The Day We Went Zorbing

Whatever you do, do not go to the Outdoor Discovery Adventure Centre in Clondalkin for your zorbing needs. The place is a little bit like Funland in Father Ted, minus the spider babies, and the fun. This country genuinely hasn’t seen such a shambolic setup since Steve Staunton was in charge of the boys in green.

As soon as we laid eyes on what was before us, my friends and I, all aged between 25-27, exploded with laughter. However, it wasn’t a funny kind of laughter, it was a “Christ, we’ve wasted most of the day on this sh*t” kind of laughter. There were a scattering of young kids being pushed around a big field in inflatable balls, and one or two others with what looked like home-made bow and arrows aiming at a crudely drawn bulls-eye board. The look of absolute disinterest on their faces made me wonder if the people working there were trying to explain the Fiscal Stability Treaty to them between goes. Kids have more fun at mass on Christmas Day than they do at this place.

Needless to say, we turned our backs and walked the other way. What annoyed me was that the woman on the phone had assured me earlier that day, with great confidence, that we would have a ball. She even said that there was a treasure hunt that we would enjoy (I can only imagine how bad that would have been). My one regret from the day is that I didn’t find this woman and verbally abuse her before leaving.

The only adventurous part of the whole experience was trying to find the place; there wasn’t a sign to be found anywhere in the maze that is Clondalkin. I’m certain that they know how bad their operation is and live in hope of people giving up and simply forfeiting the tickets they had already paid for online.

Cowboys, Ted.

The Italian Gentleman

"Are you actually Italian?"

"Yes, of course, why would I'a lie'a to sucha pretty face?" 

"You don't really look Italian."

"My mother is from Dubalin, you see. She move with my fatha' many years ago."

"Huh, I have never met an Italian man before."

"There are not so many in this town, yes?"

"Tell me more about Florence, Gianfranco..."

"Is the most incredible place on Earth for me, 'is my home. Make me very sad when I think of all the, how do you say...eh...poverty? So very sad."

"Oh Gianfranco, I had no idea that you were so sensitive."

"Me, no no no. I love my country and my people, same as you. We are not so different, you and I."

"Oh, I don't know about that. I have to visit Italy someday though, is it really as beautiful as they say?"

"For me, is most beautiful thing I have laid my eyes upon, until this moment..."

The gentleman proceeds to gently lift the lady's hair from her face, before passionately kissing her as the summer sun falls out of sight. Hours pass in what feel only like moments, before the gentleman leaves to rejoin his friends.

"Did you just tell that girl you were Italian?"

"I did yeah, she was loving it."

Destination Procrastination

It’s the root of all evil, but procrastination is a part of our daily lives, whether we like it or not. Rarely does a day pass by when we don’t dawdle over some decision or defer something we’re too lazy to do, and that is not likely to change any time soon. It’s not a big deal really, unless, of course, you are a student, where procrastination has the power to consume you on a day-to-day basis…

Put yourself in the mind of the student for a second. An assignment is set and you are told that you have three weeks to complete it. You conjure an early plan, with the best of intentions, to gradually work away at it over the course of the next three weeks. However, distractions come in all shapes and sizes, and the due date is so far away that you decide to take a well-earned hiatus.

The weeks fly by, and nothing is achieved. Out of nowhere, Monday arrives and the assignment is due on Friday morning. Though you do not know it yet, you are about to settle into 3-4 days of champion procrastination. There is a high probability that you will watch all six series of The Soprano’s, and it’s very likely that you will get addicted to some terrible Playstation game that you found under the couch. You will do lots of things during this period, but that assignment will certainly not be one of them.

Those glorious few days will unfortunately come to an end and you will not enjoy going to sleep on Wednesday night, that much I can assure you. Once those lights go out and you’re left alone with your thoughts, you will realise that you’ve pissed away the last three weeks and now you have one day to do the entire assignment. That all too familiar heat will begin to consume you, and it will seem as though there is no way out. If there is a hell down below us, this is most definitely what it feels like.

Thursday morning will arrive and you will conveniently forget all about the demons that plagued you the previous night. A large proportion of the day will seemingly pass you by until evening arrives and affirmative action is needed. Once you actually start, things will begin to mellow until a rhythm is found. Several hours will pass by before you will find yourself staring at a completed assignment, to a relatively acceptable standard. This will lend to a great deal of satisfaction, having ‘beaten the system’ once again.

Upon reflection, you'll realise that the doing of the assignment was actually the easy part and that the days you spent thinking and worrying about it was what made it seem like torture. At this stage, you will solemnly promise that you will not allow yourself to be consumed by the heat ever again.

The following week you will be handed another assignment, a tougher one this time. Will you learn from your previous experiences? You will not.

Lonely Facebook Status

You know that horrible feeling. You posted a Facebook status three hours ago and nobody has had jack to say about it. Hindsight tells you “That was a stupid status, you've made yourself look a right mug”, and it's not entirely wrong.

We’ve all been there; you thought it was hilarious at the time, and that the social world would revere you for it. You go away to have a shower or something, and when you come back to no notifications, all you can think is “Facebook is very slow this evening, 'cos this status is dynamite”. Then a few more hours pass and you start to realise that it’s not actually that funny, and has probably offended more people than it hasn’t.

At this stage, you begin to wonder if you should just delete it, but you can’t do that either because it’s been out there too long. You’re in trouble, you’ve made a mess and there is only one solution. You need to come up with something that is genuinely hilarious and post is ASAP, so nobody will remember your earlier faux pas. 

However, there is one major problem; your confidence has been rattled and you can’t come up with anything worthwhile, when all of a sudden… HALLELUJAH! Somebody has 'liked' the status! Crisis over, time for bed.

Thank f*ck for that one solid friend who likes everything you post online, regardless of how much of a gimp he/she thought you were when they read it. You will begrudgingly return the favour one day.

On another note, guess who’s going to look like a complete tosser if nobody likes this when it’s posted on Facebook. Better start thinking of a hilarious status to counteract it. 

Social Relationships 2.0

Twitter tells me that she is unhappy with the way our relationship is going, that she wants me to grow up and start treating her with more respect. Things had been going so well, but I started a new job recently and, much to Twitter’s dismay, my new employer is female. 

She has become insanely jealous of the professional relationship that this woman and I share. She wants to know why I am so sensible and sophisticated when I interact with my boss, LinkedIn, and always acting the fool when I spend time with her.

The thing is, I have no interest in LinkedIn. I interact with her simply out of necessity. Talking with her is a complete bore, and even the funniest of people are dull in her company. I’m serious, when she is in a room, the conversation rarely stretches past strategic marketing options and economies of scale. Also, she is incredibly cocky, always boasting about the things she has done, “Oh, I got a 1.1 here and won Student of the Year there”. It gets tiresome.

What I just can’t understand is why Twitter wants me to act like that around her. The reason why I fell in love with her was because she was such fun, and she allowed me to be such fun. After some rocky relationships in the past, I had thought that this was it, but I’m beginning to wonder what separates her from the rest.

When I think about it, she actually has a lot in common with my previous two girlfriends. She has that wild streak that reminds me of Bebo, who was a complete mentalist, and a rampant slut to boot. Also, she has her fair share of annoying moments which really remind me of Facebook. For example, any time somebody mentions The X Factor, she goes crazy and it’s all she wants to talk about. Facebook was the exact same with that nonsense.

I guess I do love her though, deep down, but she can’t expect me to talk about linear regression and binomial distribution with her all the time. She is supposed to be my escape from people like LinkedIn. I’m actually thinking of suggesting that we see other people, just for a while, partly because I met this sexy red-head in a bar last night who asked me if I would to Pin her to my headboard, which sounds like it could be interesting. 

Clubbing Golfers

Padraig Harrington – With his reputation cemented as one of the worst in the business to close a deal, Padraig decided to read The Game in early 2007. The results were instantaneous as he pulled, amongst others, three of the hottest women ever to grace the Coppers dance floor. Unhappy with this, Padraig got greedy and decided to change his strategy in the hope that it would bring him more scores. His Gold card is soon to expire.

Dustin Johnson – Known for being well endowed, Dustin spends most of his time challenging other males to partake in measuring contests. In doing so, he often loses track on what he is supposed to be doing and ends up going home alone.

Jim Furyk – A clumsy dancer with a bad fashion sense who has a knack of pulling attractive women. Neither Jim, nor anyone else in the club who pays attention to his dance moves, has any idea how he manages to pull it off.

Rory McIlroy – Rory knocked around the underage disco scene for several years, where he quickly gathered a reputation as a prolific shift and drifter. Upon coming of age, Rory became famous for his unparalled ability to flirt with a woman for three hours, only to lose her when the lights came on. In recent times, however, Rory has started to close, and caused many of the towns’ bachelors to fear that they may never pull again.

Kevin Na – Kevin once decided to shift 16 ugly women in one night, in the hope that it might equate to scoring one good looking one.

Jack Nicklaus – An old timer who sits at the bar, Jack loves to tell stories about all the women he used to pull back in the day. He refuses to acknowledge that there was less competition in those days, and staunchly believes there will never be another ladies man like him.  

Steve Williams – Spent many years as a wingman to Giacomo Casanova, a time when Steve picked up more breaking ball than a man could ever want. After a disagreement with his former wingman, Steve scored an ugly girl in a chipper and claimed that she was the most attractive woman he had pulled in his ‘career’.

Darren Clarke – Darren spent many years on the high stool, before deciding to give the dance floor one last shot. To his own great surprise, he managed to score the hottest girl in the club, and even brought her home. Darren is still celebrating his achievement, and seems happy to live off it, having no apparent ambition to venture back to the tiles.

Lee Westwood – Lee has been knocking around the club scene for many years now, and has managed to get several cheeky dance-floor shifts. However, a recurring theme has emerged whereby Lee gets heavily intoxicated by the end of the night and allows the girl to slip through his fingers. The general consensus amongst club goers is that Lee will never manage to seal the deal.

Tiger Woods – A predator, Tiger stands at the edge of the dance floor winking at women for the first three hours of the night. As soon as the lights come on, Tiger makes his move. This move is so fierce that it can be heard in every corner of the nightclub, causing many men to spill their drinks and lose their women. For Tiger, it is then simply a case of collection.

Miguel Angel Jimenez – Refusing to move with the times, Miguel spends the majority of his night being told to quench his cigar by bouncers. However, when the flamboyant Spaniard occasionally steps to the floor, his silky stretch moves usually result in shifting.

Graeme McDowell - Amidst rumours of homosexuality, Graeme once went on a run of pulling some of the hottest women in the business. He likes to spend his night whispering sweet-nothings in the ears of women with that mid-Atlantic accent of his. Modest as always, G-Mac claims that women come to him because he wears nice cardigans.

Honest Blogging

An honest blog is an entertaining blog. It sounds easy, but over the past two months I have been trying to write an honest blog, and trying in vain. There is always a sentence or two, invariably the funniest sentence or two, that I am forced to omit at the last moment.* Why is it so difficult to fully commit, and be honest in ones writing?

A large percentage of people, in my opinion, are afraid to expose themselves out of a concern for their reputation. No matter how funny a particular paragraph may be, if you read it and think “I come across as an awful pervert here”, there is a strong possibility that that paragraph will get cut. The weird thing is that it probably isn’t overly perverted, but society has taught us not to take that risk. The fear that people won’t say “Yeah, I do the very same thing” is so great, that you simply can’t take the chance.

In my limited experience, there are three reasons why I feel I can’t fully commit to certain blogs:

1. If I were to come on here and genuinely speak my mind, there isn’t a broad in Ireland who would look sideways at me. 
2. I would cease to be professionally employed. 
3. The thought of my Dad reading stories about me running wild on College Road back in the day worries me. Running wild on his dime, I might add.

Unless you plan on being a professional writer, doomed to a life of bachelorhood without the support of your family; my advice would be to omit the parts that make you sound like a dirt bag.

*Ironically, the best part of this article got cut. 

Moving Away From Bebo

Social media has been a rollercoaster ride ever since it reached the masses some years ago. From the madness of Bebo, to the freedom of Twitter and the professionalism of LinkedIn, it's been a journey. And like every journey, we all learned what was ‘socially acceptable’ along the way.

Bebo was where social networking started for me. I heard someone talking about an online quiz that I had been referenced in and I can remember immediately thinking, this sounds dangerous. These quizzes were getting lots of people in trouble, good, honest church-going folk even. I decided that the only thing to do was to apply the theory of attack being the best form of defence, and sign up.

I had just started college when Bebo hit, and when I look back on it as a whole, it represents a reckless time in my life and everything about the platform embodies that era. I recently went to the trouble of deleting my profile, but not before reading through the lion’s share of the old comments. It was quite difficult to comprehend how dumb my friends and I were, talking about drinking and “women” and whatnot, in front of whoever wanted to hear. The photos were the worst part; people, myself included, voluntarily uploaded pictures of themselves asleep on pavements, vomiting into pint glasses and shifting birds in the corners of murky night clubs. But then again, we were young, it was new, and I can’t say I regret one bit of it.

Everything changed when Facebook rolled around. It served an older demographic, and in doing so it curtailed the ridiculousness we had previously enjoyed under the Bebo regime. Older family members were active on this medium; there would have been a certain awkwardness at dinner on St. Stephens Day if Auntie Mary had seen the photo of her favourite nephew wearing nothing but a kebab on College Road. All in all, this meant we had to be a little bit more diplomatic, and present a certain air of dignity and civility. Although, to this day, you will still see the odd renegade on Facebook who just won’t let go of his Bebo heritage.

Personally, and I’m sure the same can be said for many of my peers, the move to Facebook coincided with a period of certain maturity in my life. I had two years of college under my belt, and it was time to sober up. There was no place for Bebo in my new life, and a clean break was needed, much to the delight of Mark Zuckerberg, who rolled out the red carpet.

Bebo closes down every other week these days. Hopefully it will disappear permanently sometime soon, and take with it, those horrific, yet incredible memories.

A Single Valentine

There is a school of thought that suggests Valentine’s Day was invented by men for one simple reason; to give women the impression that they are romantic and compassionate by offering this solitary, meaningless annual gesture while they spend the other 364 days sniffing at the tail of every dog in the street. It’s genius really. But what of the single man, how does this romantic holiday affect him?

Many single women tend to get their knickers in a twist around this time of year, but it seems that the same does not apply to men. If there does happen to be any self-respecting male out there who feels an impending doom about being single on 14 February 2012, please announce it now and the Repo-Men will be called for your testicles.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a Valentine hater, I genuinely enjoy the day and all the trimmings/nonsense that goes with it. I love breaking out the old crayons and stencil art to make the ultra-romantic card. Hell, I even love writing the odd poem or two. I won’t be doing any of that business this year however, unless Rooney Mara responds to my mails, so what can I look forward to when that crazy Tuesday rolls around?

The answer is unlimited opportunity, as many single women tend to lose all sense of dignity and decorum as the day draws to a close. In the early evening, they gather like a pack of wolves sipping cocktails, lying to both themselves and each other about how “I don’t need Tommy, he can have that skinny bitch. She’s not even good-looking.” Later on, however, things will start to go south as soon as one of the pack lands a victim. That familiar smell of desperation will begin to linger, like a fart trapped beneath a duvet, and each member of the pack will make the conscious decision that they will not be spending the night alone, no matter what. This decision will bring the woman full circle, from proud and independent to insecure and loose.

I remember “my friend” recalling a single Valentine’s night from his University days. He and his buddies did absolute wreck, if the stories can be believed. He claims to have said outrageous things to women that would usually have earned him a firm slap in the puss and watching them lap it up like a Christian on a Sunday. College Road was like a Women’s Mini-Marathon with the shame walks the following morning, by all accounts.

All jokes aside, Valentine’s night is notorious for guys landing girls who, on any other night, wouldn’t even allow him enough face time for the poor fellow to be able to include her in his bedroom solo-missions. One night per year boys, it’s all we get and you can be sure “my friend” will spend it whispering sweet-nothings into the ear of some little haunt, or two. 

The Fear

Your only friend is your duvet, and there are moments when even it won’t co-operate. It’s Sunday night and the world is against you.

You had originally planned on staying in for the weekend as finances were a little tight, and a weekend away from the beer would have ‘put you in good stead’. However, you went for a few handy drinks on Friday, just to take the edge off, and it turned into a riot. You woke up the following morning with that carefree attitude that only a man who is still half cut can possess, and made arrangements for another big one.

You did consider, for a moment, the repercussions that this would bring, but quickly dismissed them, thinking “I’ll worry about all that tomorrow.” And you went all out; buying drinks like you were Puff Daddy. You stayed out until the early hours of the morning drinking red wine out of a mug, subconsciously knowing that, as soon as the madness ended, reality would have to be faced.

That brought you to where you are now, Sunday night, caressing your duvet in the hope that it will be as kind in return. Running through your mind are 1001 things, none of which are positive. The uncertainty of your financial situation is crippling you and you have no idea as to how many dollars you may have forfeited throughout the weekend’s debauchery. You have online banking, alas; The Fear won’t allow you to check it.

Your memory is a bit slippery from Saturday night, also. You know that you met your ex-girlfriend at some stage, but you can’t remember what you might have said to her. You worry that you may have text her, or anyone else who you shouldn’t have been texting, and again it is the uncertainty that drives you to the edge. You have a sent items folder in your phone, of course, but The Fear also prohibits the reading of such messages.

No matter what you think about, negativity is the underlying theme. There are moments when it feels like there is no way out, and there isn’t, you just have to deal with it. There is no cure, just hang on to that duvet and ride out the storm.

The good news is that you will be okay by Tuesday. The bad news, however, is that you will be perfect by Friday and The Fear will have slipped past your radar, lulling you into a false sense of security and encouraging you to do it all over again. It’s a f*cker like that.

Facebook Dopes

Scrolling through your Facebook feed is no different to strolling through a bar filled, to a large extent, with people whom you are not actually friends with. You have never been friends with these people, and you certainly aren’t interested in where they went on their holidays last year. For the most part, they are innocent characters to whom you feel no disdain; however, there are always a select few who provide the exception to the rule.

Nobody will deny that social media has made a positive impact to the online world, but it can never be forgiven for inflicting these f*ckers on us. The people who I am referring to are the ones who have always been dopes. You knew it from the first moment you met them, long before the advent of Web 2.0, and your opinion of them has never changed. Now, thanks to Mark Zuckerberg, they have found another platform on which to irritate you.

They have several techniques of irritation, none more popular than the attention craving status update. You know the one, “I am so p*ssed off right now!!! Really don’t want to talk about it!!!” This is usually followed by a litany of responses (from other dopes) saying, “Oh Jenny love, is everything okay?” At which point, Jenny will contradict her status by openly talking about her problem at length. Some of her friends will even give the status a token ‘Like’, which is both ironic and hilarious.

When it comes to uploading photos, these people lose the run of themselves. How does one take a picture of the Eiffel Tower with their gammy Nokia camera phone, and deem it worthy to upload and share with their ‘friends’ on Facebook. If there are people posing in the photograph, it can possess certain value. However, when it is simply a still of the Eiffel Tower in poor lighting with no flash, nobody wants to see it. We are capable of typing ‘Eiffel Tower’ into Google Images.

The final technique of irritation, and possibly the worst, is the live status update. This usually occurs when something like The X Factor is on. The dopes will take over your feed every Saturday and Sunday night, posting updates such as “OMG!!! Louis will not like that!” and “Go Marcus!!!!” They will post several updates in a very short space of time, each more irritating than the last. Pay attention to the number exclamation marks they will use, these act as sharpeners to help get under your skin that little bit quicker.

The strange thing is that we have the option to block these users, or even unfriend them, but we don’t. We get a strange kick from reading their updates, and though they irritate us, we couldn’t live without them. If nothing else, they make for great banter with actual friends, “Did you see Jimmy’s latest status on Facebook?” “I did, what a dope.”

Rant away, dopes, we’re all listening.

Meeting Random Dopes

There are few things worse than randomly meeting somebody who was once an acquaintance, but no longer is. I am referring to the type of person who you were forced to interact with on a daily basis, i.e. school, college, work etc., but never really liked. Why must we stop and chat inanely with these people whenever we meet them? The feeling must be mutual, both parties would surely be happier to jog on their separate ways, hmmm…

I was walking out of a dental surgery last week when I spotted two people who fall into that category coming down the street. Thankfully, I am quite a stealthy operator and was able to swiftly reverse into the surgery just in time to watch them stroll by laughing at each other’s bad jokes. “Did you forget something, love?” said the lady at the desk. “No”, said I, “I’m just avoiding those two lads out on the street there”.

If it hadn’t been for my hawk-like peripheral vision, I would have been dragged into that conversation. You know what I’m referring to when I say that conversation.

-          (Me) Ah Tom, long time, no see. Anything strange?

-          (Tom) Barry! Long time, indeed. Nothing strange now, are you working?

-          (Me) Yeah, working in marketing. Are you still claiming, yeah?

-          (Tom) Yeah, man, no jobs out there, f*cking government.

-          (Me) Yeah.

-          (Tom) How’s the missus?

-          (Me) We broke up.

-          (Tom) Ah sh*t, man, when? Plenty more fish in the sea, wha?

-          (Me) Fish, sure. Come here Tom, I’m pretty busy so I bette…….

-          (Tom) Do you fancy having a pint some night to catch up and that?

-          (Me) I work a lot, but sure I might see you out some ni…

-          (Tom) How are Slasher and the rest of the boys getting on actually?

-          (Me) I don’t know, I stopped hanging around with people called Slasher a few years back.

-          (Tom) I think he married his cousin, in the end.

-          (Me) Cool.

-          (Tom) Cool, so we’ll get those pints some night then, yeah?

-          (Me) Sure.

-          (Tom) I’ll get you on Facebook, man.

-          (Me) Okay, good luck.

-          (Tom) Take it easy, man.

I guess it just boils down to being polite, but, as I’m sure you can gather from the above extract, Tom is a complete gimp. Unfortunately, society will force us all to have this conversation many times in our lives, which is something I’m sure the Tom’s of this world are relishing. I, for one, will continue to duck into nearby dental surgeries to avoid these encounters.

Morning Demons

Having a 7:00am alarm at this time of year is criminal, nobody will deny that. It’s dark outside and as soon as one toenail creeps out from beneath the duvet, it’s damn cold. This part of life, however, is a necessary evil and there is not much that can be done about it bar going down the “artist” route.*

The interesting thing is that I know that I must arise and go at this time every day. My alarm will ring at seven tomorrow morning, as it did this morning, but I will still be shocked and angry when it does so. Laying in the bed, fighting the demons who try to persuade me to stay there, I think the same thing on a daily basis, ‘I’m going to bed at nine tonight’. In the car on the way to work I say aloud to myself, ‘I’m going to bed as soon as I get home’. In my experience, however, it never seems to play out so smoothly.

It will all go swimmingly until evening arrives, the point at which my morning promises are betrayed. I will not go to bed as soon as I get home, nor will I retire at 9pm. Midnight will eventually creep up on me and I will realise that I’ve spent the entire evening fluting around. I will set my alarm, close my eyes and wake up at seven once again. The shock and anger will return, and the demons will be more difficult to slay.

I will make the same promises. I will break the same promises.

* “Artists” must still get up on Thursdays to collect their rock n’ roll.

Browsing Friends

It’s important to have a good wingman, and I guess that’s why Chrome and I get on so well. We’ve been best friends ever since I asked him for directions to the P.E. hall on the first day of school. We’re thick as thieves at this stage, so much so, he practically finishes my sentences.

You should see him in action, slicker than slick, he is. You’ll never catch him out. No matter what you throw at him, he always has an answer at the ready. He can be a bit sleazy for certain tastes; I mean I have often seen him operate incognito when dealing with the fairer sex, breaking hearts for sport. I can assure you he doesn’t even remember the names of those poor girls.

As a result of his renegade-like lifestyle, Chrome has had to deal with a certain amount of animosity over the years. My Dad, Internet Explorer, or IE as my friends call him, thinks he’s somewhat of a Johnny-Come-Lately. IE is what we would call ‘old school’, he gets his thrills from rambling around the golf course on a Sunday morning giving out about Chrome’s yellow trousers.

Truth be told, IE is getting a bit slow. I’m constantly forced to repeat myself with him, and it’s only on rare occasions that I get a relevant response. He also suffers from chronic narcolepsy, which doesn’t help. Every time I turn my back, he just crashes.

IE isn’t the only one who gives Chrome a hard time though, our ‘friend’ Safari hates him. Safari is a guy we went to school with, the kind of guy who always had to be different, somewhat of a hipster. I met him over Christmas actually; he was reading Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment outside a café on South William Street wearing two jackets, a scarf, a hat, gloves and, if I’m not mistaken, a snood. He spent half an hour lecturing me about Chrome’s apparently misguided mainstream views, all the while using his fork to chase an amuse-bouche around his plate. He also spent some time giving out about mainstream movies and mainstream music. He uses the word ‘mainstream’ a lot.

My big brother, Firefox, is the only one who doesn’t give Chrome a hard time. He was my wingman a few years back, and we did well. Firefox is a really solid guy. Women automatically trust me when I am hanging around with him, they know him and they like him. He is the opposite of Chrome; he’s an accountant, he drives a Toyota Avensis and he’s a bad dancer. However, what he lacks in flash, he makes up for in reliability. He’s the type that won’t let a girl down, but he’s not likely to sweep her off her feet by the same token.

Ultimately, I guess it depends on what type of girl I’m looking to attract. I could go cougar hunting around the bingo circuit with IE, that’s one option. I could hang around the indie movie-theatre with Safari and do recreational drugs with some chick who hates her parents. I could head to a trendy bar with Firefox and find a sensible, well-educated woman looking for a long term relationship. Or, I could just head to Coppers with Chrome and roll the dice.

Taxi to Harcourt Street, please.

Social Relationships

Twitter is my current girlfriend, we’ve been going steady for the bones of a year now and we’re getting on great. I tell her about my day and she seems to love it, I really think she could be the one. Facebook is the girl that I went out with for a few years, and Twitter just doesn’t trust, nor will she ever trust. Bebo was a girl whom I was seeing for a year or two when I started college, Twitter and I look back at her and we laugh together. Bebo was a mess of a woman, and she really let herself go in the end. Twitter knows that I have no interest in her and that is why she laughs, but I am still friends with Facebook and she hates that. She is always giving out that I have loads of photos with Facebook and none with her, but I think that she should be happy because I talk to her every day and I rarely converse with Facebook.

The truth of the matter is that I love Twitter for who she is, she is intelligent and has a great sense of humour. Facebook is more of a blonde. I just want the two to get along. We’re seeing a relationship therapist called TweetDeck at the moment, and she seems to have brought the two girls a lot closer together. My relationship with both is much easier to manage now, as a result.

There was one other girl also, Google Plus was her name, but Twitter and Facebook never found out about her. It was brief, I mean she was sexy and she had one or two features that the others didn’t have, if you know what I mean, but then she just disappeared. I think she had a couple of sisters too, one of them went by the name of Buzz, I believe, but they disappeared too. Drifters, they must have been a family of drifters.