Ode To Jim

Sawdust and hay was all you craved,
In your little pink caged where we kept you enslaved,
A little house to hide in and a stuffed toy to hump,
You’d always get your fur in a jizzy little clump.
But I’ll always remember the noises you’d make,
When you were so horny your balls must have ached.
That poor stuffed duck never knew what was coming,
When you got the feeling to service your plumbing.

We’d give you carrots and apples and pellets to eat,
But for some reason you wanted to eat your own feet.
I figured you had some mental dysfunctions,
When you would freak out at your own bodily functions.
Herself always reckoned you were a little depressed,
“It’s just a poxy guinea pig”, I would quickly contest.
But she wouldn’t listen and called me cold hearted,
If I was, would I write for the dearly departed?

So it’s true I fear that you’ve left us behind,
On your new journey , and I want to be kind.
But it’s hard to be nice and say you’ll be missed,
When I have a mark on my couch stained with your piss.
So now all I have is an empty cage,
And I lost the receipt so I’m in a slight rage.
As I could have had my money back you see,
But they only have a 30 day return policy.

Inconsiderate little prick that he is.

Fucking hate Guinea pigs.

If I had known he was going to do that, I would have given him my ticket to Boyzone.

Thanks to everybody who emailed me asking for the ticket I have for the Boyzone concert in the RDS, but I have decided to keep it.

When I say everybody who mailed me, I mean everybody who powered down their computers on the off chance that they would send an email by mistake, requesting the ticket.

Because of you I now have to go work a twelve hour shift, and then head straight to the RDS and surround myself with grown women, giddy from anticipation that they might get a glimpse of their teenage crushes.

It’s a futile ambition to stand outside the gates and tell each and every one of them that they are just giving four future taxi drivers and their gay base controller holiday money, and a day in the papers on Sunday.

So thanks again, chances are that I will be the only straight male blogger to write about his adventures at a Boyzone concert.

I’m keeping the ticket. I have to.

If I can’t give it away, there’s no fucking hope of me selling it.

Weirdest conversation in work today:

“Oh my God, Maxi!”

“Erm, yeah?”

“It’s me!”

“Oh, OH yeah – hey there, you!”

“How have you been?”

“Good, yeah – “

“You are the last person I thought I’d ever see again.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“So what have you been up to?”

“Oh y’know the usual. Work.”

“Totally, tell me about it.” (Awkward silence) “You look well, glad to see you bounced back.”

“Thanks, er from what?”

“What?”

“Bounced back from what?”

“You know, the er operation.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Oh my God was that not supposed to be public knowledge that it went wrong?”

“I never had an operation.”

“Really? So you’re still in the hormones phase?”

“Like puberty?”

“No, they put you on hormones and then you have the operation, right?”

“I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“I’m such a fuckwit, I’ve obviously embarrassed you.”

“Me?”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be, I think you have mistaken me for someone else.”

“No, I couldn’t have. You’re that girl from my class that went for a sex change, right?”

“No. I’m a man you’ve never met before in your life.”

“Phew, I was trying not to look at your receding hair line, I mean having to deal with hair loss on top of going through a sex change. Can’t be easy.”

“I’m not going through a sex change.”

“I’m so sorry. This is really embarrassing, I never usually mix people up like that. God I’m mortified.”

“Don’t worry, now what can I do for you?”

“I’m actually here to see the manager about a new supplier contract.”

“That would be me.”

“Oh shit.”

Yeah, pretty much.

I might actually give her company the contract just to see what kind of benefits this little episode entitles me to!

Could have been worse…..

I’m a regular guy, just like every body else. But sometimes things can get messy and I need a little push to help things along.

Sometimes things can not go as fluidly as one would like, or on the other hand, not fluidly enough.

Things can take quite a while to get going and when they do it can be quite a struggle to push past the finishing post. Other times they can rush along without you and leave you stuck when you’re no where near ready to wipe it off your schedule.

Sometimes we can relax but there are times when we have to struggle.

Sometimes we get the job done clean and ultimately there are occasions when it gets sloppy.

Others may offer advice, but some things are best left to yourself.

I don’t know. Maybe I just need more fiber.

No sooner had I written the last post than I had climbed into my car to start the journey to work. I pulled out of the apartment car park and got about 100 yards from my start point, through a set of lights when the boys in blue who had been behind me all the way flashed the lights and pulled me in. I stopped at the side of the road with the hazards on and what happened I only wished I had made up:

“Why did you run that red light?”

“I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

“It wasn’t red, as I was crossing the junction it turned amber, but by then I was more than halfway across so I couldn’t stop.”

“So you were speeding?”

“No, that’s not what I said. I said I couldn’t stop at that stage.”

“Why, are your brakes faulty?”

“No, I was able to stop for you.”

“Exactly. License please.”

Confused, I reach over to the glove box and pull out my shiny new pink license.

“Is this your car?”

“Yes.”

“Is it insured, taxed and road legal?”

“Fully insured and taxed, I’m waiting for the NCT test date to arrive.”

“Convenient.”

“Excuse me?”

“Convenient that it happens to be on the way, but not on your windscreen.”

“What can I say? It hasn’t arrived yet, but I can produce confirmation that I have applied for it.”

“Have you got it with you?”

“Yes, in the glove box, would you like to see it?”

“Yes.”

“Here you are.”

“This could have been printed by anyone.”

“What do you mean?”

“You could have printed this yourself.”

“It’s on headed paper.”

“So?”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“Watch your mouth.”

“Listen, you pulled me over for running a red light that didn’t exist until you went through it and now your obviously trying to get something on me. Telling me to watch my mouth like I’m some kind of trouble maker, what kind of response were you expecting?”

“Yes Garda, usually does it.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

(I did realise at this point that I may have been making the situation worse, but I was brought up not to be bullied, and I saw this as a vulgar abuse of power. Classic bullying.)

“I’ve told you to watch your mouth.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll take you around to the station.”

“On what charge?”

“I’ll find something.”

“I think I’d rather have the rest of this conversation in the presence of a witness.”

“I’m the only witness you’ll need.”

“I don’t think so, can I have the Garda in the car here please?”

“He’ll be staying where he is for the moment.”

“Exactly what is going on, why have you stopped me?”

“I think it might be better to take you to the station.”

“ON WHAT CHARGE?”

“Lower your voice.”

“What is going on?”

“I’m charging you with disturbing the peace.”

“What? I’m sitting in my car. Disturbing what peace?”

“Your getting very excited, you can’t drive in this state.”

“You have got to be joking.”

At this point the second one is out from the car and is approaching us. I am actually terrified. He leans into my window right up to my face and sneers:

“Do I look like I’m joking, sunshine?”

I swear I have never been so afraid or confused in my life as I am now. The second Garda is by my window now too and whispers something in the ear of the first. Something that I can’t hear either out of the shock or pure madness of the situation. But it stops the bounty hunter at my window from carrying on. He walks away:

“I don’t want to see you around here anymore.”

“I live 100 yards away, what should I do, move?”

“I’d start to think about it.”

The door of the squad car slams and they pull away, slowly. As they pass he stares at me and taps his nose.

I sat there for what must have been ages, called work to say I’d be late and sat there for a while longer. What had just happened?

I don’t know what to do. Should I complain? I don’t know what station they were from, but I don’t know what difference that would make. I know I didn’t run a light, I know that I got argumentative, but I also know that I had reason to.

This is the most surreal thing to ever happen to me and as I sit here typing it I actually can’t believe it. If this crazy person was going to do God knows what to me over supposedly running a red light, what would he do if I put in an official complaint? After all, he has my reg number which surely means he has my address. Will he make some false claims and put me in the book for not having documents and then issue a summons?

More than anything I have this feeling of powerlessness and humiliation and I know I did nothing wrong to deserve it. The only thing to come out of it was a complete loss of respect for the people who we should be depending on for protection and honesty.

This sort of thing happens in a really bad B movie, not to someone on their way to work.

Tomorrow I’m taking the LUAS.