The O'Byrne Files © Collection of rants!

YEAH, RANTS

I HATE THINGS LIKE milk cartons with those tear along dotted line things that never tear, those ketchup sachets with same, and cheap ketchup (it HAS to be Heinz), and the new euro coins, and mobile phones, Eircom phone bills that cost you over 30 euro in "charges/services" before you even pay for a call,  mullets and tracksuits, Maxwell House coffee, cheap loo paper, floating poo left in the loo for you by the last user, Euro coins again, the six guaranteed months of winter in Ireland, television, programmes that show you what's coming up and after watching that stuff you might as well switch over cos you've seen all the best bits, movie trailers that pretty much show you the whole bloody film, the skanger knackers who laughed all the way through "Black Hawk Down", the price of popcorn/drinks in the cinema, television again, those radio advert b*stards and the scum who write their material, radio jingle singers/songs, the f*cker who doesn't pick out my numbers in the lotto at least once, EastEnders, Kevin Myers looking smug on "Challenging Times", and all them I Love "Insert Nostalgic Bollox Here" programmes...

More things that are currently doing my head in...

...PEOPLE like bus drivers who decide they are F1 drivers between stops and then slam on the brakes and give you whiplash, everybody in a car when we're on the bike, car drivers who slow down approaching green traffic lights, only to speed up when the light changes, leaving you at the red stop light, skinny bitches in the gym ("meow"), landlords who decide to sell the home you've been living in for four years, unwashed people, flatmates who spend all morning in the bathroom meaning you're late again, flatmates in general, ex-boyfriends in general, people who think remembering passwords is optional, Bono (the man not the dog biscuit), Gay Byrne, Gazza, Tyson, Man U supporters, Posh Spice's fake smile, boy bands, girl bands, programmes about boy/girl bands, the Corrs, Louis Walsh, shite bands with stupid names - Stained, Disturbed, Default - the TV3 weather man, little girls named Amber / Tiffany / Britney or any other stupid soap opera nom de jour, little boys named Taylor / Tyler / Brett or any other stupid soap opera nom de jour, children who whine, adults who whine, students, people who say "expecially" and "nucular" and "I should of / could of / would of", people who say "axe" instead of "ask", people who say "summat / prolly / ickle" and who say "specific" instead of "pacific", and people who reply "No I'm sweet enough already" EVERY FECKIN' TIME they're asked if they take sugar...

So did I mention some of what I hate about the Emerald Isle?

...YEAH, DON'T start me about the public transport, public nose-pickers and snot-eaters, potholes, the "Iarnrod Eireann Experience", the Dart (Dublin Area Really Packed Like Sardines Transport System), clueless newbie cops sent out to direct traffic, more potholes, having to walk through Temple Bar on a Saturday night, people testing ALL of their mobile phone rings, mobile phones in general, driving tests, people who take their dogs for a walk so they can do a big poo in front of someone else's house, litterers, people who stop in doorways as if unsure what to do next, assorted other dawdlers, taxi drivers, truck drivers, van drivers esp. White Transit drivers, gobshite drivers holding up traffic, BMW/Merc/Audi/any other big car owners who think the road belongs to them, toll bridges and the grumpy gits on them, waiting for buses, people who then don't have the right change ready when getting on the bus despite that long wait, or when you get on the top deck of the bus first thing in the morning hoping for an hour's quality snooze against a window and every single seat has one person already sitting on it, them I'm A Hard Man Me drunken f*ckers who smoke on the bus, more potholes, people who stop for a chat at the bottom/top of escalators, mobile phones again, smelly airplane/public toilets, how the bank has only two tellers on during lunch and they have posters all over the joint telling you how We Are There To Help You, banks in general and insurance companies, getting to the front of the drink link queue and the guy in front of you FINALLY finishes - then takes out ANOTHER card and begins all over again, and did we mention potholes? and the plonkers who don't walk down the ramp going into Tesco in the Jervis...

...AND WHAT about shops and McDonalds, and chippers that stack burgers on the grill meaning it's half cold even if you eat it straight away, and extortionist pubs, and bar staff more interested in watching the match than serving customers, having to repeat an order for three drinks at least four times, bar staff getting the order wrong despite being told four times, people who say "I'll never get the hang of this Euro" EVERY FECKIN' TIME they get to the checkout, checkout girls who INSIST on having personal conversations between themselves while you the customer with the bloody dosh are being served very very slowly, people who put butter and 1/2 a gallon of mayo on your sambo, bad cappuccino, the lack of a good place to have brekkie in Dublin before you go to...

... AND THEM SO CALLED IRISH PUBS! Those soulless synthetic gigantic new booze-barn aerodromes, or them MDF ersatz Irish theme-pub construction kits that they sell abroad to people who think The Corrs are traditional Irish music, pretending to be your proper genuine ordinary Irish local pub. Those pubs with strange knick-knacks on the wall that were actually brought back from around the world by its regulars (not bought as a job lot by Global Irish Pub Kits Inc). And with toasted ham and cheese sangwidges, and a bit of foreign grub too.! Where have the pubs with a warm snug at the back and a barperson at the front who might not know your name, but at least he/she treats you proper and knows how to make hot whiskeys and Irish coffees, and how to pour a proper pint, even if it doesn't have a feckin' shamrock on top gone?. A pub, in other words, with a bit of stained glass that plays with the bright sunshine on the three days of the year that we actually get it, and a real turf and log fire for the rest of the time.  No, definitely not any Bland Radio Muzak Hot Hits Rubbish From The Likes Of Spin. Why can't we have pubs with a bit of crack and good meandering conversations and a fine song if you're lucky too, and no queues for taxis on the way home at half three in the morning, and with no problems from the guards because the Sergeant popped in from The Station just before "closing time" for a wee tincture. "SlŠinte!" (That's Irish for "Health Service").

... ADVERTISERS! Forcing us to buy products we don't want, treating us like idiots since 1896 and generally interrupting things so much! And lying. Sweets aren't good for you and shampoo doesn't "feed" your hair, cars kill people rather than "liberating" them, ringtones do not give you a personality, that woman in the white coat isn't a scientist she's an actor, Kenco isn't really run by that lass who was in Ballykissangel, and we don't have blue wee...

...WORK, work, work, work, waking up at 5:15 am; it's inhuman, interviews, breakfast meetings, nosy b*stard colleagues who come into your office and read everything on your desk, the same nosy bastard colleagues who have forgotten the art of knocking on doors before entering, people who think all a PA does is "control a diary and take f*cking notes", misspelling things in posts/mails and not noticing it till waaaay later, spam email, junk mail especially credit card applications, Microbloodysoft, doing work that should be done by your "superior" but dontcha know she's just a lazy cow and fobs it off on you, and the fact that you're too old for a career as a professional football or international gigolo, having to work so much because of the high house prices / crap wages / high rents / Eircom, lists like this about things I hate....

But mostly, above all, above everything else, that feeling of utter hopeless helplessness...

You can let me know what you think now!    E-mail me!


Ever bored? Ever fed up?  I know the feeling.  In a sentence . . . .

It's usually one of those typical dull wet Friday mornings when you just KNOW you're going to be bored out of your skull at work and, besides, it started badly enough earlier on when you woke up with this bodhran player in your head and you had to sit down to brush your teeth, and you put both contact lenses into the same eye and you can actually see better now, and the bird singing gently outside your window has turned out to be a large vulture, meanwhile the post has arrived already for a change (bills bills spam spam bills) and you now have to borrow from your Visa card to pay your MasterCard, and from the Credit Union to pay Visa, and from your little sister to pay the Credit Union, and nothing you own is actually paid for, so in your latest state of dark and ceaseless penury you decide to be decisive for a change so you grab your coat and a slice of burned black toast and you also realise that you've just managed to lock yourself out of your own flat oh f*** f*** f*** and after a wet 12-minute walk you reach the bus "shelter" (alias "base camp") with Sherpa Tensing (a.k.a. that bloke from the flat downstairs to whom you still owe £1.50p and a light bulb, so you still have to be really nice to him) and you're both getting splashed by several large passing vehicles while you wait for four buses in a row which are all full of vicious pensioners anyway, and when you do eventually get to work after being thumped with umbrellas by another bunch of marauding pensioners who jump the bus queue, it's nearly 11 o'clock already so you might as well sneak into the kitchen and "mingle" and cover your tracks in the coffee break, only you end up stuck between Your Boring Project Boring Manager who still hasn't been indicted for war crimes (yet), and Ken the Jellyfish Blancmange Carrigeen Moss Impersonation from Accounts and oh by the way doesn't everybody love your new company ID card picture except you, and they all think you're 40 and you're really only 28 and a half, and you've only been in work a mere three hours and 20 minutes today before you notice that your fly's been open or your blouse has been unbuttoned for all of that eternity, and you're still bored out of your rainforest canopy, only the health inspector then pops by and condemns the coffee machine, oh and your mum has just called to say she actually approves of the fairly one-dimensional cardboard replica of a person you've been dating on and off but mostly off for the past month or so and strictly for s.e.x. anyway, and your GP's scary secretary has left a very distorted message on your voicemail in a Dalek impersonation telling you that the results have come back and you are allergic to chocolate as we suspected all along I'm afraid, and the next message is from your flatmate in a panic cos the cable's on the blink again and you can't get anything except (a) "The Cassidys", (b) "The Web Review" and (c) "Telly Bingo" with Shirley Temple Bar, and then when you phone the fortune teller she sees into your future and offers you a refund...


When you go into court you are putting your fate into the hands of twelve people who weren't smart enough to get out of jury duty.

I don't buy temporary insanity as they murder defence. Because people kill people. That's an animal instinct. I think breaking into someone's home and ironing all their clothes is temporary insanity.


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