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Thursday, December 29, 2011

Controversial CEO Of O'Leary Air Calls An Emergency Press Conference

Early this morning word leaked out that Anne O'Leary, the rearely sober CEO of O'Leary Air, had read a book. The book was so good in fact that Ms. O'Leary described it as being :"brutal" and called an emergency meeting of the Press.

Holding a half empty bottle of gin in her hand, Ms. O'Leary was led to the stage by her Chief Advisor Guido.  She had this to say "Over Christmas I read a book and that book was so brutal, I didn't stop drinking until I finished it. I didn't sleep either, the damn thing kept me up nights. It's got monsters and shit in it. Why this book is so brutal it's feckin' metal I tell ya. Roll tape Guido."




My journey with this book, The Missing Link, began on Christmas Eve. That night, after Hubby and the kids had gone to bed, I began to get a bad feeling. Something wasn't right. It was as if an eye were watching me.  "Dammit, there must be something I'm supposed to do, but haven't done yet. Something I promised to do......"  Well, I opened a bottle of scotch and drank until the feeling went away.  Then went to bed.


I fell right to sleep right away, but was assaulted by the most horrific dream.


My village was being invaded by a feckin' book. And that book was written by Americans. Nobody from Ireland had a damn think to do with that book and here it was on our shores, threatening out children.  I knew I had to act fast. I had to read that book.

I told my Hubby to feck off, I wouldn't be joining him for Christmas as I had a book to read. So I locked myself in my office, opened up the laptap and went to my Kindle books app.  I opened the file that said The Missing Link began to read. Five pages in and that book grabbed me by the throat and wouldn't let go.  "The feckin' internet is dead. And it looks like the world has lost it's mind. Some woman just drove through a window because her GPS gave her wrong directions. Haha. Damn I hope that cop Mickey shoots her. Stupid bitch." 


And it looked like the death of the internet was caused by goblins. "Haha, there's Brent, the IT guy running after a feckin' goblin. Jesus Christ, there's a goblin running loose and none of these people seem to notice it, except Brent. The rest of them are too busy worrying about their mobile's and laptops to see it. Bloody hell what's the matter with these people. Are they all Americans?"


"Haha, Chicago is burning. Well at least this time it wasn't my family's fault.  The people have taken to the street and begun looting, wrecking their cars and crying "I've got no bars, Iv'e got no bars" Eejits, serves .'em right."  I opened a bottle of wine and continued reading.  "Bloody hell, the boys have written a band of homeless people into this story. Oooh and I like that Wingnut Sally. She's crazy, but she's smart.  And there's even a monk in the crew and dammit they've put a Brit in there. Well he's homeless so I guess that's okay."


Reading is thirsty work, so I opened a bottle of tequila and had a bite to eat. "I wonder what happened to Molly, Brent's girlfriend.  Last time I saw her, she fell head first into a hamper and found herself on the road to Rankinspire with those two feckless bastards Twiddledee and Twiddledum."  That's a strange world I'm tellin' ya. Full of trolls that play with themselves and hobbitts that ask to see yer tits and there's some hippy dudes that are stoned out of their minds wandering around with clipboards taking surveys.  After polishing off the turkey and the tequila, I opened a bottle of gin and started reading again.


I could see that Molly had found the Red Queen. But where was the Cheshire Pimp at?  I love that dude, he's so much more metal than that feckin' Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland. And he's got a taste for the ladies.  "Oh fer fuck sakes," I yelled. "He's gone and pissed off Queenie and she's gonna take his head off."  This story seemed familiar to me. There's something about a queen with a guillotine that makes a Catholic flinch. 

Well I finished the rest of that book in one straight read. It was so good I couldn't put it down.  Although I was terribly drunk, I felt innervated, alive in some way, I thought to myself "Now's the time to do something so irrational that you'll regret it later." Yes folks, it was tattoo time.



I decided to get the girls tattoed. When I told Hubby I was going to get me tits done, I don't think this is what he had in mind.  Although he has come to favor Brandon a bit over the last few days.

I'm sure you've all noticed, and can't wait to tell me, that I spelled Bryans name wrong in the video. Sorry Brian, I mean Bryan, I told you I was drunk

Now I'm going to tell you straight up, everything I said about the storyline in this comic is true. That's what's in the book and it's a damn good read too. You may notice that the cartoon panels are a little "busy". I've placed items that represent characters or events from the story in each panel for Brent and Brandon to find. I hope they can do it. Anyone whose read the book can do it too.

Right now, the book is free. You can get it from Amazon and download it to your Kindle, your PC, your laptop or your mobile device.  The Kindle reader ap is free from Amazon as well. 

The boys aren't interested in making money with this book. They want what each and every one of us here on Blogger wants when we push that publish button every day. They want to be read.

Thank you
Anne O'Leary.
  








 



Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Making Love Before Jazz

Remember those times, early in a relationship? Those times when as lovers you lost yourselves in each other, those days spent in idle bliss, those days that seemed to stretch ever onward? I do. And then my husband and I had a child. That child's name is Jazz. I wrote this poem in memory of those days before the birth of our daughter.




Before Jazz
Sepia memories edgewise slip
past days piled high
like laundry into years.

Before Jazz, you,
with your *Flamenco smile
proposed a marriage consummate with myth
and nodding mounted my assent.

In days early
while sleeping late,
time in limbo waited
among a detritus of desire,
entangled we lay

Your tongue cuneiform traced
against sibilant skin
and with patterns cunning
wove a life.


With reptilian need,
we clutched flingertips
callused from too much play
and spent ouselves in time.

Anne O'Leary

*Flamenco=a reference to jazz musician Miles Davis.

Monday, December 26, 2011

I'll Drop In Later Today

Here's hoping you all had a Happy Christmas,




When I land in JFK Airport later today, I'll start catching up with all of you.  I've got a layover there, so I should be able to get to most of you before the next flight out. And NO, I did not fly Aer feckin' Lingus out of Ireland. I'm flying out with Delta.


I didn't tweet or read blogs over the holiday .It's going to be another 6-7 months before I see my family again and I spent my time with them. So if I didn't tweet you or comment on your blog, please don't be offended.

I did however have trouble sleeping, so I gave my blog a makeover and I like it.


Now I've got to go practice saying these words with a straight face, "No, I don't have anything to declare."  Hope the bastards at customs believe that, because I'm not paying duty tax on any this shite I got for Christmas.

All photographs have my signature embedded and are source located to my camera. Copy, crop, paste and it'll be your chestnuts that are roasting over an open fire.

Friday, December 23, 2011

I Am Home

I Am Home

Trailing into myth
her past flows,
screaming through my veins.

And  I like a lover
longing, replete return
to her embrace.

Anne O'Leary, December 23, 2011



I have waited 6 long months to say the words "I Am Home"  No comments are needed. This blogs for me.



Monday, December 19, 2011

Jesus Christ Ye've Killed Santa

I know what yer thinking, "She's gone mad, stark raving mad. It's the drink. It's done killed her liver and gone straight to her brain."  And I would say this "It might have done, but that's not what this post is about. It's about Christmas with my Grandparents."




Why just last night, as I was drifting off to sleep I was thinking back with fond memories to the days when I was a wee child and Christmas was full of magic, when I believed in Santa Claus and that's when the memories of my Grandad surfaced.


 
This is my Grandad and Great-Grandad pictured here.  Now aren't they the pair? And they were, always getting up to no good and almost always in trouble for something.. 

One Christmas, my Grandmother for inexplicable reasons, left us kids  alone with Gandad on the eve of Christmas. Oh and it was a wonderful time it was. He let us have sweets and sat us down in front of the fire and told us the story of Santa Claus.


Grandad was the one to talk, he was. And he told the story so well, we could picture Santa comin' down the chinmney with his red pants and shiny black boots.  "Don't move," he said, putting on his coat and boots.  "I've a surprise for Santa. I'm headed out ta the barn, but I'll be right back."  Well we knew Grandad kept poteen out there, so we thought maybe he's goin' ta leave a bit of brew for Santa, to entice him to leave us better presents.  Oh, but we were hopeful. Then the door flew open and in came Grandad and he was holding something shiny in his hands.



It was an animal trap.  "I'll put this in the fireplace and when Santy comes down, SNAP, we'll have him."  Well five children started screaming and crying and Grandad was shouting at us to settle down. We sat there sniffling and hiccuping while he explained his grand plan to us "When I trap Santy in this, I'll go up ta his sleigh and give you kids all the toys. See?"  he said.  We didn't see, but Grandmother did, because after she came home the only thing I remember was the sound of her yelling at him and him trying to calm her down.  It was a great Christmas.

And there was another year that really stands out in my memories. I was just old enough to begin to doubt the existence of Santa, but still young enough to want to hang onto the fantasy. We kids were spending the eve of Christmas with our Grandparents as was our custom and had been put to bed.  Well, you know how children are. The five of us lay there, fighting sleep when suddenly up on the roof we heard an amazing sound.



It was the sound of heavy boots stomping around and a loud ringing of sleigh bells. "Oh it can't be. Santa is real, he's really real." I remember thinking.  I was so happy at that moment. And then....



The sound of gunfire.  I screamed, we all screamed, grandmother screamed everyone expect Grandad was screaming. He was outside holding a shotgun in his hands.  And laying at his feet was my Uncle Sean, piss drunk, face down in the snow holding heavy sleigh bells in his hands.  "Jesus Christ, ye've killed Santy Claus!"  was the only thing I remember anyone saying.  Apparently my Uncle and Grandad had made plans earlier in the week to surprise us kids with the sound of Santa on the roof. But somehow my Grandad forgot, thought it was a robber, grabbed a gun and shot it up into the air, causing my drunk Uncle to topple to the ground.  The rest of the night was filled with the sound of children crying, my Grandmother screaming and my Grandad apologizing. Another O'Leary Christmas come and gone. It was grand I'm tellin' ya.

Now I'm reminding you again that I'm leaving to go home for the holidays on Thursday. My last post before Christmas will be Wednesday. 







Sunday, December 18, 2011

So Ya Need Subtitles Ta Understand Us When We Speak

This is a special post for those of you who couldn't understand Tommy Tiernan because the accent was so feckin' thick.  Or maybe ya didn't get the jokes because they were particularly Irish. Here's another video ya won't understand, because his accents still Irish and the topic is about something happening in Ireland. I hope you don't get it.



Now I'm not being snarky here, I'm bein' Irish, there's a difference. My country is going through an economic crisis that surpasses the one we experienced in the 60's and I know unless you're from Ireland, you're not aware of this. So scratch yer heads for awhile and eventually I'll write a post explaining it to you.

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

O'Leary Air Condemned For Giving Shite Service

It appears as if Anne O'Leary is once again in the media spotlight. The rarely sober CEO of O"Leary Air has been taken to task for providing poor quality service to her passengers.  In response to these allegations O'Leary, in typical fashion. called a Press Conference.

"Is this feckin' thing even turned on?" yelled O'Leary into the working microphone. "Oh it is" she yelled at the stunned faces of the people in the front row who had their hands over their ears while they screamed in pain.  "Then turn the feckin' thing down will ya. I can't hear myself think with all this screaming going on" she yelled again.

Slamming an open bottle of gin down on the podium O'Leary said  "Okay ya feckless bastards. My imaginary airline provides quality service at a low price and I'm tired of hearing you gobshites complain about it."  Taking a long drink of gin, she continued "Some of you seem to have a problem with me charging you to go to the loo. Well dammit, a flight on my airline from New York to London only costs you $9.99. That's value for money I'm tellin ya." 

At this point in the proceedings O'Leary fell over.  "Guido, help me up" O'Leary yelled from her position on the floor.  With the support of her Chief Advisor Guido, O'Leary staggered over to the projector at the side of the stage.  "Now because you've all pissed me off. I'm unveiling the new face of O'Leary Air.  I'm lowering my rates to $5.99 but you'll have to pay for some extras. Roll tape Guido."


"All in all I think yer gettin' a fair deal here." O'Leary yelled.  "And if ya complain about this, I'll just charge ya to  breathe the air in the cabin and charge ya for each sheet of toilet paper you use in the loo, so feck off." 

After which O'Leary passed out drunk.  Carried from the room by her Chief Advisor Guido, O'Leary could be heard to mumble "Shit, feck, arse."

Monday, December 12, 2011

Take Me Home

IRELAND IS OUR HOME




My husband, Kelly, wrote a song entitled Take Me Home, when he was but 17 years old. Finally in 2004 we were able to take that song into the studio and do justice to it.  .

He has allowed me to take his song and use it to create a video. A video I have dedicated to all Irish who find themselves away from home. 

 
TAKE ME HOME




The vocalist is my own niece Cheryl. These vocals have not been treated, this is her voice in all it's own clear purity. If possible, please listen to this with headphones to hear the mix. This is a long song and some of you will not listen till the end. The song has dynamic shifts throughout it's entirity. After the drone in the midsection, it kicks into it's full range. All instruments other than drums were played by my husband. I am his wife and his drummer.

One of my fellow bloggers is an Irishman who, like myself is far from home. The first two photographs are there to honor him and his parents.

The last two are to honor the women who came before me: Francis, Nora, Rosemary and Mary Theresa O'Leary. I carry them, as I carry my country: in my sinew, my bone and my blood.

It would do me great honour if the Irish who are reading this listen and watch all the way to the end. The words, music and the pictures are deliberately timed for a reason.

Beannacht Dé leat!
Anne O'Leary









 

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

It Was a Bloodless Coup WARNING: Cute kitten on post

Most of you are used to Boobies, violence and offensive language on my blog, so I wanted to warn you in advance what to expect today.  Many of you were emotionally scarred last time I broke protocol and posted semi-nude men and we don't want that happening again now do we?  So I'm telling you now, before you go any farther and risk having your friends call you gay, that there are actual pictures of a cute kitten on this page.



Some of you may remember when I introduced me bulmastiff Toki a couple of months ago. She had been put out on the street very young and I had to feed her from a bottle for the first week. She was a scrawny little thing who loved to sit on my shoulder and help me with my blog. And she was a sweet too, purring all the time, giving me nose bumps and acting like I was the center of her universe.


All that affection was part of a master plan. That's right, she took away my free-will. Before I knew it, I was doting on her.



It was a bloodles coup I'm tellin' ya. She used the power of cuteness to control me. Now I find myself standing at the grocers for twenty minutes wondering which flavor of cat food she'd like best; Super 
Supper, Ocean Fillet, Tuna, Fishermans Delight or Beef Pate.  Christ, all this for an animal who licks her own arse.



The little bugger even sits on my bass and I let her. Jesus Christ, I'd slap my own husband if he dared touch the thing. But not me little shoulder-monkey, "Oh aren't you just a darlin' " I say. "You look so cute sitting there. How would you like to climb the curtains?  I won't get mad, I promise."

And she looks at me as if to say "Dance puppet dance."  She's not going to get any bigger the vet says and she doesn't have much hearing. But that hasn't slowed down her plans for world domination. If you see her coming your way, run, run for your life.

Now I'm going to add this: You may feel the overwhelming temptation to make pussy jokes in the comments. And you can, if that's what you really want to do. But if you do, I'm going to reply to your comment with a dick joke. Who knows, it could be entertaining.

All photographs have my signature embedded and are source located to my camera. Copy, crop, paste and you'll wake up with cat shit in yer bed.










Monday, December 5, 2011

Beating the Neighbors Into Submission

I know what yer thinking "Jesus Christ, she was clubbing baby seals on Friday and today she's talking about beating her neighbors.  Is she drunk again."  And I would say this "Of course I'm piss drunk ya bastards, but I'm only speaking figuratively about beating my neighbors." 

One of the things I like to do when I'm not busy running O'Leary Air is play drums.




And as I'm sure you know, drums tend to be a little loud. 





Now that's a 26 inch Ludwig bass I'm sitting in front of (and in this case gentleman size matters ), so it tends to be very loud.  And occaisionally a neighbor will be bothered by the sound and experience an uncontrollable urge to tell me so. 





That's one of my former neighbors, Cathy McCunty pictured above.  McCunty was new to the neighborhood and was either stupid or unaware of how potentially dangerous I am, so she got pissy with me about my playing.  "Do you have to play those things so damn loud" she said. "It's driving me crazy."  And I responded wirh "Drums don't come with a volume knob. They're built to project sound, they're just fulfilling their destiny."  And then she made the fatal mistake of saying "I know a guy who plays drums and he uses muffles to dampen the sound. Why don't you just muffle those damn things."  And I looked her straight in the eye and said this "Feck off McCunty."

It was clear to me then that McCunty didn't know the meaning of the word loud, and I felt it was time to teach it to her.



So the next day when I sat down to practice, I miked my drums and ran 'em through an amp.  After about an hour, I realized I was out of vodka, so I put down my sticks and went downstairs.  And this is when I heard the pounding on the door.  "It's probably McCunty" I thought.  So I opened the door ready to lay into her.....




McCunty had called the coppers.  "We've had a noise complaint Miss, you need to tell your boyfriend to stop playing those drums"  My first instinct was to slap him, but I restrained myself. Fortunately I was drunk, so I knew exactly how to handle this little situation.  You see, some men find the idea of a chick drummer hot, and knowing this, I flirted with him.  Well it worked.  He went away telling me how sorry he was that I had to live next door to such a horrid woman and promised never to respond to one of her calls again. 

You would think McCunty would have learned her lesson, she didn't.  She continued to harrass me when she saw me out in the yard.  "It's just repetitive noise," she said.  "And if any of it goes to a song, I can't imagine what that song would be."  Clearly it was time to teach McCunty another lesson.


It was time to let McCunty know what some of the rhythms I was playing went with. And most people know Beatles songs, so I'd thought I'd play a few of those for her. So I set up my mike again and sang along with my thrash metal version of Norwegian Woods.  "I once had a girl or should I say, she once had me,"  I screamed off-key into the mike.  Next I launched into Helter Skelter and finished with Twist and Shout.  McCunty moved a short time after that.

Now I've already got the neighborhood I'm living in beaten into submission, but I've got new people moving in next door.  So I'm working on a metal arragement of We Can Work It Out.  I hope they like it.

All original photographs have my signature embedded and are source located to my camera. Copy, crop paste and I'll move into your neighborhood.


















Friday, December 2, 2011

The Zombie Apocalypse is Nigh

You might be asking "How in the hell does Anne know that the Zombie Apocalypse is close at hand? What does she know that we don't?" And I would answer, "It's because I'm Catholic. And we have our own Top Secret Bible, the Dewey Bible that gives us inside information denied to the rest of you."



Earlier this week I was reading my favorite gospel, "The Gospel According to David St. Hubbins" Its mainly an Apocrypha and predicts future events. That gospel deals with the Zombie Apocalypse.
And because I was piss drunk when I was reading it, I saw things that would normally remain hidden. According to my translation, the final sign is occuring now.






Justin Beiber may have fathered a child. Because Beiber had his bollocks removed at age 9 so he could look like a pre-pubescant boy and remain appealing to his audience of paedophiles we all know that his fathering a child isa biological impossibility. Now the Gospel of David St. Hubbins predicts just such an event. A spermless conception will result in the birth of an undead zombie child. And when that child takes a bite out of Daddy, well.....




The Apolcalypse will be at hand then. If you don't already have a plan, now's the time to come up with one. And thanks to those cheeky bastards (term of endearment) over at A Beer For The Shower, I already have mine. A couple of months ago, they asked their readers to develop a plan for the Apocalypse. I took that advice and here's my plan.




The first thing I did was go out and buy a flamethrower. Because the US government is broke, I got a military grade flame thrower at a discount. Six easy payments of $6.66 and that flamethrower was mine. The thing to remember about the Zombie Apocalypse is that you won't be dealing with just a lone zombie here and there. No there'll be millions of them. And because I'm such a nice person and love my fellow human so much, the implementation of my plan will save thousands of lives.




It's a well-known fact that zombies have only one weakness. And that's their love for baby seals. So I'm going to send out a Global broadcast of myself clubbing a baby seal. The zombies will immediately come after me and so will the PETA people. I plan on using those PETA people as a human shield and when the zombies arrive, out comes my flamethrower. In this way I'll be ridding the world of two evils at the same time. I'm pretty sure I'll get the Congrssional Medal of Honor.


I hope the rest of you have a plan, because if the DNA shows that Beiber had a baby, times up. 









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