Holidays Are Pretty Cooooooooooool!



This is my train home.

Will it be full of drunks? (I mean, it is Friday and it’s Belfast. Maybe I should be drunk. Then I wouldn’t notice the difference. Oh, man. My train is sooooo going to be full of drunks. It’s Belfast!)


It’s Friday!!!

And I have two weeks off starting………………………. now!!

I rule!

I kick ass!

I’m finally taking some time off!

I’m going to be thinking about work for the next 14 days! I’ll probably never relax! Life is grand!


(Please…help me………)

Tom Cruise Is A Weirdo Midget


I bought a new iPod last week and when I downloaded iTunes 7 and tried to do the thangs that iTunes normally does I felt a sudden sneaking suspicion that I might, in fact, be technically retarded (I think the geek community would label me a “tech-tard”).

Instead, it turns out that my mental capacity is still at an agreeable sub-statistically-normal level and that iTunes 7 blows the brass marching band.

So while I was downloading the “patch” to iTunes I surfed away and found this creepy pic of Tom Cruise and his latest cult-twisted “beard” (“beard” means a woman acting like she does the willy-wiggle with a man who is secretly wiggling his willy with other willies. You know what I mean) walking out of somewhere going somewhere else. (I’m all about details, people.)
His “stats” claim that he is 5 foot 7. Katie is supposedly 5 foot 8. She’s wearing heels (maybe 3 inches?) but he looks at least a foot shorter. So to be generous she should only appear to be four inches taller than the big Noggin-ed Space Thetan.

This is obviously not the case.

Draw yer own conclusions. I’m going to see if I can wrangle some sense outta this here iTunes 7.01 or whatever.

(Man, Tom Cruise is weird, isn’t he? And shit, he’s short!)


Today I spent an entire 2 hours in the office. The rest of my day was divided between recording various radio ads and trying to watch a television commercial being filmed.

(Note to Americans: The word “film” is not said over here the way you might think. It’s not pronounced film like we say film which is: Film. No, over here they say Fill-um. The way normal people (Americans) would say, “Fill em up, Chuck!” It can be confusing and it’s hard not to slap the Northern Ireland person who says “Fill-um” when they talk about the film they saw at the movie theater (they say “cinema”) over the weekend. Are you all straight on this? Good.)

Anyway, I was pretty pumped about being around the set for this commercial because we wrote the thing about a month ago and we all (meaning myself, the Creative Director and the Art Director) have been looking forward to this day because we really love this particular script and we’re dying to see what it looks like.

Well, of course, this meant that my day was going to hammer me every which way and torture me and confuse me and keep me from ever setting foot on set for any amount of quality time.

So I’m bummed.

I spent a whole boring, uneventful 4 hours on set (which is nothing in terms of filming (or Fill-um-ing)) and never saw a single scene being filmed (or Fill-ummd). All I saw was a group of people walking around and smoking and waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting.

Oh, and waiting.

However, the building we used for this shoot was the same that some other big name production company used as a set for some Dickie Attenborough war movie about a plane crash on Cavehill starring that bitch actress from the OC (Mischa Barton) and Shirley McClaine (who’s not a bitch hard to work with as far as know but is a chain smoker (from what I hear)). I saw Shirley’s changing room which turned out to be a former sun-bed stall (the studio is in a dilapidated leisure centre (gym) I’m telling you, everything is weird here!). But of course I didn’t have my camera so you’ll just have to imagine the squalor.

(It was squalid.)

If the fates agree and smile upon my soul I will post a link to the commercial when it’s gone through post production.

But who knows. If I can, I will. If I can’t, well…I’ll never mention this again.

Family Guy Says Fuck? WTF????

I don’t have cable and I don’t really think the Family Guy is that funny (the eps that I’ve seen anyway) but can anybody Stateside confirm that they really got away with this?



I still don’t believe you but here’s the footage anyway (probably soon to be pulled by Google. Enjoy while the gettin’s good).

(Also, I’ve never tried posting video to this blog before. I felt this was appropriate. Because it’s Monday. And the “F Bomb” is always appropriate on a Monday.)

UPDATE: It appears that this video has indeed been pulled (I told you so). Anyway, it was fun while it lasted.

Yup. I’m Only Using Half Me Brains

You Are 20% Left Brained, 80% Right Brained

The left side of your brain controls verbal ability, attention to detail, and reasoning.
Left brained people are good at communication and persuading others.If you’re left brained, you are likely good at math and logic.Your left brain prefers dogs, reading, and quiet.The right side of your brain is all about creativity and flexibility.Daring and intuitive, right brained people see the world in their unique way.If you’re right brained, you likely have a talent for creative writing and art.Your right brain prefers day dreaming, philosophy, and sports.

Are You Right or Left Brained?

This explains a lot about me.


I don’t know what exactly, but I’m sure it’s meaningful and worth at least 5 minutes of discussion over a coffee and a cinnamon bear claw. (Wait a minute! Goddamn it! Why can’t I get a bear claw in this country????).

To me it says that, yeah, maybe I’m creative but does it mean I’m a good creative?

There’s a big difference.

We could be talking Picasso type genius vs the kid eating paste in the corner and barfing out impressionist coloring book templates (Ok. I gotta admit the barf template could be kinda interesting).

Anyway, I normally don’t go for this type of entry but this time (and I don’t like begging for comments but I am actually interested in this) I was hoping that you good people could take the test and let me know how you did.


I’m just curious to see if it’s more creative type people who blog and read my gobble-dee-gook (which to me seems obviously true) or if there are a lot of left-brainers out there who use blogging to persuede and do whatever else logic type thinkers like to do when they’re not reading, being quiet or preferring they’re dogs (what’s so special about their dogs, that they’re all preferring and everything over?).

This is a long shot and I really don’t expect too many replies, but what the hell? Let’s see what happens.

Also, some of you may remember that I’ve been “experimenting” with my blog lately. I will say, without giving away too much, that things are happening and I feel slightly guilty about it but then…eh, what are ya gonna do? Anyway, don’t be surprised if you find a hidden secret somewhere in this post because I’m in advertising.

And I have no shame.

Or respect for consumers.

Have fun!
This is my attempt to add inviso-copy to my humble little blog. Lets see if it works: Mel Gibson Hates Jews, Imogen Sex Tape, Video of Steve Irwin Attacked by Stingray, The Pope, Northern Ireland News.

Are you reading this? Really? Wow, congratulations! You’re even more cynical than me!

Michael Jackson Loves Him Some Leprachauns!


Normally, I don’t link to news sites because I think it’s a lazy way to fill a post.

This is how much effort that kind of blogging takes:

Right Click


Insert Hyperlink

Go Back to Getting Drunk/Injecting Class A Narcotics Into Your Remaining Non-Collapsed Vein While Other Bloggers Sweat Blood Over What They’re Going To Say Next

But that’s not to say that you shouldn’t feed from news sites. I love it when you do that! Really! No, really!

Anyway, I had to link to this pile of cock-crapping-moronic -fuckwad-American-dumbshit- thinking.

Yep. It looks like MJ has graduated from sleeping in beds with short, underage children (just as friends!) to wanting to bed legal aged (hopefully, anyway) short people with funny accents because he thinks leprechauns are “magical” and Mr. Michael loves magic!

Again, I hate to say it but…there are so many things wrong with this.

I’ve long argued that the reason why so many Europeans hate Americans is that they (Americans) tend to view other cultures/countries as a great big Disney World theme park when/if they actually bother their ass to come and see a different part of the world.

They (Americans (yes, I realize that I am American but for the sake of argument I’m distancing myself for the moment)) tend to think other cultures are “quaint” and “charming” without ever stopping to think that living in another country is an actual true and very real way of life.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve walked through the streets of Belfast (where there is no shortage of American tourists) and had to listen to statements like, “I’m Irish! I totally think Belfast is awesome! Cuz I’m Irish! Mate! Bloody, bloody, queue, mate, cheers!”

Don’t get me wrong.

Being proud of your heritage is good/great thing (if you care about that sort of thing. I don’t, but that’s just me). But leave it at that, because no matter how much you want it to be true- it’s not who you are.

When Americans come tramping around anywhere that they’re not from claiming that they’re Irish, South African, Russian, or whatever (because some distant relative came from there) they not only make a fool of themselves but they run the risk of looking stupider than they already are (culturally speaking) and nobody wants that. (Or do you? Do you want to look stupider? With Bush in the White House? Really? Jesus Christ! You are a glutton for punishment!)

Anyway, that weirdo creep Michael Jackson thinks it’s a good idea to open a theme park based around leprachauns because he obviously has no sense of realityand lives in some fucked up fantasy land where he honestly thinks that opening a theme park based on leprachauns in Ireland is a good idea.

I don’t get it and I’m sorry if you tuned in today wanting a light hearted “Wayne’s had a bad day” type of post but this really pissed me off. (Also, I am well aware that my political rants usually read like a crazed mad man on acid with a keyboard. Therefore, I’m going to save this but not publish it until tomorrow so that I can have another look when I’ve calmed down. If this actually gets published, it means I’m still pissed off. And if you’re reading this that means I am. Wow. This is getting confusing. Anyway, have a good weekend!)




Ahhhhh fuck it.


Wonder Bra Models and Weirdos

Ever since I signed up for Letter to America I’ve come to accept that weird things were going to happen in my life.

Like today.

I really don’t have the time or energy to go on about what happened (mainly, I don’t have the energy) so I’m gonna give you my day in a delicate, yet efficient, bullet-point formation.


  1. Overweight, overly applying perfume bitch stood next to me on the train platform this morning even though I’ve made it abundantly clear in the past that her “perfume” is like two fingers jammed down an anorexic’s bulimic’s throat.
  2. Connecting train was late. I didn’t care. I was too busy throwing up in the train’s bathroom (see point 1). Got to work late.
  3. Work was uneventful and somewhat pleasant for a change. Belief in God rose from .2% probability to .4%
  4. The train ride home started with 2 Calvin Klein models (one female, one male) insisting that I was aware that they were Calvin Klein models on their way to catch the Dublin train. I could not have have cared less except for the fact that the female model was also a model for Wonderbra and pointed out that she really didn’t need one. (She didn’t. Lord did she NOT need a Wonderbra.) I did eventually get annoyed, however, by her “look at my breasts but DON’T look at my breasts” attitude. I was also annoyed that the male model gave me deeper, more loving looks than Ms. Look At My Tits.
  5. After switching trains at Great Victoria Street I ended up sitting across the aisle from one incredibly drunk Scotsman who accidentally caught my eye and insisted on talking to me the rest of the way home. Even when he farted (which he did often) he continued talking shit like you’ve never heard– such as the following:

“Och, what’re you reading? Y’know I once met that guy which wrote that ‘Anne Frank Diary’ thingy. Big guy. Had a thing for Tequila. You live around here?”

I will stop here because I’m frightened. Really, really frightened.

Super Saturday Belfast Zoo Stuff

Today we went to the Belfast Zoo.

I would like to say lots of really supportive things about Belfast’s one and only zoo but… but…well…truth be told, it struck me as a zoo that is either slowly dying a sad death or is slowly recovering from said sad death and is on the uprise. Time will tell and until time tells me which one it is I will try to pull back and be objective.

Some pictures of our day:


Wow. ‘A rare experience everyday!’ What the hell have I done with my life before this? Today’s a day! Maybe it’ll be rare!

It’s good to see that the penguins take care of their own- unlike the mysterious elephants who have their secret ‘Burial Grounds’, where those great big mammals do god knows what with their dead. But thanks to the Belfast Zoo we now know that flightless birds use gurneys like the rest of the civilized world.
It’s not often you’re told to give blood. The zoo, it seems, is the perfect place to reflect upon such a life changing decision. Especially if you are a pelican:




Hmmmm…not looking too good here. Seems a bit run down.


Oh shit! Scary animals ahead! This is, after all, the world famous Belfast Zoo where anything can happen!


Oh, it was just pigs tackling each other. That ain’t so scary.

Strange how they gave a wallaby a full Christian name. He must’ve been something special! Poor Royce Nelson…the big fat wallaby.


This is pretty much the entire snake house. I hate snakes. I was glad the snake house was so small.





Speaking of elephants and their secret gravesites…well, I have nothing to else to say about that. When this guy kicks it, his grave will probably be the Lagan River. That’s not so secret (where else would they dump him?).


Giraffes have really long tongues. It’s not something you learn in school, but it’s true. It was right after this shot was taken that the batteries on my camera went dead, so you’ll have to imagine how fantastic the rest of the zoo was. (And in all honesty, it wasn’t that bad. It’s exactly what you’d expect from a zoo in a city of only 300,000. Maybe even more. Or maybe less. I mean, what DO you expect from a zoo in a city of 300,000?)

Also, Giraffe’s tongues are blue.

Things Ain’t Great But They’re Better Than They Could Be

The jerk-off upstairs denies that he’s responsible for our plaster ceiling falling apart.

Maybe it was aliens doing laundry when Mr. Neighbor was supposedly “not home”.

I don’t know.

What I do know is that there was about a half-inch of soapy water lying on the floor last night when I got home.

But Mr. Neighbor denies that he had anything to do with any kind of liquid that might have leaked from his apartment into ours -even after he answered the door (wasn’t that kind of a giveaway that he was home? Just a tip Mr. Neighbor, if you’re “not home” don’t answer the fucking door, you twat).

“I’m not here! It’s not my fault! I know nothing! Are you renting or do you own?” he cried when he finally opened up.


You know what? There’s so much going on in my life right now that I can’t even go on with this posting. Life isn’t long and it’s not worth worrying about creepy dipshits like the guy upstairs.


We’ll all be dead before we know it. (Face it.)
A falling plaster ceiling isn’t such a big deal after all. It’s annoying but so what?

I’m going to chill out and watch some shitty TV.

Ah, life’s great…



The American in me (who am I kidding, I am American and that guy just won’t leave me alone) has a difficult time with the concept of “Paid Vacation”.

From my experience of working in the U.S. I get this cement anchor type feeling in my tum-tum whenever I take time off that’s longer than a 3 day weekend. Which is unfortunate since I’m given 20 days of holiday at my current job.

Anyway, now that we’re on the homestretch of buying our flat (still shit to do, but there’s a nice warm welcoming light at the end of the home-buyers tunnel) I suddenly realized that, “Holy Shit! It’s almost October and I’ve only taken 5 of my 20 paid vacation days!”.

Long story short: We’re trying to decide where we should spend a week of vacation.

Our options (so far) are: Salzburg, Austria and Scotland (in general).

Salzburg would be fun because I’m all about taking the Sound of Music tour and revisiting all the Mozart landmarks. (I was in Salzburg several years ago but I was Interailing and anyone who has ever Interailed will tell you that most of your time is spent trying to find youth hostels that have sinks with continuous running water so you can rinse your underwear and socks in them without having to pound on a button every 30 seconds or so.) (Also, I didn’t have the money to take the Sound of Music tour.)

Needless to say, revisiting Salzburg in a more controlled I-can-actually-pay-for-my-room-and-not-have-to-sleep-on-park-benches type of situation definitely has its perks… in that I won’t be sleeping on a park bench this time. Unless things go terribly, terribly wrong.

But on the other hand, I haven’t been to Scotland for a long time either.

The last time I went to Scotland was with 3 other American friends way back in the dinosaur age of 1990. It would be nice to go back and see the creepy landscape with a fresh new perspective of someone who has spent 3 years in Northern Ireland and isn’t afraid to tackle the Scottish Egg.

Ruth and I are going to talk about this tonight but, boy, I’m torn. Crazy Austrians or Crazy Scots… It’s a tough decision all round.