Wednesday, November 24, 2004

Star Wars Glesga Style (2)

"The Falkirk Wastes are not to be travelled lightly, young Sheepshagger,,,,,,,
Ceen Nutin falls off the bus and proceeds to lose his lunch - "I forgoat how much I hate bus travel."
Him2 - "Oh pipe doon ya woos" (looks around) "whaur the feck ur we?"
Sheepshagger - "The Falkirk wastes - we'll need tae fund old Ben McNulty quickly ah dinnae want to get fund by ony o the locals - they're a bit radio rental and they aw know each ither a wee bit too well around these parts."
Walking along the wastes Him2 spots something lying gleaming on the grass - "Ya wee beauty...booze." (picks up an empty bottle) "Oi Ceen-nutin? You been here afore."
Sheepshagger - "here let me see that...Thunderbird - sh*t! Sand-dancers aright and look! here they come. Leggit!"
They are chased along the wastes when there is a load roaring noise and suddenly the sand-dancers stop and beat a hasty retreat.
Sheepshagger looks up the hill and spots a an old man - "Well young sheepshagger, the Falkirk wastes are not to be travelled lightly, whit ye dain up here?"
Sheepshagger - chasin some burd aff a video, what a babe and a great pair o...
Ben - "the sound of running water chases the locals for a while but they'll be back so we'd best get a move oan. C'mon we'll go tae my place and hae a couple of cans."
Ceen-nutin - "Any Cally Super?"
back in his hoose, Ben McNulty hands oot the cans and plants hisself doon in front of the telly.
"well, Wee Sheepshagger - looks like yir up to yir neck in this wan - ye better come wi me to easterhoose and gie me haunners'
'aww, naww, I cannae. aww the heefers back at ra ferm have got mastitis, and ma uncle'll kick ma nuts if a go aff fighting stead o'gieing them their doses......
Sheepshagger, yiv a rep tae live up to - yir old man was the hardest bam this side o' Barlinnie.'
'Naw he wizn'y. Ma uncle told me ma Dad wiz a wee poof who picked flowers and stuff"
'Yir uncle's talking jobbies. Yir Dad wiz a pure mental heid-the -baw, and nae-one could touch him - until DCI Vader got him....'
"DCI Vader ?"
"Aye well. I'll tell you about that septic fud later - right noo, we've got to get oorselves a motor and get to easterhoose....
Here - y'better take this. It wiz your old man's chib. He wanted you to huv it."
:: Luke slides open the ancient Stanley knife and swishes it aboot::
" Aww brilliant....."
:: everywan piles oot the door and heads off to the pub, in search of some back-up wi' a fast van::
Meanwhile on the Death-baw Princess McGlmpshey's cell door slides open.
McGlimpshey: O it's yerself helmet-heid.
Vader: Helmet-heid? Why ya wee...
McGlimpshey: Helmet-heid, ba-heid, it's all the same tae me.
Vader: Listen you, yer in the sh*t noo unless you tell me whaur those tapes ur?
McGlipmshey: (with raised single finger) swivell oan this ya tube!
Vader: Well we've goat drugs tae make you talk.
McGlimpshey: Drugs? Ya beauty, a huvnae hud a fix in ages man...
Vader: O just gee hur a kickin lads.
Meanwhile back in Falkirk...

McNulty: Right sheepshagger, this boozer is a wee bit on the rough side and it's full o rednecks but we need a driver so watch whit yer dain.
Sheepshagger: Can I use ma chib.
McNulty: Naw - ye hauvnae been trained in the ways o the fartz yet.
Sheepshagger: The Fartz?
McNulty: Later.
Barman: Oi, thae two urnae gettin served in here.
McNulty: Whit?
Barman: Yer Jakies, they're blootered get them oot.
Sheepshagger: Listen, yo too wait ootside, we'll no be long.
Ceen Nutin: Aw come oan just a wee drap. am gaspin man.
Sheepshagger:wait outside.
McNulty: Sheepshagger, we're in luck, that hairly bloke chewing baccy there says he might just hauv a driver for us tae get tae Castlemilk tae meet McGlimpshey.
Sheepshagger: Man, he's pure clatty lookin and he's reeking o p*ss.
McNulty: Shoosh - he's no deef ye know.
Handsome yet Solo: Handsome Solo boys, ah hear ye need a fast motor - well ma wee number is the Capri Falcon.
McNulty: Handsome? that's rich - yon ugly tree must have hud a lot o branches on it.
Handsome: Whit?
McNulty: Ignore him, is it fast.
Handsome: Fast? It's the motor that dun the Bar-isle run in less than 20 minutes - it's too fast for you, old-yin. Whaur are ye goin?
McNulty: Castlemilk.
Handsome: Ra mulk, forget it pal, am noo stoopid or desparate.
McNulty: Look we'll gie ye a fiver noo and another 20 when we get there.
Handsome: Okay so a um you ootside, parking bay 93.
Meanwhile, back on the Death Baw, McGlimpshey is being taken to see Vader's gaffer.
McGlimpshey: Lally-tine - I might o know it wid be you hauding knob-heid's leish.
Lally-tine - classy chick as always eh? Right, whaur ur thae tapes?
McGlimpshey: Up yer hol....
Lally-tine: Thought so...see oot that windae there, that's ra Mulk and unless you tell me whaur the tapes ur, I'm gonnae flatten it.
McGlipmshey: Haud on big man - Castlemilk is full of decent families.
Lally-tine: Yer ar*e - it's full O junkies and jakies but if you have an alternative location then spit it oot.
McGlimpshey: (looking out the windae). Dennistoun, they're in Dennistoun.
Lally-tine: See Vader, told ye she'd cough up. A whit the...just level it onyway - you may swing ra baw when ready...
McGlimpshey: Ya lying big ye...
So everyone piles oot the pub into the car park – and Luke Sheepshagger is immediately no too impressed with the Capri Falcon…….
"Whit a scrapper – ho, McNulty, wiv been sold a pig in a poke"
But Handsome’s no having any of this snash…..
"Listen, ya wee teuchter, get in and shut up. You’ll no have hud a ride this good since the last time your sister goat drunk and forgot to put the snib oan….."
"Right, ya bam, that’s it, your deid…….."
But, as the boys prepare for a square go, two squad cars rip round the corner, sirens blaring…….
"Crivvens! Lets get oota here!"
The Capri Falcon flings a major U-ey, jumps the kerb, and roars aff doon the road, with the squad cars in hot pursuit.
"Whit’s wi the major polis?" asks Handsome…. "dinny tell me yous bams urr waanted fur murder or sumthin?"
"Drive, ya choob," sez Sheepshagger, "whit was aww yir bawz aboot this heap shiftin’?"
"Listen, ya wee plamff, yir no in a tractor now – stow it or yir ditched…..
The big hairy guy chewin’ baccy does some gruntin' and pointin'..
"Aye, there’s the M90 slip," sez Handsome, "wance we’re oan the motorway, they’ll no touch us…..wait fur it….wait fur it…. RIGHT – hit the nitrous oxide ……yeeeeeehhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaa"
In a puff o’fumes, the Capri Falcon rips aff doon the motorway, leaving the polis cruisers looking silly
"see yiz later – ya bunch of faaa-nniiieeesssssssssssssss……….."
Meanwhile, back on the Death Baw:::
Pat Lally-tine is sittin' in his office, reading Club International and smoking some Regal Kingsize, with DCI Vader stood at his back, peering oot the windae and smokin' Lambert and Butlers— when in dashes a cooncil flunky wi some news...
"wiv tore Dennistoun apart, sir, and there's nae tapes - but we found some empty Buckfast boatles - completely dried up - thurs been no neds there fur a good long while....."
"Ah told you she'd no grass up her pals," growls Vader ...
"Aww thats it - her baws burst," snarls Lally-Tine. "Vader, ah want that wee coo floatin' face doon in the Clyde by teatime - see to it yirsel".
"As you wish, wee man, as you wish".......

Tuesday, November 23, 2004

Star Wars Glesga Style

Found on the Net, It's amazing, and I've got nine more to follow. It's Star Wars line for line.


Pure ages ago, in a galaxy oot past Carbeth....... was a time of loads o barneys and knifings. Ra tongs, fresh from their first good dooen of ra SYTO, were legging it quick style throo Multon...
Wi the help of a brick, Princess Senga McGlimshey hus pinched several videos oot the windae at Dixons, and noo the polis, led by that bam DCI Vader, are giving it big nee-naw doon the road efter her (interior of Princess Senga's stolen transit - also present are her two faithful jakey droids - Ceen-nutin and him-2)
Senga - if yon poils vader gets his haunds on these vids, ma teas oot - here Him2, take this and leg it!
Ceen nutin - no way man, dinnae tak it Him-2. We're no getting tha jail for that tart!
Him2 (seriously drunk)proceedes to puke all over Senga.
Senga - right that's it, i'm pure fed up wi you too - here (puts tapes doon Him2's not-so-dry troosers) (proceedes to boot the 2 droids out of the car and into the gutter).
"DCI Vader , sur."
"Two neds have exited the veecull"
"Neds do not concern me, serjant - get me that burd and those videos !"
With her getaway transit van ran aff the road, and her thieving gang in tatters, Princess Senga finds herself cornered by polis.
"Set truncheons to unconscious...."
"Come oan then ya bunch of fa...."WALLAP !
Handcuffed, Senga is hauled up in front of DCI Vader.
"Vader ya bawbag - you make ma life a misery, so ye do"
"Aye McGlimshey - ye weren'y collecting gingey bottles this time. Gies those videos, ya wee hairy."
"Whit videos?"
"Don't come it with me gurl. You're heading fur the High Court with my toe up yir arse. Get her oot a ma sight !
Meanwhile, fresh from their tumble oot the van, Ceen-Nutin and Him-2 are trying to figure oot where they are....
Ceen-nuttin & Him2 swagger doon High Street jist comin up tae Trongate.
Him2 diz a recky an sees a motor ootside the pub unner the bridge an breks intae it...
Ceen-nuthin - we better watch or ra polis wull be efter us. Heh...witch yoo daein'..brekkin intae tha' motur...? We'll go tae the bad fire so we wull...
Blanking Seen-Nuthin, Him-2 hops into the motor and whizzes aff eastwards.
"aye, go on then ya wee jobbie - some pal you urr......."
Seen-Nuthin wanders aff westwards....
"He'll be puggled again in no time - the speccy wee waster"
Him-2 doesn't get far. Stoppin' ootside Haddows, thinkin' its time for some Bucky, a bunch of bairns with blades jump in the car..
"Uttini !"
"Tek us to Lenzie, mister, or we'll mark your coupon"
~"Aww jeez...."
Soon efter, Seen-Nuthin's walking along Gt Western Rd, trying to thumb a lift.
And who should pick him up but..... aye, Him2 and his posse of wee knife-wielding neds.
"Aww its you, Him2 — brilliant. I missed ye wee man. Yir my best pal. Where we goin' ?"
"Aw no....."
IN THE NEXT EXCITING INSTALLMENT WE MEET LUKE SHEEPSHAGGER - a simple farmboy from the Campsie hill villages who dreams of a life of petty crime in the big city........
Luke sheepshagger staggers oot o the sheepshagger settlement in Lenzie and squints against what seems to be two suns in the sky.
Sheepshagger - Geezus that buckie wiz strong! Belch! Aww sh*t kebab breath!
Auntie Morag - Luke, whaur are you goan?
Sheepshagger - sake morag. Am away to help uncle wullie fund a couple of jakeys tae help wi the garden - thone weeds are aw ower the place noo.
Auntie Morag - aye, well tell old bawheid tae make sure they speak English. I didnae hae a clue whit the last wans were on aboot haulf the time.
Sheepshagger - I'll tell him but he disnae pay me any heid so we've nae chance.
Wullie spots three jakeys sauntering along the road.
Wullie - A right fellas
Ceen Nutin - are you the polis?
Wullie - No way wee man. Am lookin for a haunders wi ma garden - yees up for a few boab lads.
Jakeys - too right big man - lead on.
Wullie - Haud on noo - A only need two of yous. (He points to Ceen nutin.) - Do you speak English or Bocce.
Ceen Nutin - Bocce? Bocce is it - I'll Bocce you ya...
Wullie - You'll dae and yer pal there - beetroot face.
Ceen Nutin - Well Him2 - I'm offski so see ye later aligator.
5 stumbles later old beetroot face proceeds to choke on his own puke and lands face down in the nearby gutter.
Sheepshagger - what the...Hey Wullie - this guys totally shagged man - lets take the other and leg it.
So sheepshagger takes these two mingers into the barn and gies them a bath - they're pure stinking......
"Oh thats brilliant,: sez Seen-Nutin as he sinks into the mixture o' 50 percent sheep-dip, 20 per cent diesel and 30 percent Dettol.
Him-2s unconscious, and Luke checks his pockets.
'Ho, whits this?'
'Whits what?'sez Seen-Nutin, who's soapin' his groin a bit too much.
'These videos in yir pals kecks? Haud on...thir's a note wi them....'
"Obi Wan McNulty - way back in the Calton, you and ma daw got on great, and ye knocked three shades of sh*te out of everywan in the Tong Wars..
"Now Ah need yir help. These vidjo tapes in ma pal's pants grass up Mayor Pat-Lallytine's plans to knock doon Easterhoose with a big cran swinging somethin' ca'ed a 'Death Baw'
'Gies these vidjo's to ma da, and he'll sort ye oot for some cans and a biryani....
yors truly
Senga McGlimshey"
"She soonds like a right screw - I fancy her rotten," sez Luke (whose no done it with anything human ever)
'Mebbe she meens that old jakey Ben McNulty up in Falkirk - I'm up for a mission if you pair are !"

Nothing going on but the rent.

Not much going on at the moment, apart for eating porridge until I get paid. That great scottish staple made with water and a ton of salt. None of this nancy-boy honey or brown sugar or nuts. Which is good, because I'm off to Glasgow at the end of the week. It's my home town, and I haven't been there for 15 years. Should be great. I'm preparing for a week of tennants, square sausage, tattie scones, whiskey and of course porridge, plus a hell of a lot doting aunts that will feed me stupid (i hope) and uncles and cousins who will want go out on the piss as much as humanly possible. I'm an excuse for my entire family to get hammered. (Well that's my excuse). I can't wait. Ill be running around Glasgow by the end of the week in a kilt singing Franz Ferdinand at the top of my lungs. Plus I've been reminded that it's Optimo Seventh Birthday on Sunday. Golly gee. Thanks, McSmacked Face. Also check this out, it's quite spectacular, and sent to me by one of my best pals from Glesga. Cheers Mikey.

Friday, November 19, 2004

Whats my country?

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

Just a quick brain tickler in case you are bored today. Ignore the budgie smugglers and the steamed pork bun lodged in her hair. Even try to ignore the heroic mullet and the fact that they are at a fast food joint, and not a beach. All you have to do is name what nation these two beach-freaks belong to. First prize is a dog turd found in Hackney that looks exactly like George Bush.

Our daily bread (and cheese)

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

This Virgin Mary grilled cheese sandwich is for sale on ebay. The current bit is $7,600. Is there no end to the utter stupidity of some Yanks? I must admit though, I'm loving all the spin off products that this cheesy miracle is seeming to spawn. I once had a potato that was the spitting image of Jimmy Somerville from Bronski Beat. But did I try to sell it to Bronski fans on ebay? Did I fuck. I made him into chips.

Thursday, November 18, 2004

Happiness is a warm gun.

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

I have had it up to my fucking neck with banks. When I first got here it took me a month of bullshit to obtain an account from HSBC (High Street Banking C**ts). Short of a DNA sample and/or holding the bank manager for ransom I somehow managed to get an account. A crap one at that. A basic bank account. Basic isn't the first word to come to mind when I think of the piece of shit that is my bank account. I got given a card, which I can take out £200 a day. It's not a debit card, and I get 0% interest on my cash. I was told that I get taxed on my interest, by the bank also. You dumb fucks! I don't get any frigging interest. I have lived with this bank account for the last 3 months. I am now wanting to move up the ladder and get an account that has a debit card. No big deal you'd think. Yep, it's a big deal. I went in to ask the bank what I needed.

Bitch: You needed some proof of address.
Me: Is my brand spanking new National Insurance number ok? How about a Tenancy Agreement?
Bitch: That is fine, do you want to make an appointment?
Me: Yes!
Bitch: We can see you in early December.
Me: You're kidding me right?
Bitch: Do you have Internet banking, you can apply online.
Me: Uh yeah, are you sure I can apply online?
Bitch: It shouldn't be a problem, that way you just drop in the relevant documentation, and we will take it from there.
Me: Cool! Thank you very much!

Fast forward to today, after getting all the documentation together, I rang HSBC, and got told that I had to go into the branch to apply, and infact I could not apply online. to the bank I went, and joined the queue. (*I hate queues with such a passion, it's scary). First thing I noticed was the normal woman wasn't there. Great... Here we go.

Me: Hi! I would like to upgrade my bank account please.
Harpy: Do you have an account here?
Me: Yes I have a basic bank account.
Harpy: How long have you had it opened for.
Me: Three months.
Harpy: Hmmm well you need to have it opened for 6 months.
Me: [pleading] But I have all the relevant documentation that I was told I needed!

I show the new Harpy my documentation. She shakes her head.

Harpy: You need a utility bill, or a drivers license.
Me: What about all this stuff?
Harpy: You need a utility bill, or a drivers license.
Me: But the lady who saw me last time told me.....
Harpy: You need a utility bill, or a drivers license.
Me: [thinking] Your bloody brains would complement that shiny red HSBC logo right behind you after I blow your freaking head off!
Me: [actually saying] Well I better go see what I can do then. Thank-you.

Then I decided that while I was in the bank I needed to get the £6 that was left in my account to pay for buses till I get paid. I went up to the little desk with the slips. Hmmm no withdrawal slips. They must of run out. I got in the queue again. (*) Finally I got to the counter.

Me: You seem to have no withdrawal slips, I need to get some money from my account?
Muppet: We don't have withdrawal slips.
Me: [thinking] You are a fucking bank aren't you?
Me: [actually saying] Oh? How do I get money out of my account?
Muppet: Have you got a check-book?
Me: How do get a check-book?
Muppet: Do you have a standard account?
Me: I hold up my Basic Bank Account card (As if it had any importance at all, and was my pass to worry free banking)
Muppet: When you have an account with a debit card, you will get a check book.
Me: Oh? But how do I get money out of my account?
Muppet: You can only use that account at automatic tellers.
Me: But the automatic tellers dont have anything less than £10.
Muppet: Sorry, you can only use that account at automatic tellers.
Me: But I need the money for bus fare so I can get to work!
Muppet: Sorry, you can only use that account at automatic tellers.
Me: [thinking] You are lucky there is a sheet of perspex between us right now, bitch.
Me: [actually saying] Oh, ok thank you.

I then camly walked out of the bank, kicked a homeless man in the face for asking for change, and walked back in the rain to work.

Wednesday, November 17, 2004


Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

A little tid-bit overheard on the wireless today.
From Wednesday anyone stopped - not just those later searched - by police in London must be given a written record of the incident. Everyone stopped is entitled to a copy of the report of the incident. The scheme has been piloted by officers on the beat in east London for more than a year. I hear it's a it's a 5 page form. And it takes half an hour to fill in. Poor coppers, i feel sorry for the blighters. They are going to have to learn to write, and most probably read now.

NB: Still hopelessly trying to compile my music list. I'm feeling sick and getting a bit of a Lemsip addiction at the moment, so it's taking a lot longer than I expected.

Sunday, November 14, 2004

Crazy People

There is one thing I'm noticing more and more about my local area of ol’ Finsbury Park. Is there a mental home round here? Apart from my own? I say this because, there seems to a serious amount of very mental people in my hood. Where do they live? Some of these people seem capable of dressing themselves and interacting with the public, and some of them don’t.

Here's a couple of examples of section eights that I had the pleasure to interact with in the last few days. On the bus on Thursday night coming home from work, I hopped on the bus at Angel. As I sat down, I noticed a guy talking quite loud to what seemed to be a well-heeled man in a suit. But I noticed then he wasn't speaking back. I looked at the man, and he looked really scared. I stretched to see the guy that was yakking next to him. He seemed normal. A shock of white hair, semi balding, an expensive Hugo Boss Leather jacket, clean shaven, no dribbles, no visible can of booze. I then scanned downwards, because I find shoes are a dead giveaway, when it comes to crazy people. Nice shoes. Hmmm. Aha, there it is, I neaerly missed it. His jeans came to his shins. Odd socks too. No biggie, the odd socks, but the knickerbocker jeans, well thats a different story. But it didn't seem to warrant the fear that I saw in this business man. Then I saw what scared him. As this guy turned his head, I saw his eyes. One of his eyes was fully bloodshot. Like the whole white of his eye was blood red. It looked really fucking freaky. There was a few scratches around his eye, but he was the only person who didn't seem to notice it. What got me was that he again seemed to be talking total sense. Very articulate. I was kicking myself that I didn't have a tape recorder.

I'll try and convey the snippets of what I managed to overhear. If some one had say a large bag and was getting on the bus, he would pipe up and say "You could take a bloody eye out with that" and then springboard into a 2 minute rant about how important eyes were. Then when he noticed no one was replying to him, he'd bellow "Well, no one has even got the intelligence of acknowlegement". Brilliant! By this stage I was hanging off this nutter's every word. He must of seen an Indian woman, and started going off about Basmati rice, and it's origins. It started to get a bit racist, and I thought he was going to get his head kicked. But then he ended a sentence with the word "white". Then started with "Fish is more tasty than red fish like salmon, but I don't like fish anyway, I'm a beef man, oh, I like a bit of beef." Then he saw a large man getting up to get off the bus and continued with "Beefy man there, thinks he's a tough cunt for using the stairs". He was running every sentence into each other. A classic case of psycosis. (He sounded like a guy who has been up for a week on speed). By this stage it was my stop. Part of me wanted to stay on the bus and follow this guy, but part of me said, better go dude, this guy is fucking radio rental. I got off the bus. I noticed he was going to get off at the next stop. I wondered if I should discreetly follow him, see where he went. Don't ask me why I even wanted to do this, maybe I'm spastic too? I just find insane people really interesting. Anyway I watched the guy go down the stairs and walk off the bus, while the bus was still moving. He landed on the back of a hatchback car and set off the alarm. I watched him get up, brush himself off, and walk away. He would have had concussion, but I'm thinking this would have made no difference to this guy's grey matter. That was Thursdays head case kamikaze.

Friday's spinner was tame compared to him, but is worth a mention none the less. Late on Friday I stopped to get a burger (which is an entire post by itself, but I wont go into that right this minute), there was a old guy in a blue pinstripe who came sucking on a can of cola-cola. This made me think, well he might not be an alky. But as I found out, it didn't stop him from being nuts. Which he was. Bigtime. he didn't seem a threat, so I let him start to blether away at me. Turns out he's a Scotsman visiting his sister in Finsbury Park. He's just been let out of hospital, on heavy medication, and to celebrate his new found freedom, go out on a bender. I ask him what was he in hospital for. Schizophrenia. Great. I tell him that he shouldn't mix alcohol with medication. (Well I drank on antibiotics once and got super-fucked-up, so I thought schizophrenia medicine but be at least as bad, or good, what ever you base your fucked-up-ness on.) This didn't seem to phase him at all, come to think of it, it didn't seem to phase me either. I kept talking to him just to see if I could see when his other personas might come through. But he seemed to just be on a loop, rabbiting on about his condition, if his sister was going to let him in the house. My burger was ready. He then pleaded at me to buy him a kebab. Which I did. Kind of felt sorry for him. A few days later I told my flatmate about pinstripe guy. It seems he's a local, and pulls that stunt on everyone. Typical, I got sucked in for a kebab by a fruitcake. Maybe he is schizophrenic? Maybe that's one of his personalities? The kebab scammer? Can't wait to run into him again, and see what he has got to say.

Friday, November 12, 2004

Bear with me.

Since the weekend, my music obsession dial has been turned up to 11 on the Reilly Amp of life. That, and I've got broadband at home. I've been downloading an obscene amount of music. So I've decided to catalogue my musical leanings from 1986. The year I was in 3rd form (Age 14). The criteria is: Music I have either bought, copied, stolen, got wasted to (more than once). bought a t-shirt, draw the logo of on a bag, schoolbook, desk, wall. Based friendships around and last but not least, will listen to now. Try it, I dare you. if you are any thing like me, and LOVE music, this will define you as a human, or occupy your brain to critical levels. My skull is hurting, and it's only been three hours since I started compiling. What have I started...

Wednesday, November 10, 2004

War Pigs

Reported in the Bangkok Post 18/11/2001
Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

I have had an idea to end the war in Iraq, which involved pork fat bombs. It's a bit radical, maybe that's why I liked the idea. I had a dig around on the net, and it seems someone else has already had the brainwave. Tinawat Maruekapitak sent an email to George "I'm a total fuckwit" Bush about a week after 9/11. What balls! He should have been made King of Thailand in my opinion, instead he was forced to resign. After further digging around on the net this little cracker popped up. The Sepoy Mutiny of 1857. Seems that pork fat has been used before, maybe innocently, maybe not, but used all the same, and it appears to have had some bad outcome. I can see that people might want to be a vegetarian, for health reasons, and maybe they don't really want to eat dead animals, but as a part of religion? I couldn't think of a worse thing, been denied a bacon sammie because of faith. All you non-pork eating religious people out there, you are missing out. Also, come to think of it, all you non-pork eating religious people out there don't drink booze either? Maybe that's the problem? A pint with your bacon sammie. I know I'm a lot more chilled out after that great combo. Infact scrap the pork bombs altogether, send bacon sammies and beer. Give old Tinawat the honour, he’s probably unemployed, and deserves the job.

Tuesday, November 09, 2004

Early morning warfare.

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

Buses are starting to piss me off. Actually more to the point, the people who get on the bus. People have no manners. When I first started getting the bus, I used to find it quite amusing watching people trying to judge where the bus was going to stop and then try to be the first on the back of the bus. But over the last week or so, I have missed my bus because, I wasn't bothered to join in this stupid exercise. That and getting pushed out the way by smarmy little kids, wankers in suits, old people and the occasional handicapped person. But it's not a good look to turn up late every friggin' day to work, so...... NOW ITS WAR. I've come up with a few self defence/killing techniques for bustop warfare. 1. The quick elbow to the face. (Works best on little kids, who are just the right height and have a parka pulled up, so nobody notices that their face now looks like a busted sausage. 2. The ipod garrote. (works best with people who wear ipods, but any headphone device will do.) Quickly stand behind intended victim and quickly pull out earbuds, make a quick loop around the neck and pull away. They will soon drop off. 3. The Umbrella. This is an old winter favourite, and tends to get used everywhere. Just have your brolly open, just as you are getting on the bus. You can poke out multiple eyes and have personal space. Excellent. 4. The decoy. A handy can of Tennent Super. Just crack one open, while waiting for the bus, and pretend to vomit it up. Just swish it around in your mouth for a minute and then spray a little arc around yourself. Trust me, it's a barrier people won't cross. 5. Beg for fare. Goes well with tip number four. People will stay well clear of you and ignore you. And you might get enough cash for a sammie for lunch. 6. The doll under the wheel. Works best with mums with prams/small children. As the bus is about stop, pull out an oxfam dolly out your satchel and throw it under the oncoming wheel, followed but a quick scream. The mums will be shocked and stunned, and the prams make a good barrier to stop others from getting on the bus before you. 7. Squirt vegetable oil on the curb/road by the bus. (Works best on people who jump onto the road and run to where they think the bus is going to stop, as the bus is about to stop.) Deftly squirt a stream of oil in their path. Quickly step back and watch them slide straight into other passengers. Human ten pin bowling. I love it. 8. Pinch peoples arse. Might get you into more trouble (or a possible date), but you could probably get away with it if you combine it with a fake tourettes syndrome outburst. 9. Crutches. A bit awkward, but they do make good weapons if you are pushed too far. 10. Don't even bother going to work. Only works a few times before you end up losing your job, so only use this baby sparingly.

Monday, November 08, 2004


I've just got the Haloscan commenting thingy, and it's wiped all my previous comments out. Sorry.

Babel Fish

I've been fooling around with Babel Fish. This is what happens if you go from English to Spanish, and back again. (It's Fridays post by the way). I'm still laughing as I write this. I wonder If I do all my posts like this from now?

From the day of Fawkes of the individual of it's tomorrow, I feel it's worthy of him to deliver an attack. Now I'm not one for the cost the enormous amounts in fireworks, so me the own ones are going to do my. Easy It's. All what you need are a bottle of crystal, gasoline and some rags. Certain flags make the good rags to burn themselves, and some are known to burn themselves better than others. Perhaps some nails or small pieces of the metal to put in its bottle if you wish to demonstrate dull. Hardly it puts a little gasoline in a crystal bottle, fits upon the bottle with his rag. The bottle inclines until the rag is soaked totally with gasoline. Find his target, you obtain in distance of the launching, light and shot. Repeat so many times, until you are satisfied. Diversion of It's for the whole family. Also I know a place in central London that is perfect place to enjoy the done fireworks wonder in house.

Sunday, November 07, 2004

The top and the bottom.

On Friday, I managed not to get arrested for my great idea for the U.S. embassy, and took a bit of a mental health day. Didn't feel good at all. Might be this S.A.D. Been told to get on the St.Johns Wort. Which I might just do. Just feel so cheated with all this lack of sun and the grey sky, which is the perfect compliment to the grey concrete buildings. Grey overload on the grey matter. Anyway I went out to my second home at the great Smacked face towers for a bit of cheering up. Took a while to shake my winter blues, but they eventually got shaken out along with bits of my wallet and braincells. Ended up having a good ol' time on the roof, watching the the whole of London explode with fireworks, supping mulled wine and letting off big fuck off rockets. I'm so surprised what you can actually buy in the shops here. Serious weaponary for the seriously stupid. Trotted on down to what seems to becoming my local. The White Horse. All good, as usual. Back to the towers for what turned in yet another morning of debauchery. Ended up with a marathon music downloading session. Very memorable. The hairs on my arms started doing a very strange thing. Whenever a good track came on, I'd get serious goosebumps. It was like a pop music barometer. I had goosebumps on my goosebumps all day. What a crack up. Some tracks that stand out (just like my goosebumps) were : There there my dear - Dexys midnight runners. Tears of a clown - The English Beat. Can't always get want you want - The Rolling Stones. Rocks Off - The Rolling Stones. Another Girl, Another Planet - Only Ones. Jane Says (Steel Drums mix) - Janes Addiction. Run Wild - New Order. And of course Teenage Kicks - The Undertones. It will possibly be one of the best music days that I've had in such a long time. Eh Ms. Smacked Face ;) Ended up going out later on to Pigeonhold and getting quite spannered. Another great night. Some how managed to lose both my wallet, with some cash in it, and my phone. Brilliant! Now I have to figure out how to pay my bills, eat and get around till I sort out that little mess. And build up an entire new phonebook. Excellent. Not. Rest of my weekend has been eating chocolate, slow cooked pork belly, cups of tea and downloading a huge amount of music. That and cursing my self for being so retarded. Oh well, musn't grumble.

Thursday, November 04, 2004

Family fun for Friday.

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

Since it's Guy Fawkes Day tomorrow, I feel it's worth it to make an effort. Now I'm not one for spending huge amounts on fireworks, so I am going to make my own. It's easy. All you need is a glass bottle, petrol and some rags. Certain flags make good rags to burn, and some are known to burn better than others. Maybe some nails or bits of metal to put in your bottle if you want to show off. Just put some petrol in a glass bottle, plug up the bottle with your rag. Tip the bottle until the rag is completely soaked with petrol. Find your target, get in hurling distance, light and throw. Repeat as many times, till you are satisfied. It's fun for the whole family. I also know a place in central London which is perfect place to enjoy the marvel of homemade fireworks.

U.S. Embassy, London.

24 Grosvenor Square
London, W1A 1AE
United Kingdom

Wednesday, November 03, 2004


Party snap taken at the Whitehouse today.
Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

F**kin c**t,c*******r, m**********r, that m**********r is going to win again. Where's my b****y gun, I feel like tearing him a new a*****e and ripping his eyes out and p*****g in the sockets and s*****g down his throat then cut his f**kin head off with a blunt rusty breadknife, f**kin c**t,c*******r, m**********r. This rant was brought to you by one p****d off Reilly. And the "*"

Tuesday, November 02, 2004

Global Voting

The votes don't count, but it gives a good ballpark picture of what the rest of the planet thinks of the bozo below. Check it out. Over 700,000 votes so far.

Monday, November 01, 2004

Save us.

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

If this money hungry, country destroying, evil, retarded, lying fucker gets in again, I’m joining Osama’s crew, and start beating on random yanks. With the shit going down in Iraq on a daily basis, Arafat on his death bed, Ramadan and the election tomorrow, I wonder if it will kick off? Anyone know where the US Embassy is? Also donations of glass bottles, rags and petrol will be kindly accepted.

I need a handbrake

I'm trying to live a clean(ish) lifestyle, with a diet change and no booze for a month. My first day was today, and all went good.

Got the call to go to see Pitch Black (Good, but kind of dated nz electronic band.) Lasted 2 minutes before beer was going down my throat. Then I saw my favourite poison from back home 42 below. Fejoia is amazing. Try explaining what a fejoia is to people from over here. Had a good time. Lots of kiwis. Too many dog-poo haired-trance-spider-horses from Nelson my liking. (trance spider horse is a dance move that i can’t even begin to explain here, but when you see it, you will know.) Fast forward, I'm the last to leave as usual. Went to old friends place and continued on more 42 below. Got to sleep (forcing myself, by the way) at 6am. I have to be in at work at 9. Shit.

Hungover to hell. My day starts with random guy I met a few weeks ago, at café paris stalking me. He's texting me to come to Watford for his birthday this weekend, trying to be funny to me, making lame ass jokes, asking where I go out, and ending every text with x. I remember him asking me if I was gay, and I quickly told him no. The first text was ok, but me being the dick I am, replied. It only gets worse. Turned from a party at his place, to going to Watford for the weekend. I told him I've got the flu, and now he’s wishing me to get better and he will call me tomorrow, to see if i’m better. (the phone is off tomorrow). I can't believe the holes i dig myself. And to top it off, I've got manuka 42 below, leeching from my skin. Work is painful and my only comfort is a huge mixed grill for lunch. Meat is my favourite hangover cure. I am turning into this guy. Shoot me now. Eventually get home, switch the phone off, and crawl under the duvet.

My body don't know whats going on. It's not often I wake up on a Saturday. I'm usually saucer-eyed, and talking complete rubbish. If thats more possible that what I actually manage to get down here. Got up at a reasonable Saturday time. Made a great brekky and promptly went back to sleep. I think my body is trying to catch up on about 6 years of missed sleep. Woke up around 2, (turned my phone back on) only to get a call to go out for a "quiet beer." Is there such a thing? One turned into six. Which then turned into a classy rant until daylight. Got lost on the way to the shop at 6.30am for ciggies. Ended up asking a old, kinda strange looking dude for directions. And then went in the completely opposite direction. Old strange dude, drives by me and slows down to see what younger strange dude is doing going the wrong way. He offers me a lift to the shop. What did your mum tell you? Don't get in the car with strangers. I think he was more scared of me. I was trying not to sound dislocated, which is my usual modus operandi, in the wee small hours of the morning, and making small talk about Halloween. He shot me a dirty look, stopped the car and told me "I don't do that anymore, it makes my crazy." Then he motioned me to get out the car. I was a little bemused, but still got out. Didn't realise for a few mins that because of my broad Nuu Ziland accent, he thought I said to him:- "Hi, are you gonna have a good hell weed party today. Typical. Eventually got back to my mates place and we continued till we couldn't. Got home eventually and feasted, and got accosted by boys trick or treating. These kids don't want sweets. They want cash. Where are the parents? That's the question I'm asking. The costumes, they may as well wear ski-masks, and point fingers in coat pockets, that would seem more appropiate. And its now getting dark at 5pm. Great...