Welcome!

Welcome to our beautiful country, o foreign traveller. During your stay here, be sure to bask in the gentle glow of our precipitation, delight in the charming ignorance of our inhabitants and marvel at the comley glorly of our uselessly inefficient political system.

Alcoholic beverages used to numb the frantic, itching tedium of it all are available on most streets. These are rented from the proprietors of "public houses" for a period of time, generally sufficient for them to undertake a passage to the brain via the blood vessels, before making a journey to the kidneys from whence they evetnually escape through the urinary system.

Once familiarity with this basic system has been gathered through mastery of the "pub", it is common for an Irish person to then migrate towards the "nite club". These are semi-mystical establishments, posessed of many poorly understood physical properties; such as the capacity for making terrible music entertaining, overweight females attractive and low quality alcohol more expensive.

The traveller is encouraged to engage in as thourough an invetigation of this culture as time allows during his/her stay, and invited to record the length of time necessary for them to realise that they are in fact using all their hard-earned wealth to purchase what ultimately amounts to a headache, a desire to urinate and, in the longer term, a belly .

For comparative purpopses, the average Irish person will commonly take 4-5 decades to reach this conclusion.

Words

In this post I'll take some time out to talk about the words and phrases that are used by people I know, but almost no one else. If you overhear any of this stuff from someone it's often worth checking to see if they know me.

• "A Dose of the Gallops" - This is similar to a dose of the trots, but faster.

• "What are your ways?" - A general purpose question. The concept of someone being "set in their ways" requires a full explanation of what exactly their ways are in order to have any validity.
  

• Any references to "Martin Roundabout" - Martin is a psuedo-imaginary character who is the embodiment of all the most insane things about culchies. Primarily based on d'Unbelievbles. An example usage would be turning to address an empty point in space saying "Get the belt sander out Martin, belt sander'll do that job", or "Jaysus Martin, where did she get those?"
  

• "The MacMahuna" - Conor is a man with a terrible curse. His every waking moment is spent in a constant struggle, wrestling with a terrible force of nature from an adjoining plane of existence. When our young protagonist becomes too inebriated to maintain his mental defenses, the MacMahuna can wrest control of Conor's body away from him and journey through the night in his form, delighting young and old alike with his saucy banter and making trouble for the establishment. Which generally leads to him being removed from any licensed premises he may be inhabiting.

• "Barse" - Halfway between the balls and the arse. Often hairy, and in some cases, quite pert.

• "Ask my rope" - An invitation to address whatever your query may be towards a party's genital.

• "Dangler"- A genital.

Revelation

I've been thinking about the evolutionary advantages of pubic hair all day. I just couldn't think of any compelling reason why humans have lost hair from almost every other body area, but retained it down below. Then it struck me:

Nature has realised that genitals are fundmentally ugly, and need as much concealing as possible.

Revision

For illustrative purposes I present to you fine people part of a draft I scribbled (or whatever the keyboard equivalent is) a few months ago:

Does anyone else have trouble following the logic of these guys who go: "Oh no, I'm going bald. I'd better shave all my hair off so poeple won't notice". I mean, starting from the logical standpoint that "less hair is bad", how is NO hair better?

I know I'm fairly biased in this regard, but I think going bald can add a certain distinguished charm to your general appearence (as long as one steers well clear of any hairstyles involving the words "over" and "comb"). In fact, it has even been suggested that baldness in humans evolved from sexual selection of males that conveyed an impression of "increased status or maturity" due to their larger foreheads.

But I digress. Surely trying to hide away from this sort of thing is shying away from who you are, no? Baldness is genetically determined as far as I'm aware. You might as well worry about the colour of your eyes, the shape of your ears or the number of toes you have. Embrace your DNA, people.

(Again, that last sentance is not prison lingo, but I have now decided to start using it as such)

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I finally gave in and sheared myself yesterday. Having done so I can now report that it was a good move. It's gas, whenever I look in the mirror there's a total stranger staring back at me. And he's looking fairly sharp.

Opinions

As some of my fine readers may have noticed, I'm a man of many opinions. Some are fairly deep-rooted at this stage (example: oxygen is useful), others are more transient in nature. At a rough estimate I'd say I currently agree with around 60% of the things I believed this time last year. And this hasn't been a particularly atypical year.

Recent revisions:

• I used to believe women were insane and irrational. Turns out this was a specific case of a more genreal rule: Absolutely everybody is insane and irrational for at least 23% of any given day (though not always all at once). The average women just seems to be more open about it.

• I used to believe there was nothing wrong with drinking all day and inhaling kebabs all night. I have now realised that it's an awful lot easier to climb stairs when you are not 30kg overweight. I still drink and eat kebabs when I feel like it, but I also go to the gym.

Compared to the world at large, I think I've a pretty high turnover rate for mind changing. This is possibly because I spend a great deal of time talking pure shite, and am completely prepared to entertain the suggestion that I may be doing so at any particular moment.

Realising that you no longer agree with most of the things you thought when you were 15 allows for a wonderfully un-cluttered perspective on life: I don't expect to agree with any of the things I currently think by the time I'm 27, so I have little-to-no emotional attachment to my ideas. When the humour takes me, I'm therefore free to replace them with what I imagine to be better ones. This is what we in the business refer to as "progress".

So, I'd like to think I have no problem with people being pissed off with me for the things I say/think/believe. There's a very good chance I'm wrong.

What gets my goat however, is when someone assigns a whole pile of imaginary opinions to me, and then get pissed off at me for having them. These might sound like the actions of an insane and irrational person, but one has to remember that at least 23% of the people in the world can be described in this way at some point in the course of a typical day. So it happens more than you'd think.

You know the type of stuff I mean. You make a joke, someone else hears about it third-hand a week later, decides you were serious, and gets pissed off with you for your deeply-held belief that necrophila is an acceptable and worthwhile way to pass the time when there are no sheep available. Or someone decides that when you said you sometimes feel bloated when you eat too much, you were implying that they are fat. Let me go on the record and state that, when I'm being serious, I very rarely "imply" things. What you hear is, for the most part, what you get.

I'm not sure what the solution to this problem is yet. I might try printing a list of my collected opinions on the back of some business cards and handing one to everyone I know every six months. Or perhaps publish them in an electronic, globally acessible data retrieval system of some type....

Females

Class: Mammalia
Order: Primates
Family: Hominidae
Genus: Homo
Species: H. Sapiens
Subspecies: Insanely Hot Trinity Women

Distribution:

This species is native to a ~3km^2 circle in Dublin City, Ireland with it's origin positioned somewhere in the southern half of Dublin University cricket pitch. Distribution is periodic in nature, and concetrations vary with seaonality. During the autumn, winter and spring months sightings are rare, and concentrated in areas such as lecture theatres, cafes and the more upwardly mobile shopping districts.

The advent of Summer, however, sees a massive increase in sightings, concentrated mainly in the Pavillion bar, cricket pitch and the various libraries. This striking disparity between seasons has led some commentators to propose that the species may in fact be migratory.

A competing theory is that IHTW are given to hibernation during the colder months. This second hypothesis is supported by the observation that IHTW seen in the Sumemr are typically quite slim, consistent with having spent many weeks without food. This theory is lent further creadence by observations on domesticated specimens, which reveal that left to their own devices, the species will often not rise from bed until well into the afternoon.

More radical thinkers have proposed that the species simply blends into the surrounding populace during the off-peak months by dressing in warm, sensible clothing.

Description:

IHTW can be identified by a number of simple distinguishing features:

• smooth light-brown skin (avoiding orange tones at all costs)
• exceptionally tight clothing esp. jeans
• well developed and prominently displayed mammary glands
• a glass of white wine (chosen for it's low calorie-content)
• overly large suglasses, often worn in the hair. (The IHTW therefore conveys the appearence of watching the sky at all times. This is believed to have evolved as a defence mechanism to discourage aerial predators)
• a tendancy to avoid smiling (no matter how well-delivered your jokes may be)
• a small following of omega females, who are often too afraid of the IHTW to cross her.
• typically long and blonde hair (although some fabulous brunette specimens have been observed)

Behaviour:

While there exists massive variation between specimens, some notable behvaiours are common to all:

(1) Walking in a provocative manner

Most often practised in areas where it will have the largest impact on any surrounding males (esp. Libraries). In times of high concentration it can become completley impossible for males to get any damn work done. It is not unknown for some individuals to seek out Pam & her five sisters during the middle of the day to help cope with the distraction. Others have been known to channel their frustration into creative writing projects.

(2) Hair flicking in a provocative manner

Genrally observed while subject is seated in a licensed premises of some type.

(3) Existing in a provocative manner

Continually observed.

Diet:

Little is known of the species feeding habits, beyond the fact that they are almost certainly more well-balanced and careful then your own.


Reporduction:

Forget about it.

Unless of course you are a generous billionare with six months to live. Or someone who is spectacularly good at pretending to be one.

Conservation Status:
Secure.

Confusion

I've recently been plauged by doubts. Perhaps some of my fine readers can help me in answering this question: If you find your own reflection attractive, does that make you gay?

Tolerance

One of my friends recently decided that I'm a homophobe. This was because I expressed the opinion that I don't like the sight of 2 big hairy men slobbering all over each other in public while I'm trying to eat.

This tolerance crap has gone far enough. Just because you tolerate something doesn't mean you have to like it. In fact, the very word "tolerate" implies that you are just putting up with something. You wanna be gay? Go right ahead. I don't mind. I just don't want to watch. Is that alright?

I'm calling for an end to all this name-calling labelling crap. There's a French guy I don't like. I think he's an asshole. Not because he's French, but because he is simlpy an asshole. Does that make me a racist? No? Why not? Because it's not an opinion based on what particular group he belongs to, but one based on what his actions are? Now you're getting it.

I'm fed up with these damn activists telling me what I can and can't like. Folks, there is nothing wrong with not liking things. It's part of what makes you who you are. At the end of the day, the only things nobody can touch are your opinions. People preaching tolerance have missed the point. Not liking to watch men kiss each other is an opinion. When people start telling you what opinions you are and aren't allowed have, you have to start asking questions.

I will actively defend a man's right to slober all over another man, and in a perfect world I'd expect them to defend my right to not like seeing it.

Bouncers

Picture a young 19-year old Will approaching the door of a niteclub in Balbriggan. A conversation with a bouncer proceeded as follows (I'll leave it to the reader to figure out which one of the people below is me):

-ID there please
-Here you go

*long silence and much scrutinizing of drivers license*

-This is expired
-Really? Right, I won't drive home so. Thanks.
-I'm not letting you in without valid ID
-Are you serious? I'm hardly younger now that my license has expired.
-Think you're fucking smart do ya?
-Only relatively speaking, amigo

*Will reclaims license and strolls away into night. Actually ended up in a lock-in in De Brun's, so it wasn't all bad*

Interestingly, that kip in Balbriggan is the only niteclub I've ever been refused into. And they've actually refused me about 3 times in the last few years. The bouncers don't take kindly to me for some reason. I think it's some sort of deep-rooted inferiority complex they harbour on the grounds that they're bouncers, and I have sideburns.

I had another conversation with the degenerate fucks about a year after that previous story, where I walked up to the door with a friend (D) who is 28 or so.

Bouncer: ID there lads
Will: I don't have any
D: It's a pension book I should be taking out, not an ID
Will: *rubbing widows peak* Come on guys, I hardly look 17 do I?
Bouncer: I don't care what age yis are, I just need to know who yis are.
Will:........How is that. ANY. Of your business?
Bouncer: Right, yis aren't getting in.
Will: Fine. Come on D, we're apparently too well-dressed and educated for this place.

Well, they didn't take to that. The cunt has actually barred me unless I apologise to him for implying that he's poorly educated. I laughed quite a lot at that and walked in the back door last time I was there.

My own personal theory on Bouncers: There's some deep seated pack animal instincts surfacing here which make them believe they are somehow more important than everyone else, rather than realising that most of them are just a cheap way of preventing a suit from falling over.

You see, a pack of wild animals is apparently controlled in two ways: food and sex. The alpha male eats first, and decides who gets to do any mating, and when they get to do it. I don't think it's much of an exaggeration to say that most of the mating Irish males get up to is a result of picking up drunk ladies in niteclubs. So, deep down, bouncers must realise that they control the level of access blokes have to drunk ladies, and thus get to directly affect the amount of mating we do. I'm not suggesting they think this at a conscious level (in fact I'm not suggesting they think anything. at all), just that being in this race-remembered position of power triggers behavioral patterns that makes them think that they are your superior in some way.

I know if I were a bigger person, it wouldn't bother me that some fool acts like he's better than me in some way, but gosh-darn it, it does.

I'm going to end this here. I'd originally written a closing rant about how menial and degrading a job bouncing is (on grounds of pay, cold, being hated by everyone, being in constant danger of getting stabbed, having to get involved with naked, drunk, vomit-soaked peolpe in toilets etc.), but after I'd re-read it I actually began pitying the poor feckers. I mean, fucking hell what a crap job.

This post has been an emotional journey of sorts for me. I began it hating bouncers, but now I feel they deserve our sympathy. Everyone: be nice to bouncers. Their lives stink.

Racism

Tanscribed below in its complete and un-abridged form is a text conversation I recently had at about 1am with an amigo of mine. I'd like to point out that we were both sober.

P: "I hear you're a racist now"

Me: "Aye well, have to keep busy"

P: "I suppose it's something to do, mite keep ya warm in the winter"

Me: "Although I don't always have the time for it. I still try and get out to oppress a few blacks once a week"

P: "Ay...sure i saw yis in the field last week with the white frocks and all, is Tom still at it or did he give up on account of the hips?"

Me: "Well he was a bit down for a while, but he has a few slaves who carry him around now, and sure he's never been happier. We were discussing branching out to the chinese next year, get a few new members in, you know, keep the numbers up"

P: "Ay...it'll never be the same as the old days though..i hear them chinese boys don't burn too well either..i mean thats extra fuel needed, these things don't come cheap. Tom wont be up for it, i'll tell ya that much"

Me: "I know, I know. Sure i remember when sixpence would but ya a club, a big sack, a can of petrol and a crucifix. Not like today. Billy made it known at the last agm that if we don't increse the membership this year we're looking at selling off most of our antique african bones to cover the cost of kidnappings and bribing the gardai"

P: "Ah fuck no, the bones? Jimmy will be crushed..i mean since he lost his wife...well u know"

Me: "Dude. Just how fucked up are we? Seriously."

P: "Oh will! jaesus sorry, wrong number"

Fears

Any RPG fans here? You know the way in some of them, after you've been playing for a while and figured out what's going on, you often get a chance to re-assign skills and such in a more sensible manner? I think it would be greaaat if you could do that in real life. I'd re-assign the feck out of my fears.

Right now, the only things that really scare me are needles and spiders. Which is ridiculous. There's no bloody reason to be afraid of either of them, and there's plenty of reasons to be afraid of other things.

Given the oppurtunity, I'd seriously ramp those two down, and add a couple of points to some sensible fears. For example, I should be afraid of: 7-foot tall violent Russians, crashing my car, climbing high things whilst intoxicated, being stabbed outside niteclubs, failing exams, the world being ruled by fundamentalist christians, the permanent damage I've probably done myself through 2 years of hardcore binge-drinking, death in general and the prospect that I may never write another blog entry that isn't a list.

National pastimes and Synonyms

Eskimos are sometimes reported to have some dozens, if not hundreds of words for snow. Douglas Adams once observed that were this not so, it is likely that their conversation would become very repetitive very quickly.

I think there may be something similar going on with Irish people, and the number of different words we have for being drunk. Consider the following:

First up we have group A words. These are the foundation blocks; they can be used by themselves and they all mean drunk:

Stociaous, rat-arsed, gee-eyed, piddly-eyed, pissed, fucked, bangered, wrecked, wasted, destroyed, oscified, intoxicated, wagoned, trolleyed, trousered, ar meisce, drunk, monkeyed, barrelled, murdered, blasted, fucked up, twisted, rubbered, banjaxed, hammered, hosed, plastered, sloshed, soaked, soused, stewed.

We then come to group B. These are the terms implying that being drunk physically removes you from something essential to sanity. These can also be used alone, or combined with the previous group in an A followed by B fashion:

off my tits, off my hole, off my rack, off my perch, out of my tree, out of my face, out of my mind, off my left nut ( or substitute preferred nut), off my dangler.

Last we have group C, in which you compare yourself to things. These are almost never seen in isolation, and must be preceded by an element of group A. Attempting a B followed by C format is highly unusual and widely regarded as ineffective:

as a fool, as a monkey, as a dangler, as a skunk, as a lord, as a flute, as a badger, as a mule, as a fart.

So, with group A by themselves + group B by themselves + combinations of A and B + combinations of A and C........I'm counting 650 unique ways for an Irish person to tell you they were drunk. And I'm pretty sure I could find over 1000 if I spent more than 35 minutes on this.

In conclusion: Fuck you, Eskimos!

Signs

I've been laughing at signs a lot lately. Mostly at the way things that have accepted meanings in sign-terminology can be wildly miss-interpreted if you choose to do so. I'll give you some examples:

"This door is alarmed. Do not open"

It may bite.

"The consumption of external food is forbidden in this restaurant"

Right so, no eating anything that isn't part of your body. We're watching you.

"No smoking outside this door"
Doesn't it seem a little impractical to expect everyone in the whole world to enter that room every time they want to smoke?

[On a bridge] " Safe height 16' 8" "
Fucking hell, I'm only 5' 10" and I thought I was perfectly safe. Just how big are the muggers around here?

"Do not obstruct fire exit"

To quote the late Mitch Hedberg: If you are flammable and have legs, you are never blocking a fire exit.

Lies

The further I advance in this whole academic thing, the more I realise how much I've been lied to by educational professionals on the science and maths front. Below, I present a (roughly) chronological list of the lies I've uncovered so far. Might update it if I happen accross any more.

• You can't take 4 away from 3. (i.e negative numbers don't exist)
• A negative number can't have a square root. (i.e. complex numbers don't exist)
• You're not allowed seperate the dy and dx in dy/dx. (i.e maths doesn't exist)
• Imaginary numbers have no application in the real world. (i.e. physics doesn't exist)
  
• Particles exist. (i.e. quantum mechanics doesn't exist)
  
• We know what energy is. (we don't)
• Time and space exist as seperate concepts. (i.e. special relativity doesn't exist)
• Atoms can never be observed, only theorised. (i.e. STMs don't exist)
  
• Newton's Universal Law of Gravitation is universal. (i.e. general relativity doesn't exist)

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[Update] I've only recently discovered that seperating a derivative into dy and dx components is something mathematicians frown upon from an almighty height. It gives me great pleasure to know that everytime a physicist uses a step like this in deriving an equation, somehwhere a mathematician is pissed off.

The Missing Link

For about three days now, I've been working on a theory that I may represent the next step in human evolution. And no, this isn't quite as conceited as it sounds. It may be a backwards step.

This idea first struck me when I noticed that it is utterly impossible to find clothes that fit me. I'm not quite sure what changes in the environment my body may be responding to, but there is abundant evidence that something is happening:

• I'm relatively short, meaning I've a low centre of gravity, which is excellent for lifting things and pushing shtuff about.

• I have a penchant for climbing, despite the fact that I weigh in excess of 17 stone.

• I have a frankly terrifying set of teeth (everybody wonders how I can eat so fast until they notice that my molars look like a large collection of canines).

• I have a disproportionately large set of shoulders for someone my height, framed by a back which is becoming alarmingly hairy as time moves on.

• My concern for personal hygiene is limited at best.

• I'm almost permanently angry and horny (although the former is often a result of the latter).

• Through biological means alone, I have in the past created odours which have cleared an entire building (this is true. seriously).

• I also find my self reaching for a banana with breakfast most mornings.

If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go find a lab that will profile my DNA. And that's not prison lingo. Although I have now decided to start using it as such.

The Burns

Those of you who know me will know that I have been sporting a rather extreme pair of sideburns of late. After careful research in the field, I can report that this is not an undertaking that should be approached lightly. Sideburns are for life, not just for Christmas.

First of all, nothing quite prepares you for the day when they get so long that they knot if you don't brush them regularly. These long-haired breeds require careful grooming, otherwise they may become uncomfortable and listless. If their coat begins to look drab, often introducing a small amount of cod liver oil into their diet will help bring back that glossy shine.

Secondly, nothing polarises people faster than facial hair. Everybody has an opinion about sideburns, there is almost no one standing on the fence. For every girl who tries to hang out of them (3 recorded instances so far), there are another 1000 that are confused and frightened by the concept of not being clean-shaven and possessed of spikey hair like the homosexuals from N-Sync.

Curiously there seems to a more balanced polarisation of opinion amoung guys. When I find myself out and about, pretty much half the time I hear things like "Man those things are brilliant! I wish I could grow a pair", whilst the other half I'm treated to less well-informed sentiments like "why have you got fucking lamp-chops on your face?".

After close consulatation with a commitee of my peers (chaired by Mr JMcC), it has been decided that the best response to these nay-sayers is something of the form "Yeah, I caught them off your mother last week and I can't get rid of them".

So far, every fool I have used this come-back on has had some terrible tradgey befall his mother in the last two years and has become quite upset. I don't care.

The Second Difficult Post

Turns out I'm not the only one who reckons he has it all figured out when blasted out of his head, check out this quote from "A History of Western Philosophy" by Bertrand Russel:

"William James describes a man who got the experience from laughing-gas; whenever he was under its influence he knew the secret of the universe, but when he came to, he had forgotten it. At last, with immense effort, he wrote down the secret before the vision had faded. When completely recovered, he rushed to see what he had written. It was 'A smell of petroleum prevails throughout'."

I think I have just found myself a motto.

-----

Anyhow, I think I know what's going on here: when you completely ossify the conscious part of your brain, it must be that the usually-dormant unconscious has a chance to take over. This is why you find yourself so fascinating when drunk; you never have any idea what the hell you're going to do or say next, so it all comes as a complete and delightful surprise.

This would also explain what's been going on with my head of late. Circumstances beyond my immediate control have meant that I barely drink anymore. I can count on one hand the number of times I've been drunk in the last two months. As a result, I think my unconscious is getting restless from the lack of it's usual exercise. You see, when it gets a chance to take over these days, it goes mental. It recently decided it would be a good idea to wander the streets of Leuven eating a tomato, bang an al fresco table whilst yelling "shop!" at everyone within earshot and to disrobe in an alley and begin yelling about "800 years" whilst waving a shirt in the air.

Rodents. My hatred Thereof

For 6 days I have not slept properly. My bedroom has become home to a secretive, nocturnal creature with a penchant for gnawing.

This utter bastard stays up partying with his mates in adjoining parts of the house, then at precisely 4:00am every night he gets the munchies and makes his way into my room for a good fecking gnaw on my floorboards. I generally can spend between 3 and 4 minutes trying to get back to sleep before I start throwing Things from the floor to his general location (as a result there has been a net drift of Things from around my bed to his corner of the room, creating an unusual clean spot). He continues unabated. So I shine my lamp around the place. This gives him pause for thought. He often shuts up for upwards of 8 seconds.

The only thing I have found to be really effective in removing him is getting out of bed and hurling racial abuse at the floor whilst completely naked.

Encouraging him to move on is as much for his benefit as mine: if left to his own devices he will continue to gnaw until around 7:30, which can’t be healthy. And I'm not exaggerating for comic effect here, last night I left him alone and wore some earplugs (I could still hear him, but he was 28.9 decibels less intense and thus easier to ignore), and the bastard was still going strong when my alarm went off.

If I’m being completely honest, I have wished death upon living creatures in the past. However, I have never wanted one to suffer a long, lingering demise incorporating various types of physical, emotional, medical, chemical and electrical torture before.

A Decision

This weekend, I drank a giant bottle of Duvel and reached a decision. I've realised that I spend upwards of fifteen seconds searching for a matching pair of socks each morning. Over the course of my life I can expect to waste 109.5 hours in this endeavour. This shall not stand.

No one ever sees my socks except for me, and I could not give a thundering fuck what colour either of them are, let alone that both of them match. So the decision is as follows: From here on, I shall wear whatever sock takes my fancy on whatever foot it pleases me to wear it on. And that's if I even decide to wear any at all.

Today I am wearing one black sock, and one brown one with a huge hole in the heel. And you know what? I feel fecking great.

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And in case you're wondering, now that I have a spare 109.5 hours in my life, I will be learning to play the glockenspiel.

Face

This post is a confession in the form of a story.

I've been randomly bullying a guy for absolutely no reason. Allow me to explain: A while ago I strolled up to my bus stop to find my brother talking to two friends of his. One of whom I had never seen before. The conversation proceeded roughly as follows:

Me: Word up John, Sonia.
Brother: Hey
Sonia: Hi

[conversation proceeds. no one introduces this stanger. Eventually:]

Me: Hey Face
Stranger: Face??
Me: Well I don't know your fucking name do I?
Stragner: It's Aidan
Me: Right, no bother Face
Aidan: Ai-dan!
Me: Sorry, I've got used to calling you Face now

I've been calling this guy Face every time I see him for about 2 months now. He gets the same bus, so it's several times a week. I think it's starting to get to him. I tend to pick up on these subtle signals, like when he went red and started shouting "STOP. CALLING. ME. FACE!!!".

The poor guy even tried extending the hand of peace a few days ago, I sat down on the bus near himself and the brother ("Evening John, Face"). The following exchange occured:

Aidan: Hey, you know my middle name is William?
Me: Really? That's an amazing coincidence, cuz my middle name is Face

I'd hate myself if this wasn't so much fun.

The Difficult Second Post

The mind works in strange ways. It's especially fascinating to study when it is in a vulnerable condition, most easily brought about by the application of alcohol. The only readily available candidate for study is generally your own mind (unless you are telepathic. In which case I apologise for picturing you naked just now). I present below my favourite alcoholic mind-phenomenon:

You may have noticed that when you are pissed, you think about strange things. Wonderous and hilarious things. Things that if you could only communicate to the rest of humanity, would immeasurably improve their quality of life and general state of being. Or at the very least, they'd get a bit of a laugh out of them. Unfortunately, attaining this Zen-like state requires quantities of alcohol that render the speech-centres of the brain unresponsive to all but the most basic stimuli. You attempt to explain to the nearest human being that you have found The Answer, but to your consternation, what comes out is generally of the form "msharr fuythc...razlin jimmy...tits".

And of course, in the morning you've completely forgotten what you were thinking. I tell a lie, completely forgetting would be a blessing. You remember you had a fantastic idea, BUT YOU CAN'T REMEMBER WHAT IT WAS. The sense of loss is palpable.

So days pass, and you gradually get used to the idea that your solutions to everyone's problems are lost for all time. Until you go drinking. All of a sudden, in fact, the very moment you get pissed again, you pick up your previous train of thought exactly where you left it.

It's like a weird, symbiotic relationship where someone else is sharing your mind. This guy knows what's going on. He's been there. If he could just figure out some way to get out without rendering his host completely immobile he'd be running the world by now.

Right then:

Being a complete ego-maniac, and prepared to admit it, I've decided to record some of the things happening in and/or around my head.

This record shall be located here. Its contents can be transmitted to you via some form of output device (a monitor will generally suffice for this purpose), acting in conjunction with appropriate software. Elements of the content that appeal to you can be assimilated into the short-term memory by focusing concentration on them for a period of time.

If this experience is judged to be a more enjoyable way to expend time than some of the other alternatives available, repeat visits may ocassionaly reveal new posts. I make no guarantees as to the frequency or quality of said. Or that I will even make another one.

I think we can all relax within these parameters.