Final 20sb Vlog of 2009 - Family Traditions

Taking the dog for a walk...

My Christmas Tradition - Vlog Post from Conor Darrall on Vimeo.

Here's to 2010...an en masse resolution

Okay, so can I find anyone who actually liked 2009? Actually, can anyone say they actually enjoyed the Noughties?

(btw - i'm gonna swear like a fucking cunt in this post, and because I'm watching American Psycho at the same time, I might also kill a hooker...just saying)

I've realised that this year has been a fucking shit-show of a bollocks-fest, a drawn-out, melodramatic pile of itchy goat testicles. The only relative positive to this putrid, mediocre year is that we can throw a helluva massive hoolie to wake this horrible fucking decade to the Underworld.

There have been a few highlights of course, little things have made the year quite nice at times, and downright hilarious at others. A few classics spring to mind:
-the many happy hours with my partner Dr McQuillan writing, presenting and editing our radio shows ‘The Conor(s) Show’. We were nominated for an award for it, but the best times we had were the off-air moments when we’d stuff our faces with chocolate, wine and crisps.
-visiting my brother in the Czech Republic and hill walking with the boys in France.
-somehow graduating without losing all my hair or killing anyone
I’m sure there are more but I can’t think of them right away. There were a few bad times too, but let’s not go into them, any more whining Fort Boloxi nonsense on this old Pizza Box and things’ll get fucking ridiculous.

There have been a few really cool things that changed my perspective. These life-defining moments have given me a weird insight into how I look at the world and have changed my attitude in their own ways. The ‘Boom Boom Pow’, the crazy tumble-drier fall down the escalator at Waterloo Station both taught me to toughen up and helped give rise to Mr Happy-go-fucking-lucky McPositive, and his little brother The Pizza Devil. The mad snow and horrible fucking flight schedule have made me realise that I love and miss my family, and the sheer fucking horribleness of October-December have made me want to get a job and start being productive with my time, and make sure that because I have the next 6 months free means that I have to make something of my time.

There was one great thing that happened recently though, which I believe is a hugely good omen for the year to come. My flatmate, Sparky (Mark) recently had a spot of good news. On Christmas Eve, he took his girlfriend for a drive to Navan Fort, a lovely ancient fort in Ireland, covered in snow and looking absolutely beautiful. He got down on the knee and popped the question...and of course, she said yes. I’m absolutely delighted for them both, and I know that 2010 will be a phenomenal year for them both. I’m going to make it a great year for me too, it’ll just take a bit of work.

So now, with one of my best friends getting married (at some wonderful undisclosed future point) and with the crazy humming noise in my head spurring me on, I’m going to make a resolution. Not some vague ‘eat less, work more’ promise to myself, just a promise to say (in the words of Jay) bollocks to the middle and make the year a great one.

So, we're going to have a great year okay? All of us. There'll be low points too, obviously, and we'll feel the normal highs, and lows, but let's make a resolution to actually try and make ourselves happy this year, to live proactively and make a productive difference. Let's take this next decade by the balls, us 20-somethings, and try to make the Tweenies (my name for the next, looming decade) as fucking happy and good as possible...WHO'S WITH ME???


Oh, and here is a great song about what I like about this time of the year, it makes me cry every time...





Here's to 2010, folks...

To all the bloggers out there....

MERRRRRRRRY FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKING CHRISTMAS!

y'filthy animals

x

Michael Caine fucking rocks....

Black-eyed Freeze - an anecdote within an anecdote within an anecdote...

So I’m currently sitting in Birmingham International Airport (BHX for you international airport designation fetishists) doing a wee bit of typing, because people keep staring at me. There’s a chance that I may be called away for my flight soon, but unless I say otherwise, assume I wrote this post here, also this post is going to be FUCKING MASSIVE)

-funny fact-ette, I’m at a Costa coffee adding to my future massive heart-attack and people keep staring at me. The place is packed with home-goers, all sharing tables, but I’m the fat girl at the party with icing on her chin that no-one wants to dance with. Awwww.

First of all, why am I in Birmingham when, cor blimey Mary Poppins, I live in London?
Good question reader! Well, yesterday (22nd) I left my little Uberflat in the wee hours, slipping and sliding with my luggage and Lassie as I tried to walk up my little street which was glazed with ice. I somehow made it to the train station, looking like a plum that someone had jizzed on, got the train and after a half-hour journey, found myself in Luton airport.

Now, I was a bit hungover yesterday. On Monday I went to the jobcentre and then found out that my dole application had been rejected. That’s right, I’m so awesome that I can’t even sign on properly. Anyway, I was walking back from the Dole office, feeling somewhat dejected about how the week had been when I passed a joke shop with ‘Help Wanted’ written on it. I bounded in, shaking myself like a dog (it was snowing ridiculously heavily) and met the manager. I gave him my CV, heavily implied I would give him oral sex, and went on my way, somewhat bouyed by how I may have just gotten a job, and choosing to ignore that it was in no way a Law job or that no-one else seemed to be interested in having it.

(Quick question out there: Who thinks I should work in a joke shop?)

I went to the pub to say goodbye to my barfly friends (the cool pub I drink at, not the shit hole I sometimes work at...) and had a few whiskeys (Yes ‘whiskey’ not ‘whisky’, based on the Irish word Uisce Bheatha – Water of Life. Thank god/Darwin for St. Jameson) by the fire. It was lovely, a perfect warm respite from the freezing evening outside.

I had to cancel a date with ‘the girl that I’m seeing’ (which was really annoying cos she’s great) because I was going to have to leave the house at four or five to get the train because of the snow. Therefore the evening became a bit of a nothing-to-do affair so I stayed by the fire and chatted to my friends.

When I say ‘a few whiskeys’, I can’t really quantify how many. I drink doubles, because singles seem lonely, and there were definitely a few. Then people heard the ‘Boom Boom Pow’ story of my black eye and grew to love my sparkling repartee, and a few kind souls started buying me Christmas drinks. At that point I may have gone next door to the shithole and chatted for a while, because I distinctly remember drinking Guinness with a few of the grrrrrr locals and there was definitely more boozing there. I had a pizza at some point, then went back to the cool bar.
Scene deleted (I just called my friend Beatriz who works in the Cool Bar to find out what happened, and she said she’ll find out for me. I was good though, didn’t do anything bad at least)
I woke up at about 4, feeling grand. The birds were singing, the trees were saying and I definitely was not hungover. Yes, there was a distinct taste of vomit, and at least six hours were missing, but I hadn’t been raped and was in my own house, ready to get ready to try and get ready to go home...

CUT TO:
I was in Luton airport with a hangover. The worst snowstorm for the last 15 years was still raging, and quelle fucking surprise, like the sword of Damocles hanging over our holiday ambitions, the world-weary Easyjet crone-in-chief announced the flight was cancelled.
-Rather miffed, as you might imagine, I approaced the desk and asked whether there was any chance of transferring to a later flight.

No.

-I asked was the any point in trying to wait to see if the status changed (cos I imagine airport announcements to be rather like Facebook updates- “Luton Airpost is: So psyched for the snowwwwww!!! lololololo xx <3”)

No.

-I asked could I pay cash-money to buy a ticket on a later flight

Yes, sir (she didn’t say sir)

-I asked when the next available flight was.

January 2nd.

Fuck sake. I waited for about four or five hours and when it was patently clear that NOTHING was gonna happen, I went home.

(N.B. There was ‘an American’ present. ‘An American’ in travel terms for people who live outside the US, is the one American customer who makes a fuss about service. Usually middle-aged women in mountain-climbing boots and clothes woven from hemp, drinking from an unnecessarily large nalgene, her hair streaked liberally with grey. The usual response to ‘There was an American on my flight’ is to say ‘Ugh’. This is not an insult to Americans btw, it’s an inconvenient truth. My ‘American’ jumped up on the counter and sat, shouting at Easyjet Staff about her rights. I didn’t bother pointing out the finer aspects of consumer rights law to her, I couldn’t betray the sisterhood.)

I went to the Uberflat again and freaked out, there may or may not have been a few tears. My parents sprung into action. There were three options.
1) Spend Christmas and New Year with my lovely family in Kent (with whom I spent most of the Summer)
2) Take a 13 journey by train to Scotland, get the ferry to Belfast and teh Bus home. I favoured this because of the clear ‘adventure’ aspect.
3) Get the train tomorrow to Birmingham and get a flight to Derry, my home.
My mum bought the ticket, and this morning I once again got on the train. It cost £66 from London to Birmingham. That is more that the original (cancelled return flight to Belfast) cost.

Anyway, I’m in Birmingham airport:

For some reason people seem to fundamentally change their personalities when they’re about to travel, and not for the better. First of all, they overdress, to the extreme. Dowdy middle-aged women slap enough powder to represent modern art masterpieces (or fake-tan homages to spider web collections) and men, clearly dressed by their wives, adorn themselves with stone-washed denim, brown leather brogues, and whichever middle aged cry-for-help Esquire magazine has tricked them into buying.
(That’s not a swipe at Esquire, but it IS bit offputting to see men as old as my Dad trying to dress trendier than I do...not that the bar is set extremely high)

Also, because they’re about to do the unthinkable and jump on a plane, they think they’re superior to everyone. It’s the same from Forks, Washington to Ulaan Bataar (Twilight AND Mongol Rally ref. Tasty) people leave their manners with their packed liquids at the security queue.

Example!
I was in the queue for security when a little kid tripped over and started crying, his parents were about a foot or so in front and had sorta missed him for a second, as clearly happens when you’re running through an airport with the whole family. I love kids, and stooped down and scooped the wee blighter up, gave him a sorta half smile/half giggle and walked him to his Dad who had noticed. The wee fella grabbed my hand and I walked him over to his dad and did that ‘oh he had a fall’ thing and the Dad smiled his thanks. Then, the Mum, basically shoved the husband aside and wrenched the boy to her, glaring at me.
(I’m sorry, mea culpa, I clearly didn’t get the memo saying that if you help a kid who’s tripped you’ve become a foaming-at-the-mouth paedophile. I’ll just step over him next time)

The dad was mortified and I walked on.

So now I sit, with 20 minutes until my gate opens and the effects of the coffee kicking in. The place has quietened down a little and a feeling like le petit mort has settled in. For one I am glad to be going home, even if the flight is a little delayed.

See y’all on the other side folks.
xx


ps - I'm in Ireland now, after many hours of travel. The flight was diverted, then on arrival at a different airport, the buses were delayed. I'm now finally home, drinking red wine by the fire and watching Bridget Jones 2- The Edge of Reason with my wee sis and mum. They're perturbed by how much of the dialogue I know. I'm gonna sleep for a fucking week (hadn't sworn enough) and then have a fan dabby dozy Christmas. I'm gonna forget the worst week ever
1) The Boom Boom Pow
2) The No Job
3) The dole rejection
4) The missed flight
5) The mammoth journey home.

all that is going to be offset by

AN AMAZING FUCKING CHRISTMAS WITH THE PEOPLE I LOVE.

A Blogger Salute

Hey y'all,

So I just wanted to put this up, as a means of thanking the people who were so helpful and supportive of me. There are too many to mention but Jay, Jen, Sara, Laurie, Mel and Lopez come to mind immediately, as well as the many others who were so kind, but who I can't remember. I'm incredibly lucky to have such good blog-mates


Here's how I say thanks...

Salute to the Blogging Community from Conor Darrall on Vimeo.

Con
xx

Acting Class

I saw this today, and it made me laugh so much it hurts. Girls, get ready for an exclamation of "Awwwwww, so cute!"

Self-censorship

Howdy,

I've decided to delete a certain post that I made early this morning. For obvious reasons, I don't really want to be reminded the entire time, and would rather not get down in the dumps again, when I am inexplicably cheery today.

Thanks to everyone for being really kind and cool, and I might do a wee video post sometime in the future once my mango face has stopped being all gross

Thanks

Con
x

Backstage Silliness

The next installment of My Video Life, this is a very short video I made with the other guys who were doing the music with me in that play I did during the summer.

Please excuse the rambling and giggling, we were all pretty exhausted.

Still, it was amazing fun.

Backstage Silliness from Conor Darrall on Vimeo.

This has been in my head all day

Howdy!

I've been walking about the house today (with a rather puffy face) singing this song to myself without realising. Now I hope it sticks in all your heads too.




Still a bit weirded out by last night, and a wee bit embarrassed by the whole ordeal, but I'll leave the post up. I'll laugh about it at some point in the future.

Hope you're all having a good one!
x

Quick Update

Just to let you know that I had a bath there, something which I've been apprehensive about doing since the 'Razor Incident' and it's aftermath.

It went well...I didn't feel the (conscious or subconscious) need to shave anything off.

Guess I can cancel that therapy course, "So you think you get too bored in the bath?''

Phew

It's very cold here

Yes, very cold.

London had snow today, and I've never been more thankful for central heating, or for thermal socks.

I was going through my video file today, and found this little video I made during my Man Adventures in France over the summer. I watched it and remembered the weather being so hot, us being so drunk, and the days being so long, that it very briefly made me forget how ball-numbingly cold it is here.




The glazed look is due to all the beer and wine that we were drinking. Excuse the beer belly.


Also, my Connect-i-cut galpal Spanky has gone on hiatus from her blog in order to finish off reading Breaking Dawn, so why not go over and catch up on her blog so that you're nice and ready by the time she's finished. Luvs it.

In which I inadvertantly join the sex industry, win an award and pimp a wheelchair.

Right, so this definitely not a Happy-go-fucking-lucky McPositive post. The last two days have been rather weird.

As you may (or more like may not, and don't care) be aware. I have been unemployed now for about a month, after the whole boss-getting-me-drunk-and-cheating-money-off-me thing, and I've been a bit...bored. Well, as a tonic to that I went to the jobcentre in Kilburn yesterday to sign on (free money = ka-ching!) and start as a 'jobseeker'. I hadn't slept in like 30 hours when this happened, so yesterday was fun.

Now first of all, the whole dole thing is depressing. Very depressing. They ask you a million questions ("Now Mr D, when was the last time you shat on a toadstool" etc etc) that make you think about how broke you are, then they patronise the fuck out of you. ("Can you read? Oh, you can? Good for you") in a manner that clearly says "Well, I have a job, I'm better than you".

So, after three hours of that, I walked home, and decided to stop in the bank to open an account. The lady who I was dealing with was a beautiful Iranian lady called Shihraz, and she had a wheelchair. I didn't even notice this, as she was busy telling me about the Super Deluxe Multi Omni Hyper Gold-plate Account. I'm not sure how, but we began chatting about how it would be great to be wealthy, and me, trying to be funny, suggested that she could pimp out her wheelchair. That did it, forgetting the account, we went into a fifteen minute conversation talking about how great she could make her wheels, with platinum plating, sub-woofer speakers, bling. The works. It was the best bank-trip ever, and she's my new bff bank buddy. She spent the whole time giggling, and is the best bank person I've ever met, so I'm opening an account there.

Also, I did a shift in the pub last night..while almost crying with tiredness....fun.

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Yesterday was also a great day for me (tiredness and unemployment aside) because, the ever-cool Novelista Barista has given me an award. Ironically called the Coffee Cup Award I'm very honoured for the recognition and would like to thank NB for her words, she's very kind! Also, as a complete coffee addict, it's very gratifying to know that my future massive heart attack will be caused by something that I love so much.












Now, the porn thing. As part of my attempts to find work, I applied to loads of radio stations and voiceover companies; hoping against hope that someone would pluck me out of the ether and give me a prime-time breakfast slot. Well, they didn't. The only people who got back to me were a specialist fiction company.

Here's what happened :




(ps - by looking at the screen, I'm not trying to be intense or anything, the script is on screen at the time of recording)

So yeah, I've accidentally become a sex-worker. The pay's not atrociously bad, and I can dress like an unshaven bum but...here's the question...does that technically make me a form of hooker, or is it okay for me to do that and keep my head on high?? Responses please. Also, my laughably bad attempt to sound sexy is bound to return to haunt me at some point.
We'll see...


Anyway, I hope you're all well, what've y'all been up to?


x

Why Irish Politicians are more fun than most other...

Okay, so as a nation, the Republic of Ireland is never going to be as internationally powerful as say, the US, or Britain, in any sense other than cultural or from an 'intellectual economy' point of view, thanks to the ridiculous amount of job stealing graduates....Thanks, modern Ireland!

Also, unlike the US and UK, which are (actually for the US, and in practice for the UK) two party nations; Ireland has a much wider variance in it's political spectrum, no doubt due to the proportionate representation method of election. While it is arguably more democratic, it inevitably leads to a mosaic of different parties, and thus, the political landscape becomes quite complex. The five main parties (Fianna Fáil, Fine Gael, The Green Party, Labour and Sinn Féin) and a number of independents make up the members of the two houses of the Oireachtas; the Dáil and the Seanad. What's more, the government (the Taoiseach -Prime Minister- etc) has traditionally been a coalition, as the votes of one individual party will rarely be enough to make a majority.

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As a result of these two facts, there are two consequences, which are both desireable and often problematic:

1) All the passion and vim that other nations have for international affairs gets compounded down to a national level. Issues like social welfare, healthcare and the Budget become political parodies of dystopic nuclear battlefields. The little things matter, and we'll let you know, dammit!

2) Because of the itty-bitty nature of representation, a largely differing political spectrum and the nature of the coalition government, things can get a little...bitchy. Everyone scrambling to say what they mean, and getting into petty squabbles in the wee hours.


So, when Deputy Paul Gogarty was debating a very small claus-ette to a very small article of a (very important, I'll admit) proposed Bill, he went into a bit of a strop when his sincerity was called into question, and...well....he may have overreacted...





Ooh er, well, okay. Calm down, man.

Apart from seeming like a seven year old who doesn't know how to return smack-talk to some neighbourhood youths, this is pretty funny stuff from the Deputy from Lucan.


Still, at least we're not as bad as the Bolivians....





Grrrrrrrrrrr, passion!

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What really annoys me about this video is the response from...yes, you've guessed it, facebook cunts. These oxygen thiefs were quick to comment when the video of Gogarty was posted:

Niamh H
The funniest thing is that the only thing my ma could say was "yer man sounds exactly like Jedward with that Dub accent". Eh, what?! Jedward sound more like they're from Malibu than Dublin!

18 hours ago

Emily B

what a twat. you'd know he was a green.

17 hours ago

Aaron M.

He should have been booted through the front door.

13 hours ago

Amy D

sounds like something you'd hear in the pub- twat, i second that.
12 hours ago

Megan Mc L

twat

6 hours ago

Jane McG

Whatta plonker! deV would be rolling around in his grave!

5 hours ago

Emma L

and we wonder why we're in the mess we're in...who the hell voted for this man!!

2 hours ago

These people are what is wrong with the country and with politics, not some Deputy who gets a little over excited and swears. These fucking bits of dead skin with nothing valid to add. Fuck me, I mean, I sorta respect the fact that he was passionate and reckless enough to take the risk and lose his temper. How many people are going to know about this man and listen to what he has to say from now on? Everyone.

Fucking Facebook parasites.


Anyway, my rant aside, this is why Irish Politicians are a little more fun than every other country (except Bolivia) If you excuse the manic glint in his eye, this guy is good...even if I don't agree with his politics

Awards!!!

For the first time ever, I have some awards that I'd like to offer to those bloggers with whom I have developed a connection. This is a humane award, for people who embrace all aspects of what it is that makes us who we are.

In July of this year, my uber-cool NY gal-pal, the Novelista Barista gave me one of these (thanks!!) and now it's time for me to pass on a few myself...

This is for those thoughtful, intelligent people whose blogs make me smile, give me pause for thought, stir up interesting debate, or are just completely honest. I am glad to have met you all, and look forward to more from you in 2010.

(Okay...drumroll.)

Nikki, who apart from being a new friend (and one of the only redeeming features of this year) is also an excellent funny blogger. Her FML quosts and her irrational love of tea and writing make for excellent reading.

Jay, whose thoughts (ranging from poetry and love to the zombie apocalypse) are as scattered as my own, but infinitely more interesting.

Shinay, a writer whose beautiful poetry gives me pause for thought every day.

Melanie, who, for a person who describes herself as 'lost', is a lot more clued-up than most other people and makes me ponder life, and

Mr Apron, whose blog is snarky, opinionated, stubborn, intelligent, and infinitely more commendable than 99% of all the blogs out there. He raises issues of debate, and is one of those enlightened individuals for whom identicality of opinion is not a precursor for friendship, but who values reason.


I've only given 5 out because I think it's better to be selective. There'll be lots more to follow I'm sure.

Congratulations guys, you really make blogging a joy for me.

Con
x

Happy-go-fucking-lucky McPositive and the Law Degree

SO now, at last, I officially have some vague letters after my name, denoting my learnedness in law (*stifle laughter*). Ladies and Gentlemen, please say hello to Conor B. C. Darrall, LL.B.

Thank you.


The day was the longest in a long long time. I had to get up at 3.30 am in time to get ready and drive from Derry to Dublin. Then after 19 coffees, being dressed in wizard's robes (which felt simultaneously bitchin', thrash, gnarly and awesome to wear) organising photos and saying hi to friends, we were all led into a massive hall, spoken to in Latin for about an hour, then called up to receive our catskins sheepskins. Sparky (Mark) my flatmate was there, and he received the highest mark in the class, I am very proud of him. My folks were there, looking cool and everything, and after the ceremony we got to hang around and chat to each other, and catch up with friends we hadn't seen in a half-year.

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Then the boozing. Wine for breakfast...followed by a day of drinking cosmopolitans and whiskey...for almost 18 hours.

We went on a MONUMENTAL bender, drinking in a few bars until going clubbing (still tux'd) until about 5 or 6 when I stumbled back to my hotel to greet the night. I had to get up at 10 this morning to drive back to Derry with the parents. Needless to say, I'm still feeling quite rough...

I'd been convinced that I didn't miss Trinity, or Dublin, but being back yesterday really made me glad that I'd gone there and met the people and friends I've been lucky enough to know.

So, now I'm happy, and with things going well and having a great time with the someone who I've 'kinda sorta started seeing' (she's great; smart kind and beautiful, but I'm not going to talk about her here at the moment) it's really hard to be in a bad mood.

I'm flying back to London tomorrow, then I'm going to sleep for a month.


Here are a few wee photos of the day:


Maw, Paw and I


Home-Blondie, my best friend.


Me and Spark, the flatmate. Ever increasing the persistent rumours that we're a couple.




Very very drunk at 4am in Envy Nightclub, Dublin.


Oh also, with another friend of mine (Home-Blondie and Sparkie were with me when we lived in the USA for a year, as was --) Cíara, and other friends, we had tapas before we went out. Lady GeeGaw and I (and GG's boyf, Nick, who is a cool ginger guy with dreadlocks) made a video on Grafton Street for my blog, this blog.

They are awesome, such good sports.

My camera skills are not, but here we go:





Anyway, hope you're all well.
x
Con


(ps - interesting fact about Trinity College Dublin. Only women wear mortarboard caps on the day of their graduation, the reason being because it is supposedly symbolic of the degree being a 'cap on their education', meaning they could traditionally rise no higher than an undergraduate degree. Problem with this theory is that our class was 85% female, and of the 14 people who got First class honours degrees, the was only one male amongst them -Sparky...take that chauvinism!!)

Coffee Cup Giveaway...

My uber-cool galpal over at the Novelista Barista is having a giveaway!

Go leave a comment, and you could win some free cups!

x

Happy-go-fucking-lucky McPositive and the Curse of the Hairy Man-Bra Part 2

So, yeah, I made a video right after accidentally shaving my chest...

I must warn you, I have paaaaaaale skin, so if there's any chance that the glare may damage your eyes, please put on some sunglasses and sun-lotion.

Also, yeah, my hair looks like Christopher Walken's.





So yeah, seriously...never have a razor in the bath when you're bored.






In other news, I've flown back to my parents' place, getting ready for graduation on Monday. I know it's a big solemn ceremony and we all have to act lawerly etc, but I just know that at some point I'm going to have to do a little sprint, just to feel my robes swoosh about. I'll be like a wizard.

"Arigh Harry?" I'll get one of my bigger, hairier friends to say.

"Hello Hagrid" I'll reply.

Then we'll laugh, and get drunk.



Oh, oh, also, I've been idiot baiting this week, seeing as it's frowned upon when you do it to bears. Some absolutely fucking feeble-minded lady-face (I shall dub her Bonkers McFucking-Idiot-who-overcompensates-for-her-dull-life-and-lack-of-imagination-by-loving-god-a-bit-too-much) has written this post about Twilight (the series of teen vampiric romance novels - don't worry if you haven't heard of them, they're quite obscure..) and how it is evil and a tool of the devil. She claims that the books possessed her and other completely logical things. Totally has nothing to do with the faint whiff of erotica that clearly was too much for her. Anyway, her family burned the books.

Bookburning's not really kosher with me.

Anyway, read the blog, actually read it from front to end, and try not to say 'what the fuck?' loudly as you go through.

Then the comments section...it's just...it's too much fun. Some guy called Pizza Devil keeps adding more and more silly comments, obviously having far too much fun haha. I think he might be a friend of Happy-go-fucking-lucky - perhaps.


(Ps - I totally have nothing against people with any sort of faith, it's something which I probably envy at some level. People are free to worship whatever they like, be it Yahweh, RPatz or East-German Olympic female shot put champion Margitta Gummel-Helmboldt, and there's no call to judge them for that...BUT...read the article, and the comments, and see for yourself.)