Nothing To Report
Aug 7th, 2008 | By Bock | Category: Home, My lifeToday, I have no opinion on anything.
What???
No. Seriously. I have no views at all today. Nothing. Not a sausage!
I have nothing to say about the horrible Beijing Olympics or the vile gangsters who control China.
I have no comment on the news report that a property company is selling houses to Irish purchasers in a swish new development — where? Iraq, that’s where. No opinion whatsoever on this ludicrous story.
I couldn’t care less whether Ronaldo stays with Manchester United. He can go to Alaska for all I worry about it.
I care not one jot for plate tectonics, global warming, comet-strikes, mass extinction, clostridium difficile, rectal fiscitude or golf.
Why?
I’m tired. That’s why. I’m very fucking tired of building and demolishing and wheelbarrows and concrete mixers and hauling trailers and dragging loads and digging holes and smashing rocks and sanding floors and wiring sockets and plumbing showers and painting walls and all the rest of the fucking shit you have to do when you decide to renovate a house.
I’m stopping.
Rain, hail, shine, plagues of frogs, swarms of gnats, I don’t care.
At the weekend I’m having a barbecue, and I’m inviting a few of my friends around. I’m going to light a couple of fires, hang speakers from the bushes, set up a gazebo, put rope-lights through the trees, fill a cooler box full of iced beer, grill some shish-kebabs and fucking … chill!
But not right now. Oh no. Right now, I have to put on a sober suit, wear a sombre tie and go to a very serious birthday party. Very serious.
See you tomorrow, with a bit of luck.
I still haven’t got my BBQ invite, just so you know.
I know how you feel though. Been lugging boxes around all day and I’m in no mood to do anything right now, least of all think.
Looking forward to you resuming normal services.
I wouldn’t worry about it Bock, we’ll all be ruined in five hours time when the Large Hadron Collider starts up.
Bock, hard graft was invented soley to make that first pint of the night taste like pure ambrosia. Now crack on.. you’re going to be late.
A very serious birthday party my eye! You’ll be rodent-rectumed within the hour.
why renovate when you can just kill off one of the other inhabitants?
I’ve had a hard day meself. It started with a thorough debarnacling of the Kipper’s hull, moved swiftly to the sacking of Ludwig’s cove, the inevitable hosing down of Slimey Pete, a prolonged spot of sail refitting before a thoroughly life sapping bout of listening to some Austrian wanker talking about salvation and the way forward. Now, if history has taught us anything, it is never to trust an idealistic Austrian. Fucking knackered after the whole ordeal and now I’m sitting here at 1:10am contemplating bed but not expecting to get there any time soon. Sometimes it’s just hell being a pirate.
would you have an opinion on people who say opingon when they mean opinion,
Opingon. Sounds like Klingon.
Who says opingon?
Self opingonated people and residents of Dungarvan Co.Waterford.(second part is really true).
I was on holiday once with a friend, and we bumped into a couple from near Dungarvan who were on their honeymoon. They had a (small) pub back home. About six months later we visited them, and they asked us to mind the bar while they had a day off.
I’ll never forget it. Neither of us had ever pulled a pint, or even stood behind a bar before. Isn’t the confidence of youth a great thing. I never found out if the local clientele complained!
Opingon?
It’s like Baldy Noonan saying “millon”.
And the Large Hadron Collider didn’t annihilate us after all.
Good.
That’s because it hasn’t booted up yet, Bock. The start-up has been put back until the second week in September.
Oh dear. So that must mean we’re still doomed.
Opingon: The Laird in George McDonald’s Warlock o’Glenwarlock uses it all the time.
Nora: I’m sure you made a pretty barmaid (sorry barperson) bar none.
Bock: the collider is looking for a bit of help from home computing. You should give it a try.