I love the charlie. I love a toot. It makes you feel great. It makes you a better person. As you all probably know, the best place to get quality charlie is Montrose. Oh yeah! I’ll never forget my days working in the RTE current affairs department. We’d be buying charlie, selling charlie, snorting charlie and making TV shows about charlie. It was great.
We’d start the day snorting a load of charlie, then pack the cameras and sound gear into the van and take off for some underprivileged area where they take loads of charlie, but crap charlie, unlike our charlie, which was great charlie.
We’d see some skanger type and chase after him with the camera and the boom poll, charlied off our heads.
‘Hey you, you there, do you take charlie? Do ya? Do ya though? Do you take charlie at all?’
The skanger would run off and we’d turn and talk to camera about what a terrible shit he is to be taking charlie and then we’d take a break from shooting and take more charlie, which is great.
Then, totally charlied, we’d go around knocking on doors asking skangers if they took charlie and if they closed the doors on us that meant they did take charlie and if they said they didn’t take charlie they were lying because everyone is on the charlie and the charlie is great and makes you a better person unless you’re a skanger, in which case it just makes you worse.
At the end of the day, charlied out of it, we’d get all the footage of the charlie taking skangers and take a bit more charlie and edit the charlie taking skanger footage together. Then we’d call the piece Charlie: An Inner City Tragedy, put Barber’s Adagio for Strings on the soundtrack and broadcast it on the telly before heading off to the Odessa Club and taking a load more charlie and hooking up with some charlie snorting birds who present kids’ telly and sitting with them in the corner talking about charlie.
Oh yeah, charlie is great. It’s all about the charlie baby!
By the way, a bunch of lads who wouldn’t know decent charlie to save their lives made a funny telly internet thing. If you’re in Dublin on Wednesday you can go see it and drink their free booze. There might even be some charlie around if you take charlie which I bet you do because everyone does and it’s great and makes you a better person, unless you’re a skanger, in which case it just makes you worse. Click the link for details:THE LAST SECURITY MAN
Right, that’s all for now. I'm going to have a sit down. I'm feeling a bit tired. I'm feeling a bit weird actually. I'm sweating and all. Yeah, better have a sit down. You may as well go. Go and do whatever it is you do. Go take some charlie.
A friend of mine told me he didn’t vote yesterday. He asked me what the matter was when I started to weep. I explained to him how each vote is a precious jewel and how every one of those jewels is collected up and set into a crown and that crown is put upon the head of the new King of Ireland.
I told my friend that the crown would be missing a very special jewel today and that was his jewel because he didn’t vote. I told him that the new King of Ireland would be very sad and so would all of the dead patriots looking down from heaven. Then I told my friend that if he didn’t value his vote maybe he should go and live in one of the hot countries where they don’t have votes and eat puppy dogs for dinner.
Then my friend explained to me that the only reason he didn’t vote was because he’s eight years of age.
According to almost everyone that wears a sensible suit and tie, the only way out of monetary difficulty is to sell everything you own and lease it back from the new owners . . .or something like that. I thought this seemed like a good idea and decided to apply it to my own cash-strapped life.
I set about selling off all my non-strategic assets. I considered the roof of my flat strategic but everything under it up for grabs, so I sold off all my furniture to an investor and made a tidy sum. Then I used the money I made from the sale to pay for the use of the furniture, kind of like a rent. So, every time I sat down for dinner I bunged 20 cent into a ‘Furniture Jar’ and, at regular intervals, I would bring the ‘Furniture Jar’ down to the bank, empty it out onto the counter and tell the cranky looking teller to put it all in the investor’s account.
I thought this would work out great because I would no longer have to worry about the upkeep of the furniture as that would be the responsibility of the investor. ‘I’m quids in,’ I told baffled and concerned looking friends.
Things seemed to be working out great until the cash I made from the sale of the furniture began to dwindle. I fell behind on my payments and realised I needed to generate more revenue if I was to continue sitting down. I needed a job so I applied to the investor for one and, luckily, I got it. My new job was Debt Collector and I soon found myself posting legal threats to myself, which was odd.
It has come to my attention that your/my furniture payments have fallen into arrears. If this continues, I will be forced to reclaim said furniture from you/myself or set legal proceedings in motion against me (a.k.a. you). You/I have a month from this letter’s date of issue to. . .
. . .you get the idea. Anyway, I was quite alarmed to receive this letter from myself and immediately checked my bank balance. It turned out that I had not yet earned enough to pay off my furniture debt so I wrote back to myself requesting that an alternative method of repayment be devised so that I could pay the debt back over time. Well, I wasn’t having any of it. I had a good job now and was not about to let my employer down by showing favouritism to a client, even if that client was myself.
I denied my request and, after a four week period of grace, I arrived at my home with the bailiffs and an inventory of items that belonged to the investor. I started loading the furniture into the back of a van as I begged myself to show leniency but sternly refused to do so. I thought I looked kind of pathetic, begging me like that. I mean, if I really wanted to keep sitting on seats and leaning off tables etc. you'd think I wouldn’t have allowed myself to fall behind on my payments.
Anyway, I now find myself sitting on the floor and eating my dinner out of my hands (I sold my plates, cups, saucers, forks and knives to the investor too). I don’t mind though because, as I look around my empty home, I can at least take pride in a job well done. My boss, the investor, smiled at me for my fiscal rectitude and due diligence (whatever that is) and each morning, after a night sleeping under my coat on the ground, I get up, look myself in the mirror and say ‘there is a man who pays his debts’. Well, I would do that if I still owned a mirror. Going forward, yet again.
Google’s algorithm system makes associations with whatever words you enter into its search engine. Sometimes the connections seem tenuous but there is usually some kind of link there. Taken as a whole, the results can often tell you something about the preoccupations, preferences, biases and behaviour of internet users as a whole. Some fundamental truths may be found.
This algorithm system might also be capable of revealing something altogether larger, something about existence and our place within it. Perhaps, by making links and associations from the vast amount of information available to it, the algorithm system can show us how we got from the past to the present. Perhaps it hints at the future. If considered and understood in its entirety, the algorithm might reveal the inevitable trajectory of our species. Perhaps we will learn to decode our destinies via the algorithm and discover the system to be a reliable variation on reading the future in the stars or from the scattered entrails of animals.
The internet algorithm we use every day was born of early computerised data analysis methods such as the Hollerith punch card system which was developed by IBM to help the Nazis identify Jews during the Holocaust.
Which links to:
IBM’s punch card system being used to process data in the development of A-bombs for the Manhattan Project. These A-Bombs were later dropped on Japan resulting in over 200,000 deaths.
Which links to:
The A-Bombs used against Japan being delivered to their launch destination by the U.S.S. Indianapolis. During its return from this mission, the Indianapolis was torpedoed by a Japanese naval submarine. Of a crew of 1196, 300 went down with the ship. Of the remaining 896, 564 died of hypothermia or were eaten alive by sharks as they awaited rescue.
Which links to:
Computerised data analysis advancing greatly after World War 2 thanks to mathematician Alan Turing’s application of the algorithm concept. Despite the great assistance he provided to the allied effort during the war, Turing was later convicted of homosexuality. As an alternative to prison, he agreed to chemical castration. He took his own life shortly after.
Which links to:
Theoretical biologist and former employee of the Manhattan Project and IBM, George Price. A complex and haunted man, Price went on to develop an algorithmic mathematical formula to measure the human trait of altruism. A practising altruist himself, Price invited the homeless of London to take up residence in his house. This did not end well, resulting in eviction and homelessness for the man himself. On January 6, 1975, Price used a pair of nail scissors to slash his throat. His body lies in an unmarked grave in St. Pancras Cemetery.
Now what does all that tell us about our species and how, I ask you, do you like them apples? . . .LOL!
Would a non-violent take over of this country bother you? Sure what’s a country anyway but a bit of ground we walk around on? It’d still be there no matter who owns it.
Would it matter if the invaders took everything - assets, services, profits? You wouldn’t have any say but would it really matter because when did you ever have a say?
You would still get to vote for leaders and, although they wouldn’t be making any actual decisions, the real decision makers would let them appear by their sides in photo opportunities and give the impression that they hold some kind of influence, which they wouldn’t but who cares?
Twice a decade we’d have little vote pageants where the candidates dress up and have arguments about things like litter and so on. We’d vote for them for vague reasons like ‘well, he seems the most assured’ and ‘I like the way he maintains eye contact’. We could enjoy similarly insightful media punditry and colourful poll graphics on children’s programmes like The Eleventh Hour. It’d be fun. We’d get to let off a bit of steam. It’d be like those festivals we observe. The ones that are based on ancient pagan rituals we’ve all forgotten the purpose of but still celebrate anyway.
Wouldn’t that be good enough for you? I mean, when you think about it, you’d be liberated of responsibility. Responsibility is an awful pain in the hole. Do you remember the happy days of your childhood when you had no responsibilities? Summer went on forever. Do you remember? Everything was left up to Mammy and Daddy and when anything grown up was happening they closed the door and spoke about it in hushed tones while you sat happily in front of the telly in the other room. It’d be like that.
‘Now, little Jimmy, your Daddy has made a wee mistake and we’re going to have to live in a van for a while but don’t worry because it’s a magic van and we’re going to have a lot of fun.’
Having the impression of something is as good as having the actual thing itself. It’s called pretending and it’s great. You knew that when you were little and you are about to discover it again. Sure, what does it matter if your country gets taken over/you end up living in a van? You can still be happy. It all depends on how you approach it. OK, got that? Good. Now shut up and go to bed. Your Mammy and Daddy have things to talk about.
It all got a bit complicated that time I opened a casino. Gamblers came and lost all their money. They lost their money and never came back and the casino looked like it was going to close down. So, here’s what I did, I gave the gamblers the money they lost back. Now, after I gave the gamblers all their money back it looked like the casino was still going to close down because I didn’t have any money left to pay the staff their wages. So, what did I do? I borrowed the money I needed to pay the staff from the gamblers, the same money I gave back to the gamblers in the first place. LOL! But guess what? The gamblers charged a huge rate of interest, not as much interest as the local loan shark would have charged but a pretty colossal rate of interest all the same. So, what did I do then? I reduced the staff’s wages. It was a drastic reduction, it had to be. It was barely a wage at all at the end of the day but it was still a wage. Most of the staff understood, they wanted to keep their jobs. Some of them were moaning though. They said the interest was too high and we’d never make a decent profit again. They said I could’ve just cut their wages to keep the casino running. They said if I did that I never would have needed to give back the money the gamblers lost in the first place. But I told them if I did that the gamblers could never have come back and we’d be back where we started. I drew a diagram on a white board and everything, to make my point clear. And here’s the funny part, all the arrows and graphs I put on the board kind of made a picture. When you stood back from the board a bit you could see it clearly. It was a picture of Sisyphus, he was pushing a rock up a mountain and the mountain was in Hell.
Going Forward, and backward, and forward, and backward, and forward, and backward, and. . .
Instead of complaining we should all start barking. Barking is less taxing on the intellect than complaining and just as gratifying. Taxi drivers could bark at you when you’re sitting in the back and you could bark back in agreement. Then, when you get out of the cab, you could bark in disgust to yourself about the fare.
People could call in to talk shows and bark down the phone at the presenter who could bark back while listeners at home bark at the radio.
You could login to politics.ie and leave posts that go: ‘WOOF WOOF WOOF SNARL GROWL BARK WOOF!’ with the other forum members (guys like PragmaticCapitalist, KingsInns666, Anti-Illuminati and (un)CivilServant etc., who would all be barking too). You could write similar barking letters to the Herald or write ‘Woof!’ on toilet walls with a magic marker.
Then, satiated, you could stop barking for a while and watch a telly programme and if it’s no good you could bark about it to your spouse or whoever or go back online and leave a few barking posts about how crap it was there.
And then, as the years pass, you could get old and ill and go to hospital and bark at visiting family members about the substandard care you are receiving and then you could eventually die and get buried and your friends and family could gather around your final resting place and tilt their heads up to the heavens and howl.
I think that would be pretty neat and just as constructive. WOOF!
‘Those fellas should be behind bars!’ That’s what I always say when faced with acts of economic treason or revelations of institutionalised child abuse. I say ‘those fellas should be behind bars’ and I feel all the better for it.
I say it to everyone. I go into the newsagents, pick up a newspaper, look at the headline and say ‘those fellas should be behind bars!’ to the other customers or the newsagent or whoever’s around. It’s great. Very cathartic. Try it yourself. Try it now. It’s easy; all you have to do is frown and say: ‘those fellas should be behind bars!’ Did you do it? You did? I can’t say I noticed. Try it again. Declare it loudly this time and with a distinct air of incredulity. OK, let’s see how it goes. Ready? Go! Ahh, that’s it. You have it now. Felt good didn’t it?
Similarly, when angered by juvenile delinquency, I like to exclaim in a stern tone, ‘they should bring back the birch’. That’s a good one too. I also recommend ‘did you see the match?’ in a chirpy tone, for relaxed social occasions. It’s a good ice-breaker and there has always been a match. Oh, and if there has been any trouble at the match, from hooligans or that, you can score a hat trick by saying. . . Chirpy Tone: ‘Did you see the match?’ Incredulous Tone: ‘Those fellas should be behind bars’. Stern Tone: ‘They should bring back the birch’. That feels fucking fantastic.