Happy Bloomsday Everybody!

Yes, I know I've been a non-entity on this blog for a while. I promise to be better. It brings to mind a song I once heard, while walking from Dublin to Galway.
It goes a little something like this:

The Ballad of Persse O'Reilly

Have you heard of one Humpty Dumpty
How he fell with a roll and a rumble
And curled up like Lord Olofa Crumple
By the butt of the Magazine Wall,
  (Chorus) Of the Magazine Wall,
           Hump, helmet and all?

He was one time our King of the Castle
Now he's kicked about like a rotten old parsnip.
And from Green street he'll be sent by order of His Worship
To the penal jail of Mountjoy
  (Chorus) To the jail of Mountjoy!
           Jail him and joy.

He was fafafather of all schemes for to bother us
Slow coaches and immaculate contraceptives for the populace,
Mare's milk for the sick, seven dry Sundays a week,
Openair love and religion's reform,
  (Chorus) And religious reform,
           Hideous in form.

Arrah, why, says you, couldn't he manage it?
I'll go bail, my fine dairyman darling,
Like the bumping bull of the Cassidys
All your butter is in your horns.
  (Chorus) His butter is in his horns.
           Butter his horns!

(Repeat) Hurrah there, Hosty, frosty Hosty, change that shirt
   on ye,
Rhyme the rann, the king of all ranns!


        Balbaccio, balbuccio!

We had chaw chaw chops, chairs, chewing gum, the chicken-pox
   and china chambers
Universally provided by this soffsoaping salesman.
Small wonder He'll Cheat E'erawan our local lads nicknamed him.
When Chimpden first took the floor
  (Chorus) With his bucketshop store
           Down Bargainweg, Lower.

So snug he was in his hotel premises sumptuous
But soon we'll bonfire all his trash, tricks and trumpery
And 'tis short till sheriff Clancy'll be winding up his unlimited
   company
With the bailiff's bom at the door,
  (Chorus) Bimbam at the door.
           Then he'll bum no more.

Sweet bad luck on the waves washed to our island
The hooker of that hammerfast viking
And Gall's curse on the day when Eblana bay
Saw his black and tan man-o'-war.
  (Chorus) Saw his man-o'-war
           On the harbour bar.

Where from? roars Poolbeg. Cookingha'pence, he bawls
   Donnez-moi scampitle, wick an wipin'fampiny
Fingal Mac Oscar Onesine Bargearse Boniface
Thok's min gammelhole Norveegickers moniker
Og as ay are at gammelhore Norveegickers cod.
  (Chorus) A Norwegian camel old cod.
           He is, begod.


Lift it, Hosty, lift it, ye devil, ye! up with the rann,
   the rhyming rann!

It was during some fresh water garden pumping
Or, according to the Nursing Mirror, while admiring the monkeys
That our heavyweight heathen Humpharey
Made bold a maid to woo
  (Chorus) Woohoo, what'll she doo!
           The general lost her maidenloo!

He ought to blush for himself, the old hayheaded philosopher,
For to go and shove himself that way on top of her.
Begob, he's the crux of the catalogue
Of our antediluvial zoo,
  (Chorus) Messrs Billing and Coo.
           Noah's larks, good as noo.

He was joulting by Wellinton's monument
Our rotorious hippopopotamuns
When some bugger let down the backtrap of the omnibus
And he caught his death of fusiliers,
  (Chorus) With his rent in his rears.
           Give him six years.

'Tis sore pity for his innocent poor children
But look out for his missus legitimate!
When that frew gets a grip of old Earwicker
Won't there be earwigs on the green?
  (Chorus) Big earwigs on the green,
           The largest ever you seen.

   Suffoclose! Shikespower! Seudodanto! Anonymoses!

Then we'll have a free trade Gael's band and mass meeting
For to sod him the brave son of Scandiknavery.
And we'll bury him down in Oxmanstown
Along with the devil and the Danes,
  (Chorus) With the deaf and dumb Danes,
           And all their remains.

And not all the king's men nor his horses
Will resurrect his corpus
For there's no true spell in Connacht or hell
  (bis) That's able to raise a Cain.

- James Joyce

Enjoy your June 16th! May your house never be big enough for all your friends.

football is retarded, as is my "opinion"

Hi, this is simply a short post to express my scorn and smirking indifference to the spectacle of the 2010 football world cup. See, I'm worldly enough to call it what it is... a world cup, but simple enough to admit my heavy shrug, my profound yawn, yes it's profound because the oxygen will not enter my lunges without earnest and well-funded coaxing. Yeah, young men showcasing their thighs whilst chasing an inflated ball sort of sucks sucks in way that is difficult to express without money. Luckily, money is a large part what makes young men chasing and kicking balls so meaningful to so many non-thinking human beings. Maybe this team will win, or perhaps maybe that team will win.... how exciting? Yeah, an obsession with young men sprinting around a carefully manicured field kicking an inflated toy around is the stuff of immortal legend. Wow, like, there is a super competition about who can kick the most balls into the most goals. I can't wait to see who wins because no one will forget and everyone will be talking about it forever more, just like the last world cup, which was also like very exciting and important.

Seriously, the universe is mocking us when we place our identities on the flexing thighs of unthinking young men. Is it really so exciting that a young man might kick a ball into a guarded net? Who gives a shit? No one. Seriously, let it sink in... no one at all cares about whatever young man protects and kicks a ball into a "guarded" goal. Woe betide, woe plague the many idiots, likely many corky thatchers, who assume that because they breathe and defecate that they are more important than the basic and forgettable individuals who are nothing but the extra help (this sentence is especially incoherent.) Life is great, for the worm.

I fully acknowledge the offensiveness and mean-spiritedness of this post. My many friends who love the sport, please accept my sheepish apology and know that I was a little drunk when I wrote it. What do you expect? My Irish heritage demands such things, ahem, such rants, from time to time. Enjoy the flexing thighs!