I wonder.

If you took apart the white part of this skin, would it be the background for an album cover by a fantasy metal band?

I'd say so.

check check check check it out

http://myfirstdictionary.blogspot.com/

Hilarious stuff. Especially the latest one.

joseph.

Tubridy Eh

Ryan Tubridy has been announced as the new late late show host.

Oh christ..

http://www.independent.ie/breaking-news/national-news/entertainment/tubridy-is-new-presenter-of-late-late-show-1735637.html

No Longer.

As I spent the evening watching (I still am watching it actually) the champions league final between Arsenal and Manchester United, I realised that I don't really support Manchester United any longer.

Now that isn't to say I'm completely against them or anything but I genuinely wanted Arsenal to win tonight. However this is probably due to the fact that I feel robbed from a good nights football. The game was over after ten minutes for god sake. Ten minutes?! Yer avin' a fucking giraffe mate.

I sat down baying for blood! I wanted to see grown men shaking with fear! I wanted to feel the intensity radiating from the screen! What did I get instead? eight minutes of good football, and then a scrappy goal. Champions league semi final? I saw a better contest at the under-10's Bridge Records Cup. 

I haven't really watched any football this season, mainly due to the fact I've been in Dublin, I think that this has perhaps led to my reduced support of Man U, who I've supported my whole life. It's quite a sad day, my boyhood team, my love of the footy, of the fackin' gamesmanship, gone.

Rooney. Ronaldo. Tevez. Dead to me.

Well that's a little far. I probably do still support them. But part of me thinks that football has gone to shit. Gone are the days of the honest player, the ugly brute with a bald head, the workhorse. Watching a match on a Saturday is like watching fucking Desperate Housewives, but with men. 

I really don't have a clue what I'm on about though so take all this with a pinch of salt. I'm tired and have a headache. I'll probably wake up tomorrow with a huge erection pointed firmly at the Manchester United squad.

One think I am sure aboout however, is that the likes of Kevin Lisbie, Chris Powell, Steve Stone, Phill Babb and Richard Rufus will never be replicated. Tough, honest and distinctly average players.

joseph.

Security by Hunter S. Thompson.

I just read this and found it to be very thought provoking. I probably seem like a stereotypical bright eyed teenager when I mention this sort of stuff, but I do genuienly believe that there is no need to lose your idealism. However, whenever I question the merits to working a 9-5 job, I'm patronisingly smiled at and told that I'll soon learn.

But I still wonder whether the benefit of owning a BMW overweighs the benefit of owning, and reserving the right to actually use your own time?

It seems obvious to me that no, it does not. 

Giving up forty hours of your already scarce time sounds absolutely crazy. Why not work less? Sure you'll have less money and you'll possess less stuff, but does that really matter? 

Not at all.

Anyway, the piece of writing (and title of this post) which brought this post about can be found here. I'll throw it up here as well, might make it easier.

joseph.

"Security ... what does this word mean in relation to life as we know it today? For the most part, it means safety and freedom from worry. It is said to be the end that all men strive for; but is security a utopian goal or is it another word for rut?

Let us visualize the secure man; and by this term, I mean a man who has settled for financial and personal security for his goal in life. In general, he is a man who has pushed ambition and initiative aside and settled down, so to speak, in a boring, but safe and comfortable rut for the rest of his life. His future is but an extension of his present, and he accepts it as such with a complacent shrug of his shoulders. His ideas and ideals are those of society in general and he is accepted as a respectable, but average and prosaic man. But is he a man? has he any self-respect or pride in himself? How could he, when he has risked nothing and gained nothing? What does he think when he sees his youthful dreams of adventure, accomplishment, travel and romance buried under the cloak of conformity? How does he feel when he realizes that he has barely tasted the meal of life; when he sees the prison he has made for himself in pursuit of the almighty dollar? If he thinks this is all well and good, fine, but think of the tragedy of a man who has sacrificed his freedom on the altar of security, and wishes he could turn back the hands of time. A man is to be pitied who lacked the courage to accept the challenge of freedom and depart from the cushion of security and see life as it is instead of living it second-hand. Life has by-passed this man and he has watched from a secure place, afraid to seek anything better What has he done except to sit and wait for the tomorrow which never comes?

Turn back the pages of history and see the men who have shaped the destiny of the world. Security was never theirs, but they lived rather than existed. Where would the world be if all men had sought security and not taken risks or gambled with their lives on the chance that, if they won, life would be different and richer? It is from the bystanders (who are in the vast majority) that we receive the propaganda that life is not worth living, that life is drudgery, that the ambitions of youth must he laid aside for a life which is but a painful wait for death. These are the ones who squeeze what excitement they can from life out of the imaginations and experiences of others through books and movies. These are the insignificant and forgotten men who preach conformity because it is all they know. These are the men who dream at night of what could have been, but who wake at dawn to take their places at the now-familiar rut and to merely exist through another day. For them, the romance of life is long dead and they are forced to go through the years on a treadmill, cursing their existence, yet afraid to die because of the unknown which faces them after death. They lacked the only true courage: the kind which enables men to face the unknown regardless of the consequences.

As an afterthought, it seems hardly proper to write of life without once mentioning happiness; so we shall let the reader answer this question for himself: who is the happier man, he who has braved the storm of life and lived or he who has stayed securely on shore and merely existed?"

Droppinin.

A lot has happened since I last posted. For one, there was a bomb scare about two minutes from where I lived. Minutes before I found about said bomb scare I was greeted by the image of a black-faced, one-legged, homelessman shouting. Now, if this isn't a frank and blatant symbol of the impending apocalypse, I don't know what is.

I should note by the way, that he wasn't a black man, he was very much white but for some reason his face was black.

I should also note that I am not racist. I just found a man with one leg and shouting quite strange, especially considering his face was a different colour than his body.

Also, my heart is going all weird. Beating all funny so it is, so I went to the doctor. Now, I am an overweight oaf who is dreadfully unfit so you can imagine my dismay when the doctor ordered me to do 20 squats in her little office. I had jeans on too so unfortunately I couldn't quite fulfill her requests of "riiight down now".

Not in that way you filthy minded wretches.

TONIGHT

I was pleasantly surprised to receive a text from a friend telling me that Stephen Fry, the only man who I would prefer to raise me than my parents, was on that ghastly tv show Tubridy Tonight. I use the word 'ghastly' not to be pretentious and snobby, but to convey the absolute shitness of that programme. I mean, it is rabbish. Well anyway, what disgusts me even further, is that he was only on the programme for about 15 fucking minutes. I really do not understand why, when RTE get an actual decent intelligent guest, they give him so little time. If RTE sent us out information on why this is so, I did no get an agenda, no.

Stephen Fry is really into twitter it seems. I am tempted to start one myself, although it would probably help if there was anyone out there who were interested in what I had to say so I'll have to remedy that. Perhaps by purchasing a megaphone, kidnapping an important persons' child and behaving erratically. That seems to get people's attention.

You may hear from me soon.

joseph.

I'm Rich.

I'm rich as of late.

I say rich, I really mean, richer than I should be. Why I hear you ask?

Not only did I con the bus driver out of 30c yesterday, I conned him out of a good €1 today. €1. A whole euro. That's fifty odd jellies. 

Theen, I hear it's free Ben & Jerry's day, yooink. I'll have me some of that action. I got the Luas from town to Dundrum, got myself a free tub of ice cream and demolished it in the sunshine. I was feeling pretty good and mosey'd on down to Hamley's as there is one in Dundrum now. It was weird, there was no-one in there. Felt like a bad dream or something, kids jigsaws everywhere, garish colours and men dressed as oversized faces etc. It was all too much, so I left, pretty sharpish.

Then, on the Luas home, I didn't pay! Another €1.90 to Joseph. 

It's all getting too easy, this thieving. The public transport system is going down the swanny and I love it. I'm a motherfuckin' kindred spirit.

I. Am. Robin Hood.

Sunshine.

I've concluded that sunshine equals happiness. People who live in sunny countries must therefore, always be happy. So, all you cheery, content people in the likes of Australia, Hawaii and Ethiopia can rest easy knowing that I'm envious of you all.

Perseverence.

I woke up at 10.30, needing to be in for 12pm and thought "hey, I've got loads of time, I'll have another little sleep". Needless to say, I got up at around 11 and hopped in to the shower. When I was all clean and wholesome and full of coco pops, I skipped to the bus then I got the dreaded AWAKENING. I had no money on me.

Christ.

So I went baaack up the SICKsty something stairs to get some moolah, some bread, a nice little bunsen burner. LOLLY. Much to my disgust, all I can find is a 50 euro note. I think, "I'll just run down to the shop and get change, yeah that's a good plan". I pace with confidence, knowing that the day ahead will be good. It's got to be hasn't it?

"Can I have some change man? I'll buy something" I say, non chalantly. 

"Sorry, I don't have change for a 50, I'm after getting three of them in today already" he replies apologetically.

Curses.

But then..

A lightbulb flashes over my head. 

"Didn't I overpay the last accomodation fee? Didn't I overpay by €39? Doesn't this mean I have to get some coins? I'm a ruddy genius" So I race to the accomodation office beaming with a sense of accomplishment only to be told I'll get the money at the end of the year. It was now 11.45, I'm going to be late. Will I just walk? But then I'll be horrifically late. There's got to be another way, I thought to myself.

John.

John is a good friend of mine who lives in Trinity Halls. We've been friends since primary school. 

I happened to know that he wasn't going in to college today because he's wrecked and feeling a little under the weather. Out of sorts. A bit peaky. He usually leaves his window open too so I figured if chance was feeling generous today, he'd be sitting at his desk wondering what to do with that shiny €2 coin that he just found under his bed. I scamper across to John's window, he lives on the second floor. Just like Luka. I say, quite calmly, and quietly "John". His blind was down. Did he hear me? Is he awake? After a few seconds, the blind ascends like a portcullis in the sun.

"John, any chance of getting some bus money? I only have a 50 euro note and nobody will give me change"

"Yeah, hang on a second"

I love this man. 

He tosses down a euro coin, and I await the second. Now, job done I hear you say? This tale wasn't complete. it was just the beginning. The windows in Trinity Halls (where I live by the way..) only open about two or three inches for safety reasons, so it was difficult to throw the money out. The first euro came out fiiine, hunky dorey in fact. But the second? That went straight into the bushes, never to be seen again. I fell to my knees and cried out*. It was no use, I was destined to remain in Halls forever, I would die there. There was no point attempting to escape, my destiny was already decided for me. It was over. What was left for joe? Nothing. 

Suddenly, through my despair I heard something divine, an angelic voice..

"I have thirty cent left if you want it.."

"Yes! Yes!" I said.

He tossed it down (not in that way) and I ran, oh how I ran. A sense of hope eminated through the air like the smell of freshly cut crass on a summers day. A dilemma ignited within me, but did I care? No. I was free of that wretched place, at least for a while. The player had become the master of his own fate. 

Now, how do I get away with this bus devilry? It costs €1.60 to get where I need to go but I only have €1.30. Do I pay a smaller fee and just stay on the bus longer. A fine option. Or, will I become Solid Snake? Will I deftly place my €1.30 and ask for a €1.60 fare anyway? I think it's the better option. I still have three coins anyway. Fuck it, I'm doing it.

When I got to the bus, I took a deep breath. I knew what I had to do but that didn't make it any easier. I'm not embarrassed to say I was scared, to say I was smelling every smell as if it could be the last, to say I embraced my freedom in case it would be no longer mine. I stepped up to the bus driver and said confidently "€1.60 please" Bish bash bosh. the sucker bought it. I grabbed my ticket and said "thanks very much". Rubbing his nose in it so I was. "Thanks very much for being an idiotic bafoon, I've just robbed you blind you nonce". I was away. Scot free. Scot fucking free. I took my seat and saw another friend of mine, another John actually. John's were good to me on this fateful day, maybe I'd help them overcome to odds one day. Maybe I'd help them become their own masters, help them take control.

I'd like that.

Alright there

So here I am, crawling back to the blogasphere (I'm now officially gay for using that term).

I've been watching a lot of films lately, and I mean a lot and have discovered how great film really is. I wrote about this after my Christmas holidays but then I fell back into not watching them again for various reasons. Namely the fact that I sat on my laptop and had to get it fixed. Now, one might think that "my god, this guy actually is a foolish wreck". However, I'd like you to postpone drawing such a flippant and frankly banal conclusion. I was in fact being chivalrous. What happened was, me and a few friends ( a few friends and I), I would write the grammatically correct version only but the "me and a few friends" makes me sound cooler and more hip and will inevitably see hundreds of girls emailing me for sex etc. So anyway, we're sitting on these leather couches in college, chatting about heroin and whores, when a friend of mine (who is a girl) came over, there was no room left on the couch. So what did I do? I stepped up to the plate. I offered her my seat. After much "No no, stay sitting, there's no need", "Ah come on, sit down!" etc she finally sat down, and I took my seat on the ground using my bag as a cushion. This is perhaps a metaphor for my future position in society but to confirm this we'll have to wait and see.

My laptop was in said bag. You can imagine my aghast reaction when I next turned on my laptop. The screen was cracked. This was no little, half arsed crack either. This was a full on, your screen is fucked, sorta crack. Crack. So I took it a shop to be fixed thinking "right, I could send it to dell, and it take a while but probably get it done cheaper, or I could bring it to a shop, pay a little extra and have it sooner. Plus I wouldn't have to send it away and shit". How wrong I was. I bring it to a shop, am told it should be done within a week or so. 6 weeks later, I have a laptop again.

So, armed with my laptop again, I took to the internet, slaying (i.e. downloading) my prey (i.e. films) yet again. I was unstoppable. There was nowhere for these filmes to hide. My virtual machete which had a rapidshare account as it's blade took no prisoners. The download speed in Trinity Hall is so fast I can download films in a minute. Sexual.

I might review some films on here in the near future. I use the term "review" very loosely though. It'll probably be more like a four line opinion on the film or something equally lazy. However I would like to quickly mention how fucking brilliant the film "Waking Life" is. I was genuinely blown away by it. I am an avid user, an excessive user in fact, of superlatives but that film is great. Watch it.

Anyway, to conclude - films are awesome.

joseph.