Sunday, a time for rest and reflection. Only two days late.

I'm aware I haven't blogged in a while, had a bit of a whirlwind weekend.... between fundraisers, costume parties and winning the cup final (pictured below) my head has been elsewhere... will say something of worth when I'm capable of processing thoughts like a human again.

Oh, and how lovely was the weather today? The dogs and I went to the beach for a frolic. They're pooped now, as you can see in this pic:

Toni and Harvey (Bonnie is camera shy)

My blowhole explained!

Was having dinner with my mother last night, when she started to tell me about her neighbour's kid who has a cyst in the roof of her mouth. I replied to my mother that I have a hole in the roof of my mouth that connects to my nose. She was surprised I'd never told her and to be honest so was I. I've had it for as long as I can remember, and while I know it's not normal, it doesn't give me any trouble so I had never thought to mention it to her.


In fact, I love my little blowhole. It's as if someone stuck a pin up through the roof of my mouth to my nasal cavity, and when I suck on it air comes down and it makes this nifty little squeaking sound. Which was particularly handy in school for driving the teachers crazy because it sounds like a mouse and they could never figure out where it was coming from. I hold myself soley responsible for the already a tad loopy Ms. Davin losing the plot completely. (She was convinced I was stealing oranges from her handbag every day and hence put, IN HER OWN WORDS, "the Davin family curse on me"... she deserved it.) Also made it kinda hard to shake my unrelated but fitting nickname 'Mouse'. I know it connects to my nose because of the air supply and sometimes if I'm not well and I suck it snot comes down. Yeah, gross, I know. I have learned not to suck when I have a cold. Learned the hard, mucousy way.


I've never even thought to say it to a doctor or dentist, or even Google it. Shocking I know, Google being my best friend and another one of my unfortunate nicknames. So I popped it into Google just there and it turns out that I am NOT half dolphin, rather I have an 'oronasal fistula'... according to the e-doctors "an oronasal fistula is an abnormal communication between the mouth and nose". Wow, I'm abnormal. Didn't know that. Another thing I had never thought of (until my mom put the question to me) was 'Can I shoot stuff out my nose?'. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts, I was unable to get my Club Orange to come streaming out of my nose. Much to the relief of the staff in Wong's, I'm sure. (By the way, Wong's in Ranelagh does THE best crispy chili beef in the world. And their egg fried rice is to die for. Fact.)


I'm about to post a picture of what I assume is a pretty bad one, it's quite disgusting, and rest assured mine is so miniscule you can't even see it.... Luckily, I also possess a full mouth of teeth unlike this unlucky lady...

So this will explain to those of you (I know no-one reads my blog bar Etain, bare with me) who have been puzzled as to why I squeak when sucking lollipops, or when in deep thought. I can't find any reference to anybody else's fistula that can make noise, so I'm considering myself 'special' rather than a freak. Sure, whatever makes you feel better Lucy. If you see me out and about ask me to do it for you, it's rather entertaining. For me, at least.

Your daily dose of WTF?!

Has anyone else been following the story of the Australian couple that are father and daughter?! It takes a lot to shock me and I consider myself just about as openminded as you can get but dudes.... SERIOUSLY?! On a scale from 1 to creepy this shit is a 12. Lovely little soundbite from the doting father here:

"For Mr Deaves the sexual relationship was 'absolutely fantastic'."

As if THAT wasn't bad enough, they decided to name the kid Celeste... which handily rhymes with incest, so the kids at school don't even have to put any thought into her inevitable cruel nicknames: Incest Celeste. InCeleste. Celeste, the product of incest.



Poor little girl, she can't help her inCelestuous family. Ohhh, I'm going to hell. Not that hell exists, but I'm a baaaad widdle bunny wabbit.

Getting by with a little help from your friends.

Who doesn't love a good harmless prank? I also like the harmful variety but my guilt complex rarely allows me to follow through... and besides, hamsters don't make great paintballs.

Excuse me if I get a little Art Attack on you kids, but here's an easy prank you can play on your friends at home. Remember to always ask an adult's permission.

Last night, I arranged a barrage of web texts to be sent to my friend Averil Longington today on the hour every hour. The onslaught began at 10am and should continue until 4pm. Her college hours. Just to be extra annoying. There should be 30ish texts battering her inbox.

Simple, yes. Stupid, yes. Will I be doing it every day this week? Yes.

Anyway, gotta bunsen burn, Hol and Sue just pulled up outside, we're hitting Dundrum for no particular reason... WE'RE ALL MATES HERE, YEAH?!

Jon Burgerman

I love Jon Burgerman so much... when I am older and richer I'm going to have him come in and paint every surface of my palatial house... including my sex dungeon that will be resurrected in memory of San Diego. It'll ruin my eyesight and drive me slowly (more) insane but it'll be worth it. For a long time his work has been my wallpapers, screensavers, backgrounds, I've stuck it up on my bedroom wall... one day I will have the real deal.

When Cats Attack. Terrifying.

I'm guilty of being lame enough to love cheesey animal clips.... (Don't get me started on interspecies cuddling.... c'mon, it's a puppy, a kitten, AND A DUCK!!... what's wrong with you people?!)

This makes me laugh a little too hard:

Could someone please explain to me....

... just what the fuck this is and where it came from?

It looks like a ripped hem off the bottom of a blue and white check shirt. Whilst this might not seem too unusual... I found it IN MY BRA.

Yes, it appears at some stage on Thursday night I stole/was given/ended up with this mysterious strip of fabric, and it then somehow found its way in my right bra cup. I did not discover this until I took my bra off on Friday night. (I'm allowed come home and pass out with my bra on if I want to, god damn it!)

Anyone with any information on how it ended up in my bra is asked to come forward and put my mind at ease.

Was it a gift, or have I become a drunken kleptomaniac with a penchant for hiding my loot in my bra?

How many times did I say bra?

Wintersleep - Fog

I cannot stop listening to this song. My only complaint is that it's too short, I need more!

Rust In Peace, The Cunto

Sad news brethren... and old news too... but an occasion like this cannot pass without a moment of solemn reflection.

The chariot of dreams and vulgarity we called The Cunto is no more. Gone to the big junkyard in the sky. Written off. It's FUCKING DEAD.




The bereaved owner R. Spice, or Ragin' S. if you will, plans to hold a wake in honour of the little guy in a week or two's time in her new digs. Everyone will be asked to share a memory.

My favourite Cunto memory occured one Autumn's day... whilst out for a drive, we noticed a Garda car behind us. Lo and behold all three occupants of the car, all on-duty members of the force, we taking pictures of the Cunto on their camera phones, which they could barely even hold they were laughing so hard. As we made a turn and the Gards overtook us, they saluted the Cunto in the only way they knew how.... "BEEEEEP BEEEEEP BEEEEEP BEEEEEEEEEEEEP!" and threw him a friendly wave.

That was our Cunto, breaking down barriers, putting parents in awkward positions infront of their kids, and promoting foul-mouthedness all throughout Ireland.