Romulan

While masturbating, one was disturbed by the sudden realisation that there are in all probability at least fifteen different species of alien life in the Milky Way Galaxy and that they are all potentially illegal immigrants. Eternal vigilance would be required for the purposes of monitoring the Great English Channel in the Sky to guard against such unwanted incursions. The correspondence one dispatched to Charley Haughey in the hope that such a ferrivorous individual as himself would be able to rectify this urgent matter went sadly unanswered for some reason which meant that construction of one's own personal observatory would be essential if such a mammoth and esteemed undertaking was to be executed successfully.

Initial plans to procure the Hubble Space Telescope for this purpose by manually removing it from orbit were hindered by unfortunate, inherent design flaws in one's tractor beam (the rope attached to the harpoon wasn't quite long enough to reach lower Earth orbit, it transpired) and also by one's unfortunate tendency to undershoot the target somewhat (an unfortunate side-effect of many years of compulsive self-abuse has been that one's right arm is considerably larger than the other which has a deleterious effect on one's aim). One "tractored" in plenty of stray animals and the odd Jehovah's Witness but precious little in the way of multi-million dollar scientific equipment. One did manage to tractor in an old Soviet spy satellite that was in the advanced stages of orbital decay, however this turned out to be something of a phyrric victory as on its descent it took out the greenhouse where yours truly had been cultivating a new breed of venus flytrap large enough to consume homosexuals.

Undeterred, one resolved to construct the telescope oneself. Having sequestered, preserved and catalogued one's supply of used toilet rolls since 1993 for just such an emergency, one immediately set about the task using sellotape as an adhesive (A casual observation: there were an inordinately large number of rolls dating from 2001 - evidently a vintage year for one's bowels). The final version of the device measured over fifty-five feet in length and gave one the horn just thinking about it. Preliminary tests on its effectiveness were limited. While the protrusion was suitable for disrupting the landing approach of incoming aircraft to the nearby airport, it was nevertheless inadequate for the purposes of intimately observing the migratory habits of extraterrestrial species. Although if their habits are anything like what's going on in Apartment 84 in the building across the way one recommends compulsory chastity belts for all citizens. Large ones built with reinforced titanium chassis. A prototype is in the works.

Saddened by this initial failure to gather reconnaisance on incoming interstellar detritus, the situation was rescued when an informant passed a selection of Classified Intelligence Documents in the form of a DVD into yours truly's possession. Having been reliably informed that the disc contained detailed information on the immigration, migratory and mating customs of extraterrestrial species, one settled down with a packet of crisps and a recently-vanquished rodent for sustenance and slipped the disc into the player. The footage contained therein was truly shocking. It was difficult to discern initially, given the fact that some prescient individual had cleverly hidden the footage by putting twenty minutes of hardcore Dutch pornography (carpal tunnel syndrome be damned) at the start of the disc, but if the remainder of the surveillance was anything to go by apparently there exists a starship populated with various species of life that is, at this very moment, cavorting around the heavens getting up to all manner of wrongdoing. One counted numerous horrendous offences to decency and common sense; a woman working as a ship surgeon, a blind man in the engine room (!), a MUSLIM first officer (the beard's a dead giveaway), another woman apparently allowed to sit on the bridge and menstruate continuously and, disgustingly, a what appears to be an individual with a tortoise attached to his forehead as ordinance officer! Obviously a Frenchman - the immigration flow from that country was evidently worse than previously thought. It would appear that the reef constructed from newspaper and solidified sewage that one placed off the French coast as a bulwark against mass emigration had proved insufficient. One should have known that the French would probably eat through the sewage - a move in keeping with their culinary customs.

Most disturbing of all the various priceless pieces of intelligence captured on this tape, however, was the discussion between a bald gentleman and what appeared to be an albino eunuch to assassinate the head of government of the planet Romulus. Romulus. Where men are stoutly impervious to the rapacious impulses of homosexuality. Romulus. Where experimentation on live subjects is considered a pass-time worthy of respect and not twenty-five years in a cell with no functioning toilet and just Sloppy Joe for company. Romulus. Where machine-gunning cattle from one's own personal helicopter illicits a "Good morning" from the local constabulary and not a woefully one-sided dogfight with F-16s.

Obviously, this assault had to be prevented at all costs. After procuring an adequate supply of funds from an exemplary Irish financial institution (They never do ask questions, do they?) with which to purchase weapons one consulted the DART timetable to determine the next available train to Romulus. Unfortunately, due to the Irish Public Transport system's gross underfunding (the cost of keeping at least one smack addict on their buses and trains evidently eating into the budget) the trains do not run far enough to efficiently service Romulan space. So one chose the nearest, most convenient location - Raheny.

Walked off the DART into a housing estate and took up position in a tree, awaiting the arrival of any potential extraterrestrial assassins. Initial impressions of Raheny reminded one to a certain extent of one's time on a Klingon prison planet. Similar proliferation of shambling, mindless degenerates mucking about in their own filth while being offed randomly by sniper fire. After twelve fruitless hours of observation, enlightened only by the intermittent fornication of pigeons in the branches above one's perch, one was prepared to concede defeat and resume work on ghostwriting The Saturdays biography (A choice revelation uncovered during one's research is that at least one member the group was formerly a child soldier in the Revolutionary United Front) when a vehicle pulled up outside the house adjacent to yours truly's position and a bald fellow emerged. Doubtlessly the figurehead of the group captured on the surveillance footage, one immediately opened fire with an M-1 bazooka.

It was here that the dynamics of one's plan began to unravel due to the unexpectedly fierce recoil on a weapon that had, admittedly, been obtained from Limerick. Propelled out of the tree at unforgiving force, one was fortunate to have one's fall broken by landing on the carcass of a pitbull that had already been killed after being savaged in a confrontation with a local toddler. Curious fact: Ever since the banning of cock fighting the practice has been more that satisfactorily substituted in Dublin by toddler fighting. There is even the added bonus in that the children are born rabid thus curtailing the need for investment in training and stock feeding.

Recovering one's senses, one noticed that the immigrant quarry had somehow concealed itself underneath a pile of smoking debris and charred metal and that the car was now mysteriously nowhere to be found. Evidently one of these shape-shifting aliens from the surveillance footage, this one was not particularly skillful when it came to concealing itself, giving away its position by emitting a series of low moans. Fool. Moving in for the kill with a hastily-assembled debris removal kit (shovel - always keep one handy) one was about to pry the bloodied girder protruding from the centre of the debris pile loose when a sudden darkening of the sky took place. Looking up, the cause of this darkening became depressingly apparent: The immigrant's car had made an equally mysterious re-appearance.

Several hours later, having gnawed successfully through one's thigh to escape the burning wreckage, one managed to crawl inconspicuously and dignifiedly back to one's abode. Note to self: Construction of telescopes in future not advised without reinforcement of spinal column and bone structure. And additional left leg.

Thoughts for the day:

#1 French Maternity appears to have taken a rather extreme approach to ameliorating the drought of "dead baby" jokes recently. Wonder if the French courts have a sense of humour? Wait a minute, of course they do. These guys know how to take the piss.

#2 One must exercise caution in future when placing and order to "take out" some nachos. Having the number of the Mexican embassy on speed-dial is not always an advantage

Hole

Awoke in the middle of the night unhappy in the realisation that there must be at least one crucifixion taking place somewhere on the planet at the moment - probably in Donaghmede - and that one was not present to witness it. Unfortunate that it should be Donaghmede as that particular part of Dublin was now difficult to access due to the electrified fence surrounding it that one had installed after a previous visit.

Decided to go for a walk to calm the nerves. After chewing through the bed restraints and taking care not to disturb the member of The Saturdays that one had installed as a guard dog (after some choice modifications, naturellement), one slipped out of the building un-noticed.

Found a hole. As they go, it wasn't a particularly impressive hole. Impressive holes being the kind left when, say, a member of The Jonas Brothers, who has been stipped naked and collared to a lamp post, has been informed that unless he digs a hole twenty feet deep in the next fifteen minutes using just his bare hands he will be set upon by starving dogs. Or the kind left when a unexploded Luftwaffe bomb that has somehow found its way into a Progressive Democrats reunion party is detonated by a minister for health being thrown on top of it. This wasn't like that. But it was okay. Some scorch marks on the crater, decorative, that sort of thing. 5/10.

Began thinking about how best to take advantage of this newly-acquired asset. One had for a while been fantasising about the possibility cross-breeding e-coli bacteria and Silvio Berlusconi with the aim of cultivating a new strain of bacteria that would actually be large enough to use public transport and govern Baltinglass in a manner befitting the town's inhabitants but one dismissed this idea due to the citizens' enormously ungrateful nature. What kind of a town turns down the opportunity to purchase 590 pints of nerve gas? What are they going to use to assault the away crowd at the next GAA encounter with Blessington? Their spit? Its corrosive abilities are beyond debate, certainly, but surely a certain degree of class is called for here.

On reflection, one realised that the hole was not quite big enough to function as a petri dish (leaving aside the fact that using an eyedropper to administer an entire human being into a petri dish presents all sorts of logistical problems the kind of which, frankly, you wouldn't believe) so decided instead to use the hole as a hiding place for deposed dictators. Hastily kitted it out with the essentials; a hole in the wall large enough to accommodate a moderately-sized penis (have to take Milosevic into consideration), a couple of hinges and a wooden hatch for egress, plus, the coup de grace, a rudimentary automatic anus cleansing system (patent pending) constructed using a toothbrush and a jackhammer. The triggering system is ingenious. One simply applies pressure to a footswitch which increases the tension on a string tied to the trigger of the jackhammer. Tested this on a subject last week. Unfortunately the test was carried out in less than ideal conditions. For a start the footswitch, in reality an accellerator pedal, was still partially attached to its point of origin; a Ford Focus stripped of everything above the undercarriage, which meant that the test was performed in motion at high speed. What was doubly unfortunate was that the car's engine was also powering the jackhammer giving it a thrust capacity of 120 horsepower. As the speed of the test vehicle increased and the number of cars on the motorway swerving to get out of its way increased, one eventually lost sight of the test subject as it sped over the horizon at an impressive velocity and one had to rely on radio communications for verification of the test's success. However this was not a total loss. Between the test subject's high-pitched screams, it indicated that this means of cleansing was preferable to the previous system - wire brushing and Dettol.

Posted the ad on Gumtree, Ebay, Buy&Sell

For Rent: One Crawlspace

2' 8" X 5' 4". No known previous occupants. Slight smell of cyanide.

Ideal for political refugees or fugitive inmates. Must have be mentioned on Wikipedia entry for "Ethnic cleansing"

088-171-1992. Call after midnight only. A.

Received a call soon afterwards from a fellow purporting to be a former dictator of a Latin American country (couldn't remember the name - didn't really care) who was interested in renting the hole for a short period of time. To verify his credentials asked him what's the best use for a football stadium. The correct answer, as anyone knows, is "for executing socialists and adulterers". He answered correctly. Credentials thus established, decided to show him the property. Unfortunately, upon seeing him for the first time, a previously-unforseen difficulty reared its head; one had not taken the potential expansive girth of third world dictators into account when modifying the hole. It would have to be expanded.

Filled the area with some semtex (the Real IRA now perform an on-line delivery service - at last they have joined the 21st Century), lit the fuse and took cover. The resultant blast took out a police helicopter that had thoughtlessly strayed within striking distance. While the semtex performed admirably an unfortunate side-effect manifested itself. The hole was now far too big. Would have to be filled in to reach an appropriate size. To better aid one's task, decided to request that the client stand in the centre of the hole to better guage the dimensions required. Surprisingly the fellow was now for some reason on all fours scuttling slowly around searching for something that turned out to be his left leg which had somehow, mysteriously, detached itself from his knee and imbedded itself in a lamp-post. An unconstructive and, it has to be said, blantantly unprofessional activity to undertake while in the middle of securing a real estate deal. Motioned him in the direction of the hole which, given that he was now also blind for some reason, was depressingly easy. As he scuttered about the floor of the hole wailing in some intensely irritating foreign cadence, one decided to make use of the opportunity to resume one's stress test experiments on human skin - by poking it repeatedly. Obtained the Poking Device (curtain rail) from the garage and commenced poking operations. Research had proceeded two unfruitful minutes when the experiment was sadly cut short by the sudden and thoroughly unexpected reappearance of the Anus Cleansing Device test subject, vehicle and all, which sped up on one from behind and knocked one at painfully-high speeds into the hole before racing off, apparently oblivious to what had happened. Tracked its speed now at in excess of 100mph which must have meant some serious amount of power being fed into the jackhammer.

Sat on the floor of the hole, contemplating recent events, client scuttling blindly, moaning nearby. Fortune had at least seen fit to grace one with the Poking Device that had been knocked into the hole along with its owner. Happily this meant that, while one contemplated a means of escape from this predicament, one could at least occupy the time with continued poking experiments on the client/test subject. Recommenced poking operations at the rate of one poke every two seconds. Will time tell? Or will life find a way? One must keep poking to find out.

Thoughts for the day

#1 If you stare at a rock for long enough, it will never move.

#2 Have been attempting to ignore Wales in the hope that it will cease to exist if one forgets about it for long enough. Checked the atlas and it was still there. Further work required.

#3 Attempting to build Cloud City a waste of time until artificial gravity is invented. One won't be making that mistake again...