A Link Of Sausages Part 1

Cassie won’t like this, but this details one of my more popular pasttimes of recent years. It’s called Breakfast Bounty, and the contest was this: when all of us, me, Dave, Tommy C, Jerky Joe, and Ed the Ram, were all single, a board would be set up in Ed and Joe’s apartment. The task was to go to a woman’s house, do the past nastification (or not, whatever) and afterwards when she was asleep or whatever, take the components of a fry for breakfast the following morning in Joe and Ed’s apartment. Now, if you bought them on the way up (easy enought to spot that to be fair) you were disqualified. It was held every Friday for a period of six weeks, and you scored as follows:
Sausage: One point per sausage
Bacon: One point per rasher
Tomato: One point each
Egg: Three points for an intact egg
Black or White Pudding: Two points per half roll
One bonus point each for hash browns.

And so Breakfast Bounty was played. Now I was running third to Tommy C and Ed going into the third week – as it was dependent on scoring it could be an unpredictable contest – when I met this lassie, Rachel from Sandymount, I remember because her old man used to teach me at primary school, who, when I was going into Abrekebabra, said she would cook me something in her house if I wanted food.
Paydirt, says I to myself.
So off we get a taxi to Sandymount, and when I reach what can only be described as a palatial estate, I collapse into a beanbag in her den, and switch on a giant plasma TV and start watching Johnathon Woss’ Film Weview. Twenty minutes later she sticks in her head and says it’s done. While she busies herselfmaking coffee to down the burgers with, I take a quick root in her fridge.
Fuck me, there was the beter part of seven pigs in there. A veritable treasure trove of sausages, bacon, pudding … enough to put me in the lead for the three remaining weeks without ever needing to go out.
So eventually I get the grub into me, and I head up to her room and we get down and dirty (Customer Satisfaction Review: ”I’ve never felt so loved”) and after I’m certain she’s asleep, I sneak down to the fridge and start filling a plastic bag I grabbed from somewhere in the utility room, and just as I’m about to make off with my booty, the light turns on. A fat bastard in a suit is just staring slack-jawed at me. He starts pointing.
‘You brigand! Filthy fucking thief! Don’t you dare move.!’
I think about dropping the food and pulling a legger, but I’m actually in total shock from being caught. The fat bastard screams up the stairs.
‘We’re being robbed! Family emergency!’
Like a shot, mother, father, Rachel, and sister are down the stairs. The father, I noticed to my horror, was wielding some kind of rifle, whoch he had trained at my head.  
‘Don’t you dare move you little fucker … wait a second! I know you! Steiner! Why are you robbing my house? Your parents will ostracise you when they hear about this!’ Rachel pulled the gun out of her father’s hands.
‘Daddy, Brian’s a friend of mine. He’s staying the night.’ He continued to glare at me. The fat bastard, I guessed, was her brother Robert. A notorious loudmouthed fucker who punched Tommy C outside Club 92 once.
‘That doesn’t explain why this little toerag is stealing our food!’
‘Ah sir, I can explain. I work with the Simon Community, and I remembered I had to go to a soup kitchen this evening. I forgot to buy food earlier, and I was being picked up shortly, so I was hoping i could leave a note explaining why I took it.’ Rachel’s father looked a bit iffy … hopefully she’d pull through …
‘It’s true Daddy, he told me that he works with the homeless earlier this evening …’
Ah Safecracker Number 24 … not only good for opening with women, but in this case for getting out of a tight spot …
You leave here now, Steiner, and if I catch you here again, I will shoot you with that rifle. Clearly you’ve been filling my daughter’s head with your lies, but I don’t believe you for a second. Now get out of here, and since your thieving fingers were all over that food, take it with you.’
I didn’t have to be told twice. Legged it out of there.

Following morning I took the lead in Breakfast Bounty by 12 points, and we ate like kings. But I wasn’t near finished with trying to con women out of pork based products … stay tuned for my biggest score in the four times we played Breakfast Bount … the time I scored a lassie whose father ran a Donnybrook Fair …

With the thoughts from a militant mind, robbed fry, robbed fry, after robbed fry … 

One Pill Makes You Larger

Recently I’ve been having a cold, only it’s been accompanied by a high fever, something I always get when I have a cold, or even sick at all. Anyway, until it broke there a day ago, I was bed-ridden and hallucinating. I know I was hallucinating because I distinctly remember being awake when some of this shit happened. It was a weird vision, but anyway, here’s what I can remember of it.

(Brian lies in bed, sweating profusely.)
Voice: Yo, wake up dawg.
Brian: What? Who the – … who or what are you?
(Brian sees a stereotypical rapper standing over him. Bling, backwards hat, American football jersey, ridiculously oversized trousers etc.)
Rapper: Dawg, I’m your spirit guide.
Brian: Aw fuck, don’t tell me Joe spiked my drinks again.
Rapper: Nope, you’re just envisioning me because you’re delirious with fever (Squints) Oh yeah, word, dawg.
Brian: Well, since I’ve fuck all else to do, why are you here?
Rapper: Shit if I know man, it’s yo’ vision. Anyways, order yo’self up a big bucket of fried chicken, you muthafucka.
Brian: Why is my spirit guide a total stereotype?
(A table and chairs appear. A bucket of KFC is on the table; the spirit guide is eating chicken while Bob Geldof is singing I Don’t Like Mondays.)
Bob: You know I actually don’t like Mondays. Statistics show that people listen to me less on Monday.
Rapper: Bob, people don’t listen to you much anyways, man. Have some fried chicken.
(Bob sits down and takes a piece of chicken.)
Bob: Who’s this focker?
Brian: Brian Damage. Pleased to meet you too Bob.
Bob: Would you like to focking give a shit about my new campaign? It’s called iPhones for Orphans. I promise free iPhones for starving children in the poverty and disease ridden hovels of Dundalk if you just give me 10% of your lifetime savings.
Brian: Ah no, you’re okay.
(Cassie appears, dressed with a basket of fruit on her.)
Brian: Cassie, what are you doing here?
Cassie: Oh, I’m not Cassie, Brian. Just a vision of all the women you’ve been with down through the years.
Brian: We could be here a while so! High five anyone?
Bob: I must be off. I have to visit some people in Kerry who have to walk twenty miles every day to get water. Hi-ho Geldof, away!
(Bob puts on a cape and flies away.)
Rapper: Man, you try sharing a room with him. That dude’s one crazy muthafucka. Yo Brian, if you finished oglin’ yo’ exes and some fat muthafuckin’ women, we ready to move on?
Brian: Yeah, sure.
(Scene dissolves and Brian finds him placed beside Jerky Joe, dressed in a ghillie suit and holding a sniper rifle. Joe is the same way.
Joe: Brian, I’ve just received intel that the Politician Liberation Army is going to attack our position soon. we’ve got to hold them off until we can get an evac chopper. Understood?
Brian: Joe, I don’t know how to use these.
Joe: Just press the Right Trigger button.
Brian: This isn’t a fucking video game!! How do i use these?
Joe: Just look at the damn gun.
(Brian does and finds there is a Xbox 360 controller where the trigger should be.)
Brian: This is one seriously fucked up dream.
Joe: You’re telling me. We thought those democracy loving bastards were pinned down in Leinster House but they managed to fight their way out. Cost the 112th Stick Beating Battalion some damn good men.  Get ready brian, here they come.
(Brian looks through the scope and sees a load of people wearing cheap suits and wielding bits of paper charging towards them. Brian takes aim and presses the trigger button. A piece of paper flies out.)
Brian: Joe, where are the damn bullets?!
Joe: These rifles fire votes of no confidence. You didn’t seriously think bullets could kill politicians, did you?
(Brian shakes his head in disbelief and fires a vote of no confidence at a screaming politician. He drops to the ground, his face contorted in agony.)
Brian: Son of a bitch.
(Pothead Paul appears.)
Paul: Someone call me?
Joe: Paul, gab one of these rifles and get shooting. I’ve just heard that they’re planning to send in the Panzerharney to take us out so we’ll need all the help we can get. Brian, take that Panzerfaust there and hide in the bushes until it passes. Then fire in at the weak armour on the rear. Got that?
Brian: Fine. Cover me until then.
Joe: Hold them off! Oh shit!
(Enda Kenny leaps from the bushes brandishing a Manifesto for Change. Je grabs the butt end of his rifle and swings it into Kenny’s face, leaving him sprawling on the ground.)
Joe: God damn it, when will this fucking war ever end? We’ve been fighting these bastards for twelve years now!
(A tank rolls into the battlefield. The look of shock on Joe and Paul’s faces is palpable. They stand there frozen in shock as the tank turns its turret to face them.)
Brian: Here goes nothing.
(Fires the Panzerfaust which explodes on the tank, disabling it. Millions of euro in unmarked notes spill out.)
Joe: We’re rich! It’s like that film Three Kings!
(Scene dissolves again. Brian then finds himself sitting on a chair, under a spotlight in a black room.)
Brian: Christ, how many more cliches is this hallucination going to use?
Disembodied Voice: Brian Damage, you ahve disturbed the sound of silence. Now you must spend eternity listening to the entire Simon and Garfunkel back collection!!
Brian: That’s not a punishment. I like Simon and Garfunkel.
(Sound of Silence begins playing.)
Voice: Let’s here you say that when you hear this for the fifth sucessive time … now walk along this barren and desolate wasteland thinking about how much Simon and Garfunkel suffered!!!
Brian: Suffered how?
(No reply. The black room lights up and reveals a long road. The Rapper reappears.)
Rapper: Yo, that Simon and Garfunkel dude tried to pull some shit on you there?
Brian: Yeah. That’s him playing the music you hear.
Rapper: That crazy fool pulls that shit on everyone who comes here. He did it to Russell Crowe and Crowe threatened to poke his eyes out. That shut him up. Anyway Brian, it’s time to wake up.
Brian: What?
Rapper: (speaking in a women’s voice) Please wake up.
Brian: Dude, what’s wrong with you?
Rapper: Come on Brian, please wake up.

I woke up then, and saw that Cassie was sitting beside me.
‘Thank God, I thought you were going to stay that bad.’
‘But it’s about 7 in the morning, what are you doing here?’
“It’s nearly three. You’ve been screaming in your sleep all night. I rang your phone, but your mother told me you were sick with fever so I came up to see you. It’s about half two now.’
‘Shit … I better go have a shower. Thanks for coming. You want to head out?’
‘Brian, your hallucination may be over, but don’t be an idiot. Your fever’s nowhere near broken. Feel your forehead.’
I did. It was like a fucking hotplate.
‘Back to bed for you so. ‘
‘You won’t join me?’
She grinned.
‘More like your old self now, eh?  I’ll get you some 7-Up.’

Awesome to the max.  The only way I could sum up that weird shit is by showing two videos.

That for the aural representation of the dream.

This because it’s a kick ass song.

Boggers United

The above being a good name if the Irish Farmers Asscoiation ever want to set up a soccer team.

Anyway, I was in the Punch Bowl with Joe and Cassie the other night, initially trying to catch up on old times with her, but the arrival of Joe spiralled it into a general session. We got talking about technology – of all things, the least inspiring to most women – and joe got onto a sticky topic.
‘Brian writes a blog, you know.’ He announced proudly, as if he had discovered a conspiracy. Cassie gave me a small smile.
‘You didn’t mention you were a writer Brian. Are there hidden depths to you that don’t involve funny noises?’ I am fucking ashamed to say I blushed and felt a bit warm at this point.
‘Ah well, I just kind of trick about on it a bit. Nothing to serious.’ Joe snorted.
‘You lying bastard. The shit he comes out with, Cassie, you would not believe.’ Now I was livid.
‘Like what?’ Joe grinned that sly bastard grin that says ‘I will take you down’.
‘Ah like whining about how his ex Melissa dumped him in Brussels (Cassie’s expression was of sympathy), how he scores with random women from time to time (dismay), stuff we talk about when watching films or drinking (neutral), and last one he wrote was about that childrens’ show that my sister watches. Hannah Montana it was (expression of amusement).’ Cassie was laughing. Nerves abound.
‘Really Brian? Why?’
”Cos Brian had the hots for the one who plays the lead character before he found out that she was under 17.’
‘Fuck off, Lizzie McGuire. You watched that show religiously.’ Joe gave me the knowing smile again.
‘Ah but Brian, Hilary Duff is in her twenties, probably around the same age as us. This other girl is, what, about 15?’ Cassie laughed.
‘Brian always did have a taste for the younger women.’
‘He also compared her to you.’ Enough of this badmouthing.
‘That’s because a) she looks like you, and b) she’s as good looking as you. Fuck that shit, I didn’t know she was 15. I just thought she was hot.’ Cassie paused.
‘Now I must check that site. Give me the address.’ I did so and turned to Joe.
‘Get the drinks in you knob. Two Smithwicks and a West Coast Cooler for the lady. And you’re just jealous because you couldn’t write a blog. You’d just give up and play Call of Duty.‘ Joe relsihes a challenge.
‘I rule at everything Brian. Life is but a game without controllers. And I will just be an unholy raping machine at blogging too, gay and all as it is. That’s how much I kick your ass, I’m even going to kick it in something as gay as Dale Winton and Elton John having a bath together.’ The term ‘unholy raping machine’ refers not to deeply violating acts but rather handing out ass-whooping to Americans over Xbox Live.
‘Go ahead, I won’t stop you.’ I turned to Cassie and started on about other shit then.

I did not think the lazy unmotivated hoor capable of it, but lo and behold, Jerky Joe has set up a blog, of which I was informed of by text just there. Unholy Pwnage, it’s called, and no doubt he’ll just kick my ass like ‘I have a M16 with Red Dot Sight and Stopping power and you have a fucking cap gun’ whatever that means.
Well Joe, just remember that for some, life on the bloggosphere can be brief.

History Repeating

Other than a load of work dropped into my lap like a steaming heap of shit from the Keep Busy Fairy, my life’s going grand lately. After my acceptance into UCD, as previously stated, I got wasted and ended up in some lassie’s house, and only after pulling a vanisher on her the following morning and turning up at Jerky Joe’s for breakfast and in his case, online Ghost Recon Advanced Warfighter, Joe turned to me and said:
‘You know that lassie you scored last night looked like Kris Kristofferson, right?’
Come to think of it, she did have manly stubble and great underarm hair … anyway, this is notable for one reason.

That reason is that it’s equally as embarrassing as the fact I once got off with a girl several years younger than me. About seven years ago, when I was 17, myself and the boys were attending our final Wezz (a popular box social for us D4 cubs) and naturally, Tommy Cajones had swiped a bottle of Chateau Pompous port or something like that. So we were tanked up heading in.
From what my since dimmed memory recalls, I got talking to a girl called Cassie, who was very pretty with long brown hair, hazel eyes, and a smashing ass you could bounce punts (as they were) off. I mean it was just rock solid. So anyway we got to talking, and I got on the topic of rugby, and music, and stuff, and she agreed with most of it (seems she was immune to my rugby charms) and since she wasn’t engaging in some of the more sick shit the girls did in the Wezz – Ed the Ram ended up with some dude’s jizem in his mouth via a girl’s tongue, and I’m not going to dwell on that – she was a bit of a rarity. A cute rarity at that. So we exchanged mobile numbers and I agreed to meet her in the Savoy the next Friday.

The following Thursday rolled around and I, spruced up with my finest suit from Louis Copeland and wearing enough Hugo Boss to drown a household pet, I arrived at the Savoy to meet Cassie. We decided on a film and I bought all for her, and we settled in. About halfways through, I pulled the old Brian Damage Smooth Criminal Moves on her, and moved in to kiss her. That was pretty good (I remember tasting strawberries) and the rest of the date went fine. It kinda set a precedent; we kissed all the time, but never went further. I never thought to question it, I figured she was kinda prudish and it would have been retarded of me to drive her away.

We were going out for two months and age never crossed my mind. I was about to do my Leaving and she said she was in Loreto on the Green (secondary school) so I accepted it as her having done her Junior (agreed limit was two years younger) so we contined along oblivious till one day Dave The Future Lawyer (then known as Dave the Liar for the shit he told women, and now puts to good use with judges) came up to me with a big grin on his face.
‘Brian the Cradle-Robber, eh? Getting some young thing below our limit, eh?’ I looked at him oddly.
‘Cassie’s fifteen, Dave, I’m sure of it.’ Dave grinned wider. Joe ripped himself away from his PS2 with a concerned look on his face.
‘Cassandra is thirteen, Brian. You’re the talk of first year in Loreto-on-the-Green, boyo.’ I shook my head in disbelief.
‘No. Fucking. Way.’
‘Yes. Fucking. Way. Now break it off with her or endure eternal slagging.’

Not a chance was I going to end it with her before I made sure of her age. I met her in Eddie Rocket’s in Donnybrook.
‘Cassie, can I ask you something?’
‘Sure, Brian. What?’
‘Are you 13?’
‘Yeah, didn’t you know that? Oh my God, is that a big thing for you?’
Turned out it was. I explained what my problem was, and she agreed to break it off.
There was only one occasion I regretted breaking up with someone, and she was that occasion. My parting words to her were:
‘Maybe we’ll see each other when age doesn’t matter?’

We did. I saw her in UCD when I was tying up my return. Turns out she’s doing Medicine now. I invited her to dinner with me in Roly’s Thursday, and she accepted. I’m pretty stoked, because since she’s 20 and I’m 24, ain’t nothing stopping us now. The four years don’t really matter at our age. I doubt she’s as innocent anymore mind you, but it’s time to dust off the suit, get me some Hugo Boss, and time to blow on those tinders, cause BD’s gonna relight an old flame …

In what ranks as something of an omen, I saw a girl who looked like her on American Idol (a staple of the dudes and I because Simon Cowell’s a funny fucker) a week or so ago, and I grabbed the video off Youtube. Turns out it is a daughter of notorious hat wearing ‘cowboy’ Billy Ray Cyrus, and the song is infectiously catchy, and despite myself I find it entering my head.

Good God! It’s stuck! I need something to remove it!
 

Aah … soothing. Stay frosty, people.

Rock Out With Your Cock Out

I was accepted for UCD today, for a postgrad Arts course. awesome … that’s all I gotta say.

So I am doing as the above suggests and using my 3G phone to post this from some random chick’s house somewhere in Dublin. hell I can’t even remember getting back to her place.
It may be the alcohol. or the fact I’ve just made magic like Harry Potter, but I think that’s a damn good personal slogan …

One Minute To Lose Yourself

I got this meme from Jefferson Davis – not usually something I do, but it was an interesting sounding one, so why the fuck not?
Anyway, the basic point appears to be that I tell you about a minute of my life. I can’t remember if it has to be a specific minute, or right now (cos right now I’m in my jocks sipping an iced tea and watching The Mighty Boosh) so I’ll tell you about a specific moment, the time when my life was pivoting over what I was going to do with myself.
September 2007, I and a female friend of mine, Laura, are at a Starbucks in Dublin City Centre.
‘So Brian, are you going back to college this year?’

‘I don’t know. I seriously don’t know what I’m going to do with myself. I don’t want to go back to college, or get a job, and only scumbags can claim the dole … so I’m in a hex here.’

‘Have you thought about doing a Fas course?’

‘Thanks Laura, I’ll stick with my slowly dwindling trust fund.’

‘Brian, you have to do something. I’ve known you for seventeen years, and with the exception of the rugby, you’ve always rode the coattails of others. Time for you to man up. What about the army?’

*Brian laughs*

‘Okay, what about a job in Dave’s company? I’m sure he could rustle something up for you. And give college another shot. I’m doing a Masters in Psychology in UCD and they accept mature students all the time. You should try a course there.’

‘I did. Geology, remember?’

‘A useful course, Brian. Try an Arts course or something like politics or history. You always liked history.’

‘I’ll take your words into consideration mi amigo, but for now … I fart at thee …’

*Brian lets one rip*

Exit stage left. Since then I’ve gotten promoted in a steady job, I’ve reapplied to college to do an Arts degree, and while my love life is as turbulent as ever, I have high hopes that some impressionable young Women Studies can be persuaded to take extracurricular work from ‘Professor’ Brian Damage ….

This song, I think, best reflects how I grasped that oportunity I was given.

A Gallon Of Strawberry Quick

I could write a post on horoscopes and how totally believable … or I could let Weird Al do it, with Your Horoscope For Today.

Take it away Mr. Yankovic!

Phrases Of Certain Death

I was over at Ed The Ram’s yesterday, having a pizza, watching Apocalypse Now, and having a few bevvies with the boys before heading out to the Portie, when Dave the Lawyer said suddenly:
‘D’you ever notice how the guy who says ‘I got a girl back home … ‘ is always the next to get a shitload of bullets in his face?’
We all thought about this for a few seconds and decided he was right.
So then we began to try and find the best lines in a war film that are guaranteed to get you a one-way flight back to America with a folded flag beside you.
Among others, some of which were classics but have been obliterated by a sustained, eh, blitzkrieg of Jagerbomb-ing , were the following:
- ‘I’ll buy you a beer when we get back/I owe you a beer when we get back.’ Usually said before someone boards a helicopter which gets RPG’d out of the sky a few seconds later.
- ‘I got a girl back home.’ As above, usually said in the seconds before an ambush.
- ‘I’m too short for this shit, man!’ Said by someone who is ending their tour of duty soon, they are either cynical/disillusioned about war and bitch about it the whole film.
- ‘That was some terrific fighting! God damn it man, shake me by the hand!’ Said by an officer who gets shot with the dying breath of a wounded Viet Cong lying nearby.
- ‘All I want to do after this is go back and have a small farm in Montana , and raise some cattle there.’ If said by the main character of the film, he’ll probably survive. Otherwise – instant death!
- ‘God damn it, when is this fucking war going to end?’ As soon as those words left your mouth son. For you at least anyway.

And so on and so forth … any one else got any to add to that?