It wouldn’t be a great idea to double your trips down to the pool and increase you the intensity of the work-out, if you’ve been prescribed anti-inflammatories for an injured leg.
You’re sincerely a moron,
This Week’s Dave
Dear Dave of less than an hour ago,
Whatever you do, do not forget that there are certain parts of the body that Deep Heat should not go near. Even if you do not directly apply the cream to those parts, it may transfer by other means. You know, like walking.
Last Monday, I arrived in Pearse station on the way into work, to be greeted by a barrage of AIB phone and internet banking ads. Later that day I took some pictures with my camera-phone, and made a panorama:
That's just one platform. The north-bound platform is just the same.
Although most of the ads had some pretty painful copy, the worst example of is the ad shown below. It’s the last word that really brings the pain.
I’ll upload the rest to Flickr when I have a chance.
Recorded with my camera-phone off the TV.
Watch this movie at YouTube
Whose retarded idea was it to make cheese out of goat’s milk? I wasn’t paying much attention at the coffee shop today, and picked up a goat’s cheese sandwich by mistake. Now my mouth feels less like a cave and more like a lair; dark, dank and musty. I feel like I’ve drunk a glass of deer piss.
I don’t know what annoys me more... the fact that I spent good money on a shitty sandwich, or the fact that I still ate the whole thing.
Once again, I have become a magnet for the crazy.
On Tuesday, my friend Phil and I were trying to think of somewhere to grab food after swimming. While we were doing that, I remembered I didn't have any cash on me, so we headed to the Bank of Ireland ATMs on Westmoreland Street.
On the left ATM, I felt that there was something fishy about it. I could see some loose connectors behind one of the clear plastic panels, and the face-plate seemed a bit raised. We walked over to the ATM on the right, and I noticed that the face-plate there was a different colour and shape. We walked back to the first ATM, and I told the two girls who were just about to use it that I suspected it had been tampered with. I started to take down the number from the ATM on my phone.
A homeless man with a crutch walked up to us and got extremely close; he was about two feet from us. Because of how he was positioned, he had effectively trapped us between him and the wall. He leaned in and croaked: “D’ya have any change?”
I’m not a huge fan of people trying to intimidate me, so I told him “No, sorry” and tried to walk off. In disbelief, he shouted back: “D’ya not have any money for me leg?”
He pulled up his left trouser leg to reveal a perfectly rectangular open wound on his lower shin. It was clearly infected; yellow and so horrible to look at it even defeated my strong stomach. I felt like getting sick.
To those reading this who are from the States, I should point out that our health care system means he could just go to the hospital and have it treated, for free.
I’m a fan of neither physical intimidation or being shown open, infected wounds, so both Phil and I said sorry and tried to slip by him. He took offense at this and shouted in my ear: “Ah gerh away ourra dah! Go home an’ suck yer da’s cock!”
As we walked away, I dialed the number from the ATM to report its suspicious appearance. The crazy guy must have seen this as, while the phone dialed, he began shouting after me: “Gerh away ya bollox, ya fuckin’ rah!”
What a pleasant chap.
We saw a woman in here fifties or sixties coming towards us, shouting something I couldn’t quite make out. As we got closer, I realised what it was. Over and over, she was shouting “God wasn’t a bastard! People are bastards! God was never a bastard!”
We got closer and she looked at us, and changed her words to “God was born in a stable! With animals!”
I tell you, they are after me. Hey, at least the stable lady wasn’t trying to threatening me. That’s a fairly major improvement.
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