A Hundred Hundreds Bonus Blog

Well would you look at that. My blog has been viewed over 1000 times. Thats pretty cool. I don't know what i was expecting out of it but it has been very enjoyable doing it and I have to say its been great for my ego getting some lovely feedback and whatnot.

The whole writing experience has been a huge positive for me. It has helped me have some direction in this my year of 'bo-ho, slacker utopia' as Steve likes to call it and it has also been therapeutic when a professional therapist is beyond my price range.

And they say you can't put a price on mental health. You can you know. €60 a week.

But I digress.

Like all the greats, Kanye, Paula Abdul, Ashton Kutcher, I'd be nothing without you the reader. You make me want to be a better man. If I could i'd stand outside all your houses with a boombox blasting Peter Gabriel held aloft.

So as a 'reward' for allowing me to feed my self indulgence, I'm going to post the first thing I committed to paper.

Its really just an idea. Its not something I would consider a finished work and I have since taken the beginning and used it another, very different story. I look at it now as stepping stone.

I guess some of it is partially biographical, but its the biography of a different me at a different time in my life.

Anyway....normal blog service will resume this week, in the meantime thanks to anyone who has read anything i've written here.

Oh and I'm aware 100 100's isn't One thousand....well I am now.

The Most Disapproving Man in the World

As I turned into the drive he was standing there in the doorway. Waiting. Judging. With the exception of a few more wrinkles the grimace on his face was the same as the one he had fifteen years ago the time I told him about my decision about College. My Dad. The most disapproving man in the world.

Deep Breaths. Count to then. I opened the door to my latest purchase. A green, second hand Fiat Punto automobile. Twelve years old. Two previous owners.

“Hi”, I said as I stepped out. “What do you think of her?”

“How’s it going” he muttered as he approached the car. “What sort of color is that supposed to be?”

He walked around the car. Taking in every detail. Looking her up and down. My Dad knows very little about auto mechanics. But he knows I know even less. As he circled the Punto he kicked each tyre. Three times he tapped it wheel with his size 11 moccossins. Ha. I had done that when I bought it. Everyone knows to kick the tyres. It makes you look in the know. He grimaced and scratched the back of his head as he ran his fingers along the paintjob.

He questioned me as he opened the bonnet and looked at the engine. What he thought he would get from looking at it is another thing.

“ Is it a diesel engine, yea? You know that means you can’t but petrol in it? What kind of mileage is on it? Was the sales guy foreign?”

Each answer I gave him was met with a look of unbelieving. When I responded to his enquiry about the price he scoffed.

“They must have had really big windows.”

I don’t know why I put myself through it. I’m a grown man. I have a nice little business. I have friends who are actual mechanics. But I still decided to give my dad a call when I bought the car. Its good for us. He gets to think he still knows best. And besides. If he wasn’t giving out, he’d probably just sit around missing mum.

I noticed the complaining started getting worse since the funeral. He complained about the egg sandwiches at the wake. He complained about the state of the bathrooms in the funeral home. He complained about the size of the knot in my tie. He complained. He liked it.

My Dad. The worlds greatest complainer.

As he slammed the bonnet shut he asked me if I wanted a cup of tea.

“Sure” I said, walking up the steps of the porch entering through the hall door.

“ And will you take a look at the computer, I can’t get on to my online bingo”

I hated when he asks me to look at the computer.

“I’ll take a look but I can’t promise you anything” I felt like I was pleading for leniency.

“Sure didn’t you go to college” was the answer he like to trot out on these occassions

“Yea, I studied art appreciation” I tried to defend myself.

“I know”he said. And I saw that old familiar grimace one more time.

Old Schtick Part 4

I got a little worried when I started reading this. I thought for a second that this contrite horse excrement was serious. Then I remembered I was the person who wrote it and it was a juvenile attempt at some kind of satire. Thank fuck for that. So please remember...not serious.

With a tip of his hat he bids you adieu

And wanders into the desolate evening air

He brings with him your love and affection

He doesn't care. He just doesn't care.

You were just a face in a crowd

He saw you as just his next victim

He pursued you and wooed you for the past month and a half

Now he is taking your love with him

It wasn't about sex, that's just a bonus

To him it was all just a game

He toyed with your emotions for fun

Now he's left and you're lonely again

He took you for a fool then left

You wish him pain you hope he dies

But maybe its your own stupid fault

You silly bitch you believed his lies

Old Schtick Part 3

The next two schticks reflect most the teenage-y angst-y bar-room-y nonsense poetry that I was lashing out. The tortured soul writer who can't quite get over the lost love. Its all bollix really.

Self indulgent whining that doesn't actually require any talent to create, just a fairly decent vocabulary.....actually that kinda sounds like my blog in general (which by the way will resume properly soon.)

I'm not sure I still feel that way, but there is definitely something to be said for poetry hating theory...probably that I'm a bitter cynic who hates romance. Any way....

Lying in bed, I don't want to move

Who was that girl in my dreams

With curly blonde hair and lily white skin

Was her beauty as great as it seemed

We danced in a field of corn covered gold

How I hoped it would never end

But now she's gone for all time, never again

Will I find my beautiful Timotei friend

Old Schtick

I’ve been going over some of my old notebooks today. A lot of notes from when I was trying stand up. Wow. I can’t believe I thought I was funny. In fairness I did have some mildly amusing lines…but actually funny? I’m not so sure. Don’t get me wrong I wasn’t Michael McIntyre bad…but I can see why my career as comedian never really took off.

There is some stuff that I want to keep for posterity and I’m going to spend the next couple of days typing them up. My handwriting has always been atrocious anyway, but some of the notepads look like they are about to erode into the sands of time.

I even had some comedy poetry. I used to write what I called my ‘5 minute poetry’ when I was queuing in the bank for change when I worked in Murphys. It was called 5 minute poetry because that how long it took to write. I wasn’t a big fan of poetry and by producing what I thought were clever little ditties, I was proving how facile poetry was.

If I could come up with this in 5 minutes that what was the big deal. I wasn’t huge fan of poetry. It rarely felt real to me, often incredibly contrived and unnecessarily trite. Although its possible people feel the same way about some of the stuff I write.

I think a lot of it harks back to my adolescent attempts at poetry. I once wrote about how the feathers on the crow in a heavy rain shower reflected my soul. I’m sure you’ll all agree that frankly, that’s a load of mind jism.

Of course there has been some amazing poems written through the years and it says more about my arrogance than anything else, that I felt this way. I’m not sure how valid it is an art form in the modern world.

Anyway I digress. The point is, seeing as I’m typing up this stuff I was thinking I might stick some of it up for people to point and laugh at. I’ll keep them separate from regular postings and I won’t advertise them as such when I send out links….so if you like them and you want to read more you can find them tagged under ‘Old Schtick’

Please remember most of this was all written around 10 or 11 year ago. I wasn’t the fully rounded individual that I am today. And if anyone was ever dragged along to my comedy gigs it will be familiar to you.

Its not supposed to be a masterclass in writing or comedy. I just think its interesting (for me at least) to compare my style and material to what i was doing back then. I might even throw a little commentary as to what the thinking behind it was.

So without further ado. Ladies and Gentlemen, Insert Witty Pop Culture Reference Here is proud to present, My Old Schtick part 1.

NEW WARDROBE

I need a new pair of shoes
My own are battered and worn
I need a new pair of shoes
My own won’t last long

I need a new pair of trousers
My own are out of style
I need a new pair of trousers
At Parties I stick out a mile

I need a nice new shirt
One with the buttons all there
I need a nice new shirt
I also need new underwear

I need a new wardrobe.

This was one of the first of my 5 minute poems.( The second maybe? The first was the first verse of Ode to a Doleite.)I was working in Murphys Newsagents on Baggot St. earning between £3.50 or £4.00 an hour.

Most of my wages at the time was going to the many drinking establishments such as the The Wellington and Searsons. Between them and paying for trivial things, like food and board to my mother, I had no time for extravagancies such as new shoes.

I wrote this the day after walking, in the rain, to one of the local hostelries with some of my colleagues. My current footwear had an enormous hole in the sole and my socks were acting as some kind of sponge taking in all the excess rainfall of Dublin 4.

I commented that I might 'splash out and treat myself' to a new pair of shoes...you know, ones without holes. Colin, having always been incredibly wise, rightly pointed out that such a thing wasn't really a luxury item. More of a necessity in a place with a climate such as Irelands.

It changed my way of thinking I tell you.

It is also worth nothing that while in the poem I do say I need new underwear, at this time I was permanently going commando.

Old Schtick Part 2

I wrote this stuff in an attempt to impress a girl. She was having a hard time at home with her sister who was a born again christian.

Drawing inspiration from the likes of 'The Life of Brian' and Bill Hicks I decided that if I could satirize religion (this is 26 year olds me attempt at satire,)it would be a sure fire way to win her heart. Or at least loosen some buttons.

The last line was misguided attempt to tackle a second sacred cow of Americana...like I said, I was trying to be like Bill Hicks


10 Things you didn't know about God.

1) Contrary to the popular belief he wasn't born in a stable. He was born in a private Maternity Ward in Uptown Bethlehem. His mother Melanie had an epidural.

2)He performed his first miracle at the age of two months when he turned his mothers breast milk to wine

3)He once got a D in Religious Education when he could not explain how he could be 3 persons in one. Judas got an A for his comparison of Jesus to a Shamrock.

4) The argument of evolution over God Creation was caused by the early arrival of puberty. The Apes were also made in his likeness, he just couldn't shave very well.

5)His first girlfriend was Elizabeth the Millers Daughter. She dumped him after he told his friends he had seen her boobs.

6)His stigmata were caused by an incident with some javelins and a slippy gym floor.

7)He always ate egg and chips on a Thursday.

8)He was a member of the Bad Dudes before joining rival gang the apostles.

9)The loaves and fishes story was actually a shared McFish Sandwich he and Peter had after a night on the beer.

10) He was gay....So was Elvis.