Done. Done. And I'm On To The Next One.

Instruction Manual for 'SWAP As Soon As You Hear!':

1. Come.

2. Dance to the funky, funky beat.

3. When the klaxon sounds, swap an item of clothing with the person nearest you.

4. Repeat steps 2 - 3 until you...

5. Come.

6. Exeunt.

Venue: The Den. The Twisted Pepper.

Dress code: Clothes you might never see again.

Choons: Of the bangin' variety, provided by C.U.N.T DJ Alan Taylor, Killian Coyle & Come As Soon As You Hear DJs.

€5 with flyer.

Confirm or deny?

13... Going on 30

Shh... be still now, no more pain.

Feat. robots in disguise.

Snap (followed by a sharp intake of breath)

Things that remind me of Leah.

Fake Childhood

I was crazy drunk at this. 3 day hangover. Shame shame shame.

Guerrellas in the Basement

Woodblock

Vampires are Gay.
The moon is a dick.
I hate your breasts.

Soundcheck Poster

Plus, we be DJing at it, so come!

"On a stool by the bar sits a girl with a scar and a broken heart. Sit with her awhile and hold her hand and see if you can help. Follow the trail, put the pieces together. A game, a treasure hunt of sorts. But it's a secret."

Pictchoors

Passing The Parcel

Photo's courtesy of The Miseducation Of

It's a quarter to midnight
and all through the club
they flocked from every crevice
of our fair city Dub

To gather and circle
and make a wide birth
for the parcel that symbolised
fair Gossip child's birth

Treats for all players

All creeds short or tall

but we cannot ignore

we know winner takes all

Then all of a sudden

as if magically

our thoughts were displayed

for all present to see

The clubbers befuddled
a confession?, a haunt?
but hey, it's my fucking party
and I'll cry if I want

President Cakes Illustration

For a short story for Oh! Fringe.

Street Art Club.

A review of this thing that we did.

Club day 1:

So, there are nineteen of us, we’re at the Bernard Shaw, we’ve pretty much all got a pint in front of us. But we’re not just there for pints, we’ve got some serious street art to do. Will starts us off with drawing dots in boxes (still not exactly sure where that fits in in the grand scheme of things), but before long we’re cutting and snipping and making. And drinking. We had to come up with a wicked cool street art name, but unfortunately I drew a blank and settled with “Ah yeah”. Credible, right? This one girl picked “Miley Cyrus” ironically, or perhaps tragically. We all make little collages on canvas and are then sent off to drop them off in various locations around town. On the back of each piece is a message asking the finder to keep the art and send the artist an email. My boss took my one home. It’s sitting on his desk now. The concept, in this case, slightly diluted.

Club day 2:

It’s a very sunny day. We’re out the back of the GBS again. We’ve all brought white T-shirts. We’ve all, once more, got pints. And this time, Will gives us free knives. A knife each. We’ve to cut stencils and make T-shirt prints. This time Will is aided by prolific street artist Sophie. One girl once again creates a Miley Cyrus themed piece, and we all edge away from her (and talk about her behind her back). Anyway, our new stencil cutting stills acquired, we all pose with our new, self-made T-shirts.

Club day 3:

The mission is to make paste-ups for the jacks. The theme? Mutant Super-heroes. A good theme, everyone agrees. The Miley Cyrus obsessed girl now creates a super villain called Hetrosexuality, who is a New York Jew who forces gay men to have sex with her. Fittingly, I created Super Gay Animal Orgy... Man, who enjoys the company of sharks, seals and turtles. In our toilet wall graffiti universe they are nemeses. Also, as an aside, the girl’s toilets in the Bernard Shaw are twice, if not thrice as beautiful as the men’s.

We’ve still got another workshop to go, before we get to graduate as rad cool street artists. I’m already working out the best way to sell out and go corporate. I think Absolut Ah Yeah has a nice ring to it. Ah yeah.

théátréCHUMBUNCH

The Magic Bracelet

Fake Valentine's Rrrave.

It's 7am.
Underground Basement.
Multi-coloured fluorescent lights.
The bass is pumping.
Rack-pack on the decks.

Where am I?
Where were you?

Rewind 10 hours:

Saturday 21st of February. Nine PM.
The doors of the Basement open for business.
It's Fake Valentine's Day, hosted by Come As Soon As You Hear.
Stickers are everywhere. Everywhere.
First band Their First Fiasco are up. It's already jammers to the max.

In the corner above some inexplicable yellow, red, blue and green dots, there's an art instillation. "Shoulda put a ring on it" by Karl Watson. Oh, Beyonce, how we love you. Dotted around the venue, in nooks and crannies and on ceilings, little motivational phrases and sayings about love are hidden. Every here and there love poems adorn the wall.

Go through a tunnel. There's a coffee table full of free rub on tattoos. There's a film room showing Fake Lonely Hearts dating videos. There's the truly adorable "Tunnel of Lust". "Hold hands, Walk in, Lie down & enjoy the view" the instructions read. On the ceiling, the stars of the night sky are projected. It's special.

But wait there's more. In the back room there's a message board. Everyone is given a numbered sticker when they arrive and people are writing messages to each other. In the final corner some people are making hand made (Fake) Valentine's Cards. All is full of love.

Back in the main room, the second band are taking the stage. Over two hundred people have arrived. At half eleven a rousing version of Blind Date takes place, hosted by Rosh. The winning couple are forced to spend twenty minutes alone in the Tunnel of Lust. Ten years from now they'll be married and commuting from Maynooth.
The final band play. It's Kellie Marie and the Rest. They wear neon wigs, sunglasses and PVC pants. The crowd are at their mercy.

Many people are in costume. There's Doctor Love, there's the Queen of Hearts, there's Marilyn, there's a Virgin. There's lots, and lots, and lots of catface face paint. The bands finish, the DJs start. Killian's first, then the Rack Pack spin 'til about 8am. Carla and Zara masterfully weave the party tunage.

Things happen. People kiss, hold hands, kiss other people. French kiss. A Doctor Not Love appears. The UCD Badminton Club arrive. Jodie comes (hurray!). A contingent from DYT spread the love. Someone puts Never Ending Story on in the film room and Sarah Bradley covers sleepers in blankets, lest they catch cold.

We wake up, hours later. If it weren't for the smudgy dregs of cat whiskers on my face I would think it was all a dream.

It was too good to not be.

Facepainting

me: let's talk dirty to each other

Zarla: OMG for fucks sake LOL LMFAO

me: I'm taking off your breasts

Zarla: em...I'm slowly unzipping ur penis

me: And revealing your soft tissuey muscles

Zarla: and letting the nerve tissue spill out

me: your delicious blood is a natural lubricant

and I'm wet all over
with blood
(yours)

Zarla: I put on beautiful face paint.

me: I'm wiping off your face paint

Zarla: JACK

me: with acid

Zarla: OH JACK
ACID
MMMM

me: your skeletal face bones
are revealed
you look pale and beautiful
like an angel
of death
I like your cheek
bone
I lick it
And nibble at the fleshy remainder hanging on to it

Zarla: oh lord

me: My penis enters you
r eye socket
Your brain squelches as my throbbing head hits off it
The noise would make me more erect
if that were possible

But instead,
I come.
I come as soon as I hear it.

Wordle

Come as soon as you hear!

Eggs

Eggs for breakfast yum yum yum.

My top 5 bestworst films.

[Five:] Disaster Movie

My tongue remembers the taste of vomit. My stomach turns. I'm remembering the part of my life I wasted watching Disaster Movie. It is, essentially, about 5 or 6 really awful fight signs tacked together by really random pop culture references. Plot? What plot? Also, don't let the name Disaster Movie fool you, Juno, Night at the Museum, Enchanted are some of the more prevalent 'spoofs'. Disaster Movies be they not.

The one fascinating element of the movie is how they've managed to take genuinely funny jokes from other media and strip them of all humour. Remember the cow in Earthworm Jim? That gag happens about 4 or 5 times. Remember Sarah Silverman's "Fucking Matt Damon"? That was funny right? Not in Disaster Movie.

I feel I've been way to rational about this film so far. It's shit. It's shockingly shit. Puzzlingly shit, you question how so many people allowed this film to be made. You question humanity.

Saving Grace: Matt Lanter is awfully easy on the eyes.


[Four:] Deathproof

This film is absolutely fine for about half an hour. Actually, for half an hour it's actually pretty awesome. And then... Argh.
Okay, so we're introduced to three - four girls in the beginning. A slutty latina, a sarcastic, bitchy black DJ, and a naive little white girl. There's some sort of bet about a lap dance involved in their night out, it's not important.
Anway, they end up at a bar where Stuntman Mike is eating Nachos. He has a car with a skull on it. This is scary. Slutty girl gives him a lapdance.
And then! He crashes into them in his car on purpose. His car is deathproof, so he is fine, the girls all die. Cool, end of movie.

Oh no. Three MORE girls are introduced, one of whom is Rosario Dawson attempting to kill her career, apparantly and Zoe. ZOE! If there is one factor on which you could blame all the problems with this film on it's the character of Zoe. I hate Zoe, passionatly, and I've never met her. But if I did...

It's just so confusing. Spend a good hour introducing three stereotypical horror flick characters, kill them and replace them with three more, less interesting girls. Whut?
Saving grace: Awesome tunage. Chick Habit by April March. Tuuuune.


[Three:] Cabin Fever
My hatred for Cabin Fever is masked only by my hatred for the director. Eli Roth can and should go fuck himself. On DVD, Cabin Fever is just disgustingly gorey and unremarkably shit. But then I checked out the extras and got to hear Roth smugly gushing about his shitty little film. If Cabin Fever had an anus, he'd have fucked it. He'd have fucked it to death.

He's like a giant retard who's been given access to the funds and means to make movies. Urgh. I'm losing coherance because I'm so full of rage. This guy says it better. Click.


[Two:] Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.
They raped him.

[One:] Jack Black is movie poison
STOP CASTING HIM, NOW.

A tinge of ginge.

A rotch of crotch.

Imagine if you woke up one day and you were Roisin Ingle. Not only that, but you had a looming deadline for an article on dinner parties or growing up in Sandymount.

What a horrible day that would be.

Horrible.

I'd post naked pictures of myself on t'internet and be hot slut of the day. Hah.