One For The Road

Viking & I

oftroad — Tue, 01 Jul 2008 19:44:21 +0000

I’m off to sunny Roskilde for a few days to get pissed and watch Slayer and Jay-Z and My Bloody Valentine with a load of Tuborg swilling Scandanavians. And a bloke from Wexford.

Then I’m of to Copenhagen for a few days to have a gander at the jazz festival. I may even pretend to like some of it.

As yet, I’m not a sad enough cunt to want to update my status on internet from abroad using my mobile phone, so think of me as dead for the next week or so. I promise a no holds barred, blow by blow account a few days after I get back. Probably.

Enjoy Oxegen if you’re going though. Try not to kill anyone.

Chortle!

oftroad — Sat, 28 Jun 2008 23:56:42 +0000

And much like everything else Will Smith is in, I presume it will be.

Dope New Irish Hip Hop Festival Announced

oftroad — Tue, 24 Jun 2008 18:47:52 +0000

A new music festival, featuring the likes of Choc-Ice, Cupa-T, MixMassey Ferguson and Edenderry’s finest NWA tribute act FWS (Farmaz Without Subsidies), has just been announced, and by the looks of things, the HipHopSkip&Jump festival in Birr promises to blow all the rest of the competition out of the water.

Speaking with F.W.S. controversial frontman, and festival organiser Aizey-A, OneForTheRoad can reveal where the idea all came from.

‘It was around the time our first single - ‘Fuck Da E.U’ - dropped. It was making waves in some of the Baltic nations, where Hip Hop is really taking off, and we were approached by a fella from Funky Meats records out the road in Moate.

He said that we got mad skillz, and he was especially complimentary about the rhymes I was spittin’.

‘I can’t cut da turf, I can’t drink me tay, can’t work the fuckin’ harvester to bail the hay‘ - that was one of his favourites. He said it was ill, yo’, recalls Aizey (real name Paudi McFettridge, 34).

‘He said that there was loads of dope Irish Hip Hop acts around at the minute, and with the foreign nationals about to go home en masse at the end of the summer, we should pool our resources and make some proppa Benjamins while the going was good.’

Dr Shea, another member of the F.W.S crew agrees.

‘He put us in touch with other crews from around the midlands, and told us that he could get a loan of his uncle’s field just outside Birr to stage a festival. Shit was fo’ real, yo. Psyche’, he remembers.

‘Fresh shit’ indeed.

So with the help of Seanie Boyle (the uncle of Funky Meats’ Mix-Manus Corrigan), the F.W.S crew joined forces with other notable names on the Irish Hip Hop register.

First to sign up was Choc-Ice, veteran MC of some reknown, who was only too happy to lend his not inconsiderable weight to the project.

Dr. Shea recalls that ‘Once Choc-Ice was confirmed, the rest was plain sailing. The names just kept on coming. Cuppa-T, Turty Cent, Sheep Dogg and even up and coming Cavan dubstep act The Fertilizer all signed up within a matter of days. Brapp! init.’

Quite.

The festival takes place over 2 days, in Seanie’s field, Birr.

Ticket are still available. For more info call DJ Pajo on 0871879999, or ask for Manus himself in Supermacs, Main Street, Moate any day after 12.

When Retro Goes Bad

oftroad — Fri, 20 Jun 2008 18:16:46 +0000

Yesterday in work, my bosses tooth fell out.

Literally fell out of her head. She was just sitting there, waffling on about her ‘hormones being at her’ whatever the fuck that means (or whatever the fuck I’m supposed to do with the information..) and her tooth fell out. It first appeared as if she was struggling with a particularly tricky Tic Tac, and only when it rattled on the desk did I realise what had actually happened.

That soon shut her up. But I mean…who’s teeth actually fall out anymore? What’s she got? Fucking scurvy?

She’d want to get a few limes into her.

Still reeling from the shock of the weeks first old timey throwback, I jumped on the Luas today (or should I say I ‘hopped on the tram’ to keep in line with the theme of the post) at Heuston to bail up to the Epicurean Food Hall for the traditional Friday Lunchtime Kebab. Om nom nom. Then something happened that nearly put me off my impending succulent Turkish feast. At Smithfield, some old dude got on. And he had a GOITRE! Can you believe that? A fucking goitre!!

It was about the size of a tennis ball, and it stuck out the side of his neck like some kind of extra head.

Have any of you ever seen someone with a real life goitre? It’s impossible not to look at it. Good job he was standing with his back to me, an the thing stood out a fucking mile from the rest of his head. I could peruse it’s sickening hideousness with out any feelings of guilt.

Teeth falling out, goitres….good job I was on the Luas. Otherwise I would have been convinced that I had ‘quantum leapt’ into some erstwhile era some three score years past.

Or else fallen asleep on a train and woken up in Mayo.

It’s Like A Parable, Only Shitter…

oftroad — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 18:02:53 +0000

I remember when I was a kid, me and a load of my mates all had a day off school for some reason. There was a right old gang of us back then, and a day off represented a chance to do something outside the norm. To get up to some divilment.

Anyway, we were looking for something to do, and as always, we put it to the vote. We were a democratic bunch, even as 12 year olds. We’d only do something once we’d all agreed. Otherwise, we’d just hang around on the wall at the end of the road, spitting on the path, giving each other wedgies, and scabbing money off younger kids to buy Woppa bars and blue flavoured cool-pops. We’d shaken hands on it and everything. No come backsies and all.

And why shouldn’t we? Sure it worked for us. My mate Legs got a feel of a bit of tit off some Spanish student the summer before just by being able to spit further than any of us.

The choice came down to heading around to the field at the back of the girl’s secondary school and tearing down the hill on our bikes until it got dark, and heading off on the bus somewhere exotic like Tallaght to hang around the Square eating ice cream and lurking around Marathon Sports looking at the jerseys.

Obviously, most of us wanted to go and look at jerseys. Rumour had it that they had the new Ajax away jersey in stock, and being big fans of European football since we could remember, we all wanted a look. It made sense. It was the right thing to do. We all knew it.

Anyway, we were about to jump on the bus and head off until me mate Farts remembered that he had to ask his Ma first. She was a bit of a moany old bitch, and wasn’t too keen on him heading off willy nilly on buses to places like Tallaght without her permission.

As we waited for Farts to get back, we decided that she’d most likely let him go. She usually did with a bit of persuading. Well, she did the last time. But only after he started crying.

However, this time she didn’t. She was in the horrors over something that someone she’d never met before had told her about how things work in Tallaght, and she freaked out.

‘Sure don’t worry lads. Yis all know the rules. We’ll just go and hang around the wall like we always do. I’ve a load of fizzy cola bottles in me snorkel, we’ll suck on them and gollie all over the path. ‘Member we shook on it?’.

‘Yeah whatever Farts. Go fuck yourself’ we all said, and hopped on the bus. We’d have to walk home because the fare had gone up without any warning, but we didn’t care. We were happy being bastards.

‘Isn’t democracy great?’ We all laughed as the bus sped away. ‘Farts can go and fuck himself if he thinks I’m even telling him what the new Ajax away jersey looks like, the scabby cunt, sure he wouldn’t tell me’, I chortled.

‘Yeah, I never liked him anyway’ said Scuts. We all laughed again. Great big belly laughs.

Then the bus crashed into another bus, filled with tourists, and we all died. Even me. Even the driver, who wasn’t even a trained bus driver and didn’t have a license in the first place.

Farts is the only one of us still alive.

Cunt didn’t even go to any of our funerals.

Taste Of Dublin

oftroad — Mon, 16 Jun 2008 18:56:41 +0000

Guinness, Batter Burgers and fresh vomit. Thats the real taste of Dublin.

Nothing more, nothing less.

And it should be held in the Iveagh Grounds, not the Iveagh Gardens.

Fucking eurocrats.

Look how crap the chair I drew is!!