There’s No Super Fun Sunday Day Out From Where I’m Sitting…

I was thinking of making it a tradition to post pictures and commentary every Sunday because I’m so incredibly self-centered. I understand that everyone wants to be me (Don’t be embarrassed! You’re not alone!).

If the wife and I don’t use all of our free time wisely on the weekends we end up doing something stupid like going over to her brother’s house and getting waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too drunk.

Which is what we did last night (after recording the latest chapter of
Letter to America, that is)



These are bottles of traditional Swedish ‘Snaps’ (which is pronounced sort of like ‘Schnapps’). They are deadly. You would be better off smashing the bottles against your forehead then actually drinking the contents.


This is how I saw the world after merely sniffing the ‘Snaps’. It only got worse from here.

(Authors Note: The following pictures are incredibly graphic. If you are under-aged or have morals slightly higher than mine (which is very likely) then please turn your computer off immediately and call your priest/rabbi/minister/prophet/senator and beg for forgiveness. You have been warned.)



As you can see, the night took such a nasty and confusing turn that even I don’t know where to begin explaining.

I am now going to go and lie down.



Idly Rambling On

Number of Radio Ads Written This Week: 21

Number of Radio Ads Recorded This Week: 0 (next week could be rough for somebody other than me cuz I’m out Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. Woop! Woop!)

Two DVDs Left Behind by an Ex Co-Worker: ‘Rent-a-Butt’ and ‘Behind the Scenes with Lucy and Michelle’.

An Observation That Could Have Used Some Filtering Before I Opened My Mouth: ‘Have you noticed how buff Tiger Woods is lately?’

Weirdest Search Terms People Used to Find My Blog This Week:

  1. 1023
  2. ass on ass
  3. how do I convince my wife to try anal

I shall let you all ponder the depths of my mind. Have a good weekend.

Time Keeps On Slippin’ Into the Future

Turns out, that when you go and look at houses that are for sale and tell the person who owns the house that you like their house and will pay them a certain amount of money to make their house your house they sometimes agree.


Unfortunately, there is some obscure law written somewhere (probably in goat’s blood and hidden under a rock in some strange church protected by the mythical decendants of Dan Brown) that says that when you tell somebody that you’ll pay them a certain price to move out of their house and let you move in you actually have to pay them the certain price you said you’d pay them.


This is exactly what has happened to my wife and myself. Only we couldn’t afford a full on ‘house’ because we are only a half-step above being ranked as ‘Surfs’ on our tax returns (only you don’t file tax returns here in the U.K. You have to trust the government to decide whether or not you’ve paid the right amount. Several years ago my wife and I thought we might have paid too much in taxes here in the U.K. and sent hand written letters to the tax people and they sent us a refund. I’m not sure who I trust more– the I.R.S. or whoever the hell the tax people are over here (I haven’t really paid that much attention. Jesus, I’m lazy…)).

Where was I? Oh yeah, since we’re semi-surfs (good lord, I soooo want to say ‘smurfs’) we couldn’t afford a house and had to settle for a flat (that’s ‘apartment’ to my American readers).

So I guess this means that we’re going to be stuck here for at least another couple of years (not that I mind) which is cool because the way the housing market is going we should make a nice and tidy 30,000 pounds in the next 2 or 3 years (that’s around $58,000 American). And since the U.S. of America is hitting a housing bust, I’m thinking we could turn around and invest over there when this market takes a dump and just keep going back and forth until we’re so stinking rich it won’t matter.

Anyway, I won’t keep you. I know you’re busy and you’ve got things to do.

I’m feeling all growed up and shit these days.

(WTF are we getting ourselves into?????)

A Lazy Way To Fill A Post– PICTURES!!!


This is either a bum or a bomb…either way, I’m steering clear.


Do what the sign says! Don’t leave your dog shit on the sidewalk! (Notice the stink lines rising from the poop.)


Perhaps you should bow down to the excremental delights of your pooch…


Or just leave them to fry in the car.


This is like a real life Narnia only creepier and made of concrete. Sort of like the book. Only the characters were turned to stone. Not concrete. This is just an obsessive hobby for somebody. It is wrong. I’ll stop now. (I’m gonna have nightmares.)

This just goes to show that death is interesting to me…and that I hate seagulls. And pigeons. And all the goddamn birds that chirp outside my window at 4 in the morning and wake me up.


I feel better now.

(Stupid birds. SHUT UP!!!!)

Super Fun Sunday Day Out 2


Today, on Super Fun Day Sunday, my lovely wife and I drove up the North Coast in an attempt to waste as much gasoline as humanly possible.

We succeeded, as far as anyone in Northern Ireland can waste a tank of gas (come on, people, the country isn’t that big).

Above, is the view that greeted us as we pulled into Ballycastle earlier today. I don’t know who the couple is walking along the beach but I’m pissed off that I didn’t take another after they weren’t in the shot. The nerve! The Bastards! This is why I want to live somewhere where nobody else lives. That, and I figure the taxes might be lower in a less populated area.

I might be wrong… but the faded mountains in the background are Scotland (I have now been told by my wife that I am not wrong, it is Scotland. Wow. I’m right for once!).

(This pic also serves as proof that sometimes you can see almost 12 whole miles in this country when the weather is good.)


We didn’t do a whole lot in Ballycastle.

It was just beach and sunshine. (Dullsville if you ask me. Beach and sun? Boring.) As we were leaving, Ruth (my long-suffering wife and legally bound dish washer) mentioned that she knew of a nearby Nunnery where one of the Sisters demanded that after she died she should be buried under a slab by the front door so that anyone who entered had to walk over her (foot fetish? Desperate for a decent back massage? Who knows?). So this is where we ended up. Bonamargy Friary. (This is a clue to what’s about to happen. Ruth said a “Nunnery”. We ended up at a “Friary”.)


Yep. There was no nun under the floor- just a lot of old cemetery crap.

Like this:





One of the things I admire most about living in Northern Ireland is how they mix the modern with the historic. (Here you see how they’ve blended a very, very old Friary with modern demands. Yes! It’s also a golf course–notice the red flag in the background. Hole 17!).

What fun! These historic dead people now share their lives with a bunch of slicers and hookers! And good for them.

I used to live in Boulder, Colorado where we played Frisbee in a local cemetery. It’s all good. The dead don’t know any better–and they’re taking up valuable real estate. That’s very selfish, if you ask me.


I just like this shot (above). Live with it.


Here we see a die-hard golfer looking for his balls.

Overall, it was a superb day and I’m very tired. And isn’t that what weekends are all about? My theory is you should show up to work on Monday more tired than when you left on Friday.

Work is not your life, people.

Remember that.

I’m a Man of Many Talents



Over the last month I seemed to have picked up a few new readers.This is awesome (God…I sound so American…well, I am American I suppose– so that’s cool.)


Anyway, my point is that not only do I write this humble blog but I also co-host the incredibly popular podcast

Letter to America

with my friend and BBC Director Jett Loe (pictured above). I know it’s incredibly popular because Jett tells me that it is and he knows everything. I even have a bracelet with the engraving WWJD? (‘What Would Jett Do?)

If, for some strange reason, you want to hear my incredibly nasal whine in graphic digital clarity feel free to tune in.

Even if you don’t want listen to my voice you’ll want to hear it- unless you’re cool with being a sad n00b.

Tune in NOW (I’m in advertising, I know how your weak mind works. Resistance is futile) and wrap yourself in a big warm blanket of self-satisfaction and interweb smugness.

God, you’re gonna feel good.

MMMmmmmmm interweb smugness….(tastes like chocolate!)

I Blame the Weather


Recently, I told you about my fondness for a certain Kelly Clarkson song. (No, I’m not going to tell you which one.)Normally,I think of myself as a pretty “hep daddy-o” but, clearly, this was a slip in judgement. A moment of insanity, as it were. I mean we all have our guilty pleasures, right?

Anyway, the rest of the week has gotten a bit, how do I put this? Weird? Worse? I don’t know, but what I do know is that I’m liking the new Nelly Furtado (I don’t know if this is how you spell it. I’m too lazy to Google it at the moment) song, the Christina Aquialira Acqorilla A Gorrilla Aguilera (that’ll do…is that right?) song and the new Shakeera Shakira (???) song.

What the hell is wrong with me? And why the hell can’t pop stars have names I can spell??!!??

I’m a guy who has AC/DC, Guns n’ Roses, Radiohead, and Weezer in his CD collection. Like I said, I’m cool, man. As a cucumber. I’m bad. I’m no hoser. Sweet! Awesome! (etc…)

My theory is that some genetic code has been triggered and, even though I am not a father, I have become a nerd (Again. Goddamn it!) and any teenager on the street can probably now spot me a mile away thinking that I’m trying to “hang” with “the cool kids” like the dorky dad we all knew and despised in high school (a mere 18 years ago…OMG!) (Why am I using so many parenthesis??? Is this another nerd sign?)

I’m going to go and de-program myself or something…maybe play a little

Animal Crossing Wild World.

(Oh god…I’m hopeless.)