Year: 2006

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Special Blather correspondent Elimare, regales us with a charming Christmas tale, inspired by the annual Xmas display in the Brown Thomas windows, on Dublin's Grafton Street. Taken from the ever-readable blog 'Severe Jam Damage', 'A very Eli Christmas' looks at the other side of the holiday season in Ireland - the one that the tourist board probably doesn't want you to know about. Photo by Elimare. Twas the night before Xmas And quicker than quick The whores and the sluts were turning their tricks. The hookers were trussed up in leather and lace and the Johns paid extra to cum in their face. And the dealers in shell suits driving white nissan vans watched from the alley and made silent plans. The knocking shops buzzed with the noise of the crowd and the dildos and sex toys were equally loud. When in the bordello There arose a big fight ‘Can...

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Do you need answers?! Here are letters taken from the problem pages of magazines. They were meant for run-of-the-mill agony aunts, but we showed them to our own Taoist sage, who is never wrong! Should I give myself to him? I'm still a virgin. In fact, up until now, I've never had a boyfriend although I'm in love with a lad at work. The snag is, he has a girlfriend. However, she lives miles away, and rarely comes to see him. When she does visit, I have to pretend to be her friend just so that me and this lad can still spend time together. If I'm honest, things have started progressing sexually between us. We tell our mates that we're just friends but, frankly, there's more going on than that. I love this lad and want him to be with me properly. Should I show him how I feel?...

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(DUBLIN) Jojoba Witnesses were 'outraged' today when a passing Irishman threw a dirty rope to a drowning Jojoba Witness in the Grand Canal. Horrified at coming into contact with an 'unclean substance' the Jojoba Witnesses have marched on the offices of the Irish Government to express their disgust at this repulsive act of of benevolence. It was an average day for Myles na gCopaleen, taking, as was his custom, a stroll down the banks of the Grand Canal in Dublin city centre. The quiet morning ambulation was disrupted when na gCopaleen was alerted to the shrieks and screams of a drowning man in the canal. Thinking nothing of his own safety, na gCopaleen grabbed a rope which was tethered to a nearby lock and cast it to the stricken man. After several unsuccessful attempts the man was dragged to safety. Desecration However, rather than receiving thanks for his heroic efforts,...

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(DUBLIN) Violent protests erupted in Dublin today when enraged Bloggers took to the streets to express their outrage at Blather writer Samwise Doran for his speech earlier this week, wherein he quoted a 700 year-old conversation between a html programmer and an xml developer which was written on a UCD toilet wall. Church leaders, horse-fetishists, lake-monster hunters, politicians, satanists and bitter, twisted discussion forum harridans rampaged across Dublin city centre this morning in a bacchanalian frenzy of spam, spittle and cannibalism. In a worrying escalation of events, further riots are reported to be breaking out across the globe, with violent clashes reported in Sydney Australia, San Francisco, USA and Knobber, Co. Meath, Ireland. Putting the 'fun' back into 'mentalism' The row erupted earlier this week when blather.net writer Samwise 'Trinity' Doran gave a talk to the annual general meeting of Irish bloggers. Quoting from the 'Book of Bob' (an early...

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BELFAST. Uproar in Northern Ireland as Republican activists rampage across the web, leaving a trail of spam, badly-spelt blog comments and a faint whiff of cheap perfume. 'A bunch of dirty, sleeveen bogtrotter bastards' says shady balaclava-wearing thug. Escalation Competition for domain names has always been intense, leading to frequent battles between organisations looking to eke out a presence on the net. But now, in a case which could result in a landmark ruling by a baseball-bat wielding heavy in an illegal kangaroo-court, web commentators fear that a recent spate of domain hijacking could lead to a dangerous escalation of violence in Northern Ireland boardrooms and branding agencies. The original difficulty arises from the use of the name ira.com, which was registered several years ago by an un-named company trading from the Cayman Islands. The domain name was never used and when the license expired after two years another buyer...

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Are you chronically dull? Do you require constant attention? Do you find yourself seeking endless validation on discussion forums? If so, then you need 'The Interested Bear'! Brought to you by special blather correspondent, Moon. Yes, the all-new Interested Bear will appear to show interest in any and every thing you say, no matter how boring it is, or how many times you've said it before. The Interested Bear has been pre-programmed with a repertoire of meaningless cliches designed to show he is paying attention, however scant, to whatever it is you're saying. Cute cues, such as "Is that so?" "How odd" and "Really?!", aid you to keep rambling on ad nauseam without being interrupted by the unwelcome opinion or discourse of another person. Best of all, the Interested Bear's eyes have been glued wide open, and his head set in a permanent "nodding" position. Never again, readers dear, will...

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Earlier this week, blather.net dispatched crack reporter Dan Brown to meet with the diminutive American pop-star, Britney Spears, for an exclusive interview. What followed was an intimate conversation over some fine wines, posh nosh and a wayward Bush. Breakfast with Britney I was sitting in ‘Silk,’ a restaurant in the Courtyard Keminski hotel, opposite Liberty’s on Carnaby street, waiting for my guest to arrive. It was unconscionably early, but she was hungry. I was intrigued by her choice of restaurant, a converted courtroom that offered a choice of Thai and Indian food, served by authentic Asian people. Was the courtroom setting an omen, or was my guest a fan of red curry? By the time lunch was finished I hoped to find out. Heads turned as Britney entered the room. Though now corpulent and spotty, with buttocks that caused tidal waves as they swayed inside her loose fitting pants, she...

Blather
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<!--   © Blather.net/Walsh--> Recently, Blather's academia correspondent, Johnny Mayonnaise, went to Massachusetts and unexpectedly encountered the world-famous Noam Chomsky! In Johnny's written report for Blather, you can almost feel you're there in the room with him: I find myself in a long corridor of an institutional building. I'm being shown around by a young lady whose face I don't recognise. I do, however, recognise the building. I saw it in a documentary film entitled Manufacturing Consent. It is the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. "This is Noam Chomsky's office," I remark to my hostess, pointing to a door on the left. "I know," she says, opening the door and leading me in. When I get in, I see that she is already at the other end of the room. Noam Chomsky is there too, sitting on a sofa. She asks him if it is okay for me to come in and...

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   © Blather.net/Walsh In which the Count O'Blather tells of his great friendship with the late Fr Pat Noise, who died in suspicious circumstances when his carriage plunged into the Liffey in 1919. As I have just returned from the tropics, it has taken me some time to re-engage with the political hoo-hahs and media blurtings for which the fair land of Ireland is well known. However, I do see it as my duty to stay abreast of issues that concern the plain people of Dublin, like lap-dancing clubs and 'morr-guages'. On my arrival back into Ireland (via, of course, the eternal Pigeon House), I was handed a rolled up copy of the Sunday Turbine. Inside, some journalist was wittering on about the 'sudden' appearance of a plaque on Carlisle Bridge, dedicated to the demise of a Father Pat Noise, who was an advisor to the one and only Peader...

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Are you a female blather reader? Is the man in your life about to abscond to watch the World Cup? Are you worried that he might be tempted by the heaving, groaning, cavalcade of female flesh and an endless supply of cheap booze and drugs? Welcome to Artemis. Wind-bags In case you have been in a coma for the last six months (in a cave, in Antarctica, in a Polar bear's headlock) the World Cup is coming. And where there are World Cups there are World Cup widows. You know them - those lost, forlorn, rejected specimens of womanhood, left to fend for themselves as their male counterparts jump on planes full of beered-up, testosterone-charged Neanderthals and scarper to wherever the world’s most overpaid athletes meet once every four years to chase an over-branded bag of wind around an over-watered patch of grass whilst wearing pretty colours and corporate logos....