Cripples, Fish, Mo, and Mostly Just Things About Dookie

"Dedicated to the Living Memory of Moira Penzes, She will always allow the donkey to bathe the sparrow gently"

I woke up today and took a big dookie. Whiskey here seems to be the brown bottom flu and can wreak hell upon the anus the next day.

As I sat on the porcelain throne praying to all my relatives past, I looked through the keyhole of the bathroom door. Now I’m not an artist and I don’t really care for art. I’d rather be beaten by a bunch of Texans in an alleyway for cheating at poker than walk around a museum filled with paintings and statues of naked philosophers. My art itch strikes me rarely and at the most ridiculous times. This time, it was during poop.

All the room keyholes in Irish homes are the old school Beetlejuice type keys that weigh a pound apiece. Inside the bathroom keyhole was a complex spider web. I doubt any of us have ever seen something so interesting and new. It made me wish I was a spider and/or it made me wish that I could paint or sketch it so that everyone could see it. It’s rare these days that you find something; “new” to see that doesn’t involve a Hollywood budget or cost you a ton of money. I just wish these moments came at better moments.

"When in Doubt, Fake Being Handicapped"

It’s my new motto and seriously, it pays, trust me. All the bars here have special handicap stalls and I think Irish men think it’s a weakness to be handicapped, so they will stand in line waiting to piss, bladder ready to explode like a pregnant lady’s bladder trapped in a hot elevator for 5 hours, before they walk into the handicap stall. Me, I’ll be fake limping all the way past the front of the line, sit down on my clean toilet seat and take a dump while playing Sudoku, with no one knocking on the door to get in. I may have doo doo themed issues today.

“Romanians are the New Mexicans”

The most disgusting thing in the world and the saddest thing in the world for me is what I consider to be a major late night munchies food crisis. Past 2am in most places, including Marin County and Chico all there is to eat is Jacks, Dennys, Pita Pit, 7-11 nachos and Taco Bell, but that ain’t all that bad. Here in Ireland, past 10pm all there to eat is the Kebob place and what should forever be known as, “the Denny’s and Jack’s seafood lovechild.” Seafood doesn’t smell, taste or feel appealing with a bellyful of beer and whiskey, unless your Irish or Japanese or Brendan McNerney. I’m sure John Kabor could be thrown in there. Is that guy still alive by the way?

I don’t like fish. Well I like our neighbors fish, cause it’s a Piranha and we fed it a live goldfish the other day, which he bit in half while we weren’t looking and then ate the rest of it while we were sleeping. Tara says you can’t name an animal you’re about to feed to another animal, but I did. Poor Gilley didn’t stand a chance against Killer. The funny and sad part is that goldfish have a one second memory so they really have no idea that they’ve been bitten in half. Another way to look at it is that they relive the moment of realizing they’ve been bitten in half over and over. Now that I write this all down, I feel like a monster. On top of all that, goldfish aren’t common here. They’re like a delicacy of pet owning and they cost 5 euros a piece, which is about $7.50 apiece back home. Which is fucking stupid because at Petsmart, you can get 10 goldfish for a dollar. If you think about it, imported sushi from Spain and Portugal is cheaper than a goldfish the size of my thumb in Ireland. That’s some bullshit. And there is no sushi in Galway. Seriously, I have had withdrawals from drugs, booze, sex and nicotine and nothing compares to a sushi withdrawal. The other night Tara caught me looking at pictures of sushi online. I know, I have issues. You’re probably asking yourself, well why didn’t you just eat at the Kebob place? The Kebob place is delicious. Nothing beats meat carved off a rotating spit and served by a non English speaking Romanian, but as good as the lamb and chicken Kebobs are, they’re even less pleasant exiting your body.

I started with poop talk and now I end with poop talk. Maybe I shouldn’t have dedicated this blog to Mo. She might get the impression that I think she’s a turd. But she kind of is. J

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