I went out this evening with a couple of my friends to a play. You might remember from previous posts that we sometimes go to the theatre, and usually it’s good enough.
Well, tonight we went to see a play in the Impact theatre called Oleanna, by David Mamet. It featured Norma and Darren, and at the end of the play we hated two people: Norma, and the fucker who fell asleep beside us and snored his way though the entire production. Now, going through our calendar, we couldn’t do anything about Norma tonight, for reasons I’ll get back to. Tomorrow night, I’m tied up with family stuff and the other guys are involved in some sort of a crime. Saturday is difficult for me: I’m off to Dublin in advance of the French match, and the Wrinkly Romeos have a gig there which, ideally, I’d like to hear. Sunday is hard, because I’ll be in Croke Park, watching the rugby match and of course Sunday night, there will be piles of drink. That rules out Monday . . . so let’s see then. I suppose we could murder Norma on Tuesday night? Yep. That seems ok then. Norma gets killed on Tuesday for being such a bitch to Darren.
Now, what about the ill-mannered fuck who fell asleep in the middle of the play? Well, this gobshite has turned up to every show I’ve been at, and he’s been just as bad at all of them. Therefore, it won’t come as any surprise to hear that we slaughtered him on the spot. He’s gone. Finished. Hacked to pieces. Serves the fucker right for snoring and for being ugly too.
After the play, we couldn’t murder Norma because we had to go to the White House, to hear the lovely Sara Petite playing. Free. Where would you get it? Next week, Sara opens for Todd Snyder in the States, but tonight, here in little old Limerick, you can just walk in off the street to a bar and hear the very same gal playing for free. God, sometimes I love this place.
Sometimes I also hate this place. For instance, I hate the fact that a contingent of local journalists couldn’t show the artist some respect by staying quiet to listen to the music, but chose instead to blather away loudly through the whole night. Why? Well, being journalists, they were of course drunk. It’s what paper-people do. More names for our murder list. Incredibly, these are the same ones who’d lecture you about staying quiet during a penalty kick at Thomond Park.
Anyway, fuck them. We enjoyed the gig, we stayed quiet, and we were all the better for it.
Just finally, could I just mention my ultimate complete departure from Irish soccer matters? After yesterday’s ridiculous debacle against San Marino, I think it’s time to say goodbye to the fools at the FAI. Goodbye, Stan, you fucking fool. Goodbye, Delaney, you complete gobshite. Goodbye.
Christ, that feels better.