Country music of any kind is the most offensive and annoying of any kind of entertainment ever conceived. Who the fuck genuinely enjoys listening to country music? If you are one of these people, my server is fitted with a tracking device to your IP address and I’m on my way to knock seven shades of shit out of you. I’ve never tried to do it, bit I reckon it’s not too easy to outrun a mad man while you’re wearing cowboy boots. So get a head start, cock face.

That’s another thing, cowboy boots. Cowboys shouldn’t even wear them, they are by far the most ridiculous design in foot wear. Only strippers and hookers can get away with wearing them, and that’s only because if they’re doing their job right, they’ll be wearing fuck all else. The very same policy applies to cowboy hats. Middle aged tossbags who want to live out a boy hood fantasy of being revered as some kind of John Wayne or Clint Eastwood character should keep it in their own homes out of respect to the rest of us pilgrims.

After all, John Wayne once walked down Grafton Street and was both angry and shocked to find that nobody had recognized him. That’s not true, people just didn’t give a cunt. Because he was a cunt sorry, cowboy and therefore nobody wanted to give him the satisfaction of being noticed.

And Clint Eastwood has a face like a jar of pickled foreskins.

This all points to the fact that no one should ever want to be like a cowboy, and listening to country and western music tells everybody that you do.

To be honest, I probably wouldn’t mind as much if there was any decent subject matter in the lyrics. As far as I can tell country music seems to be like the blues, only slightly modified for and by inbred banjo twanging sister finger banging sarsaparilla swigging ball suckers.

Country Western songs usually have titles resembling:

• Achy Breaky Heart
• Cowboys and Angels
• The Dance

If it is now clear to you that I have done no research whatsoever into this, then that means you like this music and I’m on my way over to your house to fuck your mother. Write a song about that, fuckbag.

I’m going to write a few songs. Ok, so I’ve bitched long enough about the fact that I hate the genre, now here is my chance to right the wrongs of every fucker who has ever put pen to paper and polluted airwaves with country and western shite.

Here is a list of my song titles and a brief description of what they’re about:

“My lady doesn’t shave any more”

From my debut album, “Hairy saloon doors”. This tells the tale of how my lady once used to keep herself nicely trimmed, but ever since her right hand was amputated after that electric fence incident down on the ranch, she lost her dexterity, and her desire to groom. So I kicked the bitch out. It’s a love song.

“She broke my heart, so I broke her jaw”

This little ditty is all about the time my woman told me that she was going into surgery to have a breast reduction due to “back strain” from the weight. I sucker punched her for having such a notion and she ended up having her jaw wired shut for six weeks, meaning that she couldn’t tell the doctors what she wanted and it gave her time to think before she utters such rubbish. It’s a love song.

“All I wanted was her and her sister”

Her and her sister

Truth be told, I really just wanted her sister. It’s a love song.

“I never knew who my Daddy was, but I had a hunch it was my brother”

Not so much a song title as much a title for a Jerry Springer episode. But it basically goes on to tell a complicated and confusing story of inbreeding. If your father is your brother and your sister is your aunt, maybe you could be your own uncle and giving yourself a soapy wank in the shower would in fact be incest.

If you dig country music, you will see this as a love song.

I have very vivid memories of being in school at a young age and learning to read. I was four and started off in junior infants in Ballymun. Looking back, it was a miracle that I had books to read at all. I should have been selling them to feed my raging heroin addiction. But that’s an unfair and uninformed stereotype and besides, I didn’t develop that until the year after in senior infants when I started hanging with the wrong crowd.

In between trying to dodge petrol bombs and junkies there was the occasional bout of learning to be had and I, like the entire population of that age, began with what has become the source of much nostalgia for me:

(Click the pics to make them bigger if needed)

Ann & Barry

If that doesn’t fill you with memories of the best days of your life, then go fuck yourself. Because I’m about to take a trip down memory lane. You’re reading this page and the unbelievable thing is that it all started with the perfect family brought to you by the good people at CJ Fallon, the bridge to which all possible book deals for me is about to be well and truly smoked to hell!

Chances are that you wouldn’t have the skills to read this if it wasn’t for these books, or their equivalent in whatever country you’re in. Indeed, the incredible fact that I am the quality writer that I am (stop sniggering) stems from the genius structure that were the Ann & Barry series.

I was going to say that if you’re too young to remember Ann & Barry that you could go and gargel a salty load, but I can’t say that. Because these books are still being used today. I know because I borrowed a couple of them from a school teacher friend of mine. I figured I’d have to employ the skills of a private eye to track down the books, but as the brilliant Irish education system knows not how to throw stuff away, here they are. Having said that, they taught me to read and right good propurly, so it can’t be all bad.

If there is one pure memory from your youth that you can genuinely look back on and smile as you remember it, then this is it. Which is exactly why I’m going to piss all over those memories.

These books were just too innocent for my liking. If you can’t recall the exact teachings of the books, don’t fret. There are a few examples coming up. I don’t know how childrens books are written, I would imagine that they have certain guidelines set down by the curriculum. But what really makes me wonder is what gets finished first, the pictures or the text. Perhaps it was the text. On each page you’ll see some words under a dividing line, these are the new words of the day that you would have encountered upon reading a new page.

You know the set up, these books are meant to educate and paint the perfect picture of family life. You will judge me for what you are about to see, but I could care less. I nearly wet myself as I desacrated these national treasures with my limited knowledge of a scanner and MS Paint. Just think what I could do if they had an Ann & Barry Adobe training course. They never will though, not after this.

Here’s the first example:

This pretty much sets up the scene. Ann & Barry are supposed to be from a nice middle class suburb with parents that don’t despise each other and no alcohol abuse, we’ll see about that. The first problem with that is that these two siblings look like identical tinker children in dungarees, red jeans and shiny dress shoes. They should be haggling over car parts, not buying fruit and veg. These books left so much room for sick and childish innuendo for a cunt like myself that I just had to rise to the occasion.

Mammy & Daddy

First off, Daddy looks like a text book paedo and you can bet I’ll be elaborating on that later. In the meantime, Mammy is hot. I definitely would. In fact I think every man has a list of cartoon chicks that he would screw if he were a cartoon himself. Mammy is up there in my top ten, just behind teh Cadbury’s Caramel Bunny. But the rest of my list can wait for another day.

Mammy likes cock, Daddy does too. Probably.

God love Mammy, she seems to b pouring a kettle into another kettle. Such confusions and distractions are not uncommon among women dreaming about me filling their cartoony orifces, poor thing. Daddy is doing nothing to shake off that gay paedo look he had going on earlier. He actually looks like that Uncle we all have that smokes man pole but thinks we don’t know. Daddy smokes pole, mini pole. Stay tuned.

Barry likes balls

Even at home,Ann & Barry continue to learn. Here, they are being taught, hand-eye-mouth co-ordination. Ann is learning how to collect stray drips form Daddy’s cone and Barry is learning how to handle balls.

Incest – a game for all the family

Mammy is indeed looking foxy today, as always, but I fear she is sitting on Barry as he has disappeared from view. Daddy and Ann are playing with balls and Daddy looks happier than Gary Glitter in the girl scouts. Ann better be careful.

Getting ready for the seaside

Ann doesn’t look too safe, has she been kidnapped? It’s not Ann at all, Daddy has spent the day picking off the forgotten kids at the school gates. Crazy kidnappin’ fool that he is. Meanwhile, Mammy is buying toys for the victims to play with while they try to deal with their new trauma. Barry practices his poetry: “It rubs the lotion on it’s skin, or else it gets the hose again.” Very good Barry.

At the seaside

Hot Mammy is in a bikini, nice. Daddy is obviously more interested in Ann, in a one piece. Dirt bird. Feeling a little neglected, Barry draws in the sand. We can’t see what it is, but then again we don’t need to. His therapist might though.

In the water

Daddy seems to be eyeing up Barry’s inflatable ring, or maybe just his ring. In other news, Mammy still looks hot with her big baldy head.

Back home

Back home and all dried off, the family settle down for a nice story before supper. Mammy is hosing down the van to get rid of DNA traces as most of the kidnap haul escaped. Daddy is teaching the kids of the age old Japanese ritual of Bukkake. Ann & Barry go to the shops for jam and cakes while Daddy beats Mammy for being so careless with the playground loot.

Treat time

Having returned home from the shops with the jam and cakes, Daddy tells them that Mammy walked into a door and had to go see the doctor but that while he was gone, they could practice getting their faces sticky because he had something similar in store for them when he returns. After all that’s what Bukkake is all about, it just like eating a jam doughnut. Ever eat a whole one without licking your lips? Same thing.
Then they go off to bed to dream about gimp masks and strap ons. They could be dreaming it, but then the anal throbbing the next morning wouldn’t make any sense, would it?

Alright, first off I have to give a big thanks to Ms K8 of the Gr8′s for doing up the fancy button over yonder on the right there for my little experiment The Smellumentary.

Mega, thanks.

I’m sure most of you have seen the post and the little vid I did for it, but if you didn’t the links to them are under K8′s artwork.

Also thanks to all who clicked on the video and gave their opinions on the survey. Also if you haven’t yet done it, you still can.

I need some help.

I’m putting a plan together for the proposed six week project (One week planning and research, 4 weeks being a filth monger and one week to clean up and put results together) and I’m very nearly finished. Nearly. I’ve yet to set a date just yet, but the more organized I am will obviously make that easier to do.

I want to set myself challenges. Smelly challenges or Smellenges, if you will to carry out during the weeks that I won’t be washing or changing clothes and while I have a few I wanted to pick people’s brains to see what you’d like to see me do, if anything.

So I figured I’d make it fun and irritating at the same time.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the Smellenges Meme.

The rules:

• Choose three activities that would antagonize my aroma and get up people’s noses
• Make sure they’re at least a little physical
• Keep them relatively simple, safe and legal
• Link your answers back here, obviously
• Give credit to the person who tagged you
• Tag three others

Here’s mine to give you an idea of the line I’m going down:

1. Shoe shopping.
I’d like to do this in the last week of the experiment just when you could probably smell me before see me and keep asking the assistant for new shoes until asked to leave because of the smell of my gorgeous, ripe feet with weeks of jam and uncut toenails.

2. The Gym.
I want to use the gym on a trial visit about half way through the second week, by which stage I should be pretty ripe. I want to make as big a tour around all the equipment finishing on the exercise bike, then hop on the LUAS home.

3. Speed dating.
I want to do this during the last week of the experiment and see how polite people would be or if they’d just tell me straight out I was a dirt merchant.
Also I’m just really curious to see if there are any women desperate enough to fall for a smell peddler.

There you have it.

Wanna help me out?

Think of it as a smelly Jackass, you’re the writer. Only be nice because I bruise like a peach and whinge like a bitch!

I’ll be picking the best 10 challenges and carrying them out in the documentary, so anyone who contributes a chosen challenge will not only receive credit, but I’ll make you an honorary Smellenger for which you will receive this fetching t-shirt:

You know you want it.

The first person I’ll tag is K8 herself – had to be done. Then I’ll slap Darren with this stinkiness and last but not least, I’ll have to tag H.

Pump up the funk.

I joked about cults with ThriftCriminal in the comments on the last post, and I make references to cults every now and again. I don’t understand how people can get sucked in to such rubbish.

I was reminded about a documentary about a cult called Heaven’s Gate. The scariest thing for me is that this cult never sought money or material possessions, it just wanted people to join them to leave the planet. After all if a cult wants money, property or possessions as conditions to join then at least you know what you’re dealing with, this guy wanted nothing which is what got to me.

Dozens committed suicide leaving nothing behind except their confused, angry and grieving families. They poisoned themselves for the arrival of a near flying comet which the founder convinced his followers was their ship to the next plain of life.

You don’t get the whole initiation film, but you get enough. Am I so arrogant to question how people can be convinced of ideas like these?

If you’ve got some time to spare and this kind of stuff intrigues you, like it does me take a look over here.

It gives transcripts of the group’s induction and initiation tapes.

Reincarnation is a wonderful idea, don’t you think?

I sometimes wonder who came up with the whole concept. I mean who sat down one day and figured that if you were bad in this life, your spirit would end up in the body of a snake or a rat simply because society bears various traits upon these animals? The same might go for good and peaceful people to come back as doves or some shit.

What would you come back as, if you had to guess based on how you live your life, and/or based on the fact that you had a choice in the matter?

I reckon that if I were to be reincarnated based on how I lead my life I would probably come back as a pig, no one judges them for pigging out, or maybe a cabbage because I like to “veg”. Maybe a sloth or a tree, they do fuck all. Knowing my luck I’d end up as a notch on Gary Glitter’s bed post or a PA to Twink.

Me being an atheist and all that would surely make me exempt from the luxury of a second, or third go at life. But if I ever did have the choice, here are just a few things I’d like to come back as:

• Charlotte Church’s dildo – nuff said
• A male porn star hung like an amazonian cross bread stallion – “Oh, but they lead such shallow lives just having mindless sex with beautiful strangers”. I’m as deep as a puddle, alright? A. Puddle. On a flat surface.
• The guy who has the authority to sign the Lotto pay out cheques – “One for you, one for me”
• A Penguin – Looks like fun skating around the ice and pissing Batman off, that and I hate Club Milks
• Amy Winehouse’s pension provider – ching ching!
• Sex Pesty – the rarely referred to 8th dwarf
• Marty McFly – for the time travel, not the shakes

Ok, so with that last one I’m probably going straight to hell but fuck it, I was probably on my way there first class anyway.

What would you come back as?