Rubberbandits - Horse Outside

From what I know of the Rubberbandits, their comedy is fairly hit and miss. Nonetheless, I watched their latest music video since a few people I know appear in it, and I found it to be a slice of pure brilliance.

Yesterday, it had ~600 views. After noticing the furore on Facebook I clicked again to see what the hit tally was at - over 90,000. Eeep. I think it's time to declare this a phenomenon.

I'm not a fan of video-dumps, but I'm curious to see if those who aren't au-fait with the Irish scumbag sub-culture can appreciate this, because it might just be the best thing I've seen online since the bedroom intruder song.



I'll be supporting this for Christmas #1 with my wallet, judging by how quickly this video is picking up hits on YouTube, it shouldn't be much of a stretch to imagine a few thousand others doing the same.

"Feed the world"

Holy crap! How did it take me 10 days to find this? Funnyish comedienne Sarah Silverman put together a video with a compelling central thesis. I won't ruin it for you, so have a watch:



I was mostly disappointed by the latter two minutes - I don't think that some hard facts would have hurt the video - but I still enjoy the point it makes, as anything that draws attention to the sheer opulence of the very organisation that declares living humbly a virtue is fine by me.

Zero Punctuation Reviews Tales of Monkey Island

This might be a tad esoteric, but after witnessing this review of a 'revitalisation' to the Monkey Island series I thought it'd be worth sharing here.

Not in the mood for watching a video about a game series from my childhood that shaped my sense of humour? Well, then you'll have to watch it for the splendidly racist portrayal of Irish people courtesy of an Australia-based Brit.

"Everyone's opinion is equally valid - my arse!"

As long as I've had access to the internet, it's been my primary source of news and entertainment - this has been especially true over the past five years, since I've had regular broadband access.

As most big sites on the world wide web tend to have a US-bias, (and Ireland has been dragging its heels with regards to the internet until the last two years or so) it means that I've little concept of Irish TV shows, and even less knowledge of Irish celebrities, so despite the innumerable occasions my friends recommended I watch 'The Panel', I seldom did as I'd rarely be in front of the TV.

I'd like to take this opportunity to openly lament my folly in wasting every opportunity I had to watch The Panel, but never did, and that reason is Dara O'Brian. While I've always been aware of the man, I had little idea of what he was about until he impressed me with his wit during a radio interview some months back.

I finally got around to YouTubing his material a few days ago, and realised that an intelligent, sceptical mind was appearing weekly on one of Ireland's most popular current affairs/comedy shows, and I ignored it entirely.

Watch him riff on religious irrationality:


Watch him jeer at two of my favourite pet peeves: homeopathy & nutritionists:


So will I start paying attention to Irish celebrities now? Probably not - like anyone with any talent from Ireland, Dara has buggered off to some other country to earn himself a real living (see also: Bob Geldoff, Colin Farrell, Jonathan Rhys Meyers, U2), thus elevating him to the status of 'A British Celebrity from Ireland'. The lucky git.

Sully's Blog: 'Please find me funny' edition

My new work commitments have completely annihilated my free time, but more pressingly, the time I'd normally spend dicking around and finding things I want to riff on, which is regrettable...

Good thing I have some more stuff I've written earlier to copy and paste into a browser window!

This time, I'm regurgitating an article that those nice people at [crude] magazine were kind enough to print. They were generous enough to put a 'humour' tag on the page someplace (or so I've been told), but I'll let you decide for yourself:

The End Times Cometh
By Seán O’Sullivan

If I were a praying man, I’d be on my knees right now, calling in a few favours in exchange for divine deliverance from the greatest crisis that has beset Irish civilisation since its inception. I assure you, dear reader, that this article is not more hackneyed histrionics over mere recessionary matters - what’s been keeping me up at night lately is the impending apocalypse.

You’ve seen the signs yourself, you’ve just yet to shed your denial. Perhaps you first noticed it on a busy street of people toing and froing, starkly contrasting that motionless figure that emitted a low growl as you passed: “Chaaaaaaange”. So jarring was this experience that it seemed unreal, not finding its way into memory but rather dismissed as fantasy.

It first occurred to me at about 10pm during an attempted trip to an ATM in Limerick. A creature, exhibiting only faint vestiges of humanity was perched by the cash-dispenser, and he raised his head forlornly as I approached. His dull, lifeless eyes stared past me as he grumbled: “Got a qweed?” I looked into this character’s gaunt face as it rocked lightly from side to side, trying to assess the situation. Despite his hoodie & tracksuit ensemble costing more than I had in the bank, he was somehow reduced to beggary.

Fearing an airborne virus was to blame for this chap’s condition, I skipped across the road to another hole-in-wall. There, in a stoop by the machine was a similarly attired, equally haggard critter. His dead eyes rolled in loose circles as he struggled to look straight, yet he stretched out his hand and implored me to “spare a few bob”. Met with only a stunned silence, he turned his outstretched hand to frenzied arm scratching and muttered to himself as I continued hurriedly out of earshot.

These encounters ruined my night, as the frivolities of my socialising had to take a backseat to my ponderings. How were these people justifying their fundraising efforts without having a stump to wave about, or a crude scrawl on a piece of cardboard to inspire sympathy? Their incoherence provided me with little information to diagnose the seeming pandemic that had struck the unfortunate sub-culture of perma-tracksuited street loiterers.

Please don’t confuse these shared musings for bigotry - I’m not necessarily complaining about these people, I just want to understand them. I’m aware that beggars come in all shapes and sizes – like the ones who don’t seem like they really needed the money. I’m speaking of course, about the organised network of snack-sized-Pringles-can proffering Romanians that are collected every evening in nice Passaats at six o’clock outside post offices. (The most I’ve ever offered them was the advice that the full-size cans are much more economical). But this seems different.

Since we’re on the subject of my tolerance, I’m anxious to add that I’ve encountered entrepreneurial sorts who have offered a service that mirrors beggary in its execution. People like the polite Africans who dwell in Ireland’s pub toilets, hoarding the hand towels and soap products and shilling breath-mints to halitosis suffering clubbers. The warmth of their smile (and slight erosion of white guilt) is well worth the €2 “tip” for a service that would otherwise be carried out gratis by a wall-mounted plastic box. But I digress; this is an altogether more pressing matter.

How can one reconcile the designer clothes with the pale skin, epidermal irritation, and impaired cognitive function? By now the astute readers should have - as I have - put two and two together, and surmised that the zombie apocalypse is upon us.

I have been fortunate enough to witness the zombification process in action, over 100km away from the site of first contact. Whilst enjoying lunch in one of Cork’s fine eateries I happened to observe a hooded gentleman halt his gait, take a few sips from his bottle of Deep River Rock, glance over both shoulders, then sit against the electrical box that encroached on the footpath. As he pulled away his hood, his blank expression was replaced with a slack-faced mournful desperation, and his body slumped back in a way that drew attention to the tattered paper coffee cup that had suddenly appeared. A pathetic murmur followed each passerby as the emaciated one attempted to collect a few coins.

For all that has been said recently about revitalising the economy, clearing infected from the streets has been conspicuously absent from Brian Cowen’s recent addresses. It’ll be quite difficult to lure the punters into city centres once the growing numbers of undead turn feral and start taking money, rather than politely (albeit unnervingly) asking for it. What if equally-enlightened denizens consult their accrued B-movie knowledge and set about despatching zombies by way of a bullet in the head? Such obstructions left on the footpaths would make shopping quite cumbersome, nevermind the health and safety worries that the tripping hazards represent.

It’s about time that the Gardai step up their efforts into investigating and removing whatever substance out there that’s causing this rather terrorizing outbreak before it gets any more out of hand. If the recent Swine Flu hysteria has taught us anything, it’s that the only reaction to public health concerns the populous will stomach is overreaction.

Oh wow, swineflu - I'm so topical!