Bock Nearly Killed

Imagine it. Almost dead. Gone. No fucking Bock. The end.


Oh, it was nothing really. You see, I have this habit of doing things. I just can’t help it. I have this ability where I’m actually able to do things, you know? I have this man-type thing which involves being actually able to hang up that shelf, or install that actual boiler, and it will work. I think I got it from my father, a man of very few words, but much activity.

Yeah. Some of my friends hate me for this and have attempted to kill me in consequence.


It’s not as if I chose this. It isn’t as though I selected this destiny. I never besought some DIY deity : make me good at shelves!!!

It just kinda seeped into me, from my Uber-skillful father, whose favourite term of appeasement to me, his small son, was One min now an I’ll show ya but he never did, thus proving that it’s all genetic.

It didn’t prevent me knowing how to wire a two-way switch, or how to fit a Belfast sink.

It didn’t, likewise, help me when my fucking ladder slipped from beneath me this afternoon, shattering my very nice cafetiere and almost dislocating my wrist trying to prevent myself from being killed.

Shit. No more hero stories for a while.

13 replies on “Bock Nearly Killed”

Imagine it. Almost dead. Gone. No fucking Bock. The end.

I do believe I got hard.

Ah Belfast, famous for bombs, the Titanic (that sinks) and sinks.

No Bock. Nay good that. Stay away from rickety ladders Mein Bockfuhrer.

At least your Da could actually fix shit. Mine just thinks he can – but he can’t. At all, at all.

As a form of rebellion I learned how to do minor stuff around the house properly, (I know, I coulda just started shooting heroin, stealing cars or getting you wans pregnant). That doesn’t stop him telling me how he woulda done it a different better way. Still, he’s The Da, and a good one at that. We’ll forgive the delusion regarding his DIY abilities.

Sam: Dead on. Knudsen will explain their method of operation.

Knudsen: And Titanic sinks.

John: That’s me and ladders finished. From now on, it’s plumbing all the way.

Anonymous 8.07: It’s a technical area. You’d need a sense of humour.

Belfast sink? Jesus, why’s everyone gone all middle-class on me this week? Belfast sink? Fucking Belfast sink?

Actually, my Mammy has our old one in her garden. I tried to tell her how much an original Belfast sink is worth now, but she still planted begonias in it.

If your ‘very nice cafetiere’ was shattered in the fall, did you go to the Regional and get them to put a splint on it ? Also, I can think of better ways to dislocate your wrist.

“Quenched”, as that remaining Roscommon sibling said of his dead brother whom he had lived so closely with and for so long (from a rare good RTE programme last year some time).

“Bock quenched, gone from in front of us, there, gone now ”.
Will you stay away from fucking ladders and watch yourself, will you.

My Da never fucking told me how to do anything other then “Hold that”, and consequently I’m a handicap when it comes to DIY, although recently I bought a red tool-box abroad in Lidel. I’ve the courage of a lilac pansy to take on anything involving house stuff. Luckily her indoors is our man about the house.

So Bock, stay clear of ladders and get back on the Stairway to Heaven.


Sweary: Jesus, this Belfast sink thing has hit a fucking nerve with all the fuckers. I must look into it more. Potential to annoy the nation.

Joe: Thanks for that thought. Cunt.

Maz: Aw thanks.

Dario: That’s right.

Mikell: No fractured arse for Bock in future.

Flirty: It was a well-hard cafetiere with skulls and things on it.

Mairéad:Thanks. You’d be in a minority there.

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