Ditch Shitter Just Wrote .....

Ditch Shitter Just Wrote .....

Wednesday, July 5, 2017

Shame! ..... Shame!!! ..... SHAME!!!!!

  Oh god. Did I fuck up?!?

  I never took my med's, last night. Today? Forget It! Even as the booked taxi's pulling up, I'm making a dash for the fucking ditch! Just couldn't face dropping that load off in Jim's.

  So, yeah, I'm in town. Off med's. I'm So fucking hyper; Even I'm apologising  for myself! I'm bouncing off the fucking sky!

  Oh, and it's a blue sky! With fluffy clouds. And a yellow sun. And it's brought the Girls out! Everywhere I look, I'm seeing attractive females. And I have a Horn on the size of the fucking Cape! Because, with these tab's? Ye can't cum!!!

  I am Deadly fucking serious! One time, Years ago, when I was first on this shit? I called an escort out. Fucking Lovely, she was! (Well, they generally are. Rotten toothed slappers with more tracks than British Rail don't get to qualify as Escorts) 

  Fucked the skin off her! God alone knows how many condoms we got through ~ seems they have a 'life'. I was only fucking. Not cumming. But, she kept replacing the condom. Anyway .....

  Yeah. By about the forty minute mark, she's basically Begging me to blow my load and " I'll only cost ye for the half hour rate? " But, no. I was at it again. Balls deep. Going away like one of Isaac  Singer' finest! 

  Moaning girl. Smell of burning rubber. Portishead's " Dummy " on repeat play. I took it to the wire! When I finally exploded? It was like all semblance  of a vertebrae pumped and gushed and drained from me. I was left, like a gasping slug.

  I dimly remember that poor girl staggering towards the door. Knees buckling.

  But, anyway, yeah ..... So; I'm so fucking manic, I've had Four fucking pints, by the time Tommy's got me, jabbering, into the jeep. 

  And, what's the first thing I see? An Arse! But, fuck me, in my heightened state of awareness (And, don't forget, we're playing that horn!) This arse is ~ I don't believe I'm about to type this. But, it's honestly the only way I can think of to express the feeling! ~ This chicks arse is Everything, to me!

  Well, of course, she's walking Away from us. Hence I could only see her from Behind. And I'm all but Screaming to Tom; " Look At the fucking Arse on that bitch, Tom!!! For Fuck Sake!!!" I'm un medded, remember! I am Not Normally like this!

  Then, just as we've drew level with her, and I'm hoping to see the whole presentation? She's turned a sharp fucking right, into the car park! All I'm getting is that Arse! I mean, God, yeah! I could have sucked it! But, I want to see the tits and face too! 

  I'm Comp Layt Layy fucking pumped, by now. More throbbing pulse than a carotid artery during an embolism! And we're heading north, as my quarry's just turned east?

  " Fucking Turn Around, Bitch!!!!! "  I swear to god, it was just a thought. An explosion between synapses. I had no idea, let alone intention, to scream that aloud!

  Blue sky. Fluffy clouds. Warm sun.  Tommy had the fucking window down .......... 

Wednesday, June 21, 2017

The Hole ....! (Part One)

  Lads; I've happened upon a hole. I've had a life time of getting up close and personal with holes. Every size. Every sort. Everywhere. 

  This one left me mind blown. Nothing about it screamed, 'The Obvious'. And, the best bit is? I could genuinely, seriously do with a far younger person to come and look at my hole. I don't know how much more I can take, at my age.

  Here's the story. In full, graphic detail. It's Not for the hobbyist. This shit's for my fellow, hardened pro's. Or, maybe those with a certain predilection? Use ye discretion, before proceeding ..... 

  So, I'm in my ditch, the other day. One I live my handle by. Dropping my guts onto what will now, steadily ~ unless we have a flash monsoon / flood ~ become my very own, 'Summer Manure Heap'.

  My ditch forms one side of the boundary of my property. It's My ditch. I can sit above it and shit into it. Only, if I climb out of it, on the other side? I'm on my neighbors land. And, these days? With this new lot? That ain't gonna fucking happen!

  So, forgive the detailed lead up. (Fuck me; If ye didn't Like detailed, lengthy shit? Ye wouldn't be here! Yeah?) There I am, doing what I'm there for. Suddenly, Balzac appears, in the compound side. Spots Dad. Starts trying to get to me! 

  Well, Balzac's only a fraction of what he'll grow to be, yet. And, being a brand new pup of just eight weeks? He barely knows his own name yet. He certainly doesn't understand shit like;

  " Balzac! Fuck off! Stay there! ..... NO! Don't slip through that fucking stock fencing!!! "

  " OMFG!!! Balzac! Don't Get Down There!!!!!  Ye'll be in shit as I shit all over ye! "

  " Where the fuck are ye?! Please Fucking God! Don't sneak round the back. Jump in the ditch and get amongst it from That direction!!! "

  And, all this time, this completely unpredictable puppy is scooting about the small space. No collar. No recall. No sense of what's going on. And I'm trying to finish what I came there for.

  Amazing! Did the work. Finished the paper work. Had somehow managed, by voice alone, to keep this scatter brained, excited pup out of the ditch! Fastened my belt and bent over to grab him .......... And saw, with abject horror, my glasses slip from my shirt pocket .....

 Now, a bit of 'engineering' fact about my ditch. This is all relevant, I promise you: My property is all on a slope. The ditch runs Down along the border. My actual 'Out House' is built straddling the ditch. The ditch, directly beneath the concrete structure, is itself lined with concrete.

  Think of a six and half foot tall tower block. With a car park below it. Open back and front. And, to the front, there's a concrete tunnel. The rain water flows down, from the back. Washes what ever's on the concrete, car parking, base. Takes it through that tunnel .....

  And there, due to a natural, down hill, lowering of the land. No doubt aided by a century or two of dropping waters effect, it's formed a small, deep pool. I call it my 'Cesspit'. Because, basically, Everything that plops down into that tends to 'be' there, till it's broken up and fed further down the ditch .....

  And my fucking glasses dropped, like an Olympic fucking medalist,  straight in there!!!!!

  Let's take a break here. It's late. I've other distractions. Ye've had enough to plough through. I just wanted to give ye an ~ maybe all too real? ~ picture of the environment we're dealing with here.

  In Part Two, for those who stick with it ~ hopefully those of experience, who can follow what ever clues I may be throwing up here. I'll explain the mission to retrieve my glasses.

  And how That led to my discovering this absolutely Intriguing fucking hole!

Sunday, June 18, 2017

Balzacs Beginings .....

Balzac ~ CĂșConnacht

  When I went and bought him. 'Yesterday', amidst an extremely warm and very family based welcome, I was given a vet's certificate of his first jabs. And This .....

  Of Course, I smiled my understanding and gratitude at this, one more, gesture and sure sign that these were Genuine people. 

  Pocketed the bag. And, eventually, was back in the jeep, with Tommy. Heading home, to feed my Dogs. Late ~ with all the excitement and business of the day.

  Thus, I never did think to photograph Balzac, at eight weeks old, sampling what I consider his first ever Dog Food. As long as I'm alive? He'll never again taste those carcinogenic pellets of recycled, cancer ridden Dogs. 

  The shit they call " Nuts " here. Mutts nuts, guts and the fucking drugs pumped into them before they died?!  " All In One Dog Food "? More like All Dogs In One Dogs Food! FFS!

  No. Balzac has landed on his feet, of course. In the last twenty hours, he's emptied himself of the, now, usual half ton of putty coloured. Putty consitencied, foul crap I see on the streets of town ~ and the main track here.

  No vet will ever need to 'Express His anal glands'. Or 'Descale His teeth'! He now eats Lumps of Fresh, Raw, Human Grade, Lamb Ribs and Belly Skin. No bowls necessary! LOL!

  And, how does that taste, Balzac?

 " I Like This, Dad! "

   My Dogs learn, from the off, that they need to be able to bite and smash flesh and bone just to survive from day to day. 


Saturday, June 17, 2017

Nigger, RIP. Long Live Balzac!!!!!

If I made up the shit I'm about to tell ye? Ye'd be ~ justifiably ~ saying; " Shut up, ye prick! You hallucinating? Or just think We're all completely fucking stupid?! "

  When Did Niggy die? .......... No. I'm sorry. I really, absolutely haven't got a fucking clue! Come to that? What the fuck Day is it, today?!  I fucking swear to ye; Put a gun to Pesticles head and I Genuinely wouldn't have the vaguest notion. I Genuinely Don't Know!

  All I know is; Things got bad here. I finally lost poor Niggy. He was in the ground that same day. I posted here. People sympathized. I lost control of the place .....  Maybe I just 'Lost Control, completely? I've really no idea.

  I just remember last night / early hours of this morning. Laying there, on my futon. Arm around the sleeping Pesticle. And all I can think about is a Dog. I Need another Dog!

   Maybe it's that four is my magick number? Maybe I was just sick of glancing round for 'The other one'. when I let them out. Missing. 

  And, I'm fucking laying there, and all I can think of is a free ad's site. I'd pondered Pounds. Local one are a bunch of cunts. That's why I went all the way to Louth, for Niggy.  Not really in the financial position go go taxiing around the fucking country again.

  Couldn't sleep. Just laying there. Staring through the ceiling. A Dog. A Dog. A fucking Dog ....!

  Pesticle woke up. She seemed ready to get up. So I did. God knows what the time was. I never even glanced at the clock. Turned the machine on. Fuck THL, the Irish Forum. What I term as 'Reading the Papers' 

  I Literally googled straight to the free ad's. Dogs. Connaught. Started scrolling through page after page of Cockapoo's. Cavichons. Collies. Collies. Collies! Fucking Collies!!!!! Swiftly diverted my eyes from any Black Lab types .....

  And then, I found him! What A Fucking Dog!!! Eleven month old " Crossbred ". Few miles from here. No price. Described as " Watchful, but playful. "

  Fantastic looking creature! Had a Lot of that Husky thing going on. TALL, Rangy, Long legs ....!  But; They were as thick as mine!!!

  He reminded me of le Ding. My beloved ~ sadly Not so fucking spring chicken now! 'Secret Weapon'.  Same, pointy ears. That Malinois  thing going on, with the head and face. But .....

  Absolutely Stunning creature! Those Legs! Like fucking tree trunks! The legs of a Bear!

  And the fucking Skull on him!!! It was like someone had taken a boulder, Then just added these pointy ears. A pair of sweet eyes. And stuck a pointy muzzle on the front. To make a Dogs face out of it. 

  But, fuck me! What a Dog!!! 'Thanks for all the calls. Only after six.'  I could barely believe he'd still be available. I figured I'd have to wait till 18:01 to call. 

  I scrolled on. Thinking about that absolute specimen of a Dog. Then, I read what I'd honestly and genuinely never believed I'd Ever fucking see in print! le Dingo's breeding!!! Some cunt had actually gone and fucking repeated the crossing that produced my Legendary Dog!!!

  And there were Two fucking males available. Eight weeks old!!! I swear to fucking god; I was shaking!

  And, that's where is all sort of got 'emotional'! My mind was absolutely Ravaging itself! I wanted a Dog. Not an eight week pup, FFS! And that Beast of a thing ....! These pups favoured the cut of the bitch too. Le Ding favours the sire .....

  I went out and rung some late starling chicks. I had a sly beer. I rang my Boss and babbled, and enthused, and back peddled, and ran shit past the both of us. All the time, looking at that Animal, which one could have called " Bodie ".

  And this pair of identical, two month old babies. One of which could possibly become " Balzac ". The continuation of, quite simply, one of the finest Dogs I've ever owned. Quite possibly the Last one I'll ever own!

  It was those legs that finally did it. And that subtly massive, fucking head. It was Very subtle! Crafty as fuck. If ye didn't know ye Dogs inside out? That thing might well have seemed like a Husky / Malamute / Fuck Knows, to ye.

  Naah. I cracked it! Fucking Akita in that mix! Jap or Yank? They're both all over here now. And That fucking thing was likely half bred. Husky / Akita? Very possibly! 

  And ye think I'd be bringing an eleven month old speed freak, crossed with a psychotic schizo anywhere Near this happy fucking house?! No! Slow and ageing Ding. Soft as a marshmallow Pesticle? Fuck knows about Evil Little Dog!

But, I'd soon be burying Another fucking Dog here. Before shooting the one coming up the chain at me. And dumping the cunt in the ditch!

  Let That fucker get flogged on as somebody else's problem. This is mine:

  Getting to grips with the cuteness overload which is sleeping under my desk!!!

  That's " Balzac "! Expect to soon be sick and fucking tired of the photo's, films and reports on him! 

  If I weren't a more level headed type? Shit like this would possibly have me wondering if there really Are Gods out there! 

Thursday, June 15, 2017

Niggy Is Gone.....

  I'm so fucking pissed ~ literally drunk ~ I can't see myself typing a word of fucking sense for a day or three.

He's already in the ground. Up in my grave yard. He'll have his grave stone, with its plaque, soon.

  I never thought I'd be using his, before the others I have lined up here. 

My, much mentioned, neighbor  and friend, Pat, has been an absolute fucking Angel. Throughout. 

I've written that in the hope that his kids may, one day, come across it. Recognise it. And, maybe, get some inkling of the standard of man their Father is / was. 

  Right now though? I've got to go into mourning. 

Thursday, April 20, 2017

Pesticle Is Completely Insane! ~ Today, She Proved It ....!

  Pat was round, yesterday, with a bale of hay. I couldn't believe my eyes, when I went out there to greet him! I've not seen the man in weeks now, as he's been extremely busy.

   I mean, I've seen him in the distance. Out on the land. Governing JCB's and teams of men. Doing the stuff he finds to do out there. But, I've not actually spoken to him, face to face, for ..... could be pushing a month, I guess?

And, yesterday, having requested a bale, and glimpsed his little red tractor approaching the top gate, I went out there. Fucking Hell!!!!! There he is, hammering down to the pen in a gleaming, brand spanking new, straight off the production line Massey Ferguson!!!

  Anyway, I'll try to get a shot of that, some time. Bright red, of course. Black and gray trimming. Cleanest fucking tractor in Leitrim!

  Meanwhile, he asked why I didn't let the horses out on the paddock? We have the meadow taped off. Paddock's dry enough now. Rosie doesn't really tend to wreck it, like she does the meadow, for some reason. Why not, indeed.

  So, this afternoon, latish, I went down there and opened the small gate for them and out they went. My walking round their side of the stables probably encouraged the donkeys to move ahead a little. I left them to it and slipped back into the compound.

  Obviously, Pesticle's waiting there for me. She greets me. Then, she puts her face through the bolt hole in the gate and, tail wagging ten to the dozen, examines her friends, what ever she sees the horses as, as they inch past, eating the plentiful grass out there.

  I just lean on the gate and enjoy the same sight she has. Rosie and Donks. Moving slowly, one step at a time along the fence.  Ripping and devouring the grass before them.

  Then, I glance at Pesticle  ..... Fucking Dog's doing the exact same thing!!! There's quite a bit of grass there, beside the fence. Crept in under it. And, there's fucking Pesticle, studiously ripping whole fucking mouthfuls and chewing it up!

  This isn't the normal, Dog nibbling a random taste of grass behaviour we may observe a bit of, now and then. This fucking Dog is taking very slow, one foot at a time, steps in the same direction as the horses. Eating about as much fucking grass!!!

  Good seven or eight minutes I must have stood there. Just enjoying watching the horses enjoying themselves. And, that damn Dog was scarfing down the grass on her side all that time! Grazing her side of the fence, as the horses grazed theirs. I swear to god; I've never seen anything like it!

  So, there we have it. Dog's completely fucking raving! Thinks it's a fucking Horse now!

  I've always said; All my Dogs are mad. If they're not, when they come here, they bloody soon will be. le Ding is partial to the occasional nibble on my walls. And checks the hole in the door, religiously, when he enters this room.  

  Evil Little Dog has her, legendary. Commando Creep Crawl. Is also given to sitting, staring at me. And has developed a set of weird vocalisations for the moment I start stirring in my pit.

  Niggy has completely fixated on Pesticle. His life seems to revolve around grooming her. When he's not doing that, he grooms himself, rubbing his throat on various surfaces, and making some noises of his own.

  Pesticle? Innocent, harmless, happiest little Dog. The absolute light of my life. 

  But, fuck me; That impersonation of a horse ....! The Dog's fucking lost it!

Saturday, March 18, 2017

Todays Crossword .....

  Fucking Priceless! This is the shit ' Ditch's ' Blog exists for! So I don't have to rerelate belters like this in half a dozen places.

  First off then, the usual groundwork, which I often feel I need to put in, to bring the uninitiated up to pace:

  Marion is the part time, afternoon, bar maid at Jim's. Jim's is my Local. 

  I love Marion, for her mind. I mentally block any thoughts of her body, by default! I'm absolutely certain this thing is mutual. We're both of a certain age. 

   There really Is some shit neither man, nor beast, wants to consider about their associates. I'm mentioning this bollocks simply to vanquish from the readers mind Any of this, Traditional 'Barmaid' shit. 

  Forget  pouting blondes, thrusting vertigo inducing cleavage beneath a smouldering stare. Marion, I'm sure she won't mind me saying, will have long since left such frivolities as " Middle Age " behind her. As have I. 

  Now? We do the crosswords. Irish Independent, as it happens. Because ye get Three crosswords in there, including the " Farmers " one. Rest of their shit goes in the stove. Pages not even opened!

  No matter though. Because I'll Never forget the fucking clue / Answer / Or Upshot! I mean, I can't exactly quote ye the " 9 Down " shit that the internet, so often, seems to demand, these days. It was there though:

  " 3 Down. Single Humped Camel. Nine Letters "

  Obviously, with animals being the absolute focus of my entire life, the answer was as natural as breathing. " DROMEDARY, Marion. "

  Marion looked a bit non plussed. I, having had a couple of my own pints, before I'd even come into town, felt a rush of the Bamber Gascoigne's and, without hesitation, went in to follow the thrust with the old twist!

  " Dromedary! 'Ship of the Fucking Desert', Marion! Peter O fucking Toole! Tea towel on the head? Laurence of the Fucking Sand Dunes?!? "

  I'm screaming this shit in her face. Because I love her. She's taking it, because she Knows she'll hand me my balls, on a plate,  by Six Across. 

  Then, just to Really assert my unquestionably Alpha Male dominance of the situation, I say:

  " I don't s'pose ye know the true name of the Two humped camel, either, do ye? Thick Fuck! " (Ye know how, the more fond of someone ye are, the more badly ye insult them. And they ~ knowingly ~ accept it)

" Bactrian, FFS! ", I yelled. So loud that the whole ~ few compatriots in the ~ bar could hear me. Marion suitably withered. A :| sort of expression about her.

  " Bactrian Camel, Marion. " Visualising one, in my minds eye. Using that memory to scream the description at Marion. " Two humps. Get them in places like Mongolia. Walk around on snow and mountains. Not fucking sand dunes! Shaggy things. Fucking great, hairy hooves! "

  There was that split second of complete silence. As time stood still. Our eyes locked. Then, Wendy, the young girl whos shift begins shortly before Marions ends, sprayed her fucking mineral water all over the bar. 

  And there's dear Marion. Still staring at me with that tight lipped look. Finally announcing; " Well, I don't know! ".

  No, love. You obviously didn't. But, Wendy did. I did. And going by the stifled sniggering? Half the fucking bar did!

Tuesday, March 14, 2017

le Ding Lives ....!

  I've just joined a Pest Control place, by invitation of an old mate. Turns out there's more old faces there than a fucking grave yard! Thus, I'm having a whale of a time and shaking many hands.  It's fucking Great, frankly. And I must sort out where Lloydy's got to!

  But, anyway, yeah; 'Matters' said something about This place. Don't think he was the only one. I've also had people from else where nudging me. Basically asking where I've got to. What I've been up to.

  Simple and honest truth? No where and fuck all! It really Is / Has Been That fucking simple! I've been quietly living my quiet life. Nothing's happened that I felt anyone would be vaguely interested in hearing about. So, obviously, I haven't said shit.

  Then, today, sitting here, minding my own business, reading some bollocks on THL, probably, I heard a nail scrape on render. I looked down, beside my chair. And my fucking heart so swelled with love ..... I took this picture:

    There he fucking is, look! Bless him! He'd crept in. Laid down next to Dad. And he was scratching the wall in his sleep. Look at his furry, pointy ears! God, I Love this fucking Dog!!!

  I just wanted to let ye know; Yes. le Ding. Dingo Dog, is Still going strong! God knows how old he must be, by now. I must have had him, what? Ten fucking years, by now?

  He's absolutely the sweetest, most wonderful natured, endearing Dog I've ever fucking had! 

   Yes, I've had Dogs that were (Are) complete little extensions of my very soul. Dogs who people referred to way above and beyond that guy on the lead. I have a photo of one of my Dogs here, Virtually a fucking shrine!

  But, le Ding is the one who torments Pestical, when the devil is in him. Who sniffs the hole in the door, as he wanders in here. Who is, and has been, the general, quiet, innocent, harmless presence about this place, virtually since I can remember. I fucking Worship him! 

  " Valentino "; When you explained, on THL, that " Dingo " needed homing, I PM'd you and told ye I'd like him. I told ye straight; He wouldn't be seeing a load of 'work', with me. But, that he'd be taken care of. 

  Frankly? My strongest vibe there was that I wouldn't be 'getting rid of' him, once he'd " Jacked " against his fourteenth fox, in a night, or what ever shit gives those little wankers a hard on about their Dogs.

  Ding ding could, obviously, destroy dinky, fragile boned little foxes, all day and night. So fucking what? The very sight of him has kept my gate clear, for Years now. Far bigger things than little foxes give this strange, vibe throwing Dog a wide berth. 

  This post is, really, going out to you, mate. In the hope that ye still out there. And doing well. And, at least, any where as happy as le Ding is. 

  He's just sighed, and shifted position on my futon. Tonight, he'll stalk about on it, till he finds just the right spot. Then, he'll lay down, on my legs, as he does ~ and has done ~ every night. 

  What I'm trying to convey here, mate ~ and I So hope you, or someone who can get this to ye is reading this ~ ..... My absolute and Eternal, heart felt Thanks for trusting me. 

  You saved le Ding, Twice. Thank You. Third time? I guess he Really hit the fucking jackpot. But, so, it seems, did I.

Monday, November 14, 2016

My Epitaph .....

  This is brilliant! I've just randomly happened across this and was smitten, straight away. 

I've no idea who " A.A " is, or was. But, I thank them. And am shamelessly stealing their words! LMFAO!

  That is just fucking fantastic!  Ditch Shitter encapsulated!

Saturday, October 29, 2016

The Best Thing Since Sliced Bread ~ Mouse Cam!

  I came across this, whilst stumbling around the internet, late at night ~ as ye do. And it's worse than any of those instantly addictive new drugs ye hear about. One look and now I can't stop going back to it!

  It's actually a wooden box with a taxidermy like diorama built into it. What appears to be a natural spot of bank is actually made of concrete over chicken wire. The holes are no more natural either. There's actually a YouTube clip showing how the guy did it. All clever stuff.

  Take a look in broad daylight and ye've every chance of finding a vole, or even a shrew having a feed in there. At night, the Wood Mice definitely hold sway. And they're as cute as fuck!

  About once a week, it seems, someone comes along and dumps a handful of peanut granules and dried meal worms in there. The local, small creatures have obviously cottoned  onto this. Now it's a right little feeding station for them. 

 There we are! 15:36 as I'm typing. Just had a look. Field Vole sitting there, having some nuts. Absolutely crystal clear and very up close. Fantastic!

  At night, they switch to really good quality infra red. Though, I must point out that this may be on a timer. Either way, it's out of kilter with the current day / night cycle and so, whilst the natural light is gone by, say, 18:00? The IR doesn't actually kick in for a couple of hours of so later. 

  When it does though? The picture quality is, again, superb. Just in black and white. And there's seldom Not a Wood Mouse to sit and watch! Dear little things.  Hullo! A shrew's in now!

  Anyway, enough of my bollocks. Get in there and take a look. If it's evening time and all dark? Come back in an hour and see.  Simon King set this up. He has various other cam's on the go too. But, I just love this one!

  Buy him a tub of meal worms, eh? What he's bringing us here beats the shit out of 99% of the crap they put on TV these days.

Thursday, September 8, 2016

The Most Disgusting Thing I've Ever Done In My Life ....!!!

  People; I've actually been trying not to bring ye this one. But, I need to try and gain some closure. I did something just So disgusting, even I am having difficulty getting past it. Maybe sharing it with you poor bastards will help? I dunno.

  See, there's a few things going on here which sort of came together to cause this ghastly event. Bit of a perfect storm. I'd just got fed up with eating stew. That was one thing. So much so that I couldn't face making and forcing myself to choke down another one.

  But, as I tend to get into a given meal, then eat that, pretty much exclusively, for months on end? I only had the makings of stews in the house. So, I went without. Figured I'd wait till my instincts told me what would be my next dietary fixation.

  So, that's why I hadn't eaten a thing for two days and nights. I have my home made stout. That can sustain me, as and when I hit one of these idiosyncratic glitches of mine. I don't mind it too much.

  What's actually a lot harder to bear though is the fucking Boredom I'm suffering right now! My sleep pattern too has hit a speed bump. Now, I'm all out of kilter. I had been sitting up all night, watching films 'n shit. Then sleeping to maybe 14:00. Bad, eh? 

  I thought so. So, I wrenched my body clock. Lately, I've been passing out cold by 03:00. Then waking up at 08:00. Completely wired and wide awake.

  Spring off the futon. Fire up the machine. Inside of ten fucking minutes, I've read the same semi literate, knuckle dragging drivel from the usual dozen or so active members on the hunting forum.

  Quick scan over the Irish place? I'm already running out of anywhere else to go for some stimulation. My long days were becoming interminable. I Need a distraction!

  Play Station!!! My screen died, a few weeks ago. I managed to buy a nice, new one that day though. 20 1/2" screen! It's lovely! And it would be so great for PS2 games! Endless hours lost in charging around Iraq, being the SAS. Fuck, yeah!

  So, I started asking, on the fora. Seeking out the game geeks. What wires would I need, to run my PS2 through this screen?

  Well, nothing is easy, when ye live in the middle of no where. Many miles from what you city dwellers would consider normalcy. You'd just nip out and buy what ever it took, yeah? Pop into Dixons and ye sorted.

  Me? I've spent nights and nights, talking to geeks, on fora. Patiently waiting for their answers. Following their leads. Answering their questions. Making calls. Trying to do as I'm being advised.

  I now have a 20" CRT TV sat next to me. Along with my PS2. It seems all I need now is this different sort of SCART plug. And I should be back in Iraq. Dean'O reckons he might have one. He'll check, tonight.

  Meanwhile, I've been spending my evenings hanging in the beer chat room. Talking to my mate, 'Hip. And, the other night, we got talking about PS2 games!

  God, it was good! I'd tell him one I'd played. Remembering the fun and frustrations. He'd recommend one he's enjoyed. Live links were exchanged. Amazon pages bookmarked. I could almost Taste playing again!

  I finished my pint and, empty  stomach or not, knew I'd want my Jameson ration. I poured it. Eyed it warily. I know the fire of spirits on a completely empty stomach.

  I took a sip. Swallowed. My stomach became a volcano and promptly erupted! Thankfully, I had the presence of mind to grab that empty pint glass! I promptly puked a mouthful or bile, mucous and god knows what into it. A two finger shot of thick, creamy, viscous delight. Charming. But, better than the floor.

  I've always been an extremely good vomiter. Certainly all my adult life. Used to astound and appal my first wife, how I could maintain a perfectly good conversation, even laughing at amusing bits, in between bouts of chucking my guts up every so many seconds.

  So, I thought nothing of that little bout. Got back into this riveting conversation with Hip. GTA was next on our agenda. Me, quietly sipping my Jameson to absolutely no further ill effect. I was having a great time!

  It was only Hip and I in there. We were Burning! Chattering away about all the virtual adventures we'd had. Those to come. Scart leads. PS3's. What Screens. I was like a kiddie on my way to a sweet shop!

  Finishing my Jameson, I didn't even bother to tell Hip I was leaving the room. Let him keep talking and he wouldn't even know I was back.

  Grabbed my glass. Dashed into the other room and poured a draught pint of Black Gold from my shiny tapped bucket. Rushed back in here, eyes already searching out Hips latest words on the screen. What delight was he enthusing about now? Flash Bangs? Fuck, yeah!

 Vaguely aware of the thick, creamy head on my new pint of stout. Eyes and concentration still firmly fixed on the text before me. I took a hearty sip. Sucking into my mouth this thick, slimy, sweetly creamy tasting fucking oyster!!!!!

  It Was In My Fucking MOUTH!!! AGAIN!!!  I was doing " One Ditch, One Finger ", FFS! There is No Way I can even Begin to express the abject fucking Horror I experienced in that moment!

  Shock. Confusion. Utter, indescribable fucking disgust and horror! The contents of my stomach, left and forgotten in that fucking beer glass, had somehow risen and floated at the top of that pint of stout. And ..... Oh dear god; I'm gagging, even at the thought of this! I sucked the whole fucking goo straight back in!!!

  It could only have lasted a second. But, The Horror!!! Longest second of My fucking life! Mind reeling. " W T F ?!?  That's ....!!! " Then, the desperate hope that my brain will be quick enough to command, " Spit!!! ". Not fucking " Swallow! ".

  Fuck this! That'll do. I'm starting to wretch here!

Well, there it is, folks.  The Most Disgusting Thing I've Ever Done In My Life ....!!!

Sunday, August 21, 2016

Monday, July 18, 2016

'Wife Beater' Vests ....?

  What the fuck is it with these things? Do lunatics like them? Or, do they make a man into a lunatic? I'm seriously beginning to wonder!

  Have one here, see. Have it on, actually. My mum bought it for me. She's been dead for years now. Not really sure I've ever worn it before. But, I've had my biannual shower. It's blazing sunshine out. No one's been near me in weeks. Fuck it. I decided to pop this on. And it's transformed me!

  I'm stalking about the place feeling like The Incredible Hulk. Massive shoulders held back. Broad pectoral muscles pushing my arms out. I look like I'm carrying a fish tank under each arm.

  Much more of this? I'll be steeping my hands in 'petril' and making you tubes video's, challenging people to face me.

  Which would be stupid, on so many levels. Because I'm old. Worn out. Skinny ~ except for this fucking beer gut that appeared over night. I'm not a pikey. Not even fucking Irish. I'd look a cunt. 

  I probably do, already. 'Wife Beater', FFS. Is this what it is? Does putting one of these things on transform an ordinary man into an utter prick? 

  Or, is it that only a fucking prick would wear one in the first place?

  As ever: Answers on a postcard .....


Saturday, July 9, 2016

Logic; I Love It ....!

Over on THL, the usual few are having it out over the latest headlines. Fuck knows what they're even ripping their tee shirts off over now. What ever. It's like warring factions of chimpanzees; Amusing to look in on, with a David Attenborough narrative in the background.

  Once in a blue moon though, like monkeys given access to type writers, they can thow up a gem. And, " Lenmcharristar " just did it! In mid rant, he blurted:

  " Africans that have to walk 15 miles every day for clean water, did it never occur to the them to move hut???  "

  I nearly fucking died laughing!!! Hat's off to ye, Len. That was a fucking beauty!

Monday, July 4, 2016

My Horse Pen .....

  Well, I told and showed all about my gorgeous new stable roof, back Here.

  Then, I discussed and showed the site of utter devastation which the pen, outside, had become,  Here.

All some time ago. Much money has passed! But, now? I have a stable and yard both my horses and I can very much live with! And it'll outlast all of us too.

  Let me show ye around .....

This .....

Was the state of the yard. Concrete had long since blown. Horses were shitting all over it. I ~ for various reasons beyond my control ~ couldn't do a damn thing about it. It was getting to breaking point.

  Oh, and the shit from the stables?  I was having to stand in the door way and launch that over the bottom fucking gate!

  The pile was growing. I simply didn't know what the fuck I was going to do with or about it either.

  Shit was a mess. I Had To get it sorted. Bang went the family fucking silver ....!  But, it paid for me calling in the boys ~ Again! And, boy; Did they do me a job?!

  Have you any idea what it costs, to hire a full sized fucking JCB and driver, for a couple of days?  Nor have I. But, it's brutal! But, then, when at the end of the first day a fucking Oil Tanker Lorry turns up, to refuel the fucking thing?! That's when ye start to grasp the colossal scale of shit!

    I shit ye not though. I had one here. Two fucking days!

    Did some fucking work though!  Dug away all that dung heap. Dragged all the shit and derision out of the pen. Then, it had a bit of hard core to spread around a bit. Just a little .....

  Believe me; I'd like to say commanding a full sized, fucking great lorry, full of My hard core, made my dick feel long and hard. 

  However, I can assure ye; Even though the final bill has been agreed and the money's in the bank? It's Still a little daunting, seeing what seems like half of fucking Co. Leitrim mobilising to fulfill ye whim!

  What did it cost me? A small fucking fortune! And a small army of good men swarmed all over the place for days!

  Was it worth me selling off most of the eggs left in my nest?

What do You think ....?!

  Oh, and they didn't stop there! No. Once all that lovely, thick concrete had settled, 'Superman' (I believe he's the Builders son. Young, fit, strong. Knows what he's doing in any situation. Bastard!) came back, alone. There was one last bit to do:

My Manure Bay ....!

    Pat can now simply back a tractor box into there. Scoop up a ton of purest horse shit. Trundle off with it, to put on his land. All I'm having to do is to hook it over the gate. Standing on my glorious, new, pen floor!

  Been doing that, as it happens, since about last November, when the horses came back in, for the Winter (It came). Now, they're long since back on the land. And the heap has barely even reached the 'gate post' on the right there!

  I am one Happy fucking bunny!

Friday, May 20, 2016

Malcolm Is My Hero ....!!!

  Came across this story;  Seems it went viral that some twat had left his neighbours this note .....

  Yeah. Okay. What The Fuck?!?  On so many levels! I mean, just pick your point over which to grab a flaming torch or pitch fork.

  Only, it then transpires; Malcolm gets on like a house on fire, with these neighbours. It's just that Malcolm and his wife are retired now. They have time on their hands. And a fantastic sense of humour!

  They just have nothing better to do than sit about, all day, dreaming up new ways to torment the poor bastards next door! 

  What wouldn't ye give to have a nutter like Malcolm living next door to ye?  I'm in fucking tears here! Fucking priceless!!!

Friday, May 13, 2016

This Made Me Laugh ....!

  Surely, no one, even much younger than me, won't not get it? Fucking brilliant!

Tuesday, May 10, 2016

I Couldn't Make This Up ....!

  So, I live alone here. With my Dogs and the horses. I seldom enough really even leave the compound now. Just wander the two or three hundred yards up to the post box. That's my lot. Heart's fucked and mortality's getting right on my fucking tits, with that 'Come to Daddy' look in his eye.

  At least I'm coasting gently, in my last years (?). It's generally tranquil here. Especially now that Summer's trying to break through, for its usual couple of weeks. 

  Dogs get to mince about, laying around catching rays. Eating grass. Evil Little Dog on a constant mission to search for and destroy Any fucking bird stupid enough to nest within her, thankfully limited reach.

  Me? I just potter about now. No one comes near me. They're all a bit far for me to go to, now. I was thinking how I could use a bench, half way up the track to the road. Somewhere to sit down and catch my fucking breath. Maybe be found one day .....

  But, yeah. It's cool. I'm living quietly. I'll likely die quietly. I just hope the Dogs have the sense to bite through the washing machine hose. That'll give them water, till somebody comes here and finds me.

  Could well be a couple of weeks. At least I'd be missed, if I didn't turn up in town, on my regular day. No one can hear me, down here, ye see. No one can see me.

   I'm half a mile from the road. Round a turn or two. Hundred and forty yards from my front gate, to the gate at the top of the home straight track alone.

  And that's why, today, as I was making some beer, running and pouring water. Sampling some I'd made earlier. Fancying a piss. I wandered out the front door. Stood at a right angle to the gate, gazing down at the stable. Got my dick out and pissed.

 And, even as that golden stream hit the ground. As my chest heaved with the sigh of relief. I sensed something else.

  Glancing over my shoulder ~ Un Fucking Believable!!! There was the white VW, screaming down the home straight like Bodie and Doyle were in it!

  The fucking Census Enumerator woman had chosen That exact, exquisite moment to come baring down on me. Straight at a ringside view of my with my cock in my hand!!!  

  You have Never seen me move so fucking fast!!!


Saturday, April 30, 2016

Ten Years Ago, Today .....

  I set foot in Eire, for the first time in my life. April 30th. 2006.

  Dropped off here ~ then an empty shell of a place, without a sound window in it. I took stock and informed the Dogs that this was where we lived now. This was our new home. And smiled broadly.

  Today, a decade later, those Dogs have all passed on. Yet more have come and gone. But, I'm still here. I still have Dogs. I'm still smiling broadly.

  Today, when I mentioned to an Irish girl that I'd been here ten years today? She threw her arms around me and gave me a great big hug! Still can't get That fucking smile off my face! LMFAO!

  But, I decided, last night, I'd mark this anniversary with ye by sharing something only family has been shown before. 

  See, when I got here, I was surprised and delighted to find the place had electricity. Obviously, an internet connection was yet some way away. And me, a confirmed creature of the connection.

  How was I to fill these long nights of staring at the wall? How else? I began to write:

  Here's how it all began. I started this on, and so call it:

Day Three

  The ember ended twigs of what scraps obviously remained of the twenty gallons of Jackdaw nest I removed from the chimney earlier this evening seem to have finally just about stopped falling.  Now there's just a couple of pints of dry, unburned frass. The dust detritus of what once was an entire chimney full ~ Fireplace to, no doubt ~ stack.

  Now, as I feel the room begin to chill already, I'm thinking about Eddie, Noel and the, is it two, other members of what I already consider the Local Mafia. No, wait. Eddie, Noel, Patrick ..... and me. I'm the fourth man. Co Opted by inheritance, it would seem. A Good Fella all over again.

  But, I wonder; Is this Cosa Nostra, or perhaps Their  Thing?  Am I being inducted, or cajoled. Humoured. Groomed.

  The trip over here was as stressful and fraught as I'd fully expected it to have been.  No let downs or disappointments there then. I'd known, from the start, that Mikes Transit, no matter how large and 'stand up easily in' the model, wasn't going to be big enough for my space fillings.

 As it was, I had to toss Gray Dog in amongst the perfectly slotted together rubiks cube of my worldly possessions and then slot Pup and Buck into a small, low space behind the door. Like two Greyhounds in one trap.

  Hearing Pups pitiful and pained cries, every inch of the way to Holy Head was almost as bad as when I couldn't hear them. I reassured myself, every time another vehicle ~ few as they were up through Manchester and Liverpool, Wales ~ passed us and never flagged us.  At least it seemed the doors hadn't sprung open. Yet.

  The doors did spring open at Holy Head.  Upon reaching the terminal and joining a short queue, I determined, and even Mike spontaneously suggested, that I should allow the two bigger Dogs in the back a respite. 

  They'd been crammed in there I dread to think how many long hours already. And there was a two hour crossing ahead of us and then an expected few hours travelling across Ireland to my cottage.

  As it turned out, HM Customs took over for us.  Mike and John, Mikes relief driver, had left me in the van while they'd headed over to the terminals booking centre. When they returned Mike asked me to come with him, back there. I can't remember if he'd said then it was for booking or paying for the ticket.  As it turned out, it was pay. And pay. And pay how!

  The first thing that Mike said was that he needed the money I owed him.  That was, he reminded me when I'd had to ask him, eighty quid for the two deals of Dope he'd got me. And a ton for the gennie.  I'd had it in mind that I was paying him this from a Pay Pal payment I was owed, in a few days time. We'd agreed that ..... We'd agreed a lot of things.

  When it came to booking the ticket, Mike booked. He'd checked on the internet and we were both stunned and delighted that the price was only fifty four pounds for the crossing.  Then I heard the girl saying four hundred and fifty. And I inwardly shrugged and thought, " So what? If this is to be the cost of my getting out of england?  Cheap enough and soon forgotten. "  I paid, of course. This despite my ferry fare having been verbally agreed as part of the sale price of my property, to Mike.

  The price hike was because we had the 'choice' of taking the Sea Cat - Now. Or we could have waited around for the ferry. The ferry would have been cheap as chips ..... and taken god alone knows how long. My Dogs .....

  Then we were rolling.  Having, all three of us, taken out some of the tension by disparaging the invisible Welsh all the way through and round their incomprehensible ~ and seemingly deliberately so ~ traffic signs. Mike, I thought, went a little too ballistic when a Dutchman made some manouvere that left us one car behind in a line of only about three anyway.  But that was soon forgotten, which considering what was about to follow, is more than I can say for the last taste I had of britain's ways.

  We turned a corner and there we were, in Customs.   I made sure not to make my sweeping, searching scanning of the place obvious as we drove forward without seemingly slowing at all. Then, inevitably, just as my heart leapt to see the car in front of us drive straight on into the ferry, we were called to one side and the condensed nightmare began.

  " Could you open the back please, sir. What's in there? "  I jabbered, in as controlled a tone as I could muster, that I had loose Dogs in there. And that they were packed in as tightly as my worldly belongings and would surely burst out and largely out of control. I emphasised that they were friendly and even so, muzzled.

  The grand entrance onto the scene of all three Dogs was as could be expected and soon resulted in three individually tethered Dogs strewn about the small bay in which we operated. 

  My biggest concern being Pup's (my 'Staffie's) ever more strenuous cries from a bare ten foot away. I'd had to tie him to the next available point and that was by the office door. I believe he felt he was to be left there. His little heart was breaking with the stress of it all, unable to understand. Poor thing.

  My own stress came in the form of the Bitch from Hell Customs Officer cum Gods Own Busy Body for Dogs.  Upon opening the back doors, and the Dogs pouring out, a male officer, maybe the Policeman, had said he was not allowing us to travel further unless the situation inside was resolved.  My swivel chair had in fact fallen and was hovering precariously above where the Dogs had been cramming.

  I, of course, was in super stress overdrive, all the time trying to project an image of casual control. There was half an ounce of something I didn't need them knowing about inside that van. And I'd read, on line somewhere, that they have and use Sniffer Dogs at their Customs checkpoints. 

  I may well have appeared as desperate as I felt though, as I grunted, swore and cursed the wretched chair. Not only is it extremely heavy, when at head height, but it's an awkward thing to do anything with but sit on and it was an agony of brute force and little style which finally jammed it to where I could only pray my tormentor would see it as suitable.

  And all this while I had this damned harridan badgering me about my Dogs. I don't know what the hell her angle was, but she seemed obsessed with them.  I can't even say for sure, looking back, that she was even just what one may call a Doggy Person. She just kept seemingly wanting badly to have the power or reason to stop me boarding that ferry for something to do with my Dogs.

  That doesn't explain it at all well.  But how does one explain such an episode.  One more out of synch and senseless, yet accepted, part of an on going nightmare.

  The next thing I consciously remember is sitting in the cab, alone but for Orange Dog and Pup, staring, hardly focusing, at the strapping attached to the underside of a lorry in the next lane. Holding it to the deck. 

  It was flexing. This huge, articulated truck was rocking rhythmically and gently where it stood. Incredibly, and so soon, without announcement or preamble, we were moving. I was actually leaving behind england and all that meant.

Saturday, April 9, 2016

The Born Losers Club .....

  Must have been about, what? Thirty years ago now. I can still remember it like yesterday though. 

 (Come to think of it? At my stage in the game, I can probably remember shit from thirty fucking years ago better than I can yesterday!)

  Morning opening time, or just there after. I'm sat at the bar of my old local. Just pondering the meaningless of life. Staring through the back of the bar.

 Some stranger drifts in and takes a stool maybe one along from me. He sits there, much as myself. Chin fucking near in his glass.Long faced pair of cunts. We must've looked like two world weary horses. 

  A glance. An exchanged nod. Someone said something ..... And I'd met Bob. My spiritual oppo. A guy I think, terribly fondly, of to this day. My old, long lost mate. And co founder of " The Born Losers Club ".

  We'd exchanged a couple of words. Shit like; " Fuck it. " And, " For fuck sake! ". Then started warming to our subject as we started into the shit like; " Why the Fuck is it that Whenever I ..... "

  In no time, we were as old friends. Each of us recognising that shared bond of the kindred spirit. Spirit of the down trodden. The struggler in life. The natural born fucking loser.

  I told Bob my latest tale of woe. He listened, attentively. Never once trying to butt in, or over lay my miseries with his. He listened well. We supped some more beer, in companionable reflection. Then, dear Bob told his tale.

  I will relate it to you here, just as I heard it that day. This is Bob's story. That of a fucking loser .....

  " I was working in this fucking call centre place. We had a desk. A phone. We were meant to cold call this huge list of numbers they gave us. And sell some shit to the poor cunts who'd answer. It was completely fucking soul destroying. And I was useless at it. "

  " Uh, hullo? Mr Dwyer....? Yes. My name's Bob and I'm calling you about our great offer on the new, robotic paint roller we're ..... Hullo? Hullo ....? "

  " I was all day at this shit. Getting hung up on. Told to fuck off. I just couldn't get anyone to show any interest. To make it much worse though, there was Andy! "

  " Andy was this cunt who worked the desk directly across from me. I had to sit there, watching Him all fucking day.  He'd literally have his feet up on the desk. Lean back in his chair. Picking his teeth as he watched Me struggle and fail. "

  " Then, when he considered he felt like it? He'd say to me; 'Guess it's about time I made another sale, Bob.' And he'd dial a number; "

  " 'Hullo. Mr Edwards? Hi! Listen; I just rang to .......... Okay, Tony. I just need the last three numbers on the back ....? Great! You too, mate. Bye now!'  And the smarmy bastard wouldn't take his eyes off me as he did it. "

  " Then he'd go get a coffee ~ for himself. Sit there for another hour or so. Before telling me it's time he made another sale. Bastard. "

  " Our boss was some big, Yankee cunt. Perfectly pressed shirts. Wine bar sort. Probably drank white wine before fucking gorgeous women after his dinner break. "

  " Drawling, 'Cum urrn, Buuub! We need those orders!' That was him. I was Trying! He was just making my life even more hell. His whole attitude was really getting to me " 

  " Walked in one day. He's like; 'Don't bother taking ye coat off, Buuub. Ya outa here, man. It's over.' "

  " The bastard! Just like that. Sacked ~again. Well, fuck it. I wasn't just quietly slipping out the door This time! I was gonna leave This bastard with something to remember me by! "

  " As I opened the door, I turned round and drew my shoulders back. Looked him straight in the eye and yelled: 'Remember Viet Naam, muvva fukka!!! "

   " Cunt just looked at me and said; ' I'm Canadian, shit head.' " 

  Still love ye, Bob! Where ever ye may be. Remember:

" Semper A Ballio! "

Friday, March 4, 2016

Evil Little Dog Found A Bone .....

  The other day this was. Nice, sunny day. Promise of Spring. Just before it turned into fucking Alaska ....!

  Anyway, yeah. I looked out there and saw Evil Little Dog, my Jack Russell, digging around with something by the fence line.

  " What ye got there, Evil Little Dog? Show me. "

  'Got a bone, Dad. I found it. Now I'm gonna gnaw this mother fucker like there's no tomorrow!'

  Well, I've got a look at that bone and wondered. Frankly. It wasn't ye standard bit of rib bone. Nor was it a leg bone. Sort of shit a person might throw to a Dog. And an Evil Little Dog find and steal.

  My grave yard Did cross my mind, to be honest. But, I bury my Dogs deep enough that nothing in its right mind would be digging that far, now, for old bones.

   I don't think Evil Little Dog would bother.  She vanishes, night and day. She's allowed to. Because she's too small to seriously bother a cow. And she's ~ obviously ~ too fucking small to fence in.

  Anyway, she had this bone. Up to her. But, I told her how I needed her indoors now. All of them in. I had shit to do. She could bring her bone and shit would have to sort itself out.

  I dropped her in here, with the others. I had work to do, other side of the door.  I'd hear, if hell broke out. Four Dogs? One bone? 

  Know what? I had to come in here, at some point. Grab something I needed out there. And Pesticle's showing me the bone she now has. Happily chewing and sucking on it. Not a care in the world.
Evil Little Dog's now in her box. Snugly snoozing.

  Maybe half an hour later, I'm back in here again. And there's le fucking Dinger. Mouthing a somewhat reduced bit of bone. Only, he drops it, down the back of the bed,

  Niggie Dog tries to help le Ding dig it out. But, that's not gonna happen. So, I reach under the pallet and fetch this spitty lump of bone out.

  " Here ye go, Dingo Dog. " I say. " I reckon ye've about had ye share of this. Let's let the Nigger have his share. "  And I gave the lump to Niggie. (Munch, munch, munch)

  See what I'm saying there? No claims of Dog Trainer. Let alone 'Dog fucking Whisperer'.  This lot really has fuck all to do with me. It's my Dogs.

  Left to themselves, look, my two ridiculously disparate bitches ~ an American Bulldog and a Jack Russell. And the Dingo Dog and Nigger. They've just sorted their shit out.

  How about I introduce them to the concept of " God " ? For fuck sake ..... See what happens then.