I'm walking backwards for christmas

Christmas. Snow? WaterWetRain.

Santa. Presents? DealextremeCustomsNone.

2010. New Year's resolutions? PotOfGoldMustFinallyGetItAndLeaveABrownAndSmellySurpriseInIt

Health. Any better? HighCholesterolMucousPhlegmCatarrhArouarglHMHMHMHMHM.

Future. Hopes and wishes? OhLordPleaseLetThereBeBrains.

Santa arrived early!

Congratulations to your government, congratulations to the budget. Ingenius idea to put up the VAT one year and then taking the glory for bringing it down the next year to the same level as before, thinking the people have forgotten that the same greedy politicians put it up in the first place. Yeah, your government thinks it can treat you like fools and yes, they are right in doing so.

Lets face the facts. You are all smelly, ugly potatoe farmers, only interested in your own well-beings. Brian Latchico Lenihan knows that, so he came up with another act of humanity and brought down the prices for beer and wine.
This seems to kill two birds with one stone: On the one hand it encourages family fathers to bring their hard earned money to the pub and afterwards into the bookies instead of home to the starving wife and children and on the other hand these millions of euros the state is losing of that are NOT (- and you see I am writing this in uppercase and bold to put a stress and more importance on it) being invested into your rotten, human hating health system, schools or social systems instead, cause they are doomed anyways. Respect for that.


I am happy Mr Lenihan said the worst is over. Let's start a new day, a new life and open a new can of beer, get pissed and go into hibernation, until a prince(ss) comes along to kiss us awake of that nightmare. Good night Pixies.

Der Guten Tag Hop-Clop

Vunderbar! Eins, zwei, drei...
Guten Tag hop hop
Guten Tag clop clop
Ach du lieber
Und oh boy!

Guten Tag clap clap
Guten Tag slap slap
Ach du lieber
Vat a joy!

Oh, ve essen und fressen
Und tanze und trinken
Tanzen und trinken
Until ve get stinkin!

Everybody!
Guten Tag hop hop
Guten Tag clop clop...
Guten Tag
Meine liebe Schatz

So ve hop our hops
Und ve clop our clops
Und ve drink our Schnapps
'Til ve plotz!

Citius, Altius, Fortius

Ladies. Oh fat red haired ladies.
I must say I do like your style.
I admire you every morning and afternoon on the way to and from the office, looking very sporty in your always, never changing, evergreen, new and shiny runners, hovering over the pavement.
Your overweight legs gently cushioned by Nike Air system^TM, your chubby sweatening sockless feet kept warm in a shoe that is able to deliver world records.
Seing you there, I am inclined to think that you are on your way to a marathon or a wall climbing class.

I do like your eating habits too. You are so healthy having two halves of a BLT sandwhich with extra mayonaise, a bowl of soup and a tiny bag of extra light crisps for lunch, resting your padded belly on the table, sipping on your diet coke.

I am feeling so unfit, seeing you celebrating your applaudable lifestyle, I would love to get up, right here and now and take a leaf out of your book, but I haven't got the strength anymore, just haven't got the strength. Fair play to you.

Classic Own Goal

Allons enfants de la Patrie,
Le jour de gloire est arrivé!

Pixies, you wanna know what that is?

That's the sweet sound of victory for the French nation.
They are laughing at you. Everyone is.
You didn't really believe that you would have a fair chance to get through to the world cup in South Africa next year, did you? Oh really? Well, that's sweet. A bit like 15 year old, brace-smiling, dentist daughters on X-factor that think they are the new Whitney Houstons or Mariah Careys and just awfully suck.

Seriously, the same way no one wants to listen to these sirenes, no one in the whole wide world wants to have you and your appaling team at a football world cup. It's like going on a rock festival and listening to naff garage newcomer bands instead of seing the big acts. My ears are still full off your moaning, that it is typical that you have to play France now in the relegation games.
You are right about the fact that this was fixed and it is your own fault and you deserve it after voting no for Lisbon the first time.

But what is your point? If you can't even beat that French crap team, that obviously is one of their worst in ages (there is a reason why they are playing the relegation games: they are shit), what do you want at the world cup? Hoping for worse team than yours, that you might beat with your wannabe Italian defence?
I ask you Pixies: who wants to see that? Not even yourselves, do you?
And would you really be proud of your loser team drawing with teams like Denmark or Greece?

Listen: look at other teams like Germany. They used the last years to invest in their youth work. They have a young, unbeatable squad and are without controversity the odds-on favourite on the title.
Take you time, hire a new coach (Rafael Benitez might be available soon) as Trapattoni's way of playing football is a disgrace. Give young and talented players a chance (in case you got some), boost them and then you might have a chance to qualify for the next European Championship - if we let you of course.

So behave till then. Think of my words, Lisbon one was a cockiness, make sure things like that will never ever happen again.

Good luck Pixies, you will need it.

Lost in translation

Pixies, some interesting news for you:

English is not a god given gift to mankind.

I am delighted for the British Empire that they successfully managed to impose their language on the Irish nation. It is sweet to see your nice trials to keep your own language alive, although it is long dead and rotten as the meat in Superquinn's reduced prices section.
It's not a new phenomenon that you pretend to hate the English whilst at the same time admiring their football teams, TV shows, music and fashion and imitating their whole life style consistently: whatever insanity they come along with, e.g. moon boots combined with pyjamas, you adapt it.

Given that I am not surprised that you are acting with the same arrogance travelling to other countries and expecting everyone to speak your well-loved, sacred English like you do in the most ridiculous accent you could imagine (it's not teef it's a thief, you pronounce the th by curving your tongue, slightly upwards at the tip - creating a shape similar to a spoon between the tip and the base. The tip of the tongue should be touching the bottom edge of the top row of teeth, on the narrow part/edge, you dumbasses).

I just went to Sicily to escape your dreadful weather and to get at least a couple of nice sunny days this year.
More than once I saw how red-as-a-lobster, sunburned Irish tourists were speaking away in English to domestic Italian waiters or vendors not even making the slightest effort to ask beforehand if they speak English at all. It satisfied myself to see that these waiters didn't give a shit about this disrespectfulness and kept giving answers in Italian to them. The outcome was that these pixies ordered something they didn't know what it is as they couldn't remeber a word French or Spanish that they "learned" in school by teacher Mr Fritz and Mrs Scorchio, so they weren't even able to derive from the base of the words in the menu. Therefore, the redhaired Irish couple sitting at the table next to me were eating frog's leg now, in place of the wished Pizza Funghi and were drinking tomato juice instead of red wine. I overheard an angry conversation between them saying that it was unbelievably rude that the waiter didn't actually speak a word English and that they were tourists and would expect that at least in restaurants there would be a basic level of English comprehension.
I think it's absurd and paradox as the same bunch of people are getting annoyed at home by foreigners speaking their native languages in public instead of English although themselves are not actually meant to be part in that conversation.


Later on the plane on my way back I noticed other Irish people giving out that the announcements on the plane where made in Italian first an then in English. They got really pissed off about that and couldn't understand.


Pixies: arrogance doesn't suit you and doesn't make sense. Go back to your farm, eat some potatoes and watch your English favourite team not winning the league title again but don't bother travelling to countries where a different language is being spoken if you can't handle it. You are a disgrace for the whole European Union and as you now finally voted for being a part of it, you better cop on if you still want to fill up your pot of gold drooling over the millions the people of bigger and civilised countries as Germany, England, France and Italy are working very hard for day by day. Stupid is as stupid does. Over and out.

'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide

Just a quick note.

As in the near future (tomorrow!), right after the Lisbon referendum (I command you to vote YES this time!), the recently new elected Power-Germany and the best France since Johnny Hallyday will rule Europe - and especially your little rainy, greenish, moist, damp island - with an iron hand, you might think about booking flights now to escape to other, nicer countries.

To support you in doing do, I want to give you some advice.

I am not sure if you have heard of this, but I came across this airline yesterday and think their value can't be beaten, it is called Ryanair, and basically all you have to do is go to their website www.ryanair.ie and book a one-way flight online. It is a so called low-cost airline, where you can save a lot of money. Their CEO, yur man Michael O'Leary, seems to be a sly and very likeable person. I think they are offering a great service for small money and if I got it right, it is even an Irish airline, ironically enough that the only good thing you ever came up with, serves you pixies to leave your country and never come back. I'll stay here for another while, enjoying the silence and improved air quality when you'se are gone, checking if you left the pot of gold somewhere. I am sure you can't bring it with you, cause the weight restrictions on Ryanair flights are very tight, so happy days.
Anyways, I thought I would just let you know pixies.
I don't expect to see you here anymore by the end of the week.
Take it easy.

And if you come, when all the flowers are dying

And I am dead, as dead I well may be

You'll come and find the place where I am lying

And kneel and say an "Ave" there for me.

Lisbon 2 is the "new" Lisbon 1

Pixies,

I would like to remind you to go and vote YES to Lisbon at the second of October for:


- a better life

- more jobs

- cleaner water


Right, that is what you should made believe, so do so. Done that, we, the mighty Germans, will finally gain power over you again and can do what we want to do with you: taking back our pot of gold!
We filled it up with our precious money for too long now, so you could invest it in your broken economy, streets and railroad stations. We gave you all and you returned nothing. Enough is enough, so vote YES for:


- a better Europe

- the future of Ireland

- a peaceful world

- the sake of Jesus Christ

- the benefits of a greener nature

- peace on earth and even Africa


Please have a look at the following very convincing banners to make it even easier for you to vote YES:

I count on you pixies. Vote YES.

CSI: Superior German

Dear Pixies,

I went to the CSI: The Experience yesterday in town as I am a huge fan of Horatio Caine.
You probably don't know what the exhibition is about, I better explain it to you so at least you have the chance to understand:

The Experience is a museum exhibit providing visitors with a hands-on, exploratory, multi-sensory experience in the world of crime scene investigation.
It is designed to educate the public about forensic processes, procedures and technologies. At the exhibit, visitors will investigate a “real” crime scene and
interact via video with favorite characters from the hit television show as well as real-life forensic experts.

David Caruso and David Hasselhoff have been my favourite actors for years now, so I thought it might be a good possibility to meet my hero and offer him my help with his job.
I always was the best in school and especially in maths and chemistry, as it is just so logical. Very excited I entered the venue, got my ticket and looked around. Strangely enough, Horatio wasn't there.
I must say I was so gutted about it that I was thinking about going home. But as I had paid money already to get in I thought "Why should I donate the money, I was working for so hard, to you greedy leprechauns? Just so you have even more in your stinky pot of gold? Surely not!". Having that in mind, a quick flash of anger pulsed through me.
I wanted to kick asses like "H" usually does in CSI:Miami. So I followed the crowd and joined one of the three staged crime scenes.
After only 29 minutes (!) I already completed my crime scene investigation and compared my clues with those of a real crime scene investigator (not "H" ! He must have been from Germany, I didn't like his stupid accent at all, my picked up Irish accent is surely a lot better than his, even the taxi drivers are asking me all the time, from what quarter of the town I'm from) and determined
which clues needed further analysis. All the other idiots were still pondering, but I think their IQs weren't very high but what would you expect as they were Irish.
After finishing that crime scene, I was even more angry; I paid so much money and now I was done after 29 minutes, they said at the entrance it would take at least 60 to 90 minutes.
To get at least a bit out of my money, I joined the other two crime scenes as well and after 37 more minutes I was done with them too. It was ridiculous, all
the others didn't even solved one scenario, where I was done with all of them. I couldn't believe what nutcases these people are. Seriously, it's no surprise that your police with that funny name (Gardai, is it?) is a joke.
Very dissapointed and furious I left "The Ambassador" and went home to watch my favourite episode of CSI:Miami and to calm down.
It was the right decicion to do that, I knew Horatio wouldn't let me down, he kicked asses and said at the end of the episode:

"Tomorrow is ............... (taking his sunglasses from his eyes) what you make of it."

I smiled and had to think again about all these gobshites - unable to finish one of the the crime scene scenarios. Tomorrow will be mine,  you pixies, tomorrow will be mine.

Acoustical Delight

Autumn.
Days are getting shorter, the nights colder.
Red-nosed people,
dragging themselves to work.
Swine flu jokes revival.
Joy.

Snuff.
Hearty, mucous snuff.
Schni-schna-schnuffy-protest,
insistent, remarkable protest
against the tissue industry.
Mucous snuff, mucous sleeve.
Repulsion.

Gargle.
Ahh... Abnormal noises,
Ahh.. never ending, nerve killing gargle.
Ahh.. rouragraallaaa...
Chronic, everywhere, no escape.
arougraalural.
Psychiatrist needed?
Ahh... arougraalural... Ahh
PANIC.

Pixiemania

My dear pixies,

in this post I would like to thank you.


Thank you for robbing my sleep.

Thank you for causing me another dreamless night.

Thank you again.


Listen up! I don't have a problem in general with you securing your pixie-homes, cars, motorbikes, boats, shops and probably your pot of gold with more expensive alarm systems than the whole thing is worth but you might want to consider that:

• These yokes go off every time a passing by cat sneezes, a squirrel throws nuts on it, the wind of change gently blows over it, a typical mid-thirty, high-pitched Irish woman pretends to be delighted about her friend's new shoes, a Liverpool fan shouts out his anger about Rafael Benitez, a bridge collapses just five days after being inspected (well done my Irish friends, well done), Mary Harney farts, skangers turn up Roxette's "sleeping in my car" techno remix on their mobile phones, Pat Kenny laughs his head off while counting his millions paid by taxpayers money, wanna-be recessionistas are sighing about their miserey of only having 5 instead of the usual 6 (in words: s i x) holidays a year or a lonely butterfly somewhere in the Chinese back-country flutters its wings.
  
• Given the above, why would anyone think these days: Oh, holy christ, there is an alarm, I should go and have a look or even better call the police? Children in Germany are being told only to shout for help if really needed, because otherwise people might think: Not again, shut up, would you?! and ignore it.
  No one gives a damn about your alarms. It's burglars paradise, they only have to put in some earplugs to ignore the noise but apart from that it has never been easier to clear out a house. The only ones that really feel a pain about it are people like me, waking up exhausted night after night.
  

I am seriously wondering how many days a man can survive without sleep.
I am suffering from insomnia, I am desperate, if that doesn't stop soon I need to go to see your infamous medicine man, Dr Pixie McKenna (let's not start with your crap health system at this stage).

If she won't be able to help me, there is only one thing left to do: get some old, smelly clove rock jars, put you pixies in there
and throw them in the Liffey, happily singing :

Mush-a ring dum-a do dum-a da
Whack for my daddy-o. Whack for my daddy-o
There's a pixie in the jar.

Thank you very much.

The Pursuit of Happyness

Last weekend I made a visit to your little neighbours. I would like to call them "the happy northern pixies".
A very friendly crowd that couldn't stop making jokes and laughing about you, talking about how stupid you are being ripped off and fooled by your own government, shops, pubs, restaurants and program directors, whilst themselves are living in their little paradise. I was so touched I had to wipe a tear from my eyes. Their honesty just makes them so likeable, no one would dare to fool them as they are so much cleverer, more brave and better drinkers than you are.

So after a few lovely days up there I went home from Belfast by bus. Full of non-northern pixies that would like to have a small piece of that paradisiacal, yummy cake by putting their money in the "happy northern pixies" economy while destroying their own one, which in the long term inevitable will result in an even bigger rip off, higher taxes and worse, as their own economy is going downhill. That's exactly the short term thinking I would expect from you, little pixies. The dark passenger and devoted dexter could tell you a thing or two about that.
But anyways, back to the overcrowded pixie waggon. Earlier on that day I did a Belfast bus tour and I still had the line in my head the red-haired girl on the tour told us after she was heaping praises on the city and country. She said it that little bit too much, where you start asking yourself: If it's that great, why does she have to say it so often - shouldn't it be even more obvious then? But suddenly I realised she didn't sound like a "happy northern-pixie", she was one of you'se, emigrated, a foreigner like me.
This happy pixie told us that Bill Clinton once visited Belfast and left a line on the peace wall:

"you can not win if you want your neighbours to lose."

Having that line in my head I started smiling: although I was sitting there on my way back to unloved pixie-land - sandwiched between Mary Harney look-alikes eating smelly egg-sandwiches with their mouths wide opened, having their shoes taken off to spread a sweet, stinging odour in the 50 year old, rotten and creeping with groaning axles bus, farting loudly away, embracing my nose with their hairy, sweaty arm pits - I was thinking back of the emigrated pixie, how happy she was and what she said.
I realised I only have to change my tactics slightly on my pursuit of happyness. I am going to stop my inner fighting, I'll become one of yours and as a result I will get my hand on the pot of gold. AND THEN, I will run away with it and turn my back on you, so I never have to see you idiots again. A warm shower of hope came over me and intoxicated by all the smelly feet around me, I fell asleep having a deep, soothing dream of seing myself walking on an open road, facing the beautiful sundown, finally on my way back home.

Have you seen that guy?

Plan 9 from outer space

Typical,

using google this morning to look for possible options to find your pot of gold (I will get it one day, that's for sure), a slightly anticipation for a rare natural phenomenon arose in me, as I saw that there will be a fantastic opportunity to see a spectacular meteor shower tonight.
I realised that's my way outta here: Make a wish for every falling star I see ("Please make it happen that I will finally can steal the pot of gold off the ugly leprechaun sitting on it by giving him a 360 round-house kick Chuck Norris style, let Mary Harney explode poll lap dancing Enda Kenny, let Johnny Logan be their next Taoiseach, let Pat Kenny return to The Late Late Show and last but not least: let me go home") and I will be happy for the rest of my life. It was crystal clear I am amost there when I looked out of the window and saw this:



Thanks Pixies, this was only the chance of my lifetime, but thanks very much!

Lisbon II

You better say YES to Lisbon this time.

Otherwise the above scenario will never change...
... actually, it won't change anyways, but still, vote YES Pixies.

Swine Flu

Pixies, oh my Pixies! Genie mac, what is wrong with you?

Time to set things straight:

Swine Flu jokes are NOT funny!

I can't tell anymore which is worse, the epedemic itself or the stupidly smiling, laughter awaiting, gobshites saying:

"Yseult is sick? She probably got the Swine Flu! Hahahahahahaha!"

Grown up adults, beaming with joy, having the same anticipation in their faces as small kids that proudly show their thrilled parents they have used the toilet for the first time on their own - and in doing so wrecked the whole bathroom.

Seriously, do you really think that is funny? I would expect that kind of humour from the same above mentioned kid that left a surprise on the parent's bathroom floor. Making a connection from a human being to a swine? Wow, that must have needed rocket science to do that. Respect.

Besides, do you really think you are the first one coming up with that? This was the running gag in kindergarten class for the whole last month. Being creative is something else.

Pixies, you might believe that the world has waited for you and should thank god that he or she send down someone like you to save the world from its sadness. That's so sweet.

Anyways, let's have a look at what the mighty Internet says about jokes:

"A joke is a short story or ironic depiction of a situation communicated with the intent of being humorous."

Source: www.wikipedia.com


Given that, the swine flu "joke" is not really a joke, as it does neither reflect any (subtle) irony nor creative or humourus content.
Furthermore a joke won't become any better if you tell it again and again, especially if it wasn't funny at all in the first place. But say it again, maybe we will laugh this time.

Apart from all the above, thousands of people were and are dying of the Swine Flu. Crying children are being left alone as the beloved father or mother has died.
The name of the disease might not have been chosen wisely (personally I would prefer: "the killer flu") but in the end of the day, it is a disease that is able to cause death.
I would say that no one would make the same sort of inappropriate remarks about cancer or aids, so can we please leave it be in the future?

I always thought the Germans would lack a sense of humour, at least the East Germans, but you Irish are worse.

A German proverb says:

"Humor ist wenn man trotzdem lacht"

which translates to:

If you are in a very bad situation (as being trapped in Pixie land as me), but still can laugh about it, then this is what you would call humour.

Times are bad these days, so to cheer things up a bit, let's all laugh about you now - the hilarious leprechauns -, because you deserve it the most.
If Europe is the ass of the world, Pixie land is its asshole.

I love your shoes

Dear pixies,

I would like to start my today's post with a quote of an old Billy Joel song.

"Honesty is such a lonely word.
Everyone is so untrue."

Billy Joel, Honesty

Billy Joel, one of the greatest musicians ever, as big as stars like Johnny Logan and David Hasselhoff, describes in his song perfectly what happens to be a status quo in pixieland.
Why? That's quickly explained.


Let me tell you about an observation I made.

Woman A and woman B accidentally meet each other on the street.

Woman A (let's call her Bláthnaid): Oh hellloooooo! How are youuuuuuuuuu?
Woman B (I think she was an Aoibheann): Oh my god Bláthnaid, it is so good to see youuu! I am fine, how are youuuuuuuu?
Woman A: I am very well and so delighted to seeeee youuuu!
Woman B: Mee tooo. Oh I loooooooove your shoes!
Woman A: Thank youuuuuuu! I love them too, they are fannntaaaaastic, arent't they?
Woman B: Oh Aoibheann, I swear to god, they look so good on you! They are gorgeous!

You would think this is a typical conversation of two mid 30 year old women and apart of the fact that their sirene chitchat in a exaggerated high pitched voice causes
unbearable pains in every male hearing organ, you might be inclined to believe they are very nice to each other.

Wrong. Let me translate for you how the conversation was like if Bláthnaid and Aoibheann would have said what they were actually thinking.

Woman A: Oh shit, feckin' Aoibheann, I hate that bitch, what the hell is she doing here?
Woman B: Why isn't it possible to just go shopping without meeting annoying people! Damn!
Woman A: I am not well at all, but I surely won't tell you about it, nosy cow.
Woman B: Bláthnaid you really should see a dermatologist, your skin looks gross. Sweet Jesus, where did she buy these awful looking shoes, her feet look fat in them, that's so bad.
Woman A: Of course they are lovely for that price, what is she thinking? I still haven't told my husband Mark that I spend 250 quid on them.
Woman B: I think I need to throw up.

Pixies, I am stunned how well you are in lying without blushing. But why can't you try to be a bit more honest, at least to yourselves?

Another example:

A couple is having dinner in a very posh restaurant. They still haven't realised that the celtic tiger went back where he came from a long time ago and will never return.
They are having huge debths, but for their "friends" they are trying to keep the illusion of being part of the high society alive.

She: What is wrong with the food darling, you are not looking happy.
He: It doesn't taste at all, it is a disgrace, I gonna kick the waiter's ass when he comes back!

A minute later the waiter comes over to their table.

Waiter: Is everything okay?
He: It is absolutely fantastic, the porched eggs taste delicious, thank you very much!
(and looks embarassed down at his plate)

What is wrong with you my little friends? Are you still under schock of years of English occupation? Are you living the life of Patrick Bateman in American Psycho?

Let me quote one of the rare wise leprechauns you have:

"Anger is a gift."

Think about it.

And by the way: I loooooooooooooove your country.

IKEA

Dear pixies,

you are so sweet.
Looking forward to the opening of the first ever store of IKEA in your leprechaun country like kids waiting for Santa. The eyes wide opened, reading the IKEA catalogue and thinking this must be a perfect world out there.
Actually it reminds me of the people of the GDR, after the Fall of the wall, absorbing the first banana of their lives.
The problem with too high expectations is as always that you can fall deep, in this case as deep as the Mariana Trench.

Let me tell you about the experiences the Germans made in 25 years of Swedish furniture invasion.

IKEA brings you:

• overcrowded stores
• traffic jams in the area of the stores
• pedagogical parents, talking at their crying and fighting double-named kids (Jan-Kevin and Sarah-Maria) that they will get an oat cake if they stop kicking each other, cause that's what they learned in their course: "be a good parent in a green world"
• plywood furniture of the cheapest quality
• nervous break downs as screw 14b is missing of wine rack "GRUNDTALBLAH"
• indigestions after eating funny looking food in the canteen
• idiotic names (why would you call a single bed "MALM" ?)
• desperate people trying to find a way out of the mazy store
• long queues at the checkouts

IKEA does not bring you:

• what you see in the catalogue as it always looks different in your house after approx. four hours of assembling time

Don't tell me you haven't been warned.

Irish summer

RAIN in my shoes, on my head, in my pockets
RAIN on my back, in my ears, underwear
dripping nose downwards, mouth passing, chin - WET
summer has finally started - I bet.

Dance my love, dance

An excellent example of how cute and at the same time funny you Irish are. My heart makes a jump when I see things like that happening again and again. It jumps to the rhythm of the music, my smile gets bigger with each beat of the drum. Adrenaline starts to flush through my body and finally my hope is growing that one sweet day I will find the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.

Babylon

This goes out to all the fourteen year old clone kids, sitting on the dart, in front of supermarkets and playgrounds, with their mobiles turned up to maximum volume playing techno remixes of Bryan Adams and Roxette songs of the early nineties.

It's okay, that you have started rebelling against your dentist, solicitor or doctor parents and I am happy for you that your puberty vocal change and pubic hair growth finally kicked in - but please, please, please: stop talking. Turn up your mobiles, bang your heads against the windows or fart out loudly but do us the favour and keep your mouth shut.

The country of Joyce and Beckett, Heaney and W.B. Yates has not been waiting for your new americanised palaver.
And no, it is not 'cool' to randomly use words and phrases as 'like', 'you know', 'oh my god' or 'this is so my xyz' etc. To say in your language:

"Like oh my god like it is so not neccessary to speak if you like don't have anything to say like, you know?"

It's the same as democracy: you can tell your opinion - but you don't have to. A wise German once said: "Oefter mal die Schnauze halten" which translates to:

"be quiet if you don't have to contribute anything productive",

or in your words:

"zip it! butt out! shut your trap! stuff it!, put a sock in it!, shut your cakehole!, shut it! "

Thanks kids.

P.S.: My fellow men who decided to leave their countries and now try to deny their origin and wish to be assimiliated by pretending not to be foreign, I am sure this sounds familiar to you too.

Stranded in pixie land

Here I am. Desillusioned, trapped and devastated like Adam and Eve after being kicked out of the garden of eden. Unconscious of any guilt, I am doomed to 'live' in a country of red haired hobnailed leprechauns. Why lord, oh why?Actually I do know why. It's all my dad's fault. He thought it might be a good idea for me to leave our town in Germany for a while to study other, inferior cultures. He thinks this will help me to rule one of the 5 cities he owns (1 in Germany, 4 in France) whenever he won't be able to do it anymore.
"Go and see how these funny, uneducated pixies live. Mingle with them and realise why they are like they are and why the rest of Europe is laughing about them. Eventually you will understand why it is so important to rule with an iron hand"
he said. I've been here for way to long now and no day passes by without hearing my dads voice in my ears. He was right, so right.