Red, Blue deny Color War

Posted in irish, Seriously Small Stuff with tags , , , , , , on 18 August 2012 by clightnirish

In a joint press conference today in Washington, the colors Red and Blue denied reports of a long-waged public rift between them, as portrayed in the media.

“Red and I go way back and are actually great friends,” said Blue. “Our families summer together every year at Lake George.”

“We are sick of the frequent misuse of our identities by mainstream media to represent warring factions or intense competitors,” explained Red.

“Election years are particularly annoying to us. All this Red states vs Blue states rubbish!” he added. “And neither of us sees a dime from either the political parties or the news media. Kobe Bryant or Kim Kardashian would never stand for their images being used without their permission. Why should we?”

Their disappointment was not just aimed at the world of politics, but also to other “egregious misrepresentations” that suggest they are constantly at loggerheads, such as Coke vs Pepsi and Yankees vs Redsox.

The two colors also played down rumors that the color White had mediated a peace between them.

“That’s a common misconception,” said Blue. “People seem to think Red and I don’t get along, but if White is in the mix then something changes and suddenly Red, White and Blue are a united team.”

“Truth be told, White is a bit of a dick actually. Neither of us really like him.”

New Words with Friends

Posted in irish, Seriously Small Stuff with tags , , , , , , on 3 June 2012 by clightnirish

Inspired by a post on the new (and brilliant!) blog of my good friend, Rickie Khosla (check it out at, I decided to pen down a few other words that I have been trying to slip into everyday vernacular.  Try using these at your next summer BBQ… and if you do, post a comment to let us know.

lowbese (lo-beess) (noun): a newly ‘acceptable’ body weight classification at the low end of the obese range, as Americans give up on seeking a  ‘normal’ healthy body mass index. Use: “I might have a few extra pounds, but I am still only ‘lowbese’ compared to most people.”

boring pass (noun): the paper slip provided by increasingly cheap airlines that don’t even show a movie on a 4-hour flight.

authentish (adj): goods made kind of, sort of, roughly resembling a true traditional style, by craftsmen or artists with tenuous  connections  to another culture. Use: “Last night we had some delicious ‘authentish’ Tandoori cooked by this Russian lady who knows a Greek guy whose uncle’s grandfather actually had a flight stopover in Mumbai one time in the sixties!”

cargantuan (adj): describing the growing class of monstrous SUVs that easily swallow up to 8 adults, yet somehow do not require a bus or truck license and can be driven by any maniac.  Use: “Some old lady in a Chevy of cargantuan proportions ran four other cars off the highway today as she changed lanes.”

iphonetic (adjective): the style of spelling a word, syllable by syllable, so that it can be by pronounced and understood by Siri. Use: “What is the iphonetic spelling of your last name?”

preativity (noun): the surge of inspiration to begin an artistic work, without yet having a worthwhile idea or direction. Use: “Just ignore the half-complete macaroni Mona Lisa in the lounge room – my preativity got the best of me!”

phantastic (adj): supposedly brilliant but sorry, I’m just not seeing it. Use: “I’m told this Spanish guy has a phantastic cross-court backhand.”

Bud-wiser (adj): the false sense of being ten times smarter after consuming a dozen beers. Use: “I was feeling a bit Bud-wiser when I decided it was a good idea to invest in my cousin’s dog tanning booth business.”

re-licious (adj): describing the improved taste of leftovers when eaten the day after. Use: I liked the pizza on Friday night, but it was seriously relicious when I woke up on Saturday morning.

Try those ones out in your next Scrabble game.

— Irish

An ode to those (socks) left behind

Posted in irish, Seriously Small Stuff with tags , , , , on 1 April 2012 by clightnirish

One of the great mysteries of the world is how socks manage to always disappear in the laundry. No matter how you try – or how many SkyMall-catalog “sock keeper clips” you go through – they still disappear.  This leads to only one logical explanation: the socks that vanish DON’T WANT to be found.  That’s right… they’re runaways.

Socks have good reason to escape: spending all day wedged between stinky, sweaty feet and bacteria-laden orthotic in-soles.  But the tragedy is, I don’t think these rebellious little fellows think about the real victim of their departure: the sock that is left behind.

So in case you happen to be a single sock on the lam, I wanted to write this post on behalf of your loved ones who have spent 17 months pining for you in the back of a bedside drawer… being looked over, day after day.  You see, when you left, you sentenced your sock twin – your very own cotton & elastane – to a fate that I would not wish on my worst enemy.

Without you there, each and every day, your old pal is forced to endure the pain of the fat, nerdy kid at school when the cool kids are picking soccer teams – slowly watching everyone else get picked ahead of him.  Even on the worst day, when the drawer is decidedly quiet, and all the good socks are hanging out in the laundry hamper, those tragic Ninja Turtles socks from 1991 (yes, the ones with with the hole in the right heel) get picked ahead of him.

Some days he will get pulled out momentarily, and the hope in his little sock heart will soar, thinking ‘today is the day’. But that hope will inevitably be shattered, when your absence is again discovered and he is thrown even further to the back of the drawer, never to feel the clammy warmth of fungus-laden toes ever again.

Now that you have been gone so long, he has been forced to give in and accept that his best days are behind him.  That time you saved your owner from terrible blisters when he had to run uptown in italian leather business shoes.  That one beautiful week when you were accidentally put away in the drawer with “Mrs. Owner’s” delicates from Victoria’s Secret. And the time you got to be the first pair of socks in Mr Owner’s new snakeskin boots.

But now, the best day he can imagine as he wallows in the back of the drawer, is that the laundry machines break down and Mr. Owner gets desperate enough to pair him up with the lonely grey argyle hiding under the sports socks. That’s right… you’ve left him in a world where going out as an “odd” sock would be a step up in the world.

I hope you found what you wanted – wherever it was that you ran off to – but just know that someone else is paying the price back home, you selfish bastard.

— irish

“Welcome back to the Asshole’s Club, Mr Smith”

Posted in Clight Paths, Corporate Letter Campaign, irish with tags , , , , , , on 3 December 2011 by clightnirish

Why doesn’t American Airlines just rename the Admiral’s Club as the “Asshole’s Club”?

Despite paying some $7000 for a business class airfare or 25+ flights to qualify for status, the Admiral’s Club (at least at JFK) now started to charge their ‘most valued’ customers for drinks & food… except the self-serve dispenser of stale cracker & pretzel mix, but I don’t really call that food! (To be fair, if you’re really valuable, you might get a voucher for one drink, but after that you’re on your own!)

They’ve also started to charge for wifi, and the furniture is often old and shabby, or high on ‘design’ & low on comfort… less comfortable than on the concourse, in some cases. And despite all this cost-cutting, your airline still just entered Chapter 11?

In some international ACs (like Buenos Aires) you can still serve yourself a beer or scotch (thank goodness for Latin hospitality!!) but you still have to stare down other passengers eyeing off that last slice on the rarely-replenished cheese plate. You can’t get a sandwich, let alone a burger… even if you wanted to pay for it!! You know where they DO have great food to buy, though… out on the concourse.

So if you’re not giving any real ‘privileges’ and passengers would arguably be more comfortable, and certainly better fed, at the “Chilis Too” on the concourse… then what’s the point of an airline lounge? All that is left is some thinly-veiled form of class segregation: there used to be privileges that justified visiting the lounge, but now you’ve made ‘Admirals’ just look like ‘Assholes’ that don’t want to sit with everybody else.

Actually, worse than that… like cheap assholes fighting over the last piece of Gouda.

— Irish

PS… if you happen to fix things up, I’ll be sitting in comfort in Gate Lounge B6, with my Auntie Anne’s pretzel dog and a Cinnabon.

Jack fell down, and broke the economy

Posted in Clights, Camera, Action, irish with tags , , , , , on 15 October 2011 by clightnirish

America is in trouble.  I’ve wanted to ignore the signs, but unfortunately, now the worst sign of all is being advertised on TV, in the subway, seemingly everywhere I look.

As China, India and Brazil continue to grow their economic power, America continues to make economic decisions that defy any logic.  Despite record unemployment and hunger – and with financial protests clogging Wall Street – America continues to find frivolous garbage to throw it’s money into.  But now, it has gone too far… someone has to call “shenanigans” on the egregious wastefulness.  So I want to call out the most offensive waste of money I have seen in many years.

Who the hell decided that it would be a good idea to spend a few million dollars financing the film “Jack & Jill”?  What type of hallucinogenic drug were they force-fed for weeks before deciding that was a good investment?  No-one in their right mind would ever want to see Adam Sandler play his own female twin – let alone give him money to do it.  Even Rob Schneider must have been questioning the sanity of this one.

This catastrophe highlights what is wrong with the American economy: no-one seems willing to tell anyone else that maybe they should NOT waste their money on dumb shit.  Where are the ‘level-headed voices of reason’ saying, “hey, Mr Sandler, perhaps instead you should invest that money in some local small businesses”?  Or “hey, Mariah, maybe your baby doesn’t need the diamond crusted iPods”? Or “hey, why don’t we go without the $34,000 dessert?“. And “hey, President Bush, maybe we should spend that war money on saving American industry”?

But worst of all, Mr Sandler is going to ask the cash-strapped middle-class to go out to the cinema so he can take their money to bail him out from his own stupidity.  Hell, why not?  It worked for Detroit and Wall St!

So I officially call “Shenanigans!”, and ask everyone in America who even thinks about going to watch this movie at cinemas, to instead donate your $12.50 ticket price to The Jack & Jill Foundation, who will use the money to groom today’s children into the leaders of tomorrow. Hell, donate the $15 you would spend on a small Coke and popcorn too, and make a real difference.

Hopefully  they’ll encourage the type of leader that would say, “sorry, Mr Sandler, I’m going to have to take that wig from you!”

— Irish

Survival of the Thickest

Posted in Uncategorized on 24 September 2011 by clightnirish

A lot has been noted recently about the world’s burgeoning population: from the pressure it is placing on natural resources to the challenges facing social security given that, well… old folk just don’t die like they used to.

Now there are lots of proposals that might curb population growth by controlling the birth rate, but it occurred to me this week that maybe we’ve been working against nature on ‘the other end’ of the equation.

You see, Mother Nature used to use this neat trick called “survival of the fittest” to weed out the shallower end of the gene pool – but thanks to a litigious society and laws that allow the dumb to sue others for their own stupidity, we’ve started helping the unfit survive.

My ‘aha’ moment was a foil package in my FreshDirect box, which keeps my ice-cream sandwiches from melting while they are delivered.  Printed on the  outside, there’s only one small phrase: “not for microwave use”.  So I have two issues with this:

  1. Who microwaves their ice-cream?
  2. Even if they do for some reason… who DOESN’T know by now that you can’t microwave foil products? It’s just one of those things you should know, like ‘don’t put your hand in the blender’.

But this warning is just a symptom of a bigger disease. On Queens Boulevard in New York – a 12-lane thoroughfare in places, they post signs like

Attention clueless: 12-lanes of traffic might just be dangerous!

the one on the right, saying “a pedestrian died here” so people will cross with care. Now I know that this road has been called the “Boulevard of Death”, but if a person is not smart enough to see the 12 lanes of high speed traffic, and follow the regular pedestrian “don’t walk” lights, then I think they’re probably not contributing a lot to the gene pool – except perhaps a ‘sneaky leak’ when they think no-one is looking.

But by comparison to some product warnings, this road warning seems ostensibly reasonable. made a list of the best, of which I am particularly surprised that we are saving the lives of the idiots who might “hold the wrong end of a chainsaw”.

All I can say is that perhaps it’s time that we recanted a few laws and gave Mother Nature back the power to eliminate the weakest links, to restore balance to the universe – before I have to split my social security pension with someone who only made it to 65 thanks to the warning label that told them not to use their hair dryer while sleeping.

— Irish

America <3s England: TL4E

Posted in Clights, Camera, Action, irish, Seriously Small Stuff, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , on 1 May 2011 by clightnirish

America, you’re embarrassing yourself.  You kicked England to the curb years ago, remember – all this guffawing and floundering over her for the past month is just making you look like a douche!

In our lives we’ve all known that guy (or girl) that just can’t quite let go of an ex.  You know, they have a massive break-up but then keep crawling back, or start re-singing the praises of someone they were – only months ago – saying was the seed of Satan.  Well, America, for the past month you have sounded just like that weak-willed sap.

Ever since a bunch of Bean-town ‘revolutionaries’ tossed some crates of tea into Boston Harbor in 1773, you made it clear that you were done with England and her selfish attitude.  With all of her unfair ‘taxes without representation’ she was an expensive date, and with her ‘Coercive Acts’ totally cramping your style, that hoity-toity bitch had it coming.

Remember, you were all like, “I’m done with your crap!”, and held a couple of Continental Congresses, and had a war, and she sent in her troops to shut you down, but Paul Revere got on his horse and rode through the night and you prevailed and were so much better off for so long.

But, oh, how things have changed. And not for the better.  If Paul Revere were riding around shouting that the “English are coming” now, I can only imagine him saying it in a campy, excited schoolgirl kind of shriek.  Instead of bearing arms and lighting torches and readying their horses, I can only imagine America blushing and squealing with a hand on each cheek, and going into a tizzy about what to wear.

She tried to get you back in the sixties by sending those mop-haired lads from Liverpool to woo you, and you looked like you would buckle, but you came through it and showed her you didn’t need her by sending some of your posse to the moon.

But as America’s role as a world power has faded of late, and all those other sexy, youthful power countries have started paying less attention, ol’ England rolled out her master move: waiting until you were totally desperate and then showing up wearing the one outfit you could never resist: a Royal Wedding.

And you bought it hook, line & sinker!  You were showing TV specials about William and Kate on every channel possible, going back well into March.  You sent more “correspondents” to let you know every time Kate changed her undies, than you sent to cover the truly world changing events in North Africa and the Middle East. And you oh-so-desperately watched your mail for the invitation to her big party.

I really felt like your floundering hit rock bottom though when NYC taxis started sporting giant Union Jacks with the message “Congratulations William & Catherine”.  At the top of your capitalist strength, you never would have let that advertising space be wasted on such a frivolous and weak display of unrequited love.  China must have sent a hilarious text message to India when he saw this final act of capitulation.  You might as well have hired an Icelandic volcano to write “Take Me Back” in the sky over the whole country.

And even now that it’s the “morning after the night before”, you still seem giddy over the whole shindig.  CNN ran a very long segment just about the hats worn by the wedding guests.

Really dude, it’s like that song by The Streets says: “I know you want to vibe with this girl, but don’t mug yourself”.  I am sure you must have heard the song I’m talking about… it is by an English artist, after all.

— Irish


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