Retire. Go Mental.

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I wonder how Conan is dealing with it. I assume we’re both in the same boat. I’m with you, Coco. Exact same boat really. Except mine is more of a dingy. And his is a $40 million yacht. Besides that though, exact same boat. Finished one project. Now. Then. Right. In the back of my mind, I was expecting a black abyss. The black abyss. Land of the unknown. Each thought laced with… oh Jesus, what to do, nothing to do, what do I do?! Not exactly panning out like that though. Seeing as I do know what I must do. No abyss. Maybe just a mental week off. Chilling. All making me realise. Retire when you’re dead. People must go mental when they retire. Seriously. Fun at first. Then. Passing time. Just like kidney stones. Buckets of fun. Continue Reading »

Dancing With Leperchauns

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Maybe I’m just a wee bit of a funking idiot. Maybe it’s just because I had an average day and night. Maybe I just didn’t celebrate it the right way. Maybe it’s because I didn’t get to go to a parade. Or. Maybe. Perhaps. Paddy’s Day. Is. Quite over-rated. Ridiculously so? Maybe if I was American. And needed to feel more Irish. As it is the cool thing to be. To be true. Perhaps. Or. If I worked a 9-5 job and got the day off work, just to celebrate. Then. Perhaps. Paddy’s Day might live up to the hype. However. I am not. I do not. Instead. Tried too hard. Thought too much. Hype machine. Overload. Hyperventilating. Brown bag. Hi Pip. Meet ape. Continue Reading »

Yippity Duu!

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Presuming you’re an avid reader of the blogaruu, you’ll know the significance of this great blogaruu coming up. Down date time. Mighty. Delighted. Finally. After months of gibber. Nonsense. Muck. Wading. Swamping. Wriding. Couple near mental wobbles. Eventually. I think. The book. Done. Giddy up! Wuu to the duu. Happy days. Celebrate on. Finishing the book does wonders for banishing the green monkeys after a night of boozing as well. Nice little side effect. Goodbye demons of Doubt. Beaten off. Gone. Spark reignited. Pep in my step. Welcome back. Head down. Ploughing on. Speaking of which. Mo-jo. Flooding back. No more choosing to write a quick chapter which just popped into my head, over a girl lying in my bed. Two secs there, just have to write down one thing. Just in case I forget. Which, quite obviously, is spoof. Seeing as that implies, that there was once a girl in my bed. Tut. I am a spoofing ape. Continue Reading »

Dance, Munkey, Dance!

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Radio and I have been mixing like oil and water for the past week. Pre-book launch promo. Flurry of stints on different radio shows around Ireland. All of which went, eh, magnifique. Eventually. First station. Off to a flyer. Arranged to ring me at 2:30 pm, Irish time/6.30am, my time. Up anyways, editing, rewriting, half six, no problem. Spread the word to people I knew. Tune in, here’s a link, this station, tune in everyone, tune on, hear me here, at this time, listen to me gibber. Spreading mhy word. Six in the morning, an email arrives in the door. Interview pushed back an hour. Cool, no worries. Although. Balls. First interview of the bunch, already I’m crying like a wolf. Continue Reading »

Enough Talk, More Music!!!

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Night before graduating. Night before 21st. Night before Christmas. Seem to have a tendency to go out boozing the night before big events. Leaving myself fairly funked the day of the event. Heavy night on Saturday, the night before Oscar went wild. Leaving me with little interest in even moving last night. Not that I intended on going to the Oscars itself. Intended/invited, potato/tomato. However. Unfortunately. Now. Sell-out. Fraud. With a sudden need for relevant stories. Not just cave-writing gibber. So I had to giddy up and go out. Leaving me now battered. Fully plucked. Goosed. Tired ape. Brain is pretty empty. Except for three thoughts… One: Far easier than one might think to get to dance with the ultimate trophy wife. Two: Unless it’s your trophy wife, then you might as well be holding a bottle of milk. And, three: If you woke up with a man named Oscar in your bed, how would one get rid of him? Anyways, enough talk, more music! Continue Reading »

Naked Fat Man. Please. Sit Down.

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For arguments sake, let’s just imagine that my head is a room. At the moment, it’s bare. Empty. Really empty. Hard to imagine such a thing, with regards to my head, I know, but try. Anyways, all the furniture has been taken out. Except for one chair. In the middle of the room. And one guy, who’s also in the room. Running around. Like a mad man. Naked. Hyper. Riddled with ADD. Spouting out gibberish. Pouring. Wide-eyed. Rambling. Naked fat man. Now and again you can calm him down. Trick him. Get him to sit on the chair. And tell you a story. Starts off. Sounds good. Something catches your eye for a second though, distracts, turn your back for a second, and he’s gone. Jumps up. Runs back around the room. Rattling off about something new. And he won’t finish the story until you can get him to sit down again. And tell it in the way you want him to say it. So getting him to sit and stay in the chair is key. That one spot. Rein him in. Make him talk. And talk. And keep going. Until you have enough out of him and you’ve finished writing your first book. Continue Reading »