What a lot of bull

I am confused, and that is putting it mildly.

The powers that be in Pamplona are only too delighted to welcome tourists by the container load.  They are happy to pack said tourists into very narrow streets.

They are then quite at ease with the idea of releasing a herd of enraged bulls into said streets to rampage amongst the said tourists.

They are delighted when a crowd of idiots try to outrun those bulls as they charge down the narrow streets that are packed with tourists.

So why the fuck are they so worried about a bloke using a camera as he runs within an inch of being gored?

It's dangerous, they say.

So is running within inches of the horns that are attached to a rather angry bull, I say.

We want to crack down on dangerous behaviour, they say.

And packing narrow streets with people and then letting loose a herd of angry bulls isn't, I ask?

He was putting the other runners in danger, they cry.

I say that an angry bull within inches of their arses was a slightly greater danger, I reply.

In its own little way, this item is a perfect example of the twisted world we live in.

They worry about a little wisp of smoke from a smouldering tobacco leaf, yet they are happy for us to walk the streets breathing highly carcinogenic traffic fumes.

They worry about people being a little overweight, while at the same time they pour chemicals into our drinking water.

They claim we use a little too much sugar while they prescribe us pills that fuck up our bodies with all sorts of nasty chemicals.

They nag and bully us over the trivial items while ignoring the real dangers.

Just as a footnote, I would fine the bloke €3,000 but only because he is a brain dead narcissistic twat, and I don't care whether the bulls are behind him or not.  I fucking hate this modern obsession with "selfies".  Yet another product of the mindless Twitter generation.

And I really hate that word "selfie"!

Running Bulls

Grandad is dead

News of my death trickled in slowly.

Herself was the first to notice something was amiss which I suppose is only natural.

She was browsing around Farcebook [which accounts for about 99.999% of her time on the Interweb] when she piped up -

"Hey!  You removed that comment you left last night"

Now occasionally [about ten times a night] she posts pictures of cute little bunnies or fluffy kittens or pictures of old men with beards doing something rude, and I occasionally leave a comment under them because it earns me brownie points.  She had posted something the other night and I had made some soppy comment under it and now that comment had vanished.  I could see all my brownie points vanishing down the drain if I didn't fix things so I logged into Farcebook.

It wouldn't let me in.

I was persona non grata.

I was as dead as a Monty Python parrot.

Now I have little time for Farcebook and rarely visit it but some people like to use it to get notified when I scribble, and also I need to be able to earn brownie points with Herself.  However, I don't like being barred for no reason so I set about reviving myself.

I don't know if any of you have ever tried the help system in Farcebook but it is a fucking nightmare.  I swear it was designed by a twelve year old on a bad mescaline trip.  It's like one of those places where you get to the head of the queue and are promptly redirected to another queue which has nothing whatsoever to do with your problem.  Or else you get to the head of the queue and they promptly close the window for no reason.

The first method they threw at me was to show a series of pictures of my Farcebook "friends" and I had to identify them.  How the fuck was I supposed to do that?  I had loads of "friends" but I never went around memorising all their photographs so that was a non runner.  Farcebook asked me if I wanted to try an alternative method and then gave me the same option of identifying photographs of "friends", but I couldn't do that for another hour!

Faceboo kIdentification photo

One of my "friends" I was supposed to identify.
Apologies to whoever it is but you drew a blank.

I went in search of another method and found a form where I could appeal.  I filled it in in its entirety and submitted it.  It refused to go on the grounds that I had omitted something but wouldn't tell me what. 

I found another form which just asked for my name, email address and comment and sent that off.  I got a reply saying I hadn't attached any files identifying myself which was not surprising as there was no facility to attach anything.

As I said, I am not a fan of Farcebook but equally it pisses me off that they are ordering me around and barring me.  Talk about bulls and red rags.

So if anyone is looking for me on Farcebook, I'm dead.  But only in their sad little world.

In the real world I'm very much alive.

On being an anarchist

Being a Born Again Anarchist is not easy.

I do my bit for the cause, like dumping all my rubbish in the recycle bin and then covering it in newspapers, or decorating my dartboard with a photograph of Duncan Stewart but that's not enough.

Like any devout follower of a cause I wish to profess my faith publicly and spread The Word.  Somehow, driving through the village at 80 when the limit is 50 isn't quite enough [mainly because non-anarchists do that as well].

What I need above all is a way to publicly give the two fingers to all those who profess the Green Way, with their eco-friendly this and their sustainable that.  I am sick to the back tooth of all this shite about conservation and "saving the planet" and I want to make a gesture that will forever stamp me as an objector to their various causes.

That is why I would dearly love to get one of these …….

Just imagine the sheer joy of finding one of those hybrid cars, or even better one of those electric yokes?  Then there are those lycra-clad roadhogs with their stupid bunches of bananas on their heads weaving their bikes all over the road.  Just a simple flick of a switch and I announce my stance?  I don't think there would be any doubt as to where my allegiances don't lie?

I wonder if they do deals on those vehicles for pensioners?


Doing the pigsty shuffle

It isn't often that I celebrate anything that emanates from that odious cesspool that is our gubmint.

There is cause for rejoice today however, and later this evening I may even crack open a new bottle of whiskey.

James Fatso Reilly is gone.

That obnoxious bullying cunt has been unceremoniously fucked out of the Health Department into lands unknown. 

Up until now there has been a strange phenomenon in politics here that they always seemed to appoint the unhealthiest candidate to the post of Health Minister.  Reilly was overweight and his breathing sounded like a stem pump at slow speed.  His predecessor was Mary Mad Cow Harney who was also a person of vast bulk, and rumour has it she used to moonlight as a double for Miss Piggy.

Now they have appointed Leo Varadkar who, as far as I can tell is of a reasonable size girthwise.  I don't know if this is a mistake or maybe there is a new shift in policy?  Time will tell.

I have been trying to find out a little more about our Leo but frankly there isn't much to find.  He has admitted to enjoying a joint or two in recent years which is a far cry from Reilly's single minded obsession with smoking, so he can't be all bad.  Apart from that, he is young, single and tall which isn't very much to judge a person on?

I now hear that Reilly is the new Minister for Children.  That's fair enough as he was always whingeing on about protecting our cheeeldren from the evils of Big Tobacco.  Now he can nag them directly.

Poor kids.

Post mortem equine flagellation

I have reached the point of exhaustion with this fucking Garth Brooks affair.

They had their chances for two concerts.

They then decided to go for three.

Then they went for five.

The council said no, that three was the limit.

Brooks says all or nothing.

The council says nothing.

Concerts are canceled.

Money is being refunded for the hundreds of thousand of tickets which never should have been sold in the first place [or at least until all licences were in place].

End of story?


There are now questions being raised at gubmint level and Brooks [presumably having realised he is losing millions] states that he is still prepared to do the concerts.

Our Glorious Leader Dame Enda has been told to be on standby to make a personal phonecall to Brooks, as if this is the most important business on the world's agenda.  Residents are appealing to O'Bama and the Mexican Ambassador is involved [whatever the fuck he has to do with it?]

This whole lark has gone from farce, through comedy to tediously boring.

If they manage to rearrange five concerts, are they then going to invite the punters to buy tickets who had already bought the tickets and  are in the process of receiving refunds?  Can the punters use the refund to purchase the ticket for which they received a refund?  Can they just return the refund and retain their ticket?

And I wonder if Garth Brooks would be so keen to come if he knew that nearly everyone on radio and television here refers to him as Garret Brooks?

This is the story which refuses to die.