Time for an update I think. I spent the best part of 5 minutes this morning trying to figure out what I could update this with, so I decided that I'd let you in on a story in my life that happened when I was 16 years old.
Summer had come and gone, School had just started, the work was piling on and the days were shorter; quite a miserable September. I started to withdraw slightly. I intentionally hung around with the wrong crowd, we'd drink, smoke and loiter where loitering was forbidden. Real hardcore stuff.
The quality of my school work dropped significantly but no one seemed to care. The teachers didn't show much interest and my class mates were enjoying the new rebellious Ray that would disrupt the class in comical fashion.
When the weekend came I'd throw on some gladrags, persuade a drunk to buy me alcohol from the offy and proceed to get blitzed in the local wooded area.
My life was quickly spiraling out of control.
However this all changed come January. A new girl had started school that term and was placed in our class. I was immediately taken with her. She was beautiful, smart and witty. After being placed together in one of our classes we instantly hit it off. My days were now spent showing her about, taking her to lunch and in general just making her feel welcome.
I had stopped smoking as she didn't like it, my alcohol consumption was virtually non-existant and my grades were slowly climbing the ladder of acceptable. Things were really awesome.
But things changed.
One day during a break we were walking through one of the School's corridors when someone shouted out that they wanted to suck on her flappy cunt. I was outraged and had to defend her honour. I got in one little fight and my mom got scared, and said youre moving with your aunte and uncle in bel-air, I whistled for a cab and when it came near the Licensplate said fresh and had a dice in the mirror, If anything I could say that this cab was rare but I thought now forget it, yo home to bel-air. I pulled up to a house about seven or eight and I yelled to the cabby yo, home smell you later I looked at my kingdom, I was finally there, to settle my throne as the prince of bel-air.
Summer had come and gone, School had just started, the work was piling on and the days were shorter; quite a miserable September. I started to withdraw slightly. I intentionally hung around with the wrong crowd, we'd drink, smoke and loiter where loitering was forbidden. Real hardcore stuff.
The quality of my school work dropped significantly but no one seemed to care. The teachers didn't show much interest and my class mates were enjoying the new rebellious Ray that would disrupt the class in comical fashion.
When the weekend came I'd throw on some gladrags, persuade a drunk to buy me alcohol from the offy and proceed to get blitzed in the local wooded area.
My life was quickly spiraling out of control.
However this all changed come January. A new girl had started school that term and was placed in our class. I was immediately taken with her. She was beautiful, smart and witty. After being placed together in one of our classes we instantly hit it off. My days were now spent showing her about, taking her to lunch and in general just making her feel welcome.
I had stopped smoking as she didn't like it, my alcohol consumption was virtually non-existant and my grades were slowly climbing the ladder of acceptable. Things were really awesome.
But things changed.
One day during a break we were walking through one of the School's corridors when someone shouted out that they wanted to suck on her flappy cunt. I was outraged and had to defend her honour. I got in one little fight and my mom got scared, and said youre moving with your aunte and uncle in bel-air, I whistled for a cab and when it came near the Licensplate said fresh and had a dice in the mirror, If anything I could say that this cab was rare but I thought now forget it, yo home to bel-air. I pulled up to a house about seven or eight and I yelled to the cabby yo, home smell you later I looked at my kingdom, I was finally there, to settle my throne as the prince of bel-air.
How They All Became Rich
So today we're going to take a trip into the future. Yes. The future. Why? WHY!? Why to see how they all became rich. That is why.
Dariaus Stewart
Dariaus Stewart became the first man to make love to his harddrive. Although this act alone didn't land him fame and fortune, no, what led this man to his riches happened 9 months later when his Harddrive gave birth to some questionable looking babies. (Those babies grew up to be a Pop-band sensation hitting in at over 40 No.1's). He made well over a thousand TV appearences and hundreds of Radio shows. His website (www.harddrive-override.com) registers well over a million hits a day. His book "I like sex -- kinda " has overtaken the Bible in sales.
Dariaus' hasn't made a public appearance in well over two years now. It is rumoured that he now lives in the moutains with his 6 wives, 20 children and his mother.
Declan Sharkey
Declan Sharkey is the founder of Did you know? Inc,. A company which tells you stuff you don't know. It has over 2,000 outlets in 120 countries. 65% of the revenue is earned in the United States as they don't know much at all.
Patrick Mc Art
Patrick (known to his friends as Paddy) is the head of the U.N. He enjoys long walks on the beach, shagging the wives of government officials and driving in his Astra.
Shane O'Donnell
Shane spent a lengthy spell in prison for a crime he tried to commit but failed. After he paid his debt to society he launched a Singing career which also failed. He then successfully killed Daryl Conneely and went back to prison.
Richard McGowan
Richardage wonage theage euro-millions... age. He thenage went onage to getage lots of sexage. He died of Aids in 2054. RIP.
Daryl Conneely
Daryl never lost his virginity. He was shot dead by Shane O'Donnell. On the 3rd day he rose again according to the scriptures. He then sat a Java exam and tried to get some sex, he failed on both accounts. He then went back to being dead.
Ray Hogan
Ray Hogan returned to earth in 2013. He sold his website for €50,000,000. He now lives in Tokyo and fucks 23 asian girls a day. They all love him long time.
Hugh O’Donnell
In and around the year 2034 Hugh O’Donnell turned black. He smoked some ballas along with some shit, he fucked some ho’s and rapped like a gangsta’ until he was paid a generous sum to shut the fuck up and sit down. He sat down a wealthy man.
Damien Kearney
Damien downloaded the whole of the internet via his rapidshare account. He then held it ransom to the world for a 12 figure sum. He was assassinated by a camper with the automatic sniper rifle. *BOOM!* HEADSHOT! TAKE THAT YOU FUCKING CAMPING BASTARD!
So today we're going to take a trip into the future. Yes. The future. Why? WHY!? Why to see how they all became rich. That is why.
Dariaus Stewart
Dariaus Stewart became the first man to make love to his harddrive. Although this act alone didn't land him fame and fortune, no, what led this man to his riches happened 9 months later when his Harddrive gave birth to some questionable looking babies. (Those babies grew up to be a Pop-band sensation hitting in at over 40 No.1's). He made well over a thousand TV appearences and hundreds of Radio shows. His website (www.harddrive-override.com) registers well over a million hits a day. His book "I like sex -- kinda " has overtaken the Bible in sales.
Dariaus' hasn't made a public appearance in well over two years now. It is rumoured that he now lives in the moutains with his 6 wives, 20 children and his mother.
Declan Sharkey
Declan Sharkey is the founder of Did you know? Inc,. A company which tells you stuff you don't know. It has over 2,000 outlets in 120 countries. 65% of the revenue is earned in the United States as they don't know much at all.
Patrick Mc Art
Patrick (known to his friends as Paddy) is the head of the U.N. He enjoys long walks on the beach, shagging the wives of government officials and driving in his Astra.
Shane O'Donnell
Shane spent a lengthy spell in prison for a crime he tried to commit but failed. After he paid his debt to society he launched a Singing career which also failed. He then successfully killed Daryl Conneely and went back to prison.
Richard McGowan
Richardage wonage theage euro-millions... age. He thenage went onage to getage lots of sexage. He died of Aids in 2054. RIP.
Daryl Conneely
Daryl never lost his virginity. He was shot dead by Shane O'Donnell. On the 3rd day he rose again according to the scriptures. He then sat a Java exam and tried to get some sex, he failed on both accounts. He then went back to being dead.
Ray Hogan
Ray Hogan returned to earth in 2013. He sold his website for €50,000,000. He now lives in Tokyo and fucks 23 asian girls a day. They all love him long time.
Hugh O’Donnell
In and around the year 2034 Hugh O’Donnell turned black. He smoked some ballas along with some shit, he fucked some ho’s and rapped like a gangsta’ until he was paid a generous sum to shut the fuck up and sit down. He sat down a wealthy man.
Damien Kearney
Damien downloaded the whole of the internet via his rapidshare account. He then held it ransom to the world for a 12 figure sum. He was assassinated by a camper with the automatic sniper rifle. *BOOM!* HEADSHOT! TAKE THAT YOU FUCKING CAMPING BASTARD!
Disclaimer: The characters in the following story are entirely fictional, they do no in anyway represent the Daryl Conneely from Rosscommon who tried to be a Games Programmer and failed miserably. (hahahahaha... haha!)
This blog entry is available in AUDIO! Narrated by myself. Click here to download or listen. If it fails to load, try: http://www.feckingeejit.com/sounds/a_day_as_daryl.mp3.
A day in the life of Daryl
So today, like, I was walking down to the shop and I was behind this stuuuuuuupid guy. He was walking SHOOOOOOO slow. I felt
so SHHHHHHtUUUupid walking like that. So I says to the guy:
Hey you!
Me?
Yeah.. you!
Can I help you?
Dont you know who I am?
No... I dont.
I'm class rep... I mean, I'm Daryl Conneely. I play for Finn Harps!!!
Oh... what position?
Left back.... at the bus station.
Hmm... lovely.
Yeah, so you better watch yourself, you can't put games on the computer without MY permission.
I wasn't trying to put games on any computer.
Yeah... well... If I ask the technician he'll let Deckoo in!
I'm.. going to go now.. bye.
The man walked off but not before I could shout across the street how I won first place in Mr. Gay of LyIT.
So then I took out my fone to ring Shane and try get him out to the cinema. After twenty minutes of pulling Paddy's pubes out
of my phone I finally got through to Shane.... 's voice mail. I left a message.
So then I walked to my local watering hole: Game Stop. They had SHHHOO many games there that I blew my load ALLL OVVERR MYY
PANTS! It was soo funny cos I was shouting "OH Aine, I have ginger pubes" as I blew it. Then the lads pushed me out of the
door and they took a picture and it made it into the Year book.
It had just gone 4pm and I knew the Secondary School's would be finishing up so I took my usually position in the bushes.
There is over 1000 girls in the Loreto!!! ALL UNDER AGE. Thats alot of girls to turn me down. If I didnt know any better, I'd
swear I'm annoying.
After all those blow backs I was late for my meeting with the whole of the LyIT staff. As I entered the board room they gave
me a standing ovation while Paul Hannigan proceeded to shine my shoes with my own knob. I took my place at my chair and gave out LIKE
FUUUUUCCCK to them about how I can't do Java and that Billy Farelly uses faaaaar toooo muuuccch lube that I can barely feel
him penetrating my arsehole.
After a long grueling debate about how the course would be better if it were taught by MY Aine I was dragged out by alllll
the lads. So, we hit the pubs and after 4 pints of coke I was still as annoying as I was before. If not more. So then we went
to the Pulse where I got everrryoonnnee in for free because the Pulse is from Roscommon and I had it flown in from there, to
make me feel at home. I finally found a drunk enough girl to go outside with. Nine hours later I had my jumper off. She was
wearing it. 9 1/2 hours later it was around my waist and the girl was being banged by a ginger bloke. I shouted FUCCCK as
loud as I could, but she still wasn't impressed. It was a greeeaaaat day!
Anyway, as I was saying I scored a goal at the weekend.
This blog entry is available in AUDIO! Narrated by myself. Click here to download or listen. If it fails to load, try: http://www.feckingeejit.com/sounds/a_day_as_daryl.mp3.
A day in the life of Daryl
So today, like, I was walking down to the shop and I was behind this stuuuuuuupid guy. He was walking SHOOOOOOO slow. I felt
so SHHHHHHtUUUupid walking like that. So I says to the guy:
Hey you!
Me?
Yeah.. you!
Can I help you?
Dont you know who I am?
No... I dont.
I'm class rep... I mean, I'm Daryl Conneely. I play for Finn Harps!!!
Oh... what position?
Left back.... at the bus station.
Hmm... lovely.
Yeah, so you better watch yourself, you can't put games on the computer without MY permission.
I wasn't trying to put games on any computer.
Yeah... well... If I ask the technician he'll let Deckoo in!
I'm.. going to go now.. bye.
The man walked off but not before I could shout across the street how I won first place in Mr. Gay of LyIT.
So then I took out my fone to ring Shane and try get him out to the cinema. After twenty minutes of pulling Paddy's pubes out
of my phone I finally got through to Shane.... 's voice mail. I left a message.
So then I walked to my local watering hole: Game Stop. They had SHHHOO many games there that I blew my load ALLL OVVERR MYY
PANTS! It was soo funny cos I was shouting "OH Aine, I have ginger pubes" as I blew it. Then the lads pushed me out of the
door and they took a picture and it made it into the Year book.
It had just gone 4pm and I knew the Secondary School's would be finishing up so I took my usually position in the bushes.
There is over 1000 girls in the Loreto!!! ALL UNDER AGE. Thats alot of girls to turn me down. If I didnt know any better, I'd
swear I'm annoying.
After all those blow backs I was late for my meeting with the whole of the LyIT staff. As I entered the board room they gave
me a standing ovation while Paul Hannigan proceeded to shine my shoes with my own knob. I took my place at my chair and gave out LIKE
FUUUUUCCCK to them about how I can't do Java and that Billy Farelly uses faaaaar toooo muuuccch lube that I can barely feel
him penetrating my arsehole.
After a long grueling debate about how the course would be better if it were taught by MY Aine I was dragged out by alllll
the lads. So, we hit the pubs and after 4 pints of coke I was still as annoying as I was before. If not more. So then we went
to the Pulse where I got everrryoonnnee in for free because the Pulse is from Roscommon and I had it flown in from there, to
make me feel at home. I finally found a drunk enough girl to go outside with. Nine hours later I had my jumper off. She was
wearing it. 9 1/2 hours later it was around my waist and the girl was being banged by a ginger bloke. I shouted FUCCCK as
loud as I could, but she still wasn't impressed. It was a greeeaaaat day!
Anyway, as I was saying I scored a goal at the weekend.
(Quick Rant, I promise)
Many a thing has puzzled mankind since the beginning of time.
"What do you mean you have a Headache?" Asked Adam to Eve.
"Where the hell is India then?" Pondered Christopher Columbus.
"Who the fuck are you and why are you wanking yourself?" Exclaimed the angry man when he found me spying on his wife.
But the thing that puzzles and annoys me is why do women need so many brands of Shampoo? Not only do they have multiple brands but they have separate bottles for different parts of their head. It’s just total madness. The reason I bring this up maybe be because I don’t give a fuck about my hair, or perhaps because I live ina house with 4 girls that do, or that I just don't have anything better to write about. Who knows? But I can't leave it unsaid.
Now I’m going to create a nice mental image for you. Picture me in the shower (Not like that, you dirty fecker) enjoying the streams of hot water that is descending and lathering up my body more and more with each minute that passes. Now I decide it's time to give the aul' noggin' a scrubbin'. So I turn to the shelf adjacent to me with the intention of picking up the bottle branded "SHAMPOO" and using it to the full extend of its power. But no. Instead I am faced with a barrage of Bottles. The majority of them labelled in French because if it ain't French it ain't Shampoo my friend. That I know. So I go on my tip-toes to see over the sea of bottles in front of me. I pick a few off the shelf. "Le Shampoo teh excellente - pour blondes", "Je Suis Shampoo - pour Bruns femme". None of them any good for me. In a panic I pick up a random bottle and try to use it, but as I open the lid the bottle starts screaming at me "YOU ARN'T A VIBRANT REDHEAD, CAN'T USE ME I'M AFRAID". Crestfallen, I return it amongst its peers.
Several minutes pass. Using various bath toys (such as the standard rubber duck to oddly shaped sponges) I try to devise a mathematical equation to help solve the problem, but without dear old David Kennedy to accompany me in the shower I am useless. He is the Robin to my Batman. So the war battles on. I pick up bottle after bottle but am forced to return them due to incompatibility. Eventually I find one that I think could be suitable. ("J'habitte Bathroom - pour hair"). I flip it around and look for the directions:
So, back on the shelf with that one then. I was willing to admit defeat and leave the shower, but that's when I saw it. At the back of the shelf. Shunted to the corner as if bullied by the rest. A white bottle with "SHAMPOO" wrote across it's belly in black block letters. Halleluiah! So I use it with a grin on my face. I had won the fight.
Well, all I can say is thank god for Lidl. *salutes* I will never diss Shit Cheap Shite again.
Many a thing has puzzled mankind since the beginning of time.
"What do you mean you have a Headache?" Asked Adam to Eve.
"Where the hell is India then?" Pondered Christopher Columbus.
"Who the fuck are you and why are you wanking yourself?" Exclaimed the angry man when he found me spying on his wife.
But the thing that puzzles and annoys me is why do women need so many brands of Shampoo? Not only do they have multiple brands but they have separate bottles for different parts of their head. It’s just total madness. The reason I bring this up maybe be because I don’t give a fuck about my hair, or perhaps because I live ina house with 4 girls that do, or that I just don't have anything better to write about. Who knows? But I can't leave it unsaid.
Now I’m going to create a nice mental image for you. Picture me in the shower (Not like that, you dirty fecker) enjoying the streams of hot water that is descending and lathering up my body more and more with each minute that passes. Now I decide it's time to give the aul' noggin' a scrubbin'. So I turn to the shelf adjacent to me with the intention of picking up the bottle branded "SHAMPOO" and using it to the full extend of its power. But no. Instead I am faced with a barrage of Bottles. The majority of them labelled in French because if it ain't French it ain't Shampoo my friend. That I know. So I go on my tip-toes to see over the sea of bottles in front of me. I pick a few off the shelf. "Le Shampoo teh excellente - pour blondes", "Je Suis Shampoo - pour Bruns femme". None of them any good for me. In a panic I pick up a random bottle and try to use it, but as I open the lid the bottle starts screaming at me "YOU ARN'T A VIBRANT REDHEAD, CAN'T USE ME I'M AFRAID". Crestfallen, I return it amongst its peers.
Several minutes pass. Using various bath toys (such as the standard rubber duck to oddly shaped sponges) I try to devise a mathematical equation to help solve the problem, but without dear old David Kennedy to accompany me in the shower I am useless. He is the Robin to my Batman. So the war battles on. I pick up bottle after bottle but am forced to return them due to incompatibility. Eventually I find one that I think could be suitable. ("J'habitte Bathroom - pour hair"). I flip it around and look for the directions:
Apply Shampoo to your head. Rub it into the scalp using a circular motion. Leave the bathroom and go to Africa. Venture through tribe after tribe bringing Christianity as you pass. Find a four leaf clover. Play Mother Teresa in a Broadway musical. Then gently rinse shampoo from head using the circular motion as mentioned before.
So, back on the shelf with that one then. I was willing to admit defeat and leave the shower, but that's when I saw it. At the back of the shelf. Shunted to the corner as if bullied by the rest. A white bottle with "SHAMPOO" wrote across it's belly in black block letters. Halleluiah! So I use it with a grin on my face. I had won the fight.
Well, all I can say is thank god for Lidl. *salutes* I will never diss Shit Cheap Shite again.
Ah yes. It was a Wednesday morning. The time: 12:30. Simon's class.
We all walk in, rubbing our hands eagarly in anticipation of the class ahead.
"I can't wait to learn more about colours, and how they don't exist and how we have to beat our mammy's for telling us otherwise" stated one Dariaus Stewart upon entry.
We scan for empty seats and make a dash for the back row.
Oh, ballocks. No seats left. Well. One seat left.
I slowly take my seat beside Damien kearney. :(
A few minutes into the class Damien has to part. He leaves the room dancing to a crude song of Madonna's.
30 minutes later, no sign of Damien. In fear that someone might have lured him away with 'sweeties' the lecturer (Simple Simon) goes in search.
Then the fight breaks out: Daryl "Gimme the picture" Conneely VS Donegal.
Shane bravely plunges in with a strong headlock. Paddy looks on and decides his plan of attack.
But the fight turns nasty, and Paddy is failing in his attempts. But he has an idea...
This approached works. Using his new found powers of invisibility Paddy was able to round-house kick Daryl and remove his shoe.
Defeated and broken, Daryl returns home to Roscommon, where we never see him again (muwhhaha, we didnt get that lucky).
Smiles all 'round.
We all walk in, rubbing our hands eagarly in anticipation of the class ahead.
"I can't wait to learn more about colours, and how they don't exist and how we have to beat our mammy's for telling us otherwise" stated one Dariaus Stewart upon entry.
We scan for empty seats and make a dash for the back row.
Oh, ballocks. No seats left. Well. One seat left.
I slowly take my seat beside Damien kearney. :(
A few minutes into the class Damien has to part. He leaves the room dancing to a crude song of Madonna's.
30 minutes later, no sign of Damien. In fear that someone might have lured him away with 'sweeties' the lecturer (Simple Simon) goes in search.
Then the fight breaks out: Daryl "Gimme the picture" Conneely VS Donegal.
Shane bravely plunges in with a strong headlock. Paddy looks on and decides his plan of attack.
But the fight turns nasty, and Paddy is failing in his attempts. But he has an idea...
This approached works. Using his new found powers of invisibility Paddy was able to round-house kick Daryl and remove his shoe.
Defeated and broken, Daryl returns home to Roscommon, where we never see him again (muwhhaha, we didnt get that lucky).
Smiles all 'round.
One and half years serving complete fucking assholes on a run down petrol station. I'm sick of it.
Allow me to rant once more.
(The following entry contains foul language, if you are easily offended or currently my employer please close the window now).
10 ways to become my best friend
1. Fuel Price
Please kindly refrain from complaining about the price of fuel to me. Not only do I not set the price but I really don’t give a flying fuck.
2. Cash Wash
Upon purchasing a token for the Car Wash I will ask you if you know how to operate it. Responses such as:
"Ah, I'm sure I'll figure out"
"They're all the same, I'll have no bother"
"I drive a digger, this will be easy"
are not acceptable. One minute you will be telling me how easy it's bound to be, next minute I'm stabbing your eyes out with a Forest Fresh car air-freshener. A 'Yes' or 'No' answer will suffice.
3. The Stare
When you pull into the forecourt I will see you on the CCTV camera or through the window, so please just wait patiently until I get down to you. Giving me the ‘The Stare’ from the car isn’t helpful. Your Stare doesn’t make me go any quicker, if anything I slow myself down in spite of it. Childish I know :p
4. 'Lil Helper
Having your child or younger sibling put the petrol into the car is not 'cute'. It's damn annoying as the little cunts go over the price and I end up paying the difference.
5. Richie Rich
When I go out to serve a car 99% of the time I am hoping that they are only after €10-€20 worth. So don't be surprised when you ask for €60-€70 that I am not looking back at you in awe of your richness. There is a petrol station to the left and right hand side of my one, if you are a high flyer who likes to fill the car to the throat then go to one of them.
6. Unwanted Guests
Every week you try and sell me a watch. I don't want one. Fuck off.
7. Small Talk
I like the weather as much as the next guy, but I don't want to discuss 20 or 30 times in that day. When it comes to small talk you guys are pretty weak in topic selection. Surely my monotonous replies are hints in themselves.
Customer: Bad day, ain't it?
Me: Yeah, it's cold alright.
Customer: Not a bad aul' day, now.
Me: Yeah, it's warm alright.
For furture reference here are some topics that I'd like to discuss:
1. Evolution of mankind
2. Theory of relativity
3. The web-like piece of flesh that separates each finger.
8. Parking
The forecourt is pretty damn huge, there is plenty of places to park your car that doesn’t obstruct the pumps. So if you see me running towards you brandishing a 2x4 like a madman then you better hope your insurance is up to date.
9. Manners
Pretty basic. A please and thank you is always nice. I say it so why don’t you?
10. Superman = not me
If I am already in the process of supplying petroleum gas to a vehicle then shouting and beeping your horn doesn't make the procedure any quicker. If you are in urgent need of fuel then get the fuck out and do it yourself you lazy bastard.
And to prove that it isn't impossible I have written a short walkthrough below.
---------------------
WALKTHROUGH
---------------------
First up, locate a free pump
Next thing to do is watch out for the Petrol Beast
Then, put pump into car and begin to fill
Then pray to a false god, if no false god is available, try make one like I did
When you reach your desired price, stop and return pump back to it's holder.
And there you have it, you have just filled your car. Medal is in the post.
:)
Allow me to rant once more.
(The following entry contains foul language, if you are easily offended or currently my employer please close the window now).
10 ways to become my best friend
1. Fuel Price
Please kindly refrain from complaining about the price of fuel to me. Not only do I not set the price but I really don’t give a flying fuck.
2. Cash Wash
Upon purchasing a token for the Car Wash I will ask you if you know how to operate it. Responses such as:
"Ah, I'm sure I'll figure out"
"They're all the same, I'll have no bother"
"I drive a digger, this will be easy"
are not acceptable. One minute you will be telling me how easy it's bound to be, next minute I'm stabbing your eyes out with a Forest Fresh car air-freshener. A 'Yes' or 'No' answer will suffice.
3. The Stare
When you pull into the forecourt I will see you on the CCTV camera or through the window, so please just wait patiently until I get down to you. Giving me the ‘The Stare’ from the car isn’t helpful. Your Stare doesn’t make me go any quicker, if anything I slow myself down in spite of it. Childish I know :p
4. 'Lil Helper
Having your child or younger sibling put the petrol into the car is not 'cute'. It's damn annoying as the little cunts go over the price and I end up paying the difference.
5. Richie Rich
When I go out to serve a car 99% of the time I am hoping that they are only after €10-€20 worth. So don't be surprised when you ask for €60-€70 that I am not looking back at you in awe of your richness. There is a petrol station to the left and right hand side of my one, if you are a high flyer who likes to fill the car to the throat then go to one of them.
6. Unwanted Guests
Every week you try and sell me a watch. I don't want one. Fuck off.
7. Small Talk
I like the weather as much as the next guy, but I don't want to discuss 20 or 30 times in that day. When it comes to small talk you guys are pretty weak in topic selection. Surely my monotonous replies are hints in themselves.
Customer: Bad day, ain't it?
Me: Yeah, it's cold alright.
Customer: Not a bad aul' day, now.
Me: Yeah, it's warm alright.
For furture reference here are some topics that I'd like to discuss:
1. Evolution of mankind
2. Theory of relativity
3. The web-like piece of flesh that separates each finger.
8. Parking
The forecourt is pretty damn huge, there is plenty of places to park your car that doesn’t obstruct the pumps. So if you see me running towards you brandishing a 2x4 like a madman then you better hope your insurance is up to date.
9. Manners
Pretty basic. A please and thank you is always nice. I say it so why don’t you?
10. Superman = not me
If I am already in the process of supplying petroleum gas to a vehicle then shouting and beeping your horn doesn't make the procedure any quicker. If you are in urgent need of fuel then get the fuck out and do it yourself you lazy bastard.
And to prove that it isn't impossible I have written a short walkthrough below.
---------------------
WALKTHROUGH
---------------------
First up, locate a free pump
Next thing to do is watch out for the Petrol Beast
Then, put pump into car and begin to fill
Then pray to a false god, if no false god is available, try make one like I did
When you reach your desired price, stop and return pump back to it's holder.
And there you have it, you have just filled your car. Medal is in the post.
:)
Boredom has struck me like a wang to a whore's mouth.
Now I'm angry. Let me rant.
Subject of today will be lecturers. Let me tell you about one of mine. For the sake of this entry, lets call him 'Gimpy McGimp' who teaches 'Shite'.
Okay, so through some magical power Mr. McGimp somehow managed to obtain a Masters Degree and got himself a job teaching Shite.
Now, Shite, from a distance looks like a pretty interesting subject. I went in with high expectations.
I still think it would be a good subject if it wasn't taught by a total wanker.
Ok, now let me walk you through a typical class.
--------
The class enter and take their seats.
Fifthteen minutes pass
*enter Gimpy McGimp
Gimpy: Okay, here's some notes.
*Gimpy throws notes all around the room;left right and centre. (notes galore!)
Gimpy: Okay, now I'm going to write a whole pile of shit on the board in an unreadable font size and also at quite fucked up angle.
*Gimpy proceeds to write on the board. The class stare at each other, full of rage and probably hunger.
Student: Gimpy, what's that word.
Gimpy: Which word?
Student: Third line, second word.
Gimpy: 'Conjunction'?
Student: No, beside 'Conjunction'.
Gimpy: 'in'?
Student: No, the other side.
Gimpy: Refer to your notes.
*Gimpy goes back to writing.
*40 minutes pass. Gimpy decides to set us some questions.
Student: Gimpy, how do you answer the first question?
*The colour from Gimpy's face drains. He looks scared. He never anticipated questions. He reaches at his phone. He wonders why it never rings when he is in trouble of letting the class know that he is a total ballbag. His bottom lip quivers slightly. Several long seconds pass before he answers.
Gimpy: Err, refer to your notes.
Student: What time is it, Sir?
Gimpy: It's in your notes.
Student: What's the craic?
Gimpy: It's in your notes.
His notes are quite bulky. I reckon with enough force I could beat him so hard with them that he'd bleed from the ass.
This is how every class has been since September. A Student uprising is well over due.
Viva le resistance.
Now I'm angry. Let me rant.
Subject of today will be lecturers. Let me tell you about one of mine. For the sake of this entry, lets call him 'Gimpy McGimp' who teaches 'Shite'.
Okay, so through some magical power Mr. McGimp somehow managed to obtain a Masters Degree and got himself a job teaching Shite.
Now, Shite, from a distance looks like a pretty interesting subject. I went in with high expectations.
I still think it would be a good subject if it wasn't taught by a total wanker.
Ok, now let me walk you through a typical class.
--------
The class enter and take their seats.
Fifthteen minutes pass
*enter Gimpy McGimp
Gimpy: Okay, here's some notes.
*Gimpy throws notes all around the room;left right and centre. (notes galore!)
Gimpy: Okay, now I'm going to write a whole pile of shit on the board in an unreadable font size and also at quite fucked up angle.
*Gimpy proceeds to write on the board. The class stare at each other, full of rage and probably hunger.
Student: Gimpy, what's that word.
Gimpy: Which word?
Student: Third line, second word.
Gimpy: 'Conjunction'?
Student: No, beside 'Conjunction'.
Gimpy: 'in'?
Student: No, the other side.
Gimpy: Refer to your notes.
*Gimpy goes back to writing.
*40 minutes pass. Gimpy decides to set us some questions.
Student: Gimpy, how do you answer the first question?
*The colour from Gimpy's face drains. He looks scared. He never anticipated questions. He reaches at his phone. He wonders why it never rings when he is in trouble of letting the class know that he is a total ballbag. His bottom lip quivers slightly. Several long seconds pass before he answers.
Gimpy: Err, refer to your notes.
Student: What time is it, Sir?
Gimpy: It's in your notes.
Student: What's the craic?
Gimpy: It's in your notes.
His notes are quite bulky. I reckon with enough force I could beat him so hard with them that he'd bleed from the ass.
This is how every class has been since September. A Student uprising is well over due.
Viva le resistance.
Lately I think I'v been underestimating the intelligence of others:
[00:13] (kateibell) who are you?
[00:14] (UndercoverAgent) I am the boogyman
[00:14] (katiebell) there no such thing
I, foolishly, expected her to believe I was the 'Boogyman' and run off in fear.
And then...
[21:37] (mikey) im 8 how old r u
[21:37] (Irishlad) 6
[21:37] (mikey) dont lie
[21:37] (mikey) no 6 yr old can spell dat gd
[21:37] (Irishlad) I am one of those test tube babies
[21:37] (mikey>) haha NOOOOOOOOOOO
[21:37] (mikey) plz dont lie mister
[21:38] (mikey) im sad now
This guy didnt believe I was a test tube baby, not for one minute. Gobsmacked is me.
The world is a scary place.
(But mikey turned out to be a total twanger which resulted in the following:
G Any-5m@cpc1-cwbn1-4-0-cust140.cdif.cable.ntl.com 2657 602143 Irishlad!bladder@chat.staff.mugglenet.com 7 day gline for repeated disruptive behavior towards moderators)
[00:13] (kateibell) who are you?
[00:14] (UndercoverAgent) I am the boogyman
[00:14] (katiebell) there no such thing
I, foolishly, expected her to believe I was the 'Boogyman' and run off in fear.
And then...
[21:37] (mikey) im 8 how old r u
[21:37] (Irishlad) 6
[21:37] (mikey) dont lie
[21:37] (mikey) no 6 yr old can spell dat gd
[21:37] (Irishlad) I am one of those test tube babies
[21:37] (mikey>) haha NOOOOOOOOOOO
[21:37] (mikey) plz dont lie mister
[21:38] (mikey) im sad now
This guy didnt believe I was a test tube baby, not for one minute. Gobsmacked is me.
The world is a scary place.
(But mikey turned out to be a total twanger which resulted in the following:
G Any-5m@cpc1-cwbn1-4-0-cust140.cdif.cable.ntl.com 2657 602143 Irishlad!bladder@chat.staff.mugglenet.com 7 day gline for repeated disruptive behavior towards moderators)
The eejit stirs slightly in his bed. A fucked up dream causes him to turn his head sharply to the left. *WHACK* He bangs it off the beside locker. (What an eejit). He gets out of bed. It's a glorious Saturday morning.
"Boy, I love Sundays" Says the eejit.
(what an eejit).
He proceeds to get dressed tripping over every item lying on the floor. Tripping over items not even on the floor, such as wall mounted paintings. Don't ask how. No one knows. (what an eejit).
He then gets bored of this entry and stops typing.
"Boy, I love Sundays" Says the eejit.
(what an eejit).
He proceeds to get dressed tripping over every item lying on the floor. Tripping over items not even on the floor, such as wall mounted paintings. Don't ask how. No one knows. (what an eejit).
He then gets bored of this entry and stops typing.