I was out walking with Bastardface, my trusty hound, late last night. We were trundling along the canal when his ears pricked up. There was a high pitched squeak from a plastic bag on the bank.

Bastardface pulled me over to investigate. He sniffed at the bag, gave it a few little shoves with his enormous snout and looked up at me. The bag squeaked again.

I picked it up and looked in.

"Mew!", went a tiny little kitten that couldn't have been more than 6 weeks old. It was filthy dirty and it looked starving. Being a person of good conscience I couldn't just leave him like that so I put some stones in the bag and threw it in the canal.

I'm joking. I took him home. Well, I say him because he looks like a him but I haven't had a look to see if he's got a mickey or a flange yet. However, I have called him Throatripper (I will add 'ette' on the end if it turns out to be a girl cat).

I gave him a good wash under the sink with some washing up liquid and swarfiga because he had some kind of oily stuff on his coat. I dried him off and put him on the ground. This was the acid test. He would either be accepted by Bastardface, the genuine king of the house, or he would be a very quick snack.

Bastardface looked at him. Throatripper looked at Bastardface. It would be the equivalent of a dwarf looking up at Godzilla.

"Woof!", said Bastardface.

"Mew!", said Throatripper before he ran up the dog's leg, settled himself on his back and rode him around like a pony.

I have a feeling these two might make a lethal and devious partnership in the back garden.

You know who annoy me? Those people who can just fall asleep anywhere, at any time, no matter how uncomfortable the situation or circumstances or the chair.

Like if you're in a hospital waiting room and there's always one bloke on one of those old school chairs and he's fast asleep but always manages to wake up when the incomprehensible intercom calls his name.

Or those people who get on a plane, set their chair back and snooze merrily the whole way. I hate those bastards. I'm sitting there with white knuckles, muttering incantations to ensure the plane doesn't fall out of the sky, wondering why I can't sleep despite the 6 gin and tonics I had before take off and this cunt is fast asleep as if he's in the most comfortable bed of all time. It's maddening. I can't even fall asleep during a Tom Hanks film!

Unless I'm slightly jarred it always takes me some time to fall asleep at night. I'll toss and turn, and fluff up my pillow and shovel the duvet around and turn on my light again so I can read more to make my eyes tired but I know people who can go asleep as they turn a page in the book they're reading.

That's why I'm nearly always jarred. Some people say getting up early and having a full, interesting day which makes you tired means you can sleep far easier when you go to bed but I really wouldn't know anything about that.

Dirty Dave has a new ladyfriend. She came into Ron's with him last night. Her name is Olga. She looks like a shoe. She is the person I have least in common with in the whole wide world and I include my evil twin brother who likes the exact opposite of me in that.

"Oh, I love Elvis", she said out of the blue as if it had been part of the conversation.

"Elvis? I hate that cunt", I said.

"How can you hate Elvis?", she gasped.

"I just can."

"That's not a good enough reason!"

"My reasons are my own."

She then expressed deep admiration for Robbie Williams, Dolly Parton, Bono and Phil fucking Collins, expressing a particular devotion to the drums in 'In the air tonight'.

"Robbie Williams. Cunt", said Jimmy.

"Dolly Parton. Big tits", said Stinking Pete.

"Bono, is a da focking most big cunt in a da world", said Lucky Luciano.

"Phil Collins. Bald, sub-cabaret, Motown song destroying, shit-eating, making us watch him two times at Live Aid cunt. And the drums in 'In the air tonight' are for cunts, loved by cunts, and air drummed by cunts the world over".

"Well, who do you like then?" she asked.

"Erm", I said.

"Er", said Stinking Pete

"Uhm", said Jimmy the Bollix.

"A aaah", said Lucky Luciano.

I hate when people ask me difficult questions.

I've never YouTubed before but this episode of South Park is just classic.

Story found on TCAL about the Apostrophe Protection Society giving out about a road sign in Portlaoise.

These grammar pedant's are a real pain the arse. After that eat's, shoot's and leave's book its something lot's of people pick up on. A waste of time if you ask me. Their just showing off.

Message to the Apostrophe Protection Society: Your cunt's and you should of left well enough alone because now you're name is on my list to add to the many other's.

Isn't meat great?

I feel sorry for people who are struck down by that terrible disease vegetarianism. Last night I ate most of a cow, medium rare. There was so much blood on the plate I drank the blood and now I have too much blood in my own bloodstream.

It's like I have super blood.

Beef, pork, goat, fowl, kangaroo, ostrich, venison, Albanians. All deliciously meaty and good for you too!

And before the first smart arse pops up and says "Oooh, I bet you like a nice, big sausage, Twenty!" I'll just have to admit I do like a nice, big sausage. German ones are very good. And before the first smart arse pops up and says "Is his name Jurgen?" I'll have to admit that I'm really just talking about sausages with no double entendres whatsoever.

I have to keep it fresh somehow.

People who play pool in a gay way are cunts.

Most of us hit the ball by putting our thumb and index finger together to make a good rest for the cue. Some people though make a circle with their index finger and thumb and that's completely crap. I hate that. Stop being a complete Benny and set up your cue properly. You look like a total quimbashing gleethound.

The best kind of people to play pool against are the ones that think they're always going to win but they forget about your ability to fluke in lots of shots and your ability to put them off by saying stuff when they're about to take their shot. Such as "Nice clitoris" or "How's your gee?"

This may not work against your more penisy friends.

Pool is good though. Especially when combined with booze. Pool and booze is a great combination like fish and chips, Tom and Jerry and Jews and Nazis.

Play more pool everyone. I'm really shit at it but the booze makes it all ok.

...today's post has been cancelled.

Please insert your own post here.

The management.

Update: Hangover has receded due to consumption of sausage sandwich and beer. Still not enough for me to relate a mildly amusing anecdote though.

I have a very, very sharp kitchen knife which cost me over €100. It can slice through steel and titanium without any effort at all. It's fantastic for filleting things such as chickens or itinerants.

It has also managed to slice open my hand at least three times. Once cutting some duck I opened up the back of my hand, another time cutting something else I filleted my left thumb and cut about half an inch into the nail and today I sliced open my index finger on my left hand. I'm beginning to think I need to be more careful, or perhaps sober, when I use it.

It bled like a stuck pig though. I'd say, and this is a conservative estimate, that I lost at least 6 litres of blood from today's wound. Lucky for me I'd bought a new plasma TV the other week so I was able to top up quite easily.

The worst slicing I ever did was over in Jimmy the Bollix's house one evening. His dad was a butcher and he had a proper meat slicer in his kitchen. It's the only thing his dad left to him when he died which is one of the reasons why Jimmy hates his brother Johnny the Bollix who got a house, a collection of LPs, three sides of beef and a tidy sum of cash.

I was slicing a side of ham to make a ham, cheese, lettuce, tomato, onion, cheese and onions crisps, pickle, beetroot, mustard, cucumber, bovril, foie gras and bacon sandwich having had a large number of beers, three gin and tonics, an uncountable number of rum and cokes, 2 Jamesons, three shots of Absolut blackcurrant, a 1994 Faustino Rioja and 4 2 litre bottles of cider when I lost concentration and sliced the top of my right thumb clean off.

I looked at my thumb. I looked down at the ham which had my thumb on it. I looked back at my thumb and the top of the bone staring back at me.

"Hey Jimmy", I said. "I think I've cut the top of my thumb off".

"Yes. I think you have", he said.

At this point it was beginning to bleed quite a lot. I don't know what it was about the blood but it made me hysterical, with laughter. I was guffawing and chortling like a fool whilst spurting blood all over the kitchen floor.

"My thumb...pfffff...hahaha...is on the ham. hahahaha".

Jimmy wasn't quite sure why this was so amusing and he gave me a wad of tissue to wrap around it. We picked up the bit of thumb and went down to the emergency room where I told a clearly bemused receptionist that I had, hilariously, cut the top of my thumb off and I probably needed a doctor.

After waiting ages the doctor took a look and said it would just have to grow back on its own because the bit of thumb had gone off or something. They wrapped a big gauze bandage around it and told me to come back in a couple of days. I went home, still chuckling, and drifted off to sleep in great humour.

A couple of days later I went back to get the dressing changed but after a couple of days of solid bleeding it had all got stuck and the gauze was under bits of regenerating skin. The nurse bathed it in hot water and tried to gently pull it off but it was really stuck.

"There's only one thing to do", she said.

"What's that?"

"This!", she replied as she gave it a massive tug which hurt more than cutting it off in the first place.

"Are you going to pass out?", she asked.

"No", I said before I fell off the chair unconscious. Smelling salts really smell.

So, the lesson here is don't cut the top of your thumb off with a meat slicer. It's really funny until you have to get your bandage changed.

I have just come back from hospital having picked up Stinking Pete who, in a drunken state in some bar last night, took on the bet that he couldn't put an AA battery down his Jap's eye.

If he had the liquid capacity the doctor tells me he could water entire lawns in one go. The €2.56 he won better be worth it. Apparently they had to dig around in there for ages to hook it out.

There was Dave's button fly incident the other day and now this. I am concerned.

These things happen in threes, you know...

"You, fuck off.

You, look at me like that again and I'm going to fucking break your legs.

You, stop standing their dribbling like a fucking spastic and bring me my beer. It's there on the table.

You, see you and your buddy wearing the Pringle jumper are going to get taken out round the back and I'm going to fucking stomp on your head.

You, point at me again and I'll take that finger and shove it up your hole.

You, you stink of piss, you disgusting cunt.

You, get a fucking life and stop fucking asking me if I'm John because I'm not.

You, if I wanted to hear your stories I'd initiate conversation with you. Don't come up to me and start talking like I'm some kind of long lost relative.

You, get away from me. Your leathery hands make me sick.

You, I'm not going to waltz with you. Your hips will break again".

Oh, I do love visiting relatives in the old folks home.

...never to eat Indian food again. I'm not sure lamb korma sits right on top of a load of beer. It's too creamy and quite honeslty I can do without getting up at 3.30am to vomit creamy fizzy vomit for half an hour.

I was puking into the toilet, hadn't spewed anything for about 5 minutes so figured I was finished. I got up to wash my face and brush my teeth. I bent over the sink and 'Bleeeeeeuuurrrrghhhhh' I vommed another couple of litres. I think there were bits of tree in it.

I'm really not looking forward to the poo I'm about to have.

...but was it really necessary for today's Sun to show pictures from the funeral of Darren Clarke's wife?

It's not like some fucking premiere or bullshit, d-list celeb event. It's a fucking funeral, you cunts. We know the people there are sad. We don't need to see pictures of his children, who have just lost their mother, looking distraught, crying and looking for comfort from their Dad who feels and looks the same.

Shameless cunts, they really are. I hope they get 10 different kinds of AIDS.

Two guys stopped me yesterday when I was out walking with Bastardface.

"Twenty Major?", they said.

"Yes", I said. "Who wants to know?"

"I'm Herzberg, he's Efroim. We need to talk to you."

"Well, we're talking now, aren't we?"

"Good point. Anyway, let's walk and talk. It's less conspicuous that way."

"Indeed, because three men standing and talking is much more conspicuous than three men walking and talking."

"Look, we're with Mossad. We read your blog and we love that bit about you saying Muslims shouldn't be allowed on commercial flights."

"Right. And?"

"Well, that would be really, like, sweet, if that happened and we need you to say it again."

"Muslims shouldn't be allowed on commercial flights."

"Not now. On your blog."

"But I've already said it. I really do try, despite what some people might think, not to be repetitive. Why would I say it again?"

"Because we'll pay you. A large sum of money each month and we'll ensure you get massive readership through our super-secret computer department which actually controls all the computers in the world. But don't tell anyone about that."

"I'm not sure I'm the man you're looking for really."

"No, Mr Major. You are. We've studied all the blogs in all the world and you've got the chutzpah we need to bring about this momumental and absolutely necessary change to modern society. You're a blog maven."

"So, what you're saying is you'll pay me loads of money to spout the same crap over and over again and boost my readership so I can make a fortune from Google ads and eventually be so enormously popular I might be able to launch my own range of Cafépress merchandise?"

"You've got it."

"Fair enough. I can't see a downside."

"Hurrah", said Herzberg.

"Mazel Tov", said Efroim. "You won't regret this. Soon everyone will know your name. You will go down in history. Your Wikipedia entry will be long and full of people disputing its authenticity and its facts. You'll be in text books. You'll be right up there with Andrew Sullivan!"

"Andrew Sullivan? Fuck that then."

I set the dog on them.

Not so long ago you rarely, if ever, heard anyone refer to anyone as a cunt. I'm talking about other people because I've always been surrounded by my motley crew of cunts and have always referred to them as such.

Still, despite the amount of cunts, cuntbags, cuntfaces and cunticles that exist it's still kind of not the done thing to refer to a woman's furry front bottom in that way. It's just taboo, isn't it?

If you, in conversation said "That bloke is a complete and utter cunt" and there were some shocked faces you could say "Oh, I'm sorry for my language" and it would be passed over and maybe the prissier of the company might comment on the way home about your potty mouth but there'd be nothing more to it.

However, if you said "I was with this girl last night and she had a gorgeous cunt" it just wouldn't be glossed over the same way. It's all right to call someone a cunt but you can't call a cunt a cunt (if you ladies will pardon my French) and that's probably right because it's a much better word to refer someone of opprobrious character than to describe a lady's genitalia.

Is there any other word in the English language that so divides people? Some people can't even say the word and if they do have to refer to it use that 'C U Next Tuesday' thing.

The only other word I can think of that is so taboo is 'nigger' and black people call themselves that all the time so it's lost some of its impact (which is a good thing) and we've been over this one before.

Even the worst racist remark you can think of probably doesn't come near it. Most of us can laugh them off. Call me a Paddy, a Mick, a spud eating wankhammer all you want. I couldn't care less.

What we need is a new most offensive word in the world. If new additions can be made to the Oxford English Dictionary all the time then why can't we invent something new and so vulgar, coarse and disgusting that in time it becomes the most taboo word in the world.

Your suggestions please...

Update: Having scoured the dictionary I came across the word 'gleet'. It is defined as:

A watery discharge from the urethra caused by gonorrheal infection

It is a good word and I like it, you bunch of gleetfaced gleethounds.

What is the most painful thing that can happen to a man?

"Seeing your team lose in a cup final", some might say.

"Losing the great love of your life when you find out she's been having it off with the Polish electrician", others might suggest.

"Having to pretend you like Damien Rice to score with some chick then you realise she's not going to give you any and all your Damien Rice liking was for nought", would be the answer from some.

The real answer, beyond heartbreak, a different kind of heartbreak and pure unadulterated misery is, of course, getting your langer caught in your fly.

I once got a phone call from Stinking Pete asking me to come over to his house to help him. It was an emergency he said. He was close to screaming.

I went over and found poor old Pete with a huge chunk of his manhood caught in the zipper of his Levis. The zip would not go up. The zip would not go down. The manhood would not be coaxed, pulled, tugged or otherwise forcibly removed from it's metal, toothy grasp. In the end I had to use a hacksaw to cut away the bits of the zip, and sadly a part of Pete's chopper. I'd love to say it grew back but it didn't. He said it healed over nicely though.

I thought that, as a dick in zip incident, would never be beaten. That was until last night.

Dirty Dave had been out with some of his family and with the greatest respect to them they are all complete and utter alcoholics. One of his uncles was on 4 bottles of Obsession by Calvin Klein a day until an intervention saw him sent to a clinic. Sadly it was an STD clinic and he died from drinking 17 Farenheit and Coca-Colas and a steaming cup of AIDS one night.

So they met in town to go on the piss and when Dave arrived in Ron's he was absolutely shit-faced. Imagine the drunkest you've ever been, then add 50 George Bests, 9 Oliver Reeds, a Tony Adams and 6 wino tramps who live under a bridge.

"Yishar allll me besht maytesh and I love yish yiz cuntsh".

"Shut up, Stinking Pete", I said. "I'm trying to listen to Dave", who was making strange keening noises having come back from the bathroom.

"Erp", he said fiddling with his fly. "Mnurm. Eeep. Blarf".

"What's wrong, Dave?" asked Jimmy the Bollix.

Dave just pointed at Ron who gave him another drink and put down two on Dave's tab. That didn't stop him making those strange noises though. After a few minutes he began to cry softly.

"Did a something a happen with a da family?", asked Lucky Luciano.

A solitary tear ran down Dave's face.

"Meep", he said pointing at his crotch.

"Ahh, your first cousin Mary wouldn't do it with you again!", said Jimmy thinking he'd solved the riddle.

"Mrar. Meeep, Meeeeeeeeeeeeeeep", he said, again gesturing at his groinal area.

"Maybe he's got something wrong with him", I said. "Lucky, take a look".

Lucky looked.

"Ooooh mama!", he said. "Mama mia, Minchia! Porca troia!"

"What is it?"

"Is a his a dick. Is a caught in his a fly. Ooooh mama!"

"Ahh, that kind of thing happens all the time. Easy to fix", said Jimmy the Bollix moving over to help our mate. He took a look.

"Good sweet holy mother of sacred heart of the crucified Jesus!", he said.

"Come on you fucking twats. It can't be that bad", I said as I went to have a gander.

"Fucking hell", I managed to exclaim before I vomited out of my nose.

Poor old Dave had got his mickey caught all right but the cunt was wearing Levi 501s with a button fly and he'd managed to button part of his lad through three of the button holes. And not just a little bit. Great chunks of Dirty Dave's shaft and helmet were caught in his fly with the buttons pressing and twisting the flesh all over the place.

There was only one thing to do. We took him back to his house, fished out his keys, gave him a couple of shots of Jamesons and laid him on his back on his bed. Jimmy took put on the surgical gloves he always carries with him and said a little prayer before going to work. It wasn't pretty, it wasn't easy and there was a lot of blood.

All we could do was douse his bollocks with alcohol and leave him sleep it off.

He came into Ron's then this evening. We all winced.

"Howya, Dave?", I asked.

"Fucking rotten hangover, Twenty. I'm never going out with my family again. I get too drunk. And another thing. I think I ended up with buck-toothed Betty last night an' all".

*bring bring*

"Hello, Budget Travel. How can I help you?"

"Ah hello, how are ya? I'm looking to go on holidays please."

"Of course, anywhere in particular?"

"Well, I'm thinking of something a bit out of the ordinary, you know? I'm not into the whole sitting by the pool drinking cocktails this year. I want some action. Some adventure. Some thrills and to compliment the thrills some spills as well."

"A man after my own heart. Weekends are for sitting on your arse. Holidays are for having fun. We have some brilliant white water rafting trips on which you can do rock climbing, base jumping and that thing where you parachute behind a speed boat."

"All rather clichéd though, isn't it? I'm thinking somewhere hot but not your run of the mill stuff. What's the hotel situation like in Beirut at the moment? I'd say with all that's going on you could get a 5 star hotel for fuck all."

"Erm, we're not really doing any trips to Lebanon at the moment."

"Why not? That's where the action is. What about Haifa then?"

"Er... no. We don't go there either?"

"Baghdad?"

"Nope."

"Kabul?"

"Uh-uh."

"Somalia?"

"Afraid not."

"Uganda?"

"Not on the list here."

"Chechnya?"

"Sorry."

"I have to say I'm disappointed. Being Ireland's premier travel agent I thought you'd be able to find something for me."

"Well, it strikes me you're looking for more than action sports. You want danger. You want action. You want to feel the rush of adrenalin as you go out at night not knowing if you're coming back in one piece. You want to be surrounded by scum and people with no sense of morality. People who would slit your throat just because you were who you are. You want filth, degradation, barbarity and bloodshed."

"Exactly!"

How does two weeks in Torremolinos sound?"

"When do I leave?!"

For one reason and another I had stay up all night the other night and it had nothing to do with booze or drugs or anything fun.

It is funny how you react though when you haven't slept for 36 hours. Everything seems to be kind of dirty and when you close your eyes it's almost like you go off into another world.

At one point I dozed for a few minutes, ten maximum, but had the most vivid, awake but not awake style dreams I've ever had. Can't for the life of me remember what they were about it but I was glad when I woke up. For a second. Then I realised I wasn't in bed but on an uncomfortable chair. But it was worth it.

I remember years ago not sleeping for about 48 hours due to being on the piss and doing loads of acid. Then I had to get a bus to go work in a radio station for the day.

On the bus everybody had a sunflower for a head and they bobbed like the flowers were being blown by the wind. I'm sure the acid had something to do with it, although it had worn off by then, but you can properly hallucinate by not sleeping. It's cheaper than drugs but takes a lot longer to kick in.

I remember reading somewhere that you can die from lack of sleep. Is that true? Wouldn't you just fall asleep?

...why we can't have a toothpaste that fights bacteria, whitens your teeth, counters plaque, prevents gum disease, staves off cavities, helps those with sensitive teeth and leaves your mouth minty fresh all in one tube?

If the events of yesterday at the UK's airports have taught us anything, it's that we need to find a different way to travel long distances in a short period of time.

Now, there are some obvious ways to travel long distances at high-speed. Spaceships are the most obvious but still the Islamic threat would apply as they could crash us into an asteroid or something.

Futurama style tubes are another but you're talking massive investments in infrastructure and what's to stop a terrorist from going in with a machine gun or going in with an open bag of poo so all the people flying through the tube behind him get covered with his brown baby boys? Nothing, that's what. Unless you make bags of poo like iPods and laptops and prevent people from bringing them on board.

Then there's the Rentaghost method (or for you Merkins the 'Charmed' method) where you hold your nose and reappear elsewhere. Sadly that requires everyone to be either a ghost or a witch and seeing as the terrorists are trying to turn us all into ghosts anyway let's not do their work for them.

Given that it's now 2006 teleportation really should be an option by now and if it takes something like this to buck up those teleportation scientists who've been sitting on their arses playing Yahtzee all day well then that's fine. Teleportation is surely the best way. You go in. They twiddle the zeeble, punch in the coordinates on the wotsit and in seconds you're where you wanted to go with no threat of being blown up or crashed into the side of a tall building.

It wouldn't surprise me if we did get that up and running and the terrorists sabotaged it by putting lots of flies in the machines so the human race would be overrun by half-man, half-fly creatures like in that film about the man who was teleported and got his DNA spliced with a fly. I think it was called 'Jeff Goldblum looks like that in real life'.

Could evolution be the way to go? If those fuckers won't let us fly in planes then maybe we have to learn to fly ourselves. It'll probably take some thousands of years to evolve fully but even then there's no reason why the they couldn't interbreed and flood the sky with beardy, swooping suicide terrorists.

"15 people were killed today when a 48 year old businessman on his way to work was clubbed out of the sky and landed on a bus full of orphans."

Oh, the humanity!

It's not easy, is it? Everything we can think of they'll be able to fuck it up in some way.

Alternatively you could just ban all Muslims from commercial flights until they learn that blowing things up is naughty.

What a fucking piss head he is. He's just checked into a clinic for alcoholism and his agent said that he had "found himself drinking again".

So obviously he'd gone on the piss, sobered up a bit and realised he'd gone on the piss. How do you find yourself drinking though? Is it a slow realisation that only happens after you've had a few beers or does it happen the minute you pick up a bottle?

I once found three nuns drinking two-litre bottles of Bulmer's cider in Bushy Park having gone on the run from a nearby school. They were smoking, telling filthy jokes and leering at passers-by.

"Show us your balls, you ride ya!", they yelled at a young man walking his dog before they collapsed into hysterics, slapping each other on the back.

"I'd fucking plough him six ways from Sunday", said one of them.

Later they got more cider then got into a fight outside the chipper with rival nuns from a different order.

Nuns. They're a fucking menace to society.

Irish blogs aren't as big as the big American blogs, so it's said.

Frankly, I'm shocked. I was sure people writing about Bertie Ahern, Gerry Adams and how shit our hospitals are would have just as much relevance to a world audience as the war in Iraq, the Israeli/Lebanon conflict, the war on terror and George W Bush.

So how do we improve the Irish blogosphere and bring it more mainstream? Some suggestions:

1 - Every single Irish blogger should turn off their comments and write opinionated, politically charged posts. Then whenever anyone wants to respond they have to write a blog post of their own. Considering there must be thousands of comments on Irish blogs daily this increase in posting would make the Irish blogosphere the most prolific in the world thus garnering lucrative advertising and sponsorship deals for nearly every blogger.

2 - Bloggers must engage in clever marketing. If sitting beside a commuter reading a newspaper, the arch-enemy of the Irish blog, the blogger should hand over a business card with their web address on it and say "Dear sir or madam, I may or may not comment on some of the stories in that newspaper. If I gain enough readers maybe I can make the newspaper redundant and you can read my blog instead. Of course you'd have nothing to read on the DART each morning but hey, at least Irish blogs are relevant now".

3 - The next time a blogger is on the radio and the presenter says "So what is a blog?", pronouncing the word 'blog' like it was a piece of shit with corn in it they'd just seen a handicapped person dump on the floor, the blogger should respond "Oh for fuck's sake we must have told you this a million fucking times, you cunts."

Think of the publicity.

4 - Irish bloggers need to make and break news. Where are the Dan Rather scandals of the Irish blogosphere? A dedicated blogger would stalk politicians and their aides looking for stray scraps of paper that might suggest shady dealings.

"Meet Dunner in Bruxelles later to discuss bribes situation. CJH".

It's bound to pay off some time and the fact you've got restraining order and been fired for not going to work for 5 weeks won't matter.

5 - Lobby for more immigrants. Irish blogs lag behind American and UK blogs simply because they have more people in their countries. There's an easy solution, let more people into Ireland.

It would spark a housing boom which means there'd be loads more builders being paid in cash and standing the AIB in Rathmines every Friday with a wad of cash that they then put right back into the economy by going to the Lower Deck and getting fucking shitfaced which means more Chinese lounge girls are needed which means more people smugglers are required and soon the population will be sky-rocketing which means more people will read blogs.

Clever blogs would give away Irish passports as prizes on their sites.

6 - Let's make Irish politics more interesting for the rest of the world by invading the Isle of Man. Let's say we suspected they had weapons of mass destruction or bleat about regime change. Then all the ginger people in the Irish army can perform acts of atrocity upon the locals, Bertie can get his mates building firm to do all the repairs, Brian Cowen can skillfully evade difficult questions and all the while we'll rape them for their greatest natural resource. The TT race track which we'll bring back and put down in place of Mondello.

Then Potatopundit, the Daily K'Os and Meathithiannotes can rule the blogging world.

All we need is a little imagination, folks.

The door of Ron's opened and there was a 'tap', 'tap', 'tap' across the tiled part of the floor.

At first we didn't dare turn around in case it was Paul McCartney's ex-wife but it turned out to be Johnny Blind, the most famous blind man in the neighbourhood.

"Good evening Twenty, Ron, Jimmy the Bollix, Lucky Luciano and Splodge and all the complete strangers in here I've never met", he said, pointedly not saying hello to Dirty Dave.

Many years ago Johnny, who wasn't blind, and Dave were great mates. Then came the game of stickball. Sort of like baseball but because we were poor in those days it was played with a plank of wood stolen from a lumber yard and a rock instead of a ball.

Johnny was bowling, Dave batting and he smacked one that hit Johnny right between his eyes so perfectly it made both of his eyes pop right out of his head and hang there on stalks.

Naturally we all ran off and by the time Johnny got to hospital they'd dried out completely and he would never see again. He blames Dave for his lack of eyesight, as you might imagine, and has always promised to get his revenge by blinding him in the same way.

Obviously he's got a small problem in that nobody will play stickball with him and when he does try and throw things at Dave's head he misses. He once hit Jimmy in the ear with an ashtray for which Jimmy got his revenge by blowing a snot rocket in Johnny's pint then writing 'I am a blind cunt' on the back of his jacket with Tippex.

"The usual?", asked Ron.

"Please", he replied. He always asks for a pint of Heineken. Ron always gives him a pint of Carlsberg.

"Here lads!", exclaimed Dirty Dave. "Did you SEE that new Superman fillum yet? I've WATCHED it 6 times. The colours are so real. Like nothing I've ever SEEN before."

"Here we go again", said Johnny Blind. "I knew you were here, Dave. I smelt you the minute I walked through the door. Due to my lack of sight my other senses are near superhuman. I can smell you from miles off, I can hear that you're wearing corduoroy pants, I can taste the fact that you've been near the bar because there's a hint of dried poo off this glass and I know you've sat here in the last couple of weeks because there's a sticky residue off the bar that I can feel with my fingertips."

"Yeah, but you'll never be able to LOOK at the pictures of me riding your ma. She loved it."

"You fucking shitebag, Dirty Dave", said Johnny and he flung his white stick through the air and it, uncannily, hit Dave right between the eyes.

"How'dya like them apples?", roared Johnny Blind knowing where the stick had landed due to his super-strength hearing.

Of course Dave wasn't blinded one little bit and when Johnny went to go for a piss Dave tripped him up and made him land on his teeth.

Now we call him Jawsy Blind.

You know the way that if you want to get fit you start running and exercising? At first you suffer because your muscles and atrophyed from years of sitting at bar stools and doing fuck all but after a time they start to build up and the more you exercise the fitter you become.

You can run faster, further and you become fitter, happier and more productive. It requires constant exercise though. If you only do it once in a while you suffer afterwards so the trick is to do it regularly.

So, I was thinking that why shouldn't the same apply to booze? If you only go out and drink once in a while you suffer from hangovers the next day. Your poo turns to lava and you body and limbs and torso and skin and organs and digits and extremities ache.

So for the last two weeks I have been drinking every single night and at first it hurts a bit but after about a week the hangovers just don't appear any more.

Yes, there's a certain amount of tiredness and an initial feeling of ming when you wake up and have to get out of bed but after that it's fine. Let me give you a good example.

Start at 4pm in a restaurant and drink two bottles of wine, then a few pints until 10pm then move on to Havana Club and coke with a slice of lime until the night is over. You don't remember getting home, you certainly don't know how you ended up in bed with just a pair of football shorts on but what you do know is that by rights you should have an unmerciful hangover but you don't.

Take Johnny Worker off the street and make him drink that much and the next day he'll be pleading to be put down but if that kind of a session comes after at least 7 days of drinking every night then you will be fine and quite ready to go out and do it all again the next night.

So as you build up your atheltic fitness you can do the same with your booze fitness. Try it, you'll see I'm right.

I'm now so booze fit I'm never going to stop. Drunkeness without hangovers. My life is complete.

I dreamt you all died. It's not true, is it?

Anyone who is dead please email me so I can burgle your house. Thanks.

Due to the fact I'm fond of a pint or two, or three now and again, my doctor advised me that I need to ensure I have a healthy diet.

He says "Although a fried breakfast soaks up the booze and takes away the pain you need to eat more fruits and vegetables."

Fuckin spoilsport but I figure he has some idea what he's talking about. So yesterday I went down to Superquinn and browsed the fruit section for a healthier breakfast.

I bypassed bananas because they were too dry and apples because they're too crunchy. Seriously, added to the noises I hate is the crunch of someone eating an apple, even if it's me. Every time I take a bite I have to punch myself in the head for making crunching noises so it's a painful experience.

I toyed with the idea of some kind of fruit cocktail (trying so hard not to make any obvious jokes here) but in the end I settled for grapefruit. Juicy, refreshing and tangy enough to counter the fact my mouth is always as dry as a camel's quim when I wake up.

So this morning I got up, halved a grapefruit, took out a spoon and went to take a segment only to be shot in the eye with grapefruit juice.

My left eye now looks like someone maced me. Fucking cunt of a doctor. 2 rashers, a couple of sausages, white pudding and a fried tomato never blinded me.

Healthy option my hoop.

"You know something, Twenty?", said Dirty Dave.

"What's that, Dirty Dave", I replied.

"I've been thinking - don't say it! It didn't hurt, har har - but I've come to the conclusion that Arabs must be absolutely shit at fighting."

"Why's that then?"

"Well, I was looking at Wikipedia to get some background on this whole situation in Israel and Lebanan and according to them there are only around 14.5m Jews in the whole world."

"Go on..."

"Well, Arabs have hated Jews for centuries and they've been warring on and off for as long as anyone can remember."

"And?"

"Well, there are fucking millions of Arabs. Far more than there are Jews so considering how powerful some Jewish people are and the fact they they have their own country right beside a load of Arabs you have to think that Arabs are completely crap at fighting."

"Hmmm, interesting. On the other hand it could just mean that Jews, as well as being excellent for balancing your chequebook and dispensing other financial advice, are really fucking good at fighting. I mean, if you were no good at it why would you make your country right in the middle of a load of other countries who hate you?"

"That is a good point. Like if you went to a bar and you sat at a table surrounded by all your enemies. Only a double-hard bastard would attempt anything so crazy. Jews are like Bruce Willis from the Die Hard movies. Totally outnumbered by people who want to kill him but are so crap at shooting their guns in his face he always manages to fight them off and save the day."

"I do like the way your mind works sometimes, Dave. You'd have to wonder why there's never been a Jewish heavyweight champion of the world though."

During yesterday's highly charged itellectual discussion about noises that are hateable somebody mentioned baked beans and baked beans are fantastic.

In Ireland there are Heinz baked beans and Bachelors baked beans but Heinz are the only option. Now, most people like them heated up and served on toast or accompanying a wide range of fine dishes such as chicken and chips, steak and chips or lobster and chips to name but three.

I, however, like them cold. I just open the tin, get a fork and dig in. It's a veritable taste sensation and it's because they're cold. I prefer a lot of hot food when it's cold, such as pizza, lasagne, many varieties of pie, quiche and many more.

There's something more flavoursome about the food once it's gone cold. If I do order a pizza, which I don't anymore since I discovered you could put slices of snake meat on it if you wanted, I generally eat a bit and then chuck the rest in the fridge to eat the next day. The coldness enhances all the flavours of the delicately prepared sauce that came out of an industrial sized drum and the top quality toppings.

Take last night as an example. Two regulars in Ron's this last year have decided they have to go back and live in England for some reason so we had a bit of a session.

Waiting for me in the fridge, or on the counter top as I don't really remember coming home, should be delicious cold chips, half a battered sausage, a spice burger and a couple of onion rings. Mmmmmm, it's a taste sensation!

The only thing I don't like cold is fish. I like my fish warm and moist. What about you?

There are some noises which I can put up with but others that make me want to kill and maim and smash things (such as people's teeth). Here's a list in no particular order.

1 - People kissing: Two lovebirds came into Ron's the other night and sat at the bar drinking very little (not clever) and smooching lots. They would talk for a while then go:

*smack* *slurp* *smack* *smack* *slurp* *mmmmm* *mnaaaaah* *smack*

Now, not being complete cunts and being quite touched (but not in a good physical way) by young love we let things slide at first. Then we gave the nod to Ron who was unimpressed at the two Coca-Colas they'd bought in 45 minutes.

"STOP THAT FUCKING KISSING AND BUY A DRINK OR FUCK OFF!", he suggested.

To be fair to them they got down to a few scoops and left their kissing for the outside. It's not fun to listen to though.

2 - Cinema eaters: People that eat in the cinema. Every crunch is multiplied. Nachos are for Mexicans. I hate the smell of popcorn. Ohhh, you're having a hotdog, you cunt. Die. Just die.

I'll wait for the DVD, muching wankers.

3 - Hidden noises: Parts of songs that you only hear when you're drunk or stoned but from then on you can never hear the song without that noise being foremost in the tune.

I can't think of any examples right now, being too drunk, but I'm sure you all know what I mean.

4 - The sound of your head hitting concrete: It must have happened to you. You fall. Your head snaps back and whacks off the ground behind you.

There's a thud then a few horrible moments when you wait for the pain to start and that weird taste behind your nose to kick in. The thud is just minging though.

5 - The telephone: I hate when the phone rings. It just makes me think there's bad news coming. And similar to this any ring tone or phone noise that isn't *bring bring* is just painful.

A phone should sound like a fucking phone not like a cunting jukebox.

6 - Ice clinking: But only when you're on the phone to someone else and you're dying for a drink and it's quite obvious they have one.

7 - Police sirens: Look either you're after me or you're not but don't come tearing up behind me, sirens blazing, only to pull out and keep on driving.

That's just rude.

8 - People that go 'pfffffssssss' when they smoke a joint: Look, I know it's good grass and 15 minnutes from now you're not going to remember your own name but don't do that stupid movie sound when you take a pull on it.

Just smoke it like a normal person. The theatrics won't make me think you're cool. They'll make me think you're a noisy smoker and nobody likes that.

9 - The Angelus: Bong. Is that it? Get with the times.

There's loads more. Too many beers to think of them now though.