More to come…

December 25th: I think I may have water-boarder myself with food.

December 26th: The food in this house seems to be hydra-based, every time I eat something two more things spring up to take it’s place. I’m scared.

December 27th: All of the turkey and ham is gone, but just when I thought I had defeated the food monster, I noticed the boxes of Quality Street and Roses under the tree. Have I died? Is this the Gluttony level of Hell?

December 28th: fhejbefvkWHEGV;IOHJPGKI[IR-93UTGFIHI129iu-9guij-rhgjpiojg

December 29th: I was lost. I was a goner. There was no hope for me. But then, from amid the din, came a question that pulled me from my serotonin carbohydrate coma…

“What are you doing for New Year’s Eve?”

After hiring a Sherpa to help me get upstairs, I open the closet to see what I should wear for what is the one night of the year when everyone – be they single or happily coupled – is entitled to a kiss at midnight. This is one of the few occasions when everyone should look their best. But after eating enough food in the last few days to set up my own fertilizing plant, nothing looks good on me. Nothing. Not even my Christmas clothes that fit me four days ago. Tomorrow I work out a little bit to get back down to a shape that isn’t quite so … spherical.

December 30th: The good intentions were ruined from the get-go when I noticed that the sausages and rashers and white pudding was going to go off tomorrow. Well, the day after tomorrow. Well… soon. But it’s all gone now, so that’s one less issue to deal with. No point in going to the gym today since I’m so full, so it’d be easier to just buy new clothes for the time being. There’s bound to be something in the sales…

(Six hours later)

… Not to self – never go to the sales again. Everything was either XS or XXXL. Everything was either too flashy to allow direct eye contact or too drab to be described properly by the English language. But I think I did lose some weight by forcing myself through the throbbing sea of purebred, focused sales shoppers – the kind of shoppers with a nose for bargains they way some pigs can smell truffles. But to me that bargain still looks like a shit covered mushroom, so you can have it.

December 31st: This is the day. You sleep late and eat very little so you can stay awake longer and get drunk quicker. Try on the Christmas clothes again, and those two days not eating food like a Hungry Hungry Hippo has helped me squeeze back into them. There are going to be a lot of photos taken tonight at some crazy house-party or night-club, so you have to look your best.

One quick drink before I head out on the town. Tonight is going to be NUTS. But then that’s it. Oh, that drink is empty already. One more quick drink. Tonight is the last night of craziness, but then it’s 2013 and I am going to be good. No, better than that, I am going to be my best. I am going to knuckle down and get my life in order and get a girlfriend and get abs and it’s going to be… how is this drink empty already? For fuck’s sake. Okay, one more. Make it a bigger measure so it doesn’t empty so quic- it’s gone. Already? Sheesh. Sometimes I think I might have an alcohol problem… in that there’s not enough of it! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I’m soooo funny. I should write that down. I stand up to look for a pen to write that down, and all those whiskey’s swoosh right to my head, and I have to sit back down. Maybe just put my head back for a minute, take a little disco nap to rid myself of this alcohol… and right before I pass out, I realise I forgot to make any plans tonight, and if I had actually gone out that door, I wouldn’t have known where I was going…

January 1st: Burrah….. Chenk….. Zembella….. Those half-drunken words half-shouted into a pillow when someone is telling you that it’s after 2pm and you’ve been asleep for all of 2013 so far. Check the phone, some missed calls at 12.01am, an epic amount of texts ranging from 12.09 to 2.15am (I love that time when then networks get so clogged with “BAPPY NEY WEAR!” texts that none of them actually send until hours later), some voice mails containing indecipherible screaming over Auld Lang Syne. Everyone seemed to have a great night, but I bet they’re all hungover to bits today. I’ve got a headstart on the year, and it’s going to be great. But… wait. What’s that smell? A fry-up. Sweet JEEEESUS. Right, I’ll eat that today, spend the rest of it writing out my plan for getting fit and getting a girlfriend and getting a life, starting tomorrow. TOMORROW is THE DAY. You hear me, 2013? Come at me, bro!

But for right now… nom nom nom…

My name is Sergeant Commerce and I’m here to help.

You did it. You fucking did it. You survived. You dodged the probing questions about your “career” from seldom-seen relatives. You smiled at every gift and managed not let any of the arguments turn fatal.

Give yourself a pat on the back, and prepare to escape that frying pan.

Welcome to the fire. Welcome to the sales.

You have heartburn and a hangover. Boo-hoo. We all do. THEY all do. Who are they? They are the enemy. Even though you thought you’d already spent every last penny of available cash and credit in the run up to Christmas, you suddenly realise you have a few bob here and there. Your uncle slipped you a fifty. You got a bunch of book tokens. You have terrible, stupid gifts you can return. You tot up the disappointing amount, pocket it and brave the city. I’m going to help you get what you need. Strap in, buckle up and knuckle down. It’s shopping time.

1.  Body

Your body is weak, stuffed and smelly (unless you have the winter vomiting bug, in which case it is weak, hollow and smelly). You ate too many mince pies, drank too much gravy and quaffed far too much wine. You told yourself you’d take it easy, but you didn’t and now you have to live with that. St. Stephens’ Day – or Boxing Day – is important, it’ll define the rest of your ordeal for better or worse. First thing you gotta do is shake that bloated feeling. Starving yourself would be counter-productive, you get too weak for shopping centre shoving. You need to switch to an all-bacon diet. It’s rich, cheap, and a packed with protein. Drag your cold, broken body out of bed and eat as much as you can, and then some more.

Once you’ve taken care of your diet, you’re going to need to put that newfound source of hearty protein to work. Get a bunch of plastic shopping bags, fill them with water and use them as weights, lifting your arms out, holding them for as long as possible. This may feel unnecessarily tough, but you’ll be glad of those warmed-up guns come mosh-time.

2.  Mind

This is actually going to be pretty easy, I mean, it’s just shopping, right? Wrong. Shopping is what you do when you pick up milk, or an iPhone cover. This is the Annual Sale. Note the capital letters. That’s a proper noun, that is. An entity unto itself. You underestimate that entity at your own peril. This isn’t Spar, it’s Smaug, it’s Sauron. It’s got a cold, steely will that will grind you into pigfeed if you let it, but you’re not going to do that. You’re going to go in there and get what you want, which brings me to my main point when talking about the mind: research.

Maybe you want a shirt. Maybe BT2 have a shirt you like. Maybe River Island has a similar shirt you also like. Your pathetic corporeal form won’t be able to zig-zag from shop to shop, the wheezing would kill you. You’ll need to investigate every alternative to every purchase, or you’ll come home broke and practically empty-handed. You need a sales buddy. It’s important to choose wisely. If they can, they’ll stab you in the back – let’s face it, if you could you’d do the same to them. So you need to pick someone who could never want what you want. Someone a different size, shape, gender, colour and social class to yourself. This person is unlikely to be a friend of yours since ideally you’ll have nothing in common, but you also want someone with a smartphone so you can text one another photos of prospective purchases, and somebody you could trust not to literally rob you and leave you for dead. I suggest an awkward cousin, or perhaps a stupid co-worker. As in most alliances, it works best when the other person doesn’t realise how tantalisingly close you are to fucking them over completely.

Someone tall is a bonus.

You should assume the leadership position as early as you can. I recommend some back-handed compliments, and then shout down a couple of their ideas with as much conviction as you can muster. Once they are subdued, you need to split up and send them to the toughest spots. Brown Thomas, TK Maxx, Henry Street etc. Let them take the flak while you read your book in a nice spot on Dawson St.

3.  Spirit

This is perhaps the most important part of your onslaught. Anybody can shop, but it takes a really cold, vicious scumbag to make the most of the mayhem. My advice is to find a cruelty you excel at and lean into it. Just lean gently forward into it and see what else you can get yourself dirty with. It will all give you an edge. Maybe you swipe somebody’s shopping cart in Smyths. Could you steal a single mother’s taxi? Some dude buy the last copy of that game you wanted? Follow him to his car and mug him. Let the air out of people’s tyres. Break wind in a scrum. Make loud phonecalls disseminating false information about “unbefuckingleivable deals over in X”. Block toilets. Frighten children. Intimidate sales staff into accepting out-of-date coupons. This is war. There’s not right or wrong, only winning or losing, and I’m not here to help you lose.

Epilogue

If you follow my regimen, you’ll be at home, broke, sore and burned out, but you’ll have a mountain of stuff, and the sweet taste of victory on your chapped lips. Tastes good, right? Enjoy that iPad cover, your new socks, those t-shirts and that pair of shoes. You earned them, soldier.

When thinking of the Christmas season I just can’t help but picture being serenaded by fur-clad choirs; romantic ensemble movies where EVERYONE finds true love; attractive hipster models making Xmas jumpers look cool & sexy*; saccharinely sweet family films where a young child & their workaholic dad save xmas while learning valuable life lessons; of friends and families being reunited over glasses of wine, next to an open log fires. I start to feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

However this is never, EVER how the holidays turn out.

Ever.

Inevitably something always goes horribly wrong; often times numerous things go terribly badly – and every so often, anything bad that can possibly happen, does. So to accurately represent the bitter, angry tension of Christmas, here are some classic carols only a tad more… realistic.

“The weather outside is frightful

And this cake is so delightful,

I could go to the gym, although….

(Nah)

Let’s forgo, let’s forgo, let’s forgo!”

Personally, I don’t trust a person who doesn’t put on weight around the holidays, what with all those creamy desserts, beers, selection boxes, giant dinners with 4 different types of potatoes, Romantica and Baileys lying around. Also at this time of year, who has time to do any lifting (other than pints to mouth or/and shopping bags around town)?

“Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer

Used to drunk dial his ex,

But she never answered Rudolph

Or replied to his sad texts”

Romantic films & Xmas TV specials, mixed with an over-consumption of alcohol and at least 10% of your friends getting engaged – well it all gets a bit nostalgic, doesn’t it? A lot of ‘What if’s or ‘If only’s, but trust me, the best present you can give yourself this year is leaving your mobile at home when going drinking.

“On the twelve pubs of Christmas

My true love gave (out) to me

‘bout three fist fights,

Two bags of chips,

And a pee I took, on the tree”

Who decided drinking at TWELVE PUBS in one night was a good idea? Perhaps this was a gimmick devised by stomach-pumping equipment salesmen? Or a Protestant conspiracy to combat overpopulation in Ireland? Either way, just remember to pace yourself and pre-buy your mum/partner/flat mate’s apology present to avoid having to go shopping with the worst hangover you’ll have all year.

“Dashing through the snow

Desperate shoppers all round town,

Into shops we go,

About to breakdown

Horns on Taxis blare,

Making people shout,

Oh how Xmas shopping

Stresses people out”

Eventually you get in so much debt that it doesn’t really matter anymore, right? But it’s not just the crippling bills that make the whole experience so traumatic; it’s the queues and the anxiety of people doing last-minute shopping. Every year I tell myself: “This year I’m going to buy everything online in November” but never fail, every year I end up in Henry Street on Christmas eve having a brawl with an elderly woman over who gets the last Lynx giftset.

Megan: “I’m saving up, so this is only the second dearest champagne”

“So this is Christmas
And what have I done?
Another year over,
I’m still living with my mum.

And yeah this is Christmas.

My friend Mark has a Jag.

While I’m down the dole queue,

Tanya’s a W.A.G.”

Did you hear about Megan? She’s back from Australia for Xmas and she has her own successful business. Yeah, well FUCK YOU MEGAN. I have just recently leveled up in W.O.W. and finished re-watching the entire Star Trek DS9 series. Life is all about priorities.

“O come, all ye relatives,

Loud and very pii-iissed,

O come ye,

O come ye

To my–y house.

Come drink my Baileys.

Knock over my la-a-amps!

O -verstay your welcome.

O -verstay your welcome!

OVERSTAY YOUR WELCOME.

Christ the Lord.”

Take three feuding siblings, add in an alcoholic Gran-aunt, a cousin with narcissistic personality disorder, mix with a pair of disapproving parents & some nieces and nephews outta their faces on sugar and you have yourself one unstable powder keg. Then just light the fuse by adding alcohol and step well back – possibly by emigrating to Australia.

Whatever your plans are for this Xmas, and however you plan on surviving them, have a great one from us here at Half a Giraffe. (Except for you, Megan – you can go fuck yourself).

*Does not apply to average-looking people over the age of 25,  as they tend to end up looking like sex offenders when donning them. For those who must don an Xmas jumper avoid those creepy thin-rimmed glasses, pencil-moustaches & trench coats. See Below.

“Ciaran” my wife roars through the house ” The Hunger games has been released”. I put down my book and touch my brow, it is moist, I have been reading for 15 hours straight. I momentarily let my focus wander and I become aware of voices murmuring in the gardens behind the dark curtains of my room. Streams of light pass through the many little holes in their fabric suggesting a godly world beyond. I stand from my desk and walk towards the window, ripping them apart and at once I am bathed in light.

Beneath me the proletariat have gathered. They want me to review the Hunger Games. I look at their tiny peasanty faces, all scrunched up, shivering in the eternal winter of my front yard. I agree to their pleas and get my leather coat. Next stop, the cinema.

I take a seat in the middle, near a family of poor people. Around me the crackling of popcorn and the spooning of teenage couples. “Bah, this is no  place to watch a film critically” I muse to myself “still perhaps the babbling reproducing mess around will learn something, after all this film was based on a book”.

I exited the cinema around two hours later. A lot of people seemed to like it. It will be hard to tell them how retardedly wrong they are, and yet it is my duty. The sound of lips licking the bottom of popcorn buckets surrounds me on all sides, I begin to push my way through the sticky body-fluid people and head quickly for my home.

At my desk I start to pace up and down. “Perhaps I should give them what they want” I consider to myself. But the smells of tobacco, leather and poetry shake me to my senses.  They’ve got to know the truth. I sit down and begin to type.

“The biggest issue with the Hunger Games is that everybody is a retard. Nobody’s actions make any sense at all and the protagonist survives largely through luck or the ineptitude of others rather than her own skill.

Let’s take the scene where Katniss (the protagonist) climbs a tree to escape a mob of about 6 people trying to kill her. We then see that the boy from district 1, who is 18 and an elite fighter/survivor who has trained for years, is incapable of climbing a tree that she can climb.

We know one of the six has a bow and arrow and yet they give up trying to shoot her after trying only 2 arrows, even though both shots were close, instead resolving to sleep under the tree and wait her out. The fact that nobody else takes a shot with the bow and arrow suggests nobody can shoot a stationary human sized target in the fairly low branches of a tree. This makes me wonder why they bothered taking a bow and arrow at all.

The boy from district 12 (henceforth “dumb boy”) has been accepted into this group as he will lead them to her. It’s unclear why he does this as he loves her, and it’s unclear why the other group members don’t kill him after he has lead them to her. And so the group of 6 people, none of whom can climb and none of which can use a bow and arrow, sleep under the tree. Everybody sleeps at the same time, nobody stands guard.

Then the little girl appears and points out the enormous, loud hive of hallucinogenic wasps living on the tree. These wasps were clearly not there the day before, as we never hear them and none of the 6, admittedly fairly dim, characters trying to kill her have noticed it, nor has Katniss who apparently is an excellent forest/ranger type.

This is just one scene which occurs fairly soon after the movie properly begins but already it’s establishing a premise of Katniss receiving exceptional luck and everybody else being unbelievably inept.

Later we see that the elite guy and his friends are camped out in the open surrounded by forest, a tactic so dumb it beggars belief. If your only real enemy (remember that Katniss is officially ranked the most dangerous and they’ve previously dedicated considerable effort to catching her during which one of them died) is able to climb very well and is armed with a long range weapon, you don’t camp in a tiny meadow surrounded by trees. If I were Catnips, I’d have climbed up a tree and killed them all with arrows right then and there.

This leads us to my next point. The too-convenient killing off of friendly characters so as to avoid any kind of interesting dilemma. It’s a minor point but one which shows the laziness of the writing. The little girl is killed by getting hit with a spear (the spear thrower either aimed for her, a low value target when standing beside a high value one, or is inept at throwing his weapon of choice over a short distance) and the black guy who randomly saves her life is shown being killed by the mega-dogs. More on the ability of these mega-dogs to outrun a human later.

In America the Hunger Games is called "Diet Games and the Sorcerors stone".

The intelligent girl dies by eating poison berries. Again a nice character, guilt-free removed to avoid any potentially interesting psychology later. It’s worth noting that her actions are inconsistent with what we’ve been told about her. The protagonist remarks that she was too clever for her own good. This is despite the fact that she chose to follow dumb boy who by his own admission is extremely incapable of surviving in the wild.

Furthermore she doesn’t know about the berries being poisonous, even though this appears to be relatively common knowledge. The Catnip can instantly identify them and the same berries are used later to kill the organiser of the hunger games, suggesting knowledge of their danger is relatively widespread. Thus we see a character, apparently defined by high intelligence, done in by making stupid decisions and having a lack of basic knowledge.

So the characters of the intelligent girl and the elite guy from district 1 suffer from the same basic problem. We are only ever told that these characters have apparently formidable attributes, everything we see suggests neither is capable of what they are meant to be excellent at. We never see the elite guy do anything at all that suggests he is a great fighter, survivor or tactician. I’ve just taken these two characters as examples, but what I’ve said is true for essentially everybody, except Catnip.

In a movie like this, where the premise is so alien and the setting so fantastical, having characters seem believable is especially important in creating immersion, something this movie largely fails to do.

Shakey camera crap, my old nemesis and destroyer of all that is good action, makes a massive big fat cock-in-your-eye appearance every time the action starts. However he also makes an appearance during much of the opening parts of the movie, in which characters just talking to one another do so whilst wobbling on screen.  This is presumably done to add a sense of drama and tension, much like the way a child telling a story might start shouting at the bits he thinks are important.

Finally the premise of this movie, children being forced to kill each other, is intrinsically horrible. It seems strange to watch horrible stuff voluntarily/in ones spare time, but it can be rewarding provided there’s a powerful message or the characters are transformed though their suffering. But here there is no message. Most of the characters that died did so through bad luck and Katniss is never forced to confront her identity or transform in some positive way, so I’m left wondering what’s the point?

Oh! The mega-dogs chase the main two characters through the forest for ages at close distance without catching them. Now, my tiny Pomeranian dog can outrun the crap out of me. If she were 20 feet behind me and we both started running she’d have caught me in about 1.5 seconds. Mega-dogs are presumably at least as twice fast as Roxy, so given that they can’t catch 2 kids from a distance of about 10 feet in approximately 1 min this indicates an exaggeration factor of (20/10)*(60/1.5)*2 = 160. The dogs should have caught them 160 times, give or take.

So with everybody being incredibly inept, animals that run at below human jogging pace and exceptional luck, I’m led to believe I could win the hunger games. I also believe my Pomeranian could win.”

Thus the review was completed.

“Ciaran” bellowed my wife through the floorboards beneath my slippers “WE’VE GOT GUESTS OVER AND YOU’VE BEEN HIDING IN YOUR ROOM FOR THE LAST HOUR, COME DOWN AND SAY HELLO”.

Silly woman, the world is not all fun and games. Somebody has to tell the people how crap this film is.

“OH JESUS CIARAN ARE YOU HAVING DELUSIONS THAT THERE ARE PEOPLE OUTSIDE THE WINDOWS AGAIN”

I open the curtains and step into the blossoming radiance. Attention all ye gathered here, the Hunger Games sucks, I’d give it a 4/10.

BOOO bobooo nooooo

Well fuck you all then, stupid proletariat know it alls. I’ll go get my gun and kill them all. As I step back into my room my wife is standing there crying “Please don’t get your gun and start shooting out the windows again”.

Alright fine, what a bitch.

BUT FEAR NOT! Like a small number of Dr. Emmet Browns of this world, we are working on something pretty awesome! Naturally we can’t talk about it, because we have to invent the thing first before we can invent a vocabulary to describe it, but it suffices to say that it will blow your effing socks off.

While we’re inventing the most brilliant thing since the wheel (Codename: WHEEL 2.0), we’ll be leaving this site fallow for a little while, just updating it now and again with news or the occasional B-Side or post, so please don’t be afraid to check back, or subscribe to our RSS feed. If you’d like to be made aware when we go back online and have news of our big thingy, please enter your email address at the bottom of the page.

We *promise* not to send your deets anywhere. Seriously. Won’t happen. We also won’t be hassling you with emails, and will delete them when we’ve done our mailout.

Peace out, homies.

We didn’t have a Christmas present for you, because we couldn’t figure out how to wrap World Peace, so we got you this instead! A little sketch shot back when the sun was yellow, instead of an unfeasibly icy white.

Every year on December 31^st, the bloated hungover masses vow never to do/eat/drink/ride whatever their individual vices may be, mostly in an effort to comply with the outdated social construction of the New Year’s resolution – something designed to make you feel so guilty could really only be a tool of the Catholic Church). So pretty much without fail every year, 99.9999999999999% of these earnestly uttered promises are broken within the early few hours of the 1^st January.

The desire to better oneself goes as far back as history itself and generally promotes positivity in society, however this particular day of unnatural highly concentrated self-improvement is unsustainable. In fact the only thing that the N.Y.R. really does, is create the devastating realisation that we are deeply flawed creatures who will most likely die obese and alone while having a hand shady in front of the PlayStation, midway through the act of spooning butter into our unattractive gobs.

What a cold harsh truth to face up to on New Years day? – which is most likely not helped by that nasty hangover and the desperate need to get that transsexual Bolivian hooker out of your flat. And lets face it…. this horrid blow of disappointment is about as unappealing as our future-selves lycra-bound flabby arse on that vibro-plate.

Realistic Expectations

New Year’s resolutions are always things like: “I must lose weight” but the subtext really is: “from now on I will get skinny and gorgeous. I will be a magnet for advances from either gender. I will get harassed by people offering to buy me drinks when I go to the bar because of how much of a giant RIDE I am. People who knew me in the past will break down in tears by glimpsing at my devastating beauty”. So somehow losing a few pounds will fix that lazy eye of yours? Those couple of kilos will instantly transform you into Ryan Reynolds or Scarlett Johansson? Not effing likely. Just get used to the fact that you will ALWAYS be your flawed delightfully pudgy self, and try and set the more realistic goal “I will be a little less pudgy, so I can fit in airplane seats” and the like.

Aim Low

There’s an ancient Chinese proverb:

The dung beetle does not try to fly like the dragonfly. It knows it’s place… eating shit.

You cannot fail if you don’t try, right? It’s simple mathematics really. A 0% failure rate is a beautiful thing to behold, so stack the odds in your own favour this time round. Instead of genuinely trying to better yourself, just pick resolutions that are easy and within your reach! Here are a few examples to get you started, but remember, the world is your easily-within-reach oyster:

1. Delete the local takeaway from your speed dial, the time you spend manually looking for the menu will allow you to eat it guilt free.

2. Don’t die.

3. Brush your hair most days.

4. Save money via call credit. Ignore your least important friend.

5. Extend your life with positive lifestyle changes… sleep at least an extra hour a day.

6. Burn extra calories by taking up bullying; you can lose 10lbs a year by playing the game “Stop Hitting Yourself” once a day.

7. Drink one less beer a week. But don’t stress yourself… if this proves difficult, have an extra whiskey instead.

8. Get dressed in outside clothes most days. If this is a bit much to ask, just add socks and a scarf to your stained underpants ensemble.

9. Educate yourself by watching more highbrow daytime TV. Exchange the Jeremy Kyle for a bit of Oprah.

10. Running every day? Well at least make an effort and blow your nose this year.

Happy New Year from Half a Giraffe!

Dr. Gemma Creagh,

Self Help Guru M.D.

I don’t honestly know what function they are supposed to serve – bathroom attendants seem to be intended to make the act of going to the bathroom in public more socially awkward than it already is. They also often disable the taps and hand-dryer keep trying to fill your pockets with sweets like an unsubtle pedophile.

While I briefly considered making this a racist post, I realised that a) every race on the planet has a member who can kick the shit out of me, and will, if I deserve it and b) it’s a cheap laugh for the sake of risking having my shit kicked out (see point a). I thought that sort of moral directive would be restrictive, but it turned out to open a door to a slew of race-independent humiliations and tactics that are sure to delight (you) and annoy (him) in equal measure.
Ladies, while these may work in a female bathroom, I’ve never managed to remain in one for more than half an hour without being ejected and so can’t speak from any experience. Sozages.

1.  Ask which stall has the glory hole – if he denies the existence of one, call him a homophobe.

2.  Go into one cubicle dressed as a man, come out as a woman.

You guys are making me uncomfortable

3.  Set up a second, competing bathroom assistant station and try to steal customers.

4.  Insist you are his assistant and then when he leaves to check with management, assume control of his post.

5.  Loudly complain that the X he sold you tastes like mint.

6.  Ask him to describe, in detail, each flavour of lollypop and then nod like a connoisseur.

7.  Never leave the bathroom.

8.  Go to the club, see what he’s wearing, go home, get the same outfit together, go back in, wave to him on the way into the stall, change to match him and when you come out, say “Well, one of us has to change”

I stand like this because I had a stroke

9.  Try to convince him to swap shirts with you.

10. On your own? This is a more directed version of number six. Sit on a toilet and see if you can read an entire book, cover to cover, without being removed. Extra points for every time you fob him off as he checks you haven’t fallen asleep/choked on your own vomit.

11. On the way out of the cubicle, ask him when was the last time he cleaned it. Whatever he says, answer “Not often enough” and show him the wad of money you just “found” in there.

12. On the way in, say to him, “Sorry, the ladies was full.”

13. Come out of the cubicle with your hands and arms soaking wet and tell him the flush isn’t working. When he goes in and flushes, say “Oh… I was doing that completely wrong.”

14. Loudly and clearly perform drug deals in front of him using bags of tic-tacs.

Any we’ve missed? Sound off in the comments!

10. The Green Lantern

(for a longer, funnier script version of this movie, click here)

Ryan Reynolds: Wow. This video game cost $200 million to make?

Mark Strong: This isn’t a video game… this is a movie.

Ryan Reynolds: Say what?

9. New Year’s Eve

Just About Every Actor In Hollywood: I wish *I* could find true love.

Just About Every Member Of The Audience: Are you kidding? Halle Berry and Ashton Kutcher can’t find true love? If people who look like Halle Berry and Ashton Kutchen can’t find true love, then what the fuck am I supposed to do? Go fuck yourself, Hollywood!

8. Apollo 18

Spaceman #1: Wow, the Moon is kinda dull for most of this movie…

Spaceman #2: OHMYGOD! Aliens! But they look like rocks so they’re the least scary aliens in the entire history of cinema! Run!

Audience: Will do. *runs*

7. Cowboys & Aliens

Daniel Craig: I have amnesia.

Harrison Ford: We’re going to wish we had amnesia once this movie comes out…

Olivia Wilde: Aliens are bad. But I’m an alien, but I’m good. So aliens are … good? *dies*

Director Jon Favreau: I gave up Iron Man 3 for this??

6. Battle Los Angeles

Aaron Eckhart: The trailer for this movie is AWESOME!

Michelle Rodriguez: I know, even my cliched appearance can’t screw this up-

Audience: This film blows. It’s not even clear why the aliens are here or why they’re blowing everything up.

Aaron Eckhart: Anyone else noticing a trend between bad movies and aliens this year?

5. Twilight Breaking Dawn Part One

Robert Pattinson: Lets get married.

Marriage: *takes a long time to happen*

Kirsten Stewart: Now that we’re married, we can finally have sex!

Sex: *is still bad for you. For some reason*

Taylor Lautner’s Abs: Even Abduction wasn’t as bad as this.

4. Demons Never Die

Tulisa From XFactor: *dies within 15 seconds*

Robert Sheehan: I’m the only person anyone in the audience has ever heard of now. This movie is mine!

Everyone Else In The Movie: You can ‘av’ ih, mate.

Audience: So… this is about… suicidal teens… being murdered… for being… suicidal? I don’t think I understand this movie.

3. Johnny English Reborn

Rowan Atkinson: Remember me?

English Speaking Audience: OH GOD! *runs from cinema*

Non-English Speaking Audience: You do funny faces! Here’s all of our money!

2. Dream House

Daniel Craig: Me again? This was a bad year.

Rachel Weisz: Hey, remember that essay you wrote in primary school at Halloween about the haunted house and the ghosts and it was all a dream at the end and blahdy blahdy blah?

Daniel Craig: Yeah?

Rachel Weisz: Well… *hands him the script*

Daniel Craig: Oh shit…..

1. Trespass

Nicolas Cage: *to Nicole Kidman* You’re in this?

Nicole Kidman: *to Nicolas Cage* You’re in this??

Cam Gigandet: I’m in this!!!

Nicolas Cage & Nicole Kidman: Oh shit…

Say WHAT!? That’s right folks, Half a Giraffe screened Tough Love at the Capital Irish Film Festival! That’s another feather in our cap. Or it would be if we had a cap. These film festivals just send you the feathers but not the caps, they assume you already have them, which is reasonable but inconvenient.

What?

Oh yeah, the link.

http://www.irishfilmdc.org/toughlove.html

Check it out.

DO IT.

(please!)

Now all we need to do is figure out how to scan those olive branch thingies.

1. The “Secret”

How many of you have encountered this update or Tweet? “Oh my God! I just got the best news ever! But I can’t talk about it! So HAPPY!”

To this, let me respond.

"I'm so happy for you!"

You’re a dick. Nobody likes you right now. You’ve got great news, so we’re jealous, and you won’t tell us, so we feel untrustworthy. I hope your promotion / lottery win / negative pregnancy test is worth the price of our friendship. Dick.

2. The “Happy Couple”

We all have friends. We all have friends who are in couples. And now we all have friends who are in couples and seemed to have decided to have every. single. conversation. via the medium of Facebook or Twitter. You both have phones, right? Can you not text this conversation? Or call each other? Even though you’ve only just left each other’s company minutes ago? No?

"We're laughing at all of our single friends. They're so alone!"

We get that you’re happy, and we’re happy that you’re happy, but seriously now… this isn’t cool. Having a lovey-dovey conversation on Twitter is the equivalent of standing in two opposite corners of a crowded bar and shouting at each other how much you love each other. It’s annoying your single friends for obvious reasons, and you’re other be-coupled friends because you make them question their relationship because they don’t feel the need to announce every tiny emotion to each other. Don’t you do it, cool couples! You’re a cool couple! You’re cool because you keep it to yourself! This OPDA (Online Public Display of Affection) must come to an end!

3. The “Announcer”

In preparation for this article, I wrote down the following list of updates and tweets over the last week.

- Awake (x 7)

- Hungry (x 3)

- Tired (x 12)

- Wet (x 47) (It rained a lot this week)

- Hungover (x 19) (It’s Ireland)

- Bed (x 4)

- Annoyed (x 11)

- FML (x 6)

That’s it. That was their entire update/status. Now, I get the concept of micro-blogging… but come on. They give you 140 characters to work with on Twitter. Do you think you’re Ashton Kutcher, is that it? Do you think you can just write “Awake” and people will be sated in the knowledge that you’re no longer asleep? DO YOU THINK YOU’RE ASHTON KUTCHER?? COS YOU AIN’T! Now look, you’ve made me go all Kanye…

"YOU AIN'T KUTCHER, BRO!"

4. The “Show Off”

If, say, you work as a builder or a plumber and for some reason you win tickets to a film premiere and an after party and there are famous people there, by all means, tell your friends. That shit is cool, and your friends will want to hear about your cool shit.

If, however, you work as a PR manager or a Social Media Head Honcho and you get invited to every single film premiere and after party that there has ever been, then please shut the fuck up. “Just hanging here at yet another free bar, knocking back shots of Patron with Charlize Theron and Ryan Gosling. How teeeeeeeedious.”

"Yeah, we were freebasing off Pamela Anderson's navel. Pretty tame Tuesday, really."

We get it, you’re important (or just know important people) and you want to show off a little bit. You might think you’re not showing off, that you’re just telling people about your job, and this is what your job entails. But think back to that plumber. Does he TwitPic images of blocked toilets every week? No, he doesn’t, he keeps that shit to himself. And unless someone asks, so should you.

In this horrendous economy, people are being sacked and made redundant left, right and center. Cut backs and outsourcing are causing thousands of people across the country to get the old ‘heave-ho’ and be forced to reapply for their old jobs in the likes of Xtravision and Superquinn, despite having a PHD and/or Nobel prizes.

So if you’ve been given your notice in your current place of employment and only have a few more weeks left in that soul-destroying job you never wanted anyway – well, here’s a list of things you can do to make your time left more enjoyable.

1. Move things around

The pens are on the top shelf? No, not anymore, now they are kept in the Staff kitchen. Accounts? The lift, obviously. 2010 receipts? Toilet cistern. The overall goal is to convince management that they have Alzheimer’s. A great tip is to take whatever the boss was handling last and put it in the fridge. This move is called “the Joey”.

2. A Steal

I say steal, but really it’s asshole tax. Staplers, stock, computers, chairs, desks, doors; everything is up for grabs. Think of it as a self-assessed redundancy package.

Disclaimer: Murdering Boss not condoned.

3. Keeping it Personnel

Fuck with HR’s files. This might take some mission impossible-style heist action, or the employment of a computer hacker (some take payment of office supplies – see above) but the essence of this plan is to destroy whatever career is left for the un-redundant brown-nosers who ratted out your wank breaks to the supervisor. Simple statements like “warning issued for theft” or “tendency towards Sexual harassment” scribbled on personnel files will work a treat.

4. Something Fishy…

Leaving dead fish behind the rads – A classic. They can never prove it was you and there’s an added poetic justice to it: Being fired stinks!!

5. Take the clients with you

This might not necessarily be applicable to most jobs, but hell… it always sounds cool when they say it in the movies. Even if you didn’t, pretend that you got a job with the competitors and poach them on their behalf.

"Your Christmas Bonus is free TIME! Congratulations, you're redundant!"

6. Order in

Now is the time for the office to stock up right? Make sure you order plenty of pens, equipment, office furniture, 10,000 should do it (or whatever the credit limit is on the supplier). Even if they do arrive before you leave, you could steal them or use them to build a fort. Win/Win!

7. N.S.F.W.

Now is the time to make lemonparty and goatsecs the home pages on all the work computers, send around all those crude emails, make brash advances to the intern. The world is your inappropriate oyster.

8. D.I.Y

Use the time you used to spend working to practice carpentry. Loosen the bolts on all the workplace furniture to help ensure accidents happen.

"They're so I don't forget I HATE YOU"

9. Identity crisis

Time for some memos, telling everyone what you REALLY thought of them. “Marge, you’re a nasty bitch”; “Timmy a cabbage could do your job better than you”. But don’t sign your own name, references and that – instead sign the boss’s. Don’t forget to cc the District Manager.

10. Sabotage

It’s the little things that count. Shorten one leg on every desk so they’re nice and wobbly. Swap the all black ink cartridges in all the pens you ordered with the red ones. Break one wheel on every computer chair.

REDUNDANCY THAT BITCHES. Mwah, ha, ha, ha, ha!

This past week we’ve had the Global Economic Forum, where industry leaders, heads of state and Dara O’Brian spoke, listened and tried to come up with plans on how to save our island of saints & scholars before leaving to the countries they emigrated to.

IMF loans are designed to help to ease the pain, and like any self respecting loan receiver from Tallaght, Ireland is considering the option of forgetting that money ever arrived and defaulting on the repayments. Much like World War II, we have a lot to thank the Germans for. They’re giving us money so we don’t have to accept smug British money (or at least, not as much of it).

All of this is vein. Doing the semi-occasional comedy blog guest post has decreed me with a sense of loftiness and economic prowess (you get a free pint for doing this) that has given me he ego that only an Irish person could have. I am going to ignore the pundits, the experts and the nobel prize winners and declare my own 5 point plan to recover the economy. What follows is my plan for economy recovery, stability and the beginnings of a master plan to make Ireland a global leader.

Neighbours... and lovers (we assume)

1. IrelandAid. It took a BBC news piece highlighting the plight of starving children in Africa to get an Irish man who emigrated to the UK to take action. Bob Geldof’s mediocre career in music was not going to be how people remember him. Nor was it going to get him a fancy house in Dalkey. No, it was going to be a concert that didn’t feature his band, but instead featured what many would have otherwise called “the coherent Boomtown Rats”, U2. Queen – who otherwise would have become a Boomtown Rats tribute band – would also benefit from the conert.

LiveAid was born, and delivered millions of needed sterlings to starving African children.

As such, the first part of my 5-point plan is to have the BBC do a piece on the news about the starving children in fields in Finglas who have to drink cans of cider instead of eating. It should also highlight the plight of people living in squalor, Fatima Mansions.

Once this airs Bob Geldof will no doubt have to spring into action to do IrelandAid, a live money-raising concert to help the Irish economy… live from Wembley, London, England – where he calls home.

2. Hire more people in state jobs. This sounds ludicrous because the government already hires far too many people. However no one cares about farmers, so we can trim the fat on the department of agriculture and re-invest in hiring people where they’re needed.

In post offices, handing out €180 a week to drug addicts and alcoholics.

Hiring “dole operators” gives people a job helping people who need jobs. There’s nothing like the satisfaction of receiving your dole cheque every week from a snarling ungreatful scumbag who realistically should be the one receiving the cheque in the first place.

3. Ireland operates in Europe, which is built on a fundamental idea of free trade across member states. This helps economic growth and sharing of wealth. Ireland has been a great recipiant of goods, services, jobs and people as a result of this.

Selling Irish goods to British, French, German, etc. people has been great. Unfortunately a lot of Latvian and Romanian people have been stealing Irish goods, but on balance it’s been beneficial to Ireland.

As such the third plan is to sell our crowning achievement; Enda Kenny.

No one looked at this malnourished ginger from the West of Ireland and thought he could plaigarise a speech given by U.S. president Barrack Obama right in front of the man himself – but he did. He did it with poise and grace. Not only that, he managed it after the high of seeing Jedward perform.

As such, I recommend selling him to a foreign nation for a lot of money. This would add buoyancy to our economy and give us the chance to hire a new leader, leading me to economic plan number four…

4. Get rid of the president and role his/her job into the Taoiseach’s. We don’t need a head of state being a nanny for the government. Instead, give all of the power to a single person. At the time it was a very controversial decision but in the end it worked out well for Germany. Only 60 odd years later and they’re the biggest powerhaus of Europe.

We can also, having shipped out our current leader and sold the Áras to Americans, hire our new Taoiseach at the minimum wage, setting an example to the rest of us: that it’s fine to spend 40 hours a week earning €320 when you could have had 40 hours free for only €140 less.

5. Bring in lower corporation tax rates and lower tax on the rich. These are the people that hire the rest of us. We need to nourish and look after the 1%.

It’s also worth imposing strict corporal punishment rules on those who occupy streets where the 1% work. Impeding on their work only stops economic growth, and we need those 1% working hard on drinking foreign bourbon, smoking Cuban cigars and spending as much money in foreign lands as possible.

Keeping the 1% happy keeps everyone happy.