May 17, 2006

Firework Display Of A Toy Advert

My favourite piece of non-meat spam this week:

From: Gilbert Calderon
Date: Wed, 17 May 2006 15:44:26 -0060
Subject: {THE_SUBJECT}
To: neuropraxis@gmail.com

bla bla bla
eee
e

Thanks for that Gilbert, you big fat freaking genius you. At least send me a goddamn virus or something.

So yes. Onto the facts and the juicy gossip. Of which there are none. There are fourteen days left until I walk away from my job, into the sunset, with a big stick over my shoulder with my paltry belongings tied up on the end of it in an oversized red and white polkadot handkerchief. Hang on. Handkerchief, is that a real word or did I just make it up?

n. pl. hand·ker·chiefs, also hand·ker·chieves (-chvz, -chvz)

Only once in Authorized Version (Acts 19:12). The Greek word (sudarion) so
rendered means properly "a sweat-cloth." It is rendered "napkin" in John 11:44;
20:7; Luke 19:20.

Everything comes back to religion in the end, innit? And who says you learn nothing on this website? Yes and who says I am an illiterate fool? It's you wots the fool that says that about me, in all in anyway.

So I have signed up as a volunteer with the Samaritans. Go to the website and donate them some money, because I will need it in order for to have me wages paid unto me. Ha ha! Not for that reason: for the reason of the depresseds getting some quality loving down through the telephone. Not dirty loving! Good clean care, like a big bottle of Cif. Which used to be called Jif, by the way. I used to be very good friends with an American boy when I was a teenager, and we would hang out in his house and eat American food. We ate a lot of Jif. Jif is a delicious American peanut butter. Perhaps that is why Jif the cleaning fluid became Cif. But nothing will ever explain why Immac hair removal cream became Veet (Veet?) but more pressing: WHY MARATHON BARS BECAME SNICKERS. Why did they do that? It's a confusing memory from my childhood that haunts me.

Speaking of hauntings, a local dog who is unimaginably adorable is shitting all over my garden and I am having to clean it up because it is owned by "bad types" who might smash the windows if I complain. Or they might pick it up. You never can tell with "bad types"; they're unpredictable. Maybe I could pre-empt the situation by smashing their windows! I'll consult with my pastor before I make any final decisions. Thinking is sore!!

Anyway, now I have a place to be at wot there's stuff to be a-doing.

neuro-praxis -- All I Want Is Another Shot

May 13, 2006

Getting Jiggy With Stiggy Wiggy

This is an emergency update! We went out to our parked car on the main street of Maynooth and found that the hubcap was gone. Robbed! "This is terrible," we said to each other, "Now we will always be known as the people with three hubcaps. How humiliating!" Then we said to each other, in unison, in fact, "We are so poor, how will we ever afford a new hubcap?" Then we cursed our employers for not paying us enough money to pay for new hubcaps. Then we cursed the insurance company for not covering us for hubcap theft.

But lo! The story does not end with cursing. That filthy robber had a conscience! They left, I kid you not, five euros on the ground beside the wheel. Surely, with the value of our car, this would buy twenty fine hubcaps! We took our five euros and went to the finest restaurant in the village and ate like kings, for a week, until we exploded and died, like the naked fat geezer in Se7en.

Then we went to see Mission Impossible III in the cimena and it was a boomy delight to behold. Now it is time for breakfast! I love it when a plan comes together.

neuro-praxis -- Laying Down The Reggae Beat in the Background

May 12, 2006

Heralding, nay: TRUMPETING

I am pleased to announce the return, after a long year's absence, of the fabulously articulate blog of Ian Paisley. Go on over there and offer him your political and moral support. He is, after all, the King of Northern Ireland. Deep down he's just a simple feller who likes a good game of Connect Four and a curry.

You'll Need This Invite At The Door

Recent Neuro Blunders:

1. Believing that a bundle of clothes at work was the dog, and addressing the clothes by saying, "Hi Molly" and then petting them.
2. Pouring an entire box of fruit and fibre breakfast cereal on the floor of the passenger seat in our car.
3. Carefully packing my glasses for work (without which I can do nothing) and then promptly leaving them behind, rendering my having turned up for work a waste of everybody's time.
4. Deeming the barbeque I lit a failure, as it simply wasn't heating, then removing all food from the barbeque and cooking it in the kitchen. Meanwhile, the barbeque took it upon itself to glow red and develop a wonderfully hot cooking temperature while I struggled inside with burgers in the frying pan, cursing, loudly.
5. Agreeing to edit the church magazine.
6. Forgetting my own name while I was at my own book signing.

The last one is a lie but sure it makes no difference; nobody reads this drivel and if they do, they're nothing but lousy racists.

neuro-praxis -- Max. 4x SPEED

May 10, 2006

Fold Your Hands Child

I desire chocolate! In further news, nothing has really been happening. I awoke today with bizarre summer congestion and a very constricted throat, which is still feeling a little on the swelly side, so I have lazed about in my pyjamas all day, being forced to take a hideous decongestant by my nurse-and-mother-like husband, who has been very firm and no-nonsense, and not in the sexy way.

I was feeling better in the evening and entrusted my dinner to the internet. That is to say I made dinner based on an internet recipe. Now I know I have a bit of a bad track record with cooking food, but tonight's chicken satay tasted basically like rice smeared with peanut butter. And chicken. Most of my dinner is still sitting in the rice bowl in the living room, congealing itself into a vaguely terrifying mess. Tomorrow it will have reproduced and may be singing oriental showtunes. Zoomspouse ate dutifully, as he does.

I had good intentions to write a lot and tidy up and shower before K got home tonight from homogroup, but a friend called and we talked for an hour and he sabotaged EVERYTHING. You see that, Keith? You SABOTAGED EVERYTHING. Darn right you did. My revenge will be far into the future, but it will be sweet. You will be forced to eat leftover chicken satay. Until you explode. In which case I had better busy myself shortly by making twenty kilogrammes of the stuff and allowing it to obtain leftover status.

I am listening to Belle and Sebastian. Aren't I hip? They fit into the kind of image of myself that I would love to construct someday. Hippy-esque, folk-tastic, natural fibre wearing, vegetable growing, soy-errific at-peace-with-the-world type person. But instead I wear makeup tested (probably) on little piglets and I eat frozen pizzas and have managed to kill every plant I have ever owned, or that my landlord has ever owned. There is one exception - my friend L gave me what he declares to be an unkillable plant, which is by the front door, and which I am watching cagily for signs of mortality. Anyway, the songs, they are nice, even if they are about being raped or corpses falling on you while in battle. I hate when corpses fall on you! And you're all like, eugh! Get off me corpse!!

This laptop is covered in crumbs and I have got some dishes to attend to. And some personal hygiene to attend to. And some reading of Lionel Shriver to attend to. So there!

neuro-praxis -- She Walks Like A Peasant

May 04, 2006

May The Fourth Be With You

Nobody has laughed at my geek joke, not even the major geeks, like ex-housemate Cian. I have gotten a basketful of small slaps and loud groans instead. This hurts my already injured feelings. First UCD send me that poem created by a random poem generator, suspiciously in the same vein as many a random poem generator poem produced by me, might I add, and now THIS. All a girl wants is a little ACCEPTANCE for [GENERIC SWEAR WORD]'s sake. Wise up!

So, can you believe it? The delectable Jimlad went off and got himself married to Curly Dee! That was on Saturday. I sang for them during the service, and I enjoyed that. That cheered me up a bit. Singing is good for the heart. Not literally of course. If you eat nothing but butter but sing your guts out you'll probably still get clogged arteries and have to have a triple bypass at 28. Well, that's the dream anyway. So, yes. It was a lot of fun. And we ate a lot of beef and we drank a lot of wine and champagne and we made very merry, and I even danced a lot to a bunch of Abba songs with some Dutch guys. As an afterthought, I would like to make it clear here that I was actually invited to participate in the wedding service; I didn't just stand up and join in, like that time at the National Concert Hall. In fact, the whole day was a marvellous and joyous event from top to bottom, with only one exception, being that I gave my left leg the mother of all cuts when shaving my legs that morning before we left. Luckily it's bloody torn-ness was obscured from the general public. I guess that's what happens from time to time when you regularly scrape your skin from hip to ankle with razor blades, eh? The scab is itching as I type.

Well, today is my father's birthday. He is one hundred years old.

K spent the entire day making love to computers on the kitchen floor of our house. I arrived home to find my zen-master calm state thoroughly disrupted by computer components, spread far and wide, and squirrels. For company, he said. Well, I can tolerate a lot of things, but squirrells pooping in the egg carton is the final straw. I took those squirrells and one by one I booted them up the hole and out the back door. They didn't come back. The incident got me thinking on a philosophical level about how squirrells are like little furry men, and I was sorry I had booted their holes. But what choice did I have? It was either faeces omlette or bye-bye bushies. Sometimes you've got to make tough decisions in life, and sometimes you've got to harm God's creatures. I took the road less travelled by, and that has made all the difference.

neuro-praxis -- I Can Make Your Wish Come True