The year is 1998 or 1999, I forget exactly: At this point I'm living in Finglas in dublin, a fairly rough area but the estate we were on was okay. I hear it's gone downhill since then. It's important to note that I wasn't paying rent there, I was actually supposed to be living somewhere else but I wasn't a huge fan of the people there and all my friends lived in this big house in finglas. Plus one of them had an N64. This is the house incidentally that I mentioned before where I rented the room to the murdering son of a brothel madam who dressed in the luminous purple dinner jackets (WARNING SIGN WARNING SIGN WARNING SIGN). I had my own groove carved out on that sofa and everything.
One of the guys who lived there and who moved out at the same time I did, and was party to the whole rental to Norman Bates thing is a very good friend of mine with an unfortunately cruel streak.
Less of a streak than a wrap around coat really, but that's not the point here, or rather it is, but there's not much more to be said about it - give me a break it's 1:20 AM and I can no longer see out of my left eye but I want to get all this typed before I forget any of it. I was more or less unemployed at this point, I think I'd quit Microsoft at that stage, it was a mutual amicable seperation - they thought I hadn't a clue what I was doing and I thought they were a bunch of wankers, worth working for only for their great internet connection and access to a CD burner and limitless free CDs. Hell, I might have been working for compaq either, it's not important, the point is I was on their sofa, hated my job and complained bitterly about my lack of a girlfriend wherever the opportunity presented itself (which was whenever another human was in the room)
This guy took it upon himself to.. inspire me to get a job and a life and so on (I've had two friends who did that actually, one of them shot me in the eye with lemon juice once) by doing little things like sending a hamster up my trouser leg when I passed out on their living room floor after a bottle of Jack Daniels was consumed (I'm an unreliable drinker, one beer might have me asleep, alternatively I could be 90% proof myself and still standing). He put birthday candles between my fingers another time and set them alight, dripped hot wax on my head, decorated my face with ketchup. He was not a good person to let be bored really.
But it is not he about whom this story rotates wildly, spinning out of control. Another one of the guys in the house was incredibly easily to embarass and dickhead that I am, I took full advantage. It was like a kharmic circle, one would put pens in my mouth as I slept, I'd laugh as I watched the other guy turn purple with embarassment when I said "Cunilingus".
It was around 12:30 when this sordid little tale starts ("Finally!" I hear you say) when myself and yet another one of the guys there (we shall call him Journo) realised that we had run out of cigarettes and since I had work the next day we were going to need them if we were to stay up all night drinking. Moochers that we were, and skint as we were, we decided on a new form of finance for these cigarettes - Mr Easily Embarassed (who we shall henceforth call Indy). He seemed reluctant, even after the fifteenth request but then realised that he had left his wallet back at him in his mum's place and seemed unduly worried. He revealed that there was something in his wallet he would not be happy about his mother seeing.
I asked him several times "Why indy? have you got a .... condom... in your wallet?" which did nothing for the cause of getting him to loan us money but that seemed like a lost cause and the wallet thing was immediate guaranteed entertainment.
Nothing more was really mentioned about this until the following week when we were all in the gaming club in college. He was pacing to and fro across some tables that were bunched together, I was sitting on a chair backwards, leaning with my elbows on the back of the chair, all cool like. I started relating the whole wallet story and got about half way through when he, from the table, planted his foot on my shoulder and pushed me back. I fell off the chair and landed on my back, the wind knocked out of me. To follow up, he leaped from the table and landed, on one foot, with his size 11 (european measurement, god knows how you colonists measure it) deep tread, could-survive-a-nuclear-bomb, thick soled boots right onto my nads.
When I woke up he was fairly apologetic, he explained that really it was all my fault and I agreed - dazed as I was. Someone went out for painkillers and I lay in the corner for a while, waiting for my voice to drop again. Later that evening we were wandering back to the house and to cut an already long story short, we stopped into his girlfriend's flat to get something. To kill time I picked up some stuffed toys and performed some erotic puppet theatre.
So he kicked me in the balls again.
And now a quick one because it's not enough to warrant it's own entry:
Annals of Pain V.I
We have a dalmatian back home in the countryside. Dalmatians are highly strung animals, prone to nervous disorders at the best of times and they're not the brightest penny in the fountain either, not the sharpest knife in the drawer y'know.
Well, this dog also had some labrador in his ancestry somewhere ensuring that not only was he nervous and dim but also somewhat on the big lovable slob end of the scale. He'd chase cars head on, that kind of thing.
One time he was running down a hill in the rain and my brother and I were walking through the fields towards where he was playing with our other dog (by "playing with" I mean "running towards her so fast he couldn't stop and repeatedly knocking her over"). So we see him running up and down the hill without a care in the world. As it happens, this is the same hill my brother and I had been sledging down the previous winter on our uncle's home made sleigh - a monstrosity made from a door and two fence posts, more than capable of transporting a horse or passing though a brick wall given enough speed. We spotted that the hill was actually considerably steeper than we thought now that we saw it in profile, it was easily 45+ degrees inclination, if not more. He turned to me and said "Were we clean out of our fucking heads?"
So the dog is running down this hill and my brother says "wanna see something funny?" and called the dog over.
Well, he heard his master's voice but he's already moving far too fast to stop or turn and while I won't pretend to know what went on in that demented canine head of his the end result was that he put on the brakes by sitting down. We of course are treated to the vision of this down shooting down the hill, sitting down, as water fountains up around him. Very funny, at least until he shot through the patch of thistles - then it was hilarious.
Right, 2AM, time to stop. I'll have a notepad in that data center tomorrow at least, might keep me amused to draw out my revenge fantasies or something.