Bad Ass Betty

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Black Betty – Ram Jam

So the other day I rode a horse.

Bam-a-lam

Her name was Betty.

Bam-a-lam

And I rode her well.

Bam-a-lam

Great horse.

Bam-A-lam

Very bad ass.

Bam-a-lam

Clippity clop.

Bam-A-lam

Kept stopping for plippity plop.

Bam-BA-lam!

Oh brown Betty, the damn thing was wild. Betty was her actual name too, quite mighty. Bit of a rogue horse as well. One minute we’re just trotting along. Cantering on. Admiring the views. How nice is this? The next, Betty’s bolted. Galloping for dear life. Head rearing up. Naying like a dancer! Continue Reading »

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Busy, Fool? Nope. Pity Fool.

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White pudding. Black pudding. Slightly different. At the same time. Both pudding. Today reminded me of this fact. Lined up to be a mighty day. By mighty, I mean productive. Being an ediot looks like it could be over. For the time being. Final edits of the book emailed in yesterday. Probably no more. That’s it. I think. Done. Should be it. Should be dancing. Should be good to go. So. Then. Now. What? Crutch has been taken away from me. No longer am I… finishing off the book. Finished. Walking free. Crutch-less. World is my oyster. Time to plough on. Time to get going on the next step. I know what I must do. So. Then. Go? Into the abyss. Determined to fend off the black abyss. The unknown. Just change its name. Not a black abyss of nothing. Endless possibilities of what to do next! White abyss! Here I come!!! Here I… Oh Jesus. Drifting. Don’t know what to do. White. Black. Pot. Tom. Ate. Toe. Lost. Continue Reading »

Umm. Yeah. Yum.

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Use it. Or lose it. For the past week, I have definitely lost it. Gym. Shave. Blog. Not much of any going on. Lazy. Ran out of shaving gel. And more laziness. Blog has been a dry empty barren desert. Which is surprising. Seeing as a fair old whack has been chugging along. Such as sparks flying out of my phone. On fire. Mighty. Out with the old. In with the Blue. Berry. Re-learning phone basics. Typing in slow motion. On a new style Qwerty keyboard. Texting and walking. Near impossible. Two handed texting. Like a senile dog begrudgingly learning a new trick. Given up on texts. Too much effort. Confused. Lost. Head buried in the phone. Walking aimlessly along. Surprised I didn’t walk into a pole. More surprised when I did walk into that bush. Yelping. Realising. Looking. Coast clear. All good. Yelp on. Bush off. Few scrapes. All good. Not that that was the worst of my new texting while walking problem. 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 »

Randumb

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Brief blogaruu. Update you might say. An announcement. Drum roll. Re de de. The title of my upcoming book shall be… RANDUMB. Giddy up! I wasn’t sure if I was meant to keep it underwraps or not. Should’ve asked sooner I suppose. I have been informed to set her free. Just in case, she’s been registered. Although I don’t think you can register book names. Good work by me. Anyways. Time has come. Open the cage. Away she goes. Randumb. Go on the book! Still tweaking the subtitle…

The Random Dumb Adventures of an Irish Guy in LA

Or, merely…

The Dumb Adventures of an Irish Guy in LA

Or…

The Random Dumb Adventures of an Irish Mark

Or…

The Dumb Adventures of an Irish Mark

Ha, this kind of thing is what has dancing through my head. Devil in the detail. Which to do, which, to, do. Feel free to chime in, comment-wise. The more muddle I get in my head the clearer it might become. Although my publishers could just step in. Continue Reading »

Fine. I’ll Comb It.

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Who wants to hear a ridiculously pointless story?! Ah well, it’s not ridiculously pointless. Ah well, it actually is. Maybe not completely pointless. To one person. Probably just the one. Probably. Although if you are one of the many people who have ever felt the need to insist I should comb my hair, maybe you might find it of note. Probably. Not. Thing is. I just remembered. How big a combed head I used to be. Immaculate parting. Straight as an arrow. Splitting hairs. Like a landing strip. White line down the centre of my head. Nicely tanned during the summer. Brazilian. Or whichever one that is. Perfect divide. No stragglers. East. West. A combing king. King Combs! Bit of Brylcreem. Followed by a quick flick of a brush. Either side of the Berlin Wall. Little bit of a fringe. Check in the mirror. And. I. Was. Dancing! Continue Reading »