Sniper Skunk Story

And now for a wee story about Pepe Le Peu. Pepe got his name because he likes to speak French, he loves the laydees and, one day, he wore a jumper with a black stripe down the back making him resemble a skunk.

I've known Pepe for years but never that well. I knew him from Ballymena but he also went to the same university as me. One night we went back to his to continue after-hours drinking. It was a perfectly civilised night where we bantered about nothing in particular. That was until it got to about 2 O'Clock and Pepe started to get overexcited.

We were talking about the 'troubles' in Norn Iron. He'd lived in Belfast and liked to talk about knee-cappings and such like. I don't. The conversation grew rather serious. I can't remember exactly as I was a tad inebriated but at some point Pepe started to tell me that he had been employed as a sniper. Now really alarm bells should've been ringing for me but I'm a gullible little thing and see no reason why people would lie about such things.

Anyway, it was his words I shot people for money as he remorsefully put his head in his hands that made me stop and say What The Fuck! At which point Pepe looked at me and said What? I reminded him that he'd just told me he'd shot people for money and that was pretty crazy. Pepe denied all knowledge of saying anything of the sort, making me even more concerned. He refused to admit he had just confessed to being a sniper. I didn't like the situation so I left. It wasn't until the next day when I replayed what happened to mutual friends and they laughed their heads off that I realised Pepe had not shot people and that I was the biggest sucker in the world.

I huffed with him for about 6 months after that. We are good friends and he would never dream of saying something like that to me, although he does still have an unhealthy fear of assassination.

When I Were A Lass

If, like me, you were a child of the 80's (and from this neck of the woods) you will be lucky enough to remember such delights as;

Nerds, dweebs and runts, Mojos (spearmint, strawberry and cola flavoured), shellsuits, bomber jackets, NASA jackets (nice and safe attitude? Oh, so that's why you're beating my face in), neon shoelaces, New Kids on the Block, Bryan 'fu*king' Adams being at No.1 for a million years with that song, Kylie and Jason mania, The Gummy Bears, Trapdoor, Moomins, He-Man, Thundercats, SuperGran, Eldorado, trolls (we had them at the end of our bed, we had them on top of our pencils, hell, we had them everywhere), Secret bars, Vice Versa's, Chocolate flavour crisps and pretzels, push pops, bum bags, combats and hair perms. I thought that Walnut Whips should be added to the lists but I saw yesterday that they still exist. But who they hell is buying them?

I bet everyone wishes they were a child of the 80's now.

A Very Handsome Paddy

A Very Handsome Paddy
Originally uploaded by hootchinhannah

*WARNING: EXPLICIT CONTENT Paddy has a very foul mouth*

When Hannah told me I'd been tagged I had all kinds of bad feelings about it but then she explained all's I had to do was write about 6 of my most endearing qualities...easy!

1. I am KING of the tuggers. Jaws of steel, me. Fucking handsome with it too. I was going to do it professionally but thought I had enough pressure in my life keeping the 2 bitcher dogs and that fucking hoorcat in line.

2. I'm fussy about food but I am rather partial to a wee taste of cow shit. Bert and Clint shout at me but Rosie Dog says it'll make my coat nice and glossy.

3. Bitchers just don't do it for me. Ever since losing my balls in a horrific accident (in which I'm told I was very very brave) I only lust for men. They smell like fine wine and I love the feel of their strong hands petting my back.

4. I fucking HATE cats. They smell like rancid pus infested boils, they taste like jizz from an elephant with a bad case of elephantitis and they sound like wailing banshees with daggers in their eyes.

5. I sleep-woof. Or so Hannah tells me but she says I don't sound atall scary. She says I sound like a big baby which is why I'm inclined not to believe her.

6. When I get very excited I sneeze. The more excited I am the louder the sneeze. I have nasal problems.

So there you are. 6 reason why I am Paddy The Handsomest Dog In Ireland. Apparently I'm supposed to tag some other folk but I only know Boonie, who's already done it and Rosie but she's far too boring these days. Fat lazy bitch.

Good Old Fashioned Post

PrOcraStinaTion. There is a reason I'm posting about posting. It's because there has been something I've needed to post (via Royal Mail as opposed to cyberspace) for quite some time now. It concerns two people who I very much care about. But... I suffer a terrible affliction. One that renders me physically incapable of posting something. Why? I don't know. I have always posted things late, sometimes not at all. There are so many different hurdles to overcome when you want to post a letter. First you need an address. I'm not good with those due to the fact I never keep an address book. The resulting consequence is that any time I want to post something I have to call someone to get the address. Chore.

Then there are the stamps. I often have them (because I so rarely get past the address stage) but if I don't it seems like another 3 week battle to get hold of some. Either I forget or I'm nowhere near the shop. If your only posting a letter as soon as you have the stamps you're good to go but if you're sending a parcel then you inevitably have to deal with the dreaded post office. This is the most difficult stage for me to get past. Firstly, there's not enough of them. Secondly, they're never open and, thirdly, they're full of old people sending a million parcels to their grandchildren in Timbucktoo.

Funnily enough, when it comes to finally posting something I find nothing more satisfying than popping something in a letter box. I like to hear the noise of it hitting all the other bits of mail. I think it's because once it's in the box it's no longer my responsibility. I hope the people who should've already recieved my mail know who they are. I promise I will send it very soon.

Catching Up

I'm so busy not doing the things I'm supposed to do that I'm having to resort to summing up the past few weeks in point form:


* The new job is going well. I can't complain too much when The Boss tries to force feed me chocolate and threatens to do the same with wine.

* According to me, when I'm drunk, our water tastes like nectar from the tap. According to Swisser, when she's sober, our water tastes vile, like there's chemicals in it. Who's right? You decide.

* The funniest conversation I heard this week was between Pearlie (Bert's 82 yr old mum) and Hubert (her 50 something yr old toy boy lover). When asked by Hubert how she's doing, Pearlie says:

Well, I felt like I could be sick tonight but it never came, well, it came a wee bit and my
teeth flew out but I gathered them up and that was that.

* I've all of a sudden become a good cook. My secret is to not follow a recipe, pay no heed to measurments, don't bother to look at a clock or time how long it's been cooking, throw everything together and stare lovingly at it until you think it might be ready. Works every time.

* The stupidest question I've heard all week. Whilst intensely studying an advertisement for Disney character pendants (found in Take A Break magazine for those of you wishing to purchase such items), Bert asks:

Was there one of the seven dwarves called Dave?

Yes Bert, the seven dwarves were called Sleepy, Grumpy, Happy, Sneezy, Dopey, Bashful and Dave. But if you put your glasses on Bert I think you'll find he's actually called Doc.