Lazy – LOL

Alright already, I’ll park somewhere else!

from Now Thats Funny Shit


Great quotation

Hear, hear for the Aboriginal wisdom!

SLC Productionz Presents

“We are all visitors to this time, this place. We are just passing through. Our purpose here is to observe, to learn, to grow, to love… and then we return home.” – Australian Aboriginal Proverb

Sent from Everyday Quotes (Android app)

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Easter Bunny Accidentally Killed!

Easter postcard circa early 20th century

I was out hunting trolls with my bow and arrows. This is the only hunting sport that I indulge in. Or should I say, this is the only species that I can hit with me weapon of choice. You all know that trolls are about as big as a barn and as my eyesight not being what it used to be…

There I was, letting fly of my broom-sized arrow, when the famous Easter Bunny jumped up right in between and I’m afraid it took a fatal hit. I sincerely apologise for the demise of this Easter Icon, but I swear it was an accident! Anyways, I never really understood why a bunny should go around distributing eggs in the first place! Surely this is an activity, which is much  more suited to an animal that does not hop up and down all the time, thus turning the children’s presents into scrambled eggs.

I put an ad in the paper for a  replacement and boy, do I have a surprise for you all! I am extremely proud to present to you, for the first time ever…. the Spotted Easter Warthog!

Now, be reasonable, ladies and gentlemen, does this not make a lot more sense than a hopping bunny? It is universally known that pigs are great are uncovering truffles. Therefore, if this one should bring you one of these by mistake, you could sell them for a thousand quid a kilo! While every holiday is being commercialised to the hilt, I thought I would contribute my thousand bucks worth.

All that remains is to think of some suitable attire for our Hog. All suggestions are welcome! I do not have Photoshop at my disposal, so for those of you that have, please enjoy yourselves dressing this one up to your heart’s content! Let us know what you come up with. Toodeloo from a remorseful Ralphie.

Irish Common Sense – LOL

French president, Nicolas Sarkozy

French president, Nicolas Sarkozy (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Swiped this joke from Rapolis on EP: <Click here!>

The French President is sitting in his office when his telephone rings.

‘Hallo, Mr. Sarkozy!’ a heavily accented voice said. ‘This is Paddy down at the Harp Pub in County Clare, Ireland. I am ringing to inform you that we are officially declaring war on you! We voted to reject the Lisbon treaty!’
‘Well Paddy, Sarkozy replied. How big is your army?’

‘Right now,’ says Paddy, after a moment’s calculation, ‘there is myself, me Cousin Sean, me next door neighbour Seamus, and the entire darts team from the pub. That makes eleven!’

Sarkozy paused. ‘I must tell you, Paddy, that I have 100,000 men in my army waiting to move on my command.’

‘Begorra!’ says Paddy. ‘I’ll have to ring you back.’

Sure enough, the next day, Paddy calls again. ‘Mr. Sarkozy, the war is still on. We have managed to get us some infantry equipment!’

‘And what equipment would that be Paddy?’ Sarkozy asks.

‘Well, we have two combines, a bulldozer, and Murphy’s farm tractor.’

Sarkozy sighs amused. ‘I must tell you, Paddy, that I have 6,000 tanks and 5,000 armoured personnel carriers. Also, I have increased my army to 150,000 since we last spoke.’

‘Saints preserve us!’ says Paddy. ‘I’ll have to get back to you.’

Sure enough, Paddy rings again the next day. ‘Mr. Sarkozy, the war is still on! We have managed to get ourselves airborne! We have modified Jackie McLaughlin’s ultra-light with a couple of shotguns in the cockpit, and four boys from the Shamrock Bar have joined us as well!’

Sarkozy was silent for a minute and then cleared his throat. ‘I must tell you, Paddy, that I have 100 bombers and 200 fighter planes. My military bases are surrounded by laser-guided, surface-to-air missile sites. And since we last spoke, I have increased my army to 200, 000!’

‘Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!’ says Paddy, ‘I will have to ring you back.’

Sure enough, Paddy calls again the next day. ‘Top o’ the mornin’, Mr.. Sarkozy! I am sorry to inform you that we have had to call off the war.’

‘Really? I am sorry to hear that,’ says Sarkozy. ‘Why the sudden change of heart?’

‘Well,’ says Paddy, ‘we had a long chat over a few pints of Guinness and packets of crisps, and we decided there is no bleeding way we can feed 200,000 prisoners.’

Not funny to rush the bunny!

I’ll be contrary. I’m going for Wester!

Philosopher Mouse of the Hedge

Some bunny didn’t tell them. Awkward.

(Did you get a memo? I didn’t get any memo.)

Can’t really sugar coat this.

Which phrase doesn’t fit?

  • Children eagerly waiting, baskets in hand.
  • Plush Bunnies, Peeps, and decorated eggs
  •  The annual Easter Egg Hunt.
  • Just get it out of the way.

Perhaps suffering from an early Peeps-induced sugar overload, two news bunnies  women were giggling their way through the day’s stories. Selected out of the basket of events was an early community Easter Egg Hunt.

At the end of the announcement, one babe anchor turned to the other, smiled, and said perkily, “How wonderful. An early Easter Egg Hunt. Kids will love that. And you can get it out of the way!”

The other professionally dressed news woman leaned forward and chirped in response, “How great!”

Now is that an odd thing to say:

“Just get it out of the way”?


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The Naked Urgency…

I have of course heard Adele’s song “Set Fire to the Rain” any number of times by now, but today was the first time that I was able to really listen without distractions. I must say that she blew my mind!

I am very partial to artists, who use what I term “raw emotion”. Janis joplin was a master at this, Edith Piaff used it to great effect and Jacques Brel was a genius, who used it in an understated fashion. I have included three songs, at the bottom of this post for you to listen to and hear what I mean. These are musicians, who had lived to the fullest and you notice the naked urgency of their desperation in their songs.

I thoroughly enjoyed Adele’s music, which I think is utterly amazing and completely brilliant. This song reveals a laidbackness that to me is hard to imagine, but on three occasions an echo of a memory, containing that primal urgency that shakes me to the core, shone through. It moved me to the deepest, darkest chambers of my subconscience.

I have marked these outbursts in her song in bold in the lyrics, which are under the video. Does it not reach out to you and grab you by the throat? It comes from the gut. If she could use this quality to full effect in a whole phrase of a future song, then that would turn out to be a truly majestic piece indeed.

Where I put the asterisk, i fully expected here to soar even higher, throw all caution to the wind and let rip with something that I haven’t as yet found a term for. The word “exuberance” comes close, but that implies merriment. If you could find a similar term, but one that implies need, then you would be spot on!

Anyway, a marvellous performace by an artist, who needs no lessons at all. She uses her voice in the manner of a virtuoso!

Lyrics to: Set Fire to the Rain:

“I let it fall, my heart
And as it fell you rose to claim it
It was dark and I was over
Until you kissed me lips and you saved me

My hands, they were strong
But my knees were far too weak
To stand in your arms
Without falling to your feet

But there’s a side to you
That I never knew, never knew
All the things you’d say
They were never true, never true
And the games you’d play
You would always win, always win

But I set fire to the rain
Watched it pour as I touched your face
Let it burn while I cry
‘Cause I heard it screaming out your name

When laying with you
I could stay there, close my eyes
Feel you here forever
You and me, together, nothing gets better

‘Cause there’s a side to you
That I never knew, never knew
All the things you’d say
They were never true, never true
And the games you’d play
You would always win, always win

But I set fire to the rain
Watched it pour as I touched your face
Let it burn while I cry
‘Cause I heard it screaming out your name

I set fire to the rain
And I threw us into the flames
I felt something die
‘Cause I knew that that was the last time
The last time(*)

Sometimes, I wake up by the door
And heard you calling, must be waiting for you
Even now when we’re already over
I can’t help myself from looking for you

I set fire to the rain
Watched it pour as I touched your face
Let it burn while I cry
‘Cause I heard it screaming out your name

I set fire to the rain
And I threw us into the flames
I felt something die
‘Cause I knew that that was the last time
The last time

Let it burn
Let it burn”

These are three examples of artists that use, what I call “raw emotion” to full effect:

Gift of Today

A colder, greyer

day today.

No horizon

out at sea.

No treetops

on the hill.

Sweet scented smoke

swirls between

the beams.

Beads of water –


on the cabbage leaves

as blackbirds carol

and pigeons flap

and fluster.

The treasures

of  today

are laid before me

and I am humbled.

Skipping Stones

Tsk, tsk!

Doodle Dad

This is kind of a “whatever” comic. But I was out one day with my kids and there was a pool of water so I started skipping stones. I remember that when I was a kid, my dad showed me how to do it and I was thrilled. So I showed my son…and he really didn’t think it was super at all. Maybe when he is a little older to appreciate the fine art of stone skipping I will show him again. ha

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No, Es la Ropa Que Es Vieja!

Un día estabamos en un parque, un amigo Malagueño y yo, y quando me sentaba todo me dolía. Yo le decía:”Ay, que me siento como un anciano!” Me contestaba:”No hombre, es la ropa que es vieja.” Yo nunca había oído este dicho y me parecía estraño, pero bonito. A un tío como yo, que no es Español, nunca le entraría en el coco de decir un cosa parecida.

Que precioso de decirle a uno que aunque puede ser que su piel y su pelo pueden parecer viejecitos ya, el alma en dentro o su Espírito siempra se quedarán jóvenes. Le doy la gracia a mi amigo Antonio!

I suppose I might aswell post the translation in English while I’m at it.

One day a friend from Málaga and I were in the park and when i sat down everthing hurt. I told him:!”Auch, I feel ancient!” He answered:”No man, it’s the clothes that are old.” I had never heard this saying and it sounded a bit strange to me, but nice. It would never enter into the head of someone like myself, who is not Spanish, to say such a thing.

How adorable to tell someone that although their skin and hair may start to look old(ish), their soul and spirit will always remain young. My thanks to my friend Antonio!

The Night Nurse Joke – by Ned Kelly

Night Nurse (1931 film)

Night Nurse (1931 film) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I swiped this from EP: <Click here!>

A very tired nurse walks into a bank, totally exhausted after an 18-hour shift. Preparing to write a cheque, she pulls a rectal thermometer out of her purse and tries to write with it. When she realizes her mistake, she looks at the flabbergasted teller, and without missing a beat, she says:

‘Well, that’s great….that’s just great……….some arsehole’s got my pen!

Let’s Give Lieven a hand!

By now you should all know Lieven, one of our resident poets here on ralphiesportal, who is a dear friend of mine. He has entered a photography contest and would like our help in “sharing” his entry on Facebook and “liking” it, if you should have an account there that is. Please, try to help. He is a wonderful guy!

This is his entry and you must admit that it’s brilliant:

from Lieven on FB


Purple Passion


This is a short story I wrote at the age of 16. It appeared in The American Drivel Review, Volume 4, Number 1, Summer 2007. I’ve had some requests for me to post it online, so that’s what I’m doing. Please bear in mind that I wrote this years ago and it does not reflect my current style of writing. I adapted it from a joke that I heard from someone named Wesley Sladek. About 95% (word-wise) is my original stuff though. In retyping this I found a lot of places where I would like to make cosmetic changes (however I wholeheartedly stand by my excessive use of phrases such as “so anyway”, “was all like”, and “and all”), but it is presented here in its original form–including my penname at the time and even minor grammatical errors added by the publisher. However, I note that this website seems to have a tendency to remove many (but not all) of my paragraph indentations. Before you embark upon this literary journey, I give you a word of warning: If you’re having a happy day full of sunshine and rainbows, come back and read this another day. I haven’t written anything for this blog yet; sorry if this is too dark for your portal, Ralphie!

Purple Passion

By Doctor Justin J Unne O’Brien

      So once upon a time there was this kid, right? and this kid’s walking to school one day, when he passes by this bum muttering to himself. And the kid can’t make out much of what the bum’s saying, except that he says “purple passion” multiple times. And so naturally, the kid’s like, Huh. What the fuck is purple passion?
So at school during lunch, the kid tells his friend about the crazy bum, and his friend’s like, “What was ‘e saying?”
And the kid’s all like, “Uhh, it sounded kinda like purple passion,” and then all of a sudden his supposed friend is beating the shit out of him, just beating the fucking shit out of him like it’s the only thing in the whole fucking world that anyone could even conceive of giving a shit about.
So eventually some of those lazy ass cafeteria monitors saunter on over and casually break up the fight. And yes, it is a fight as far as those dead deluded grunts will ever be concerned. It doesn’t matter to them if one little snotfaced junior meathead goes around punching everyone and they call him names for it; as far as their safe sugarcoated little world of arbitrary rules and blanket statements will ever require them to see it’s still a goshdarn FUCKING fight and everyone who even got hit is in the same trouble.
So anyways, those dystopian prison guards just so happen to be oh-so-gracious as to let the kid see a medic prior to interrogation and psychological torture. My god, it just touches my big warm fucking heart to see how much they really care for the children. So anyways, as the nurse is putting salt–uh, iodine–on his wounds, she asks why Haley–that’s his friend’s name, by the way–got angry at him. That’s right, “got angry.” Haley’s one of those perfect little girls who steps out of her dead (I do not always mean literally when I say dead, by the way) perfect mother’s SUV every morning with her hair all prissy and all the clothes the cool people on TV wear. Her lunch is packed in accordance with whatever the current government nutritional standard is. She has nice white baby teeth, and if her permanent teeth happen to grow in crooked, her rich parents will get her those invisible braces so that their little ideal self-image–uh, pride and joy (sorry, but I sometimes have to edit to meet the standards of the Society of Warmly Ingratiating Niche-fitting Extroverts, which pervades all of society almost all over the world and indeed nearly all media and literature is screened by them)–can continue her reign of perfection and popularity. In a few decades she’ll be a suicide bomber. That may sound terrible, but if it wasn’t so she’d just end up dying of liver cancer, which would be much more painful and boring and wouldn’t get her the kind of attention she’ll be looking for.
So anyways, at this point in time, Haley just happens to be excelling in academics, athletics, and whatever the fuck that last thing is. So of course she’s quite popular with all the so-called teachers and whatnot. And anyone who went to school knows that when such a little rat would normally have been in a fight, they’ve “gotten angry,” rather. Or maybe at your school they used some other phrase. It doesn’t really matter what kind of bull the shit came from, although it can be an interesting fact if you’ve got nothing less depressing to think about.
So the kid says, “We were just talking and I said purple passion and then–”
And the nurse is like, “You said WHAT?!” and then that bitch takes a pinch of salt from her pocket for real this time (all school nurses carry some) and grabs the kid by the ear, the one that Haley like halfway bit off, and takes him down to the principal’s office with this gleeful smile on her stupid fucking fat face.
So once the kid’s face-to-face with the principal, that phony old stale-coffee-breathed asswipe is all like, “Now, I understand that you said sump’m very hurtful to Haley. The nurse, bless her dear heart, couldn’t even bear to tell me what it was that you said.” Then he gets all after-school-special like and says, “Would you like to tell me what it was that you said?” He looks into the kid’s eyes–looks down into his eyes, mind you–and says in this hilarious pseudosincere voice, “You can trust me. I want you to know that.”
And the kid knows how full of shit this guy is, but what can he do? So the kid’s like, “I just said purple passion and then–”
And the principal’s like, “You said WHAT!? Oe my God oe my God oe my God…” He calls the kid’s house and the mom picks up the phone.
“Hello, this is the principal down at your child’s school, and, well, your child said something very serious and, well, offensive.”
“What’d he say?”
The old windbag gets this look of semi-embarrassed horror on his face and tells her to come pick up her kid and then he hangs up.
So once the kid’s mom’s come down enough to look up her husband’s work number, she calls it. Some lady picks up. “Hello?”
Familiar scenario. The receptionist puts the call through to the kid’s dad.
      “You know, if you learned how to drive, we–”
     He hangs up and drives over to the school.
“So,” he says to the kid once they’re in the car, “what did you do to get you sent home?”
Due to the reactions he’s gotten so far, he’s a bit hesitant. But this is his dad. The one person he knows he can trust. He could come to his dad with anything and not be judged. Through all the bullying from his schoolmates and his mother and his teachers, through all of the fucking difficulty and confusion and mistakes in life, he’s always been able to count on his father. And besides, “purple passion” is just two words, or thirteen letters or a bunch of vibration moving through the air or whatever. “Well, I don’t even know what I did. I think it has something to do with something I said. ButIdon’tevenknowwhatitmeansand–”
“Hey, it’s all right. Just chill. Whatever you said, it couldn’t have been that bad. Besides, it’s not your fault everyone has stupid hang-ups about certain arrangements of letters or patterns of vibration or whatever.”
The kid smiles. He feels warm inside, knowing he’s with his dad, his mentor, his only true friend. No matter what happens, he knows his dad will always be there for him, “I said purple passion.”
His dad pulls over, opens the passenger door, and shoves the kid out. Without looking at the kid, he says, “You’re not welcome in my house again. Thank God your mother isn’t here. I’ll just tell her I killed you.” He gets this I’m-gonna-get-my-brains-fucked-out-tonight grin on his face, slams the door, and speeds off.
So the kid just sits there and cries for awhile. Then the pay phone nearby starts ringing. There’s no one around, no cars, no sign of life in the apartment complexes. At first he doesn’t pick up the phone, thinking it might be a bomb or poison gas or something. But that phone rings for one hell of a long ass fucking time. Eventually the kid gets around to thinking it might be a bomb or poison gas or something, and in hopes of being put out of his misery, picks up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Hey.” The person has an old-raspy voice. it’s indiscernible whether they’re male or female. “You’ve been getting a lot of shit for saying purple passion, right? I know exactly what you’re going through. I–”
“What. What is it? Why does everyone hate me so much for saying purple passion?”
“Fuck you!” echoes from blocks away.
“Hey,” says Old Raspy. “Cool it. I can tell you why and how to fix it. But not here. Not now. Here’s whatcha do. Find the tallest building in the city, right? It’s abandoned. There should be some empty crates somewhere around there. Stack them up and stand on them. Jump and grab the fire escape. Climb it until you find a cracked window. Smash it and go inside. You’ll see part of a corpse. Find the femur. That’s the only bone that’ll do the job. Ya gotta smash the wood in front of the elevator. Take it down to the first floor and from there go all the way up the stairs. There’s a ladder on the top floor. Find it and make a hole in the ceiling using that femur. Get on the roof and yell purple passion as loud as you can. You’ll see me. Trust me, you will. Come.”
“Huh?” But then Old Raspy hung up.
So in his mind, the kid’s like, So, the tallest building in the city right?, right? So he looks around and sees this massive apartment complex. He figures it’s been something of a potentially supernatural day already, and besides, he’s got nothing left to lose, so what the hell, why not? So he starts walking toward the building. The journey there is uneventful. He stops for a couple minutes to observe some graffiti on the side of a sunshiny Pollyanna fake-introspective the-world-is-just-so-fucking-beautiful culture-type coffeehouse with fliers in the windows for a poetry, prose, and short story contest with a $500 first prize. The graffiti reads: PROSTITUTE: 2(n)–One who puts one’s skills or talents to unworthy use, esp. financial gain.
So when he gets to the tallest building in the city, he sees it’s condemned and abandoned. The door and all the bottom-level windows are all boarded up and everything. So he walks around the perimeter of the place until he finds the fire escape, right? But the ladder’s, like, all high up and shit. So then he remembers what Old Raspy said about the crates and he goes around the place looking for them, but he can’t find any, so he starts, like, kinda freaking out, right? But then he finds them. So he takes these wooden crates and drags them over to where the fire escape is, right? And so then he stacks them up and stands on them. But he still can’t reach the goddamn ladder. So he looks in the dumpster and finds this old rug, and he’s all like, Aww, I can use this to reach the fire escape! So then he drags the filthy old rug over to where the crates are and folds it up and tries to pull it onto the top crate, but they all fall down. So he stacks them back up and puts the folded rug on top and climbs up, and then he jumps for the fire escape, and he grabs the bottom rung and it’s all jagged and rusty and all and it tears into his hands but he holds on and climbs up the goddamn thing to the part where there’s, like, stairs and platforms and shit. His hands are all bloody and torn up and all.
But anyways, he goes up the stairs until he sees a cracked pane of glass where it seems like boards and plywood should be. So he breaks the glass, which bloodies up his hand quite a bit more. Then he’s like, Oh, I should’ve, like, put my shirt over my fist or something. But oh well. So anyways, he goes in the building.
So once he’s inside, he looks around. He’s in an abandoned apartment with all this old dusty furniture that isn’t covered with sheets. It fucking stinks, and before the kid has time to consciously wonder why, he sees the reason. There’s part of a dead human in the corner. It’s like someone got their head, like ripped off by a rope tied to a train or something and then their body was cut laterally in half with, like, a steak knife or something like that. I dunno.
So he goes over to it and tries to tear the leg open. But then he finds out he can’t, cuz see, this corpse is decomposed to the point where it’s all rotten and disgusting and all, but not, like, mushy. So he looks all around the room for a knife or something, but finds nothing. So what he ends up having to do is, he reaches into, like, the part of the body that’s cut down the middle, and he just starts fucking digging out muscles and organs and ripping the skin and stuff. He gets part of the skeletal structure exposed and starts working to get the femur free. But that bone is fucking STUCK. So eventually he just bites through the tendons or ligaments or whatever and gets the femur.
So he smashes the door to the apartment and goes into the hallway. The whole place is as broken and dusty and cobwebbed as you’d probably imagine. The door to the stairs is thick steel with a heavy-duty padlock. The entrance to the elevator is just boarded up, so he smashes the wood and takes the elevator to the top floor. When it opens, he sees that the half of the room with the elevator has no floor. It’s the same way for dozens of floors below. So he takes the elevator to the first floor.
When the elevator opens, he walks over to the stairs. The door is all thick and like, metallic-like like the other one, but there’s no lock. So he takes the stairs all the way up to the 63rd floor (cuz it turns out the building has 63 floors) and looks for the ladder. It turns out it’s hanging from the edge of the huge hole that fills the half the room. And it’s all covered with ants. So the kid grabs it and pulls it up with all of his strength. Then he uses all of his strength again to pull the spike out of the floor that’s holding the rope that’s holding the ladder. Then he uses all of his strength again to pull the spike out of the floor that’s holding the ladder. Blood flows profusely, cuz of the cuts and the exertion and all.
He looks up at the roof. Steel. But then he sees this one spot that’s boarded up. It’s between a rafter and the part of the ceiling that’s right over the edge of the hole in the ground. To get to it, he’d have to rest the top of the ladder against the rafter and have the bottom be like a centimeter from the edge. Fuck. No way to make it work. So he starts kinda having this mental breakdown, where he’s, like, writhing on the floor and kicking his legs and clawing his torso and arms and violently biting his lip and making this miserable pained sound, like he’d like to cry more than anything else in the world but can’t.
But then he remembers about the spike. So he uses the femur to pound it into the floor where the bottom of the ladder would preferably be and props up the ladder and climbs it. The ants seem to really dig it, cuz they can choose either the fresh blood from the kid’s hands, or the old bacterial fluids from the corpse.
So the kid climbs up the ladder and guess what he does. He smashes the wood on the ceiling. Then he climbs up the hole onto the roof, Yeah! He made it to the top. “PURPLE PASSION!”
And from all the windows of all the buildings he can see emerge arms and hands which flip him off. Except one. The window on this one little house that’s only a few blocks away opens up, and someone sticks out their arms and waves. The right arm is old and gnarled; the left looks young and nearly perfect but intensely rigid, like the elbow’s just at a permanent 30-degree angle.
So the kid goes all the way back down the stairs and smashes the door. He runs to where that one house is. As he’s dashing across the street, he forgets to look both ways. A car hits him and he dies.

Cute, clever and quite bitter

Your Five Minutes of Fame?

29 Minutes of Fame

29 Minutes of Fame (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Getting your blog read is about coöperation, is it not? What if, by working together, we could guarantee that your blog would be read on a given day in the future, by all those who decide to join in this endeavour? I propose that we solemnly promise to go visit each site that joins this effort on the day that is appointed to it, on the basis of “first come, first served”. On this day, every other “member” would first of all post a link to said weblog and actually go and read all their latest work.

Let us start on the first of May, to give us the time to get organised. I will not keep a calendar, the first blogger to agree to this procedure only has to comment on this blog post by putting a link in the comment to their home page, plus the date, which would obviously be May, 1st. The second one to reply would get our combined visits on May, 2nd and so on..

It’s just a thought, anyone up for it?

Let me recap:

1. You automatically agree to the following procedure by commenting on this blog post. Others, please abstain!

2. First blogger to join posts a link to their home page and the date: May 1st. Second one idem ditto, but the date is May 2nd for them and so on.

3. On May the first all the participants post the link to the home page of the first blogger to join, on their own blog AND go and visit said blog and read as much as possible(+comment, like, etc…)

My sister and brother bloggers, united we stand!

Flussig Again!

A glass of tap water

A glass of tap water (Photo credit: malias)

Hahah! I’ll bet that not a lot amongst you know the meaning of this word “flussig”. And that is because it is actually German and means “liquid”, in this case applied to pecuniary matters. It should also be more or less the same word in Gaelic or so Dermott assures me. We have had to deal with some hectic days around here, to the point where the last couple of days we were reduced to drinking tap water and eating a crust of bread and nothing to go with it.

Today however, some recalcitrant debtor finally paid up and we were able to go shopping for the bare necessities. We were happy like children in a toy shop, just because we could afford to buy some eggs, milk and the like. And let us not forget coffee!

Can you imagine, ladies and gentlemen, that Ralphie had to go three whole days without this heavenly beverage! That is like having a virgin lose faith in the sanctity of her chastity! Or like denying a politician his publicity! It could even be compared to forcing a lawyer to speak the truth for a change. In short, it was a tad difficult. It is hard for me to imagine something harder than the atrocious abstinence that I had to go through, although there is one thing.

I was once extremely foolish in trying to give up smoking. This was about ten years ago. I managed to go 11 hours, 34 minutes and 17 seconds without a smoke! I can not tell you the duration to the millisecond for the sole reason that my watch did not have this option. I let go of my colleague’s necktie, after having asked him to provide me with a cigarette, precisely on the 17th second. He also told me afterwards, that this was the precise moment that a certain mad glint left my eyes. It can not have been a pretty sight, let me tell you!

But now all our worries are over, for a while at least. Ralphie is as happy as a piglet in a warm soothing mud bath. I have my mug of coffee on my left-hand side(cake included!), the obligatory fag is dangling from my lips and the internet has been paid up, so as I can go on regaling you with my zany nonsense for another month at least. Hurray for zaniness, hurray for Ralphie and HURRAY for coffee!!!!