Dear Morons,

Ok, so general feedback is generally ok but this one is for all of you who seem to have a problem with understanding that this is a blog, written by two sisters. (and no, we don't have and will never have lesbian-incest tendencies Emerald)

One of us, living in London. The other, living in Ireland. Geddit? Our blogs can be differenciated by the post heading... generally stating 'By Faye' or 'By Ri' and if not, just try to guess!

As for 'Jimmy' who I tore apart re: his public transport rant... please dont take it personally. It's not a personal attack on you, it's just that I think you're an absolute chowderhead (said in a NY accent) In hindsight, I guess it was a personal attack on you, addlepate.

And thats another small step for man... (Faye)

Through a competition with Yazoo you can have your letter launched into space. Yazoo are the milkshake people at the Campina dairy (you know, the little dinosaur). What is there to put in a letter launched into space? Surely it depends on which direction they launch it, they most likely don't speak English in most parts of this or any other galaxy. In fact I think you'd be lucky to find life that understood the simple convention of opening an envelope to read the letter written folded inside. It's as futile as a suicide note. Although I guess any letter submitted isn't really written to space aliens or the universe. It's written to the man at Yazoo responsible for deciding which letters get sent. George, Campina, NASA liason officer. Doesn't he know you shouldn't open other people's mail? Its against the law George.

Why Does Science Get All the Bodies? (neither)

I googled 'heaven' and this came up... How wonderfully tacky. >>>>

Science gets all of the best bodies. Meanwhile, other disciplines are left out in the cold, forgotten. Screw that. I’m going to donate my body to a field of study that needs it.

“But wait,” you might say, shouting at your computer in hopes that I could hear you through the magic electronic tubes, “an incalculable amount of discoveries are made when people donate their bodies to science! You are helping your fellow humans by giving researchers and surgeons valuable people parts!”

But nay, I say in response. What about the philosophy professor without the human corpse waiting by his doorstep, or the Greek literature scholar, depressed because nobody thought of her when looking for places to donate their lifeless husk? Imagine the joy in their eyes when they open their doors and see a recently deceased body flopped there, with a handwritten note that simply stated, “You thought we’d forgotten *wink*. “

So when thinking of places to mail off your remains, be sure to call up the Spanish or accounting studies departments of your local college or university. These people deserve your attention, too. Except marketing. Anything but marketing. They already have enough soulless corpses.

No pun - no fun By Ri

(Yes yes... it is Ri riding a polarbear... and that aint no sick metaphor neither!) >>>>>>>

Onto another point, the words “pun intended” or the equally sickening “excuse the pun“. People who point out their puns are comparable to those who explain their jokes: they both think you're too brainless to 'get' it.

People... When you point out your puns, you're making a value judgement on me. You're actually saying: “Did you see what I just did? Yeah, well that was no accident...oh no... In fact, I thought it was so clever that I didn't think your simple mind would be able to comprehend the brilliance of my play on words, and I wanted to make sure you know that I'm not only smart enough to use homonyms, but that I'm smart enough to point them out.”

If you are one of those people who excuses your puns, you’re just going to have to avoid me at all costs. I will not be impressed, I will actually be insulted. The dreaded ‘pun intended’ is, in fact, worse than ‘glorious day isn’t it?’ if you‘re wondering.

Remember: You are unique...just like everybody else (Ri)

OK, so... whilst in the cinema watching a movie (as one usually does in a cinema...unless you're one of those cinema lurkers...there's always one) I was seated with my friend literally in the very front row (definitely got the short stick).So anyway, with our necks perpendicular to the screen itself, the ads come on. Now, cinema ads are a funny thing. People laugh at ads they see in the cinema, even if they've seen them a million times at home before... Does the bigger screen enhance the comic-value?

Most importantly, on to the point I am trying to make... One particular ad for 'adidas' (It really kills me to have to spell that with a lower-case 'a' to start with...) I'm not sure if anyone remembers the 'Skins Season 1' ad with a house party of drunken, adrenaline/drug filled teenagers blasting The Gossip's 'Standing in the Way of Control' at a house party? It was literally almost exactly the same. However, instead of teenagers, the 'adidas' houseparty was filled with familiar celebrity faces... David Beckham, Missy Eliot, Katie Perry, Estelle (the rough looking bird made famous from that tune 'American Boy') and loads of other 'celebs'. Each of them are adidas-clad from head to toe.

Then... The Pièce de Résistance... the caption. 'Be Original' haaaaaa! I seem to be the only one who found the irony of this! This ad is, in fact, a paradox in itself! It's telling people to 'Be Original' by wearing the exact same clothes as all these celebrities! The stupidity is overwhelming...

Small talk shmall smalk

It's been a while since I've blogged... mainly due to the blasted Leaving Cert getting me down. But also, because I've had 'blog-block' which sounds a lot more gross than it actually is... I just havent been inspired. 'Till now...


Right so...Sometimes, I don’t like something, but I could probably combat that dislike, with the right self-help book to guide me towards a change of heart. For small talk, this is not the case. I don’t dislike small talk, that would suggest that small talk and I could reconcile our differences and learn to live in harmony. No, ‘dislike’ is far too mild. I literally hate small talk. So much so, I will avoid it at all costs. Start a conversation with me beginning with the words ‘glorious day isn’t it?’ or any reference to the level of precipitation of the last week/month/year, I will actually just give you a polite smile and turn away, and give no apologies for it either! I don’t intend on being rude, I just don’t like people wasting my time and energy on a conversation topic which barely warrants a passing thought. So, unless there’s a typhoon or a tsunami on the way, just save us both the embarrassment and immediately presume that I wont care.

I am sorry to any of you who have had to have this conversation with me. You're just painfully awkward and I have very little to say to you... I'm sure you're a great person with a great life but... I dont really care? Sorry again... but not really...

Where has my wife gone? The man who mistook his wife for a hat

Whilst shopping for Egyptian artefacts and pieces of toast with imprints of Jesus and Elvis on (oh Faye, your job is so wacky), I came across this book. My imagination has been running wild all day with the notion of a man mistaking his wife for a hat. I wonder if when he (like my dad when he loses his glasses) realises she is on his head? Why doesn’t she pipe up? Some women mistake their boyfriends for door mats. I am going to experiment mistaking my boyfriend for my window boxes and pour water over him first thing in the morning with a watering can. Anything would be better than a rubbish bin. Needless to say, I bought the book.