In my day, the parents of your children’s children were your parents’ children — A Youngish Person’s View

November 15, 2010

I’m young, right? Ish, anyway. 23 years of age at last count, but I’m not counting, you are. I’m part of this generation you see, what you could call ‘The parents of your children’s children’.

And a few things annoy me. Well, many things, but they’ve all been said. Many, many times over. Read a paper if you enjoy a milder form of self harm. They’re cheaper then razor blades anyway (and they still haven’t gone down in price since the recession — Movemeber is just a ploy to get people shaving, it’s nothing about prostates).

You see, in my day (which is now) the country went to complete shit because the higher ups (who grew up alongside you in your day) spent most of their time wandering around long halls, employing people to do stuff for them that either didn’t need doing, should have been done by someone else, or needed redoing because the previously employed person in that job (who has since been promoted into a new job, with much the same criteria as his/her last job) didn’t do that job right — for example, were I to hire someone to make sense of that last sentence for you, because it is overly long with too many words, commas, bracketed asides (which can quickly become confusing), will probably need to be reread to be understood fully and perhaps just the simple fact that the first full stop in this whole paragraph, which is roughly 150 words long, has only just come along now.
That’s something I should do myself. But I won’t. Put it down to being set a bad example.

So, imagine that incompetence, and multiply it by 40 billion and few barrels of red paint and eggs — that’s the kind of mess we’re in. But we know that. RTE tells us this, the helpful souls that they are, in all our days.

But what I worry about in my day (now) is that in your day (then), were the same arguments for sucking up the pain used by people who had different days (way back then). And will I be using the same argument for when the world gets screwed over again in my children’s day (which is way over there)?

Isn’t the point that we should be progressing as a human race? That the sacrifices that our parents made and their parents made are appreciated, but should never had have to be made again? Many people died before medicine began to save lives. A lot of people died before we realised that pyramids aren’t perhaps the most efficient way to honour the dead. A whole season of Joey had to be persevered before we decided that it was inhumane to humour Matt LeBlanc any further.

The point is, shouldn’t we be trying to further ourselves as a human race here? Why should we have to suffer old problems just because our parents did? We’re adults now, give us the opportunity to suffer new problems, to make new mistakes, to throw our country into a new well of shit so our own children can dig us out of a new mess — a shitty mess indeed, but a mess that has a least progressed from the mess past generations had to suffer.

These are old problems, that have their roots in obvious moral, ethical and incompetent incompetence — that’s what pisses me off. And the danger is the whole country will be on the backfoot because of them. These are old problems, that have already been suffered (and we appreciate that, we honestly do), but we shouldn’t have to suffer them again.  There are a lot of things that we should put up with and shut up with, but not this retarded mess —it would be irresponsible of us as a generation to just ‘put up’ with this mess.

So, can we, at the very least, retire this flawed argument and move on here? No more crap about it on Midday, The Frontline, or any more damn newsprint? Bill Cullen may well be a long way from penny apples, but so is everyone.


Paul tackles rape-rape and its much lesser cousin: Rape.

July 14, 2010

Given recently developments on this Roman Polanski ‘thing’, I think it’s time I resurrected this rather angry 700 (ish) words that I wrote a half year back but never put up. At the time, I felt it was a bit,… uh ‘rapey’, but now that he’s free from the horrible, disgusting confines of his Swiss Chalet house-arrest, I think we need a little discussion (read: rant) on how as long as you’re famous, child abuse is aaaaaalllllright. To be honest, it’s more a rant against the star of films like Jumpin’ Jack Flash then anything else.

Warning: Sarcasm abounds.

Whoopi Goldberg on The View: “I know it wasn’t rape-rape. It was something else but I don’t believe it was rape-rape. He went to jail and and when they let him out he was like “You know what this guy’s going to give me a hundred years in jail I’m not staying, so that’s why he left.”

Whoopi, Whoopi, Whoopi. Rape-rape? Honestly, rape-rape? Wouldn’t it of been easier just to walk away? Just walk away and leave us with our Neanderthal views of not separating rape and getting a 13 year old drugged and drunk and then having sex with her?
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Jumpin Jack Flash

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Obviously, that was just a mild raping. Much like a mild decapitation, a mild elephant infestation or mild Jason Byrne. To throw this rape into the pot with, I dunno, rape, would be doing the crime of rape an injustice.

But, you know, I trust Hollywood. Those people are clearly better thinkers then us, the movers and shakers of the world that get transmitted to our screens by lasers and pixies and stuff. So I guess we should believe them. After all, this is pretty much exactly like the plot of How Stella Got Her Groove back, isn’t it? And that sure worked out for the best.

So, Rape-rape isn’t just rape I suppose. Rape-rape must be like, giving the child Corn Flakes beforehand, in the full, premeditated evil mind that the kid doesn’t like Corn Flakes. And then, BAM. Rape-rape.

So, to clear up a few matters first before we go into details (the horrible, disgusting rape-rape details, with some happy-go-lucky rape details thrown in). Since the Hollywood elite (those crazy geniuses) feel that Polanksi should not go to jail for a rape (of a minor) 32 years ago, we define rape-rape as something like, you rape someone, then steal their pants or perhaps, you sit down to watch Xposé, and then follow that heinous act with a little bit of rape.

That is, you rape someone, then you do something that warrants jail time.

And so rape must be, something like, I dunno. Something like rape-rape, but less, rapey? At what point is rape not rapey? Does the fact that some of the rape happened in a jacuzzi take off some the rape-edge? That it was champagne he gave her, and not a crate of Dutch Gold?
I dunno, still sounds pretty rapey to me.

But then, what kind of punishment does rape entail when we compare it to rape-rape?
What punishment could be doled out? If even a punishment should exist? After all, considering what rape-rape is, and Whoopi (and friends) believe he shouldn’t go to jail, then I suppose we should take other offences into account. Some sort of list where we can see what gets jail time (rape-rape) and what doesn’t (rape). For example, we could take into account that stealing a handbag can get you jail time, so, therefore, this particular raping of a 13 year old is not as bad as stealing a handbag.  Or, closer to the point, if, after raping, he forced her to cuddle after wards –that could be seen a kidnapping, a death sentence in some states, but leave her on her merry way and we may move to France, conscience clear that only a little bit of rape was committed. Much like that time you didn’t cut the grass when you said you would, or when you clicked ‘yes please, porn me up Mr. Internet’ when you were only 17.

I refuse to believe that Hollywood and the world in general is being lenient because he made a few good movies. Cos that would mean I could never watch another movie again.

But anyway, it’s all alright. Because later, Whoopi clarified the matter, saying she wanted to “make it clear that she was talking about the legal charge against Polanski at the time.”

Yup. Clear as a filthy jacuzzi.

Next Week: Paul says the word ‘rape’ 20 times in something he wrote in the early 90s.


Like?

June 9, 2010

’Like’. Must we ‘like’ everything? Has the entire English lexicon, developed over thousands of years resulted in this one word being the universal verb of choice? Like or dislike? No sliding scale of likeness or disliking? No, this is the Internet — we’ve black, we’ve white, and grey is a malcontenting bastard who has no place here.

What was wrong with the traditional 5-star system of haphazard public appreciation? I may enjoy man gets hit in face by football somewhat. I then may stumble across man being bludgeoned with wet fish, and enjoy that slightly more. But to say that I ‘like’ both, with equal measure, suggests I just stalk through the Internet, purely travelling through broadband cables listening for thumps followed by groans.
And I don’t. Honest.

‘Like’ is such a useless, meaningless word without context. I like curry. I like chips with curry more. I like wellies when travelling through mud. Without mud, wellies are just sweaty and uncomfortable. HOW DO I FEEL ABOUT WELLIES, INTERNET?

More to the point, maybe I would like to follow updates from George Bush, Bulmers Pear, or I dunno, rampant discussion on that feeling when you think you’re about to sneeze but then don’t. But I don’t want to romp around the Internet, saying I ‘like’ any of these things. George Bush was a fool, anything Bulmers make is only fit for violent colonic irrigation and who actually ‘likes’ that ‘need to sneeze but can’t’ feeling?

Sneezing Liking

180,997 people actually like one of the most annoying feelings ever


When did liking become a substitute for having an interest in something? Has the Internet become so swamped in bad ideas that it’s just latched onto whatever is the current buzz word?

But no. No. It’s not the Internet is it? It’s Facebook.

It’s Facebook’s insistence on deepthroating every website out there with its business model suiting terminology until we all gag like the whores that we are, blandness spluttering out our mouths in long, goopy strands. Thanks to all knowing Facebook, I can ‘like’ countless banal shit and then inform people who probably have no interest in what I actually ‘like’, about what I ‘like’. And then clog up their already gushing newsfeed with useless information about how I like every single thing that observational comedians have been saying for years, along with how my level 83 Cow is killing zombie mob bosses. AND PLEASE, READ MY HOROSCOPE.

But that was always the way. I was used to this. Clever use of hiding and defriending helped me get over this. But now, every conceivable webpage or article is getting a ‘like’ button. Facebook is trying to be everything at once, and because of this, is resorting to a shitty, catch-all system – trying to blend what it began with doing (standard social networking) with Twitter, RSS feeds, social bookmarking, Digg and Reddit-style ranking systems, replacing YouTube’s admittedly shit but still far better 5-star rating system – the list goes on, – into a kind of all encompassing one stop website.

And it’s trying to do this with one, 4-lettered word. Even the ability to dislike is something that needs to be forcibly hammered into it. I see an ad for something – I can only ‘like’ it, or ignore it. Unless of course I make a new ‘community’ page or somesuch nonsense so I can loudly proclaim to the world how “Paul Kennedy likes disliking New Shitty Indie Band 2010 LOL!!!”


Stick to what you were good at, Facebook. Try to sell me shit if you want. Use my public information to give me targeted shite that I’ll still ignore. Screw it, as long as you keep it anonymous, sell it if you want. We put that shit up, it’s our fault if we don’t opt out and you use it.

But don’t seep into every orifice the Internet has. If I truly want to show my affection for something, I’ll put it up on Facebook myself, along with comments I want to make about it.

At least when Google takes over and makes robot clones of us (that do nothing but buy products and murder), they’ll do a damn good job of it.


Wordpress liking

Fill some meaningless, unrelated criteria  and you might even be able to ‘like’ this blog. But God help you if you do.


Theirry Henry is not deserving of a re-write with actual jokes.

November 19, 2009

Click for some still image cheating

Raped. Ravaged. Given the slippery finger in the dark. Bent over and inspected. An unrequested sexual examination. An attack upon our persons. A dwarf having sex with anyone. Cunted. A dog humping your bare leg. An unwanted carrot in the ass. A wanted carrot in the ass. A carrot thrown to anyone who has a large distaste for carrots.
A spider in your mouth. A spider in your pants. A millipede up your nose. Hair in your bumhole. Punch in the face. Poke in the retina. Being felt up by your granddad. Three weeks in the bog. Bertie Ahern. A hot shit after a night on the beer. A hot shit after 2 nights on the beer. A hot shit after a week on the beer and subsisting solely on curries.
Waking up and finding Paul McShane in your bed. Airport security looking for drugs. Dropping the soap. Sucking cock for smack. Smack in the cock. Waking up with a shaven eyebrow. Wax in the ass. Wax on the ass. Wax on the front side of your ass. My ass. Your ass. Our ass.

Listening to Enya. Entering a room, forgetting why you entered so you leave, remembering again so you go back then, and then being raped. A paper-cut between your finger. A paper-cut between your eyelids.
Celebrity Love Island. Kilkenny winning again. Kerry winning again. Exposé.

The Hand of Back. The Hand of God. And now The Hand of that Bastarding Shit.