Tag Archives: Humour

If It’s Too Good To Be True…

…it usually is.

We’ve all heard this aphorism, haven’t we? Someone or something (usually a network or energy provider) promises you the sun, moon and stars if you sign on the dotted line. But all you find at the end is you’ve sold your soul for a white elephant and nothing much has changed.

Consider air fares. Ireland’s national airline, Aer Lingus, is advertising cheap flights across its European network. I can, if I wish, travel to Paris one-way for €29.99. Great! But how much is it going to cost me to come back?  And how much extra will I have to pay?

The latest information from their website tells me that a weekend break in Paris will cost to the tune of €140 and rising. This is mainly down to what they don’t and won’t tell you – until it’s too late.

Fascinating Aida is a British comedy and music act, a trio of very talented ladies whose brand of humour has won them many fans and awards. I recently came across a video recording of exactly how they feel about this air-fare rip-0ff. It’s amazing how much truth there is in comedy.

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As I Mature…

Thanks, Mark!

A Portrait of the Artist as a Ticket Tout

So I’m standing outside Croke Park with 50 bleedin’ tickets to the Dublin match, That’s 50 bleedin’ tickets at 40 quid a pop. Work that one out with your fucking calculators. I can’t. I never did my Leaving Cert. The only time I can add numbers is when I’m working out the odds on my three horse accumulator. This is before every poxy one of them falls, goes lame, gets brought down, or just plain won’t bloody jump. The pox-bottles! Anyway, because I’m losing my bollix on the horses, I decide it’s high time to think of an easier way to make money. So, with the Dublin match around the corner, I borrow from Peter, Paul, and the rest of the fucking Apostles, and soon I have enough spondoolicks to bulk buy a shit-load of match tickets from ticketmaster.ie.

You see, I know what them Dubs are like. As often as not, they turn up at the pubs around Croker with nary a ticket between them. Stupid muppets. Don’t they know the match is sold out? And that’s where I come in. Once they’ve had a skinful of cider they’d sell their mother for a Hill ticket. (That’s Hill 16, for those of you who don’t know. The real Dubs will only have a ticket for the Hill. No, you eejit. A real Dublin supporter would have bought his poxy ticket three weeks ago.) I’m like the bleedin’ Messiah to these cretins. I have in my possesion 30 Hill tickets, 10 Canal End and 10 Cusack Stand tickets. Come to mama, you pissheads. 70 quid a ticket, no questions asked.

Only…there’s no one biting. Not a sausage. I’m up to me armpits in match tickets. Not just any match tickets — Dublin match tickets. The only show in town. But no one gives a flying fuck, do they? And I’m not the only one suffering. That arsehole selling the flags, scarves and funny hats has enough left over to send off to the Ukraine and clothe the kids. Now that would be a funny sight. A pile of Eastern European sprogs decked out in Dublin colours, begging on the streets for zlotys or whatever the fuck it is they call currency over there. What about me? What am I going to clothe my kids in? If I don’t dump these tickets, my missus will rip off my head and shit down my neck.

Which brings me to another topic altogether. If the oul ball-and-chain fucks me out, I can always get onto the Internet and hook up with a Russian bride. I wonder if they take Dublin tickets as collateral. I might have better luck next week. U2 are in town and tickets are like gold dust. But Bono? No one gives a fuck about him either. Okay, it’s Russia for me. With Love.

There’s my DART. I’m off to the boozer.

(c) James McShane 2009

The Friday Funny

This very funny fake Facebook thread comes courtesy of CollegeHumor, and I just had to share it with you people. What’s a Friday without a little funny, huh?

Thank God It’s Friday.

If this doesn’t tickle your funny bone, nothing will.