The Next Best Thing From Ireland That Doesn’t Sound Like U2.

Who says rock is dead when you have these cats making such noise? Thanks, YouTube, for this music.

CHARLIE SHEEN, SHUT THE FUCK UP AND SUCK MY DICK!

Fuck that Charlie Sheen.

Fuck him up his stupid ass.

That whiny, self-centred, sanctimonious, spiteful little bitch is everywhere.

That overpaid twat shouldn’t bother me, but he does.

I am sick of his name.

I am sick of his face.

I am sick of his voice.

I am sick of his backpedalling, backstabbing, backbiting, hand-biting and bridge-burning every time he turds out a Tweet.

He thinks that he may be funny. He thinks that he’s still cool. He thinks that he can be a hit with all the ladies. He assumes that everyone will empathise and sympathise with his perceived plight.

He believes that he is owed an apology. He believes that he’s entitled to damages.

I don’t know about you, but he’s at least entitled to a foot up his backside.

When someone has talent and a good thing on the go, a rational mind would force that person to work hard on keeping them. I would call that the art of maintaining a personal status quo: whatever works, don’t fix; whatever is doable, do it right; whatever good is sown, reap and share the bounty.

If I had followed the blueprint set by my parents, I would’ve had Charlie Sheen’s job – or at least something resembling it.

I would’ve had the lovely talented wife, the beautiful children, lots of spending money, a roof over my head, a steady, guaranteed job surrounded by good people…

At this point, I’m happy with the last 2. I’ll be damned to let them slip away.

But all this money must’ve woken up a winning monster inside that Estevez kid.

Back in the day I would’ve love to dance with Al and Coco, and maybe bring Tina, Mary and Harry along for the ride, if Sid and Stacy didn’t mind. For some reason, I chose Al and Mary, then simply stuck with Al. Now I prefer Nico’s company – no Homo.

But old Carlos would rather dance with the thin white duchess and fuck everyone over in the process. What a winner.

He would take up a skanky pr0n h0 and tie and beat her senseless.

He has lost the confidence of his bosses, his wife, his kids, his mind and eventually his job.

All his interviews will not save his scrawny ass. All his Tweets will not redeem his tarnished soul.

For Sanity’s sake, Charlie Sheen must be destroyed.

He should be bound to a mountain face by heavy chains where raptors can feed off a pound of his flesh – only to be regenerated to be eaten again.

He should be prodded mercilessly by pitchforks wielded by enraged denizens of Chuck Lorre’s ancestral shtetl.

He should be fed to the tigers from which he stole their blood so he could live his winning lifestyle.

He should be set upon by trannies in whatever jail to which he may be sent.

He should be bound to a chair in a metal shack deep in the heart of Death Valley in the middle of summer and be forced to watch ALL his movies and TV shows.

He should be crucified to a burning cross.

He should be guillotined with a blunt, rusty blade.

He should be rolled in powdered sugar and then be left at the mercy of ravenous ants. Preferably in a remote part of the Amazonian rain forest.

He be sent on the next NASA probe heading to the Sun.

He should be sealed in Davey Jones’s locker.

He should be dressed as a pig, then air-dropped into the middle of Mecca. During Ramadan. Or maybe the Hajj. Same diff.

He should be burned alive.

He should be frozen alive.

He should be hanged, drawn and quartered, then have the remains in remand, then put back together. Repeat.

He should be fed to a volcano.

He should be fed to the Kraken.

He should be shot.

But most of all, he should just shut up, walk away and not come back until he can fix himself up and learn to live in the human race.

I hope he does that, because if he doesn’t…

I’m just going to ignore him.

A Romantic Hater's Valentine's Day Wish

"Love can be as sticky as a vat of molasses, as unpalatable as a hunk of spoiled yeast, and as all-consuming as a six-alarm fire in a bamboo and canvas tent." - Rod Serling, "Twilight Zone"


Happy Valentine's Day, Suckas.

"Quo ea vice magis idem est"

It's way too early to say whether the people-power overthrow of Hosni Mubarak was a good thing or a bad thing.

Should we celebrate the end of autocratic, kleptocratic rule?

Should we fear the rise of Islamic fascist fundamentalism at Israel's doorstep?

Should we hope for the best, and maybe betterment of relations within the middle East?

Should we pray for a truly secular Arab state?

I have some serious mixed feelings about these events that are unfolding throughout the Arab/Islamic world. On one hand, people in general have had it with the type of kleptocratic, oligarchical rule that benefits only those who hold the whip and makes everyone else equal under misery.

On the other hand, the very same people who oppose fascist oppression never studied the intricacies of Western Secularism that drive the (relatively) more prosperous democracies throughout the world. If someone were to spend a good balance of his life under regimentation, only to wind up thrust into a situation that he would have to think, live and work for himself, would he adapt?

And if he were to adapt to a world of free thought and free will, how long would it take for this person to master his life? Would he prosper? Would he relapse?

As an addict, if you were to deprive me of something on which I base my dependency, I would definitely be upset. You may have freed me of something that was destroying me but then how would I now justify my existence, my reason for being in this world and living this life? I could adapt to my new surroundings and get in touch with things that I have missed while I was using. I could find new interests and redefine my purpose in life.

Or I could find a new drug. I would not want to call it a relapse: I would prefer to call it a refocusing. The drug would probably be more dangerous than the one that you took away, but at least I would know that I could regain the sense or at least intense illusion of power, gratification, release and control through my usage. Many people would be disappointed or hurt by my relapse, but I would be more damned if anyone were to interfere with my comfort zone.

The reality is that there is no such thing as pure freedom. Due to the imperfections and randomness that exist in nature, we have to discipline ourselves in order to survive. There will always be a need to put a roof over my head and food on the table, therefore I have to work to pay for it. My freedom includes the right to go to work, get paid for my troubles, then go to the office to pay my rent and utilities. Hopefully I could have some cash left over so I could buy that leg of lamb that I've been craving for weeks. And definitely I wouldn't mind a week or two of vacation to decompress, recharge and regroup.

It was very hard to let go of the vices that landed me in destitution. I could've had a larger house. I could've worked at a better place for more money so I could afford the 100 Mb/s internet and that 52" HDTV so when I go and start playing Call of Duty: Special Ops I would revel in such awesome pwnage! But at least I am still above ground. And I'm always looking forward.

It was because of my vices that I got released from the military. I did my job well but my focus was messed up beyond belief. I had a tough time getting along with people because my mind was locked into getting the next high, drunk or orgasm. And then I realised that most of my life had been plagued by instant gratification, and I was enjoying and hating every minute of it.

Being under a dictatorship is almost like going through an addiction. Once you have a taste of it, you'll learn to despise it first, then tolerate it and eventually make it part of your being. Eventually, when you get freed from it, you have to figure out what to do next and take advantage of the lack of regimentation to which you were accustomed.

At this moment. the Egyptians are at this "now what" stage, the level at which addicts like me experience when the drug-of-choice would finally wear off with a slightly foul aftertaste, followed by a stark epiphany, looking around the wreckage of past misdeeds, abused relationships, lies and deceptions and the pain in its wake, then looking forward to a big blank void which represents freedom - one which limitless, and bottomless. Some people would make that big leap of faith while others hardened by experiences would stand at the ledge, forever debating and wondering if freedom is worth giving up that sweet vile hell that was the comfort zone.

I confess: I may have ditched the drugs, the drink and the debauchery, but the taste is still there. The newly "freed" Tunisians and Egyptians still yet have to experience withdrawal. And together at the edge we look into the bright shiny abyss.

The Occasional Rant: Why Am I NOT Surprised?

Everyone knows that the Palestinians™ want Peace™!

So it's little surprise that a revered member of HAMAS has acknowledged Shoah in own "special" way...

"The lie according to which they were a victim of a holocaust and the (Jewish) people are a victim -- this lie has crumbled with the holocaust of Beit Hanun, the holocaust of Al-Fakhura and the other countless holocausts ... committed by the Zionist enemy."

Note the compassion, the sympathy shown by this fine leader of malleable immortals.

It would make you want to cry.

So, bless those Palis™ and especially their leadership, for they are really aware of what's going on in their little world.

It's a shame that reality and truth will soon overtake them.