poyet and Dennis Wise aren’t. Heskeys still around, and scoring. He’s scored  2 goals in six days, pretty impressive, bringing his total goal tally for the season to (cough) 4. To put that in perspective Ronaldo is around 36 and Adebayore is around 24.

But the big man still gets his game and if you were to ask me straight up if it was pissing rain, in a mud bath, in a relegation battle against someone like Bolton, one nil down with two minutes left and I had to choose between playing Christiano Ronaldo and Emile Heskey I’d pick Heskey.

Why? 2 reasons. 1) I’m an idiot, and a romantic (2) Heskey doesn’t give up, he’s a survivor- guys like Ronaldo will never work as hard as him when the going gets tough

Another thing I like about Heskey is his loyalty. He was part of a consortium that bailed out a bankrupt Leicester a few years ago. He donated a six figure sum to the club that brought him through at youth level-how many people would do that? Thats real class

I’m gonna print this out and use it to get signatures when I start up the “Emile Heskey Appreciation Society”. I’ll be in the foyer of DIT Aungiers st. next September if anyones interested in joining