It's fucking incredible how long you can spend on the internet without actually doing anything. I've been on the net for, oh 2 or 3 hours, and I can't even remember what the hell I've been looking at. God be with the days when we all sat around the fire tellin' shtories.

Below is some sarcastic drivel (ie. satire) I wrote on the occasion of Saddam Hussein's trial. Note to lawyers: the text below is pure fiction. All quotes and events included therein are wholly fabricated and bear no relation to real events. Honest. Anyway, I have no money. You'd be suing an impecunious student. And Seán Kenny isn't my real name.

Saddam Lawyer Slams Court’s Failure to Allow Client Fade into Obscurity

Lawyers for Saddam Hussein are preparing to argue that their client’s fundamental human right to avoid prosecution and fade into obscurity outside Iraq has been denied. They will argue that legal precedence dictates that this right, granted to past despots such as Uganda's Idi Amin and Haiti's 'Baby Doc' Duvalier, also applies to their client and has been cruelly ignored by the court established to try Saddam.

According to Saddam’s lead counsel, Khalil-al-Dulaimi, “there is a long and noble tradition of allowing deposed rulers of dubious democratic legitimacy slip quietly into a life of luxurious exile. My client’s favoured destination would be an Arab brother-state, preferably one with ample beaches where alcohol is easily attainable. Tunisia, for example, would be ideal.”

Dulaimi believes that the regime Saddam has been subjected to while incarcerated in Iraq is also a breach of his client’s basic rights as a former dictator. “As an absolute ruler of over twenty years’ standing, my client naturally has highly sophisticated culinary tastes. In a callous and calculating move, the Americans have attempted to break his spirit by serving him low-to-average quality food and drink.”

Dulaimi related how, on one shocking occasion, the ex-dictator had even been served own-brand tea from a discount Baghdad supermarket. “This to a man accustomed to only the finest Earl Grey; is this not cruel and unusual?” said Dulaini as a bullet zipped past his left ear.

Moreover, Saddam intends to take legal action against George Bush and Donald Rumsfeld on the grounds that his quality of life has disimproved considerably since the U.S. launched hostilities against Iraq in March ’03. “My client has endured terrible hardship and trauma. Before his imprisonment he had to live an itinerant existence without a regular supply of water, electricity or prostitutes. He has, in fact, had to endure the living conditions faced by ordinary Iraqis.” Mr Dulaini’s press conference was then interrupted as a series of rockets exploded in his immediate vicinity.

Meanwhile, a star-studded array of concerned dictators from around the globe recently came together at a glittering ceremony in downtown Harare to show their solidarity with Saddam in his hour of need. Speaking at the ceremony, President of Zimbabwe, Robert Mugabe, announced the formation of a dictators’ rights group, A.I.D. (The Association for Incarcerated Dictators). The charity will campaign for the humane treatment of imprisoned ex-rulers.

Flanked by Cuba’s Fidel Castro and Kim Jong Il of North Korea on the podium, Mr Mugabe made an impassioned plea for clemency in Saddam’s case. “Dictatorship is a high-risk career. Dictators trying to do an honest day’s work face innumerable occupational hazards: coups d’etat, invasion, discovery of the mutilated corpses of your political opponents by human rights groups. And to finally face imprisonment and trial for merely performing your patriotic duty like our esteemed colleague Saddam…How do we expect to attract young people to take up a career in dictatorship under such conditions?”

A.I.D. will plead with the authorities that, at the very least, Saddam should be allowed to sport the traditional dictator’s garb of olive green fatigues, sunglasses and beret instead of a prison uniform.

Today I received a compilation cd and a short accompanying letter in the post from my cousin in Galway (thanks T). He's coming to Dublin next week and could have handed me the cd in person but he posted it instead. Cos it's nice to get stuff in the post. And letters are personal and tactile in a way that e-mail can't be. I like that, and I like getting (and making) compilation cds. I hope the art of making music compilations for your friends doesn't die out with the advent of i-pods and downloading. Will cds even exist in ten years? The notion of e-mailing a compilation folder or somesuch just doesn't have the same appeal. Maybe I'm just a luddite. Hey, I've got to fill space on this thing.

*Note new, considered, (mostly) non-sarcastic tone in keeping with mature. sensible new blog name

"A bus! A bus! My kingdom for a bus!"

Meanwhile a commuter patiently waits for the 39 bus in Blanchardstown

Ok, I am firmly resolved not to mention Dublin Bus or the number 39 on this blog again. That's it. There's a great big world out there beyond the Dublin Bus (sorry) network. Next week: Bus éireann. That was a joke. Maybe.

Eagle-eyed readers will also have noticed that this blog has been rechristened. This author felt that a name that included the words 'ranting', 'raving' and 'riling' provided a misleading and possibly career-threatening portrayal of self as some kind of bile-spitting polemicist, foaming at the mouth with bitterness and possible psychosis. And nothing, as you know dear reader, could be further from the truth. So I devised the most neutrally-worded name I could think of. How did I do?

George Best 1946-2005. R.I.P.

I'm too young to have seen George Best play live. But the numerous clips I've seen of Best's finest moments paint an impressionistic portrait of a man who played the game of football beautifully. They show a footballer of almost balletic poise and balance and of extraordinary flair and imagination. Of a man who could conjure magic with a ball at his feet. Has a footballer ever been more appropriately named?

Just a note on the media circus, which has surrounded his illness and death. The media have been circling vulture-like around Best's sickbed for the past couple of weeks. Articles that looked like the obituary of a still-living man were appearing in the papers two weeks ago. On a smaller scale it's reminiscent of the coverage prior to the pope's death earlier this year. The press almost wet themselves in anticipation of the old man drawing his final breath. At its worst this kind of journalism is voyeuristic and callous.

There's no way of getting away from this. Best's alcoholism must have been a contributory factor in his early demise. In his later years he often cut a sad figure, stumbling from one alcohol- induced crisis to the next. The athletic prowess of his earlier years had deserted him, as it does to all athletes, and George Best the ex-footballer often evoked pity or scorn or both. A whole media sub-industry fed off him. He was fodder for the tabloids, another middle-aged booze hound, brought low by addiction.

But George Best the footballer was so much more. Moments of genuine artistry on a football field are rare and should be cherished accordingly. Best's football career was overflowing with such moments. He brought joy into millions of football fans' lives. The drink can't take that away.

As I write it's near 3 o'clock on a Saturday: football time (despite Sky's attempts to bore us all to death by stringing matches across the whole week). I like to think of George limbering up, ready to take his place in the great 4-4-2 formation in the sky, having spent the morning in bed with, oh let's say Marilyn Monroe. So long, George. Give 'em hell.

A mighty blow has been struck in the war on mobile phone ringtones. Actor Richard Griffiths asked a woman whose mobile had rung three times during the performance of a play in London to leave the theatre. Griffiths played Uncle Monty in 'Withnail & I'. This man is a legend.

Here's a link

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/london/4458810.stm

You know this isn't going to be good. Soon I will begin speaking of Dublin Bus. My blood pressure will rise exponentially. Rational thought will take a back seat (along with the smokers and the occasional junkie). You may lose the will to live.

Anyhow, here's another tale for the annals of our esteemed public transport provider. I was on the 39. Not unreasonably, I wanted to leave the bus at my stop. So did 5 other people. I pressed the bell in good time. So did someone else. The bus didn't stop. "We want to get off at that stop" said a put-upon commuter as the bus stop shrank in the rear view mirror. "That's not a stop" said the driver, referring to same stop. I don't think this was a metaphysical rumination, along the lines of "but how do we know bus stops really exist?" The guy was for real. I've got off the bus at this stop at least 50 times.

"Is this some kind of joke?" I ventured. No. No joke. The bus kept driving on. And on and on. The next stop, as it happens, is 2 miles away (don't ask; or ask the people who are supposed to be planning this city). "We want to get off the bus" came the chorus from the by now mutinous passengers. "That wasn't a stop". This was his mantra. Oaths were sworn. Imprecations rained down. Expletives were issued. I myself issued a number of variants on the word 'fuck' (under my breath,of course). The dunderhead in the driver's seat kept on driving, refusing to accept the existence of the bus stop and, more irritatingly, refusing to stop along the road as a damage limitation exercise.

Angry words were exchanged as the put-upon passengers, now frothing at their collective mouth, finally escaped Bus átha cliath's very own version of Speed. Some people asked for the driver's name and number (do they have numbers? Probably just cover them up like the Guards if they do). I didn't bother. You waste your breath. It took me 40 minutes to walk home.

Now, in fairness, this is an isolated incident. To my immense pride as an Irish citizen, Dublin Bus have never before deposited me 2 miles away from the stop I expressly requested to be left at. But anyone who uses the service (sic) knows what they're like. Sure, it'd drive you to drink.

Ok, so this is a little dated as far as up-to-the-minute news goes, but I'm sporting a hoodie today and was thinking about the Fine Gael TD Michael Noonan's recent call for shopping centres to ban people wearing hoodies from their premises.This man used to be our Minister for Health. Anyway, here's some satire:

Fine Gael TD: Hoodies fast becoming the new root of all evil


Fine Gael TD Michael Noonan has revealed that his call for a ban on the wearing of hoodies in shopping centres is only one of a wide range of measures he has formulated to counter shoplifting and anti-social behaviour. The Limerick TD also advocates the banning of hats, backpacks, long hair and pockets.

“All of these things facilitate shoplifting; long haired youths can easily conceal their faces from CCTV cameras by using their hair as a kind of curtain. Hats can be used in a similar way. Backpacks are commonly used as a receptacle for stolen goods. Trouser, jacket and especially hoodie pockets also provide convenient storage space to the shoplifter.”

Despite these additional proposals, the banning of hoodies remains top of Mr Noonan’s agenda. Elaborating on his earlier comments on the link between the wearing of hooded tops and anti-social behaviour, he said “Money’s days as the root of all evil are numbered; hoodies are well on their way to becoming the primary well-spring of anti-social behaviour and general malevolence.”

The former Fine Gael leader believes that, apart from concealing the identities of trouble-making youths, hoodies actually imbue their wearers with a powerful mischief-making impulse. “We’ve heard a lot about how alcohol transforms people. People who wear hoodies undergo a similar transformation. They often can’t help themselves from rampaging through the streets when they’ve the hoodie on them.”

Deputy Noonan also admitted that he himself had once owned a hoodie, which he wore while exercising. “But I burned it long ago, thank God” he said.

Seán Kenny

Yesterday, Roy Keane left Manchester United Football Club by 'mutual consent'. In my simplicity, I had always taken the term 'mutual consent' to mean 'agreement by both parties'. It seems the term now has a new meaning, namely 'the entirely one-sided will of Alex Ferguson'.

Keano Has Left the Building: A Tragedy in Three Clichés

"Truth is the first casualty of war"

Keane, the man who dared to speak the truth about Utd's poor form, however brutally (and it was brutal), is the first casualty in a civil war within a football club in decline. In the past Ferguson has indulged Keane and other great players, knowing that their brilliance was worth the odd disciplinary lapse. Not this time. Keane is in decline as a player, so Fergie's not prepared to indulge him any more. But, more than that, sacking Keane is the act of a wounded animal, lashing out in a desperate attempt to save his own skin. It won't. We'll be seeing another high profile departure from Old Trafford soon, by 'mutual consent' (the consent of the Glazer family).

"Live by the sword, die by the sword"

To some extent, the ruthlessness with which Keane was despatched from United reflects his own footballing persona. It's not difficult to imagine Keane acting in the same manner as Ferguson did if the roles were reversed. Has Fergie's authority in the dressing room been so badly undermined that he felt Keane had to go? Keane has made many scathing remarks about his teammates in the past without any public response from the manager. To this outsider, sacking Keane now looks like the act of an insecure manager.

"Sick as a parrot; the boy's done good; bragging rights" etc etc etc

The football lexicon is one of cliché and banality. The great majority of players have little or nothing to say for themselves. Their lips move but they say nothing. They're all bling; glittering on the surface, hollow underneath (I love the onomatopoeic quality of the word 'bling'; makes me think of the ker-ching! of cash registers). Keane has always spoken his mind, cutting through the bullshit. This makes him valuable in a sport whose lifeblood is being drained away by dullness and conformity. Keane has courted controversy throughout his career by simply telling the truth as he saw it. He is a genuine sporting idealist, always striving for perfection, wounded deeply by failure. Keane is a poor politician; he is too honest for that.

Roy Keane is no saint. I'm convinced that much of what will be written about him in the coming days will be hagiography. The nightclub 'incidents' (ie. punch-ups) of his earlier years, the tackles that too often crossed the line dividing sport from naked violence - they are unpleasant footnotes to an otherwise glorious career. But one thing is indisputable; Roy Keane is the real deal. In a game full of whingers, fakers and posers, he will be sorely missed.

A Strange Occurrence on the 39 Bus:
So I took my seat on the 39 this morning. The windows were very steamed up (condensation, I believe, is the scientific term). I decided to make a small contribution to oxygen levels on the upper deck by opening the window next to me. 30 seconds later this guy who was sitting across from me gets up and shuts the window I've just opened without saying a word. Now, I'm not in the habit of asking people if they mind my opening/closing a window on the bus but if someone sitting across from me had just opened a window I would regard shutting that very same window 30 seconds later without consulting them as somewhat rude.

I'm stubborn by nature so my first instinct was to re-open the window. But I don't like rows, least of all with unpredictable men on the upper deck of the Blanchardstown bus. So I bit my lip. Until I couldn't resist the temptation and, 5 minutes later, re-opened the same window. I was half-expecting the guy to leave his seat and shut the window I'd just opened for a second time. But he didn't and a part of me (a rather petty part, admittedly) felt I'd won a tiny moral victory. The other, more whimsical, part of me kind of wanted him to shut the window again. It was a stupid little power struggle and, if he had countered my window-opening a second time, I'd probably have laughed and shaken his hand (or maybe he'd just have decked me).

Does anyone agree that Irish people are too easily cowed by intimidating strangers (especially smokers on the bus)? It pisses me right off, I tells ya.

Re: Posting Below

By the way, I'm not in the habit of posting blogs or indeed being anywhere in the general vicinity of computers at 2.56 a.m. The time's wrong!

I wrote a review of Neil Young's new album, 'Prairie Wind'. The link is below.

http://www.oxygen.ie/page/144

Hello,

I hereby renounce responsibility for any rioting, legal actions or general mayhem arising from the publication of material on this blog: my lecturer made me do it.

First up: a link to the online version of an article I recently wrote for a satirical magazine called The Spanner. Form an orderly queue now...

http://www.oxygen.ie/page/137