In case you did not know: Having a book turns you into the biggest whure of all time. Media kind, at least. Probably the horrifically annoying kind as well. Still though, needs be. Whure on. Word out. Mouths open. Eyes reading. Unsurprisingly, it is a bucket of fun. Being on tour. Acting the whure. Past two weeks have been giddy up and go. From dodgy Armenians, to Japanese comic books, to seeing, to believing, to readings, to signings, to launches, to radio, to press, to photos, to tabloids, to broupies, to selling out, to sold out, to directors, to boxes, to randomly walking past Woody Harrelson in a hotel lobby, chilling on a couch, reading my book. Shoes off, book on. As you do. To all that. Along with everything which may somehow be in between all of that gibberish. Pretty much non-stop. Big buckets of dumb fun, to be true. To. Be. True. Also quite time consuming. Being a whure. Out on tour. Meaning flogging my collection of words has lead to a drying up of blogaruus. Not good for the second book. Until time can be found, a filler of music shall have to duu. On the plus side, these songs are all pre-tty savage. Anyways, enough talk, more music! Continue Reading »
Category Archives: Music
What? Who? Me?!
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Sitting outside McDonalds, at a bus stop, waiting for a cab. No clue where we were, dropped off at some turn off the freeway. Sitting. Waiting. Patiently. Next minute, a police car whips into the curb in front of me. Followed by about four more. Oh Jesus. What’s going on here? Cops jump out of the police car. Yelling. Another car whips around a corner. All sirens blazing. Yelling. Realise. There’s a light shining on me. Look up. Police helicopter over head. What what?! Irate, highly strung cops still yelling at me. What the whating what?! ‘Get your hands up! Put your hands in the air!!!’ What? Who? Me?! Continue Reading »
Hoot On A Boot!
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Last Monday has me stumped. Struggling big time to put it all together in one coherent blogaruu. One which might make some bit of sense. Mental day. Basket case. Random. Dumb. Buckets of fun. New level. Quantity. Quality. Bar raised. Utter nutter. Bit of butter. Already it’s making me ramble into incoherent gibber. Fourth attempt at trying to string it all up. Struggling. Might just have been my randumbest days thus far. So much so, banana split. Two blogaruus. One full day. Open my fingers. Ramble the gibber out. Plough on. And, to make it even more difficult to follow, I’m going to start with Sunday. The day a dog p***ed on me. Continue Reading »
Buy My Soul!
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Monday was a mighty day. Ridiculous. Raised the limbo of mightiness. On every level. Honestly. One of the randumbest days I’ve had ever. Buckets of fun. Buckets of no way. Buckets and buckets of funking nuts. More nuts. And then even more nuts. All fun and games. Until I got punched. In the buttock. And then in the face. Some laugh! Continue Reading »
Go Flow Go
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A wise old owl once told me: Go with the flow. Seeing as when you do, random, dumb fun things can happen. Friday night, prime example. Last minute, off the cuff, unexpected, unplanned. All of the above. Smattered with hype. Not the greatest night or anything. Just random and quite dumb at times. Galavants are making a comeback. Flowing, going, all the way. Amok on. If nothing else, it’ll give me a few ape soundbites…
“As I looked out the window, I thought to myself: This view is not that great to be true. A car park. I no longer believe this is the presidential suite.”
“As the convertible whizzed through the streets of L.A, I knew I had two options: Either I need to get a haircut, or the roof needs to go back up.”
“As Lindsey handed me the bottle of Crown, I wondered, what are the chances this is laced with ketamine?”
“As I woke up being pierced by the sun, I pondered… Where the funk is my everything?”
Apey mac. Go flow go… Continue Reading »
Sabotage Hayes
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Tea. Quite the Magic potion. Like any Irish man, woman, child, ape, leprechaun, dancer, I enjoy a cup of tea. About ten times a day. Can’t beat a cup. Or spreading the word about the magical qualities of it. However, as an Irish bape/man boy in America, I am fully aware that tea bags are not as readily available as back home. Proper ones, at least. Which is why bags of tea bags are constantly smuggled over the border by little green men on a daily basis. Irish gold. All of which makes offering tea to folk in my vicinity when I go to make a cup, an entirely polite gesture. Willing, hoping, prompting them to say no. As I know what will happen. 9 times out of 10. American folk like to try new things. Mostly. So, being asked by an Irish ape if they want an Irish cup of tea, means that they will, more often than not, say yes. As if it is a little treat. If crystal meth was seen as a jovial Irish thing, I am pretty sure people would say yes just as easily. Seriously. Try it. Continue Reading »
Enough Talk, More Writing! 
