So I'm watching an episode of King Of Queens that was probably first broadcast in 1956, and the Heffernans are having some trouble with the next door neighbours. I recognise the gentleman neighbour as one Walter White, or at least I think it's him.
He doesn't have a beard, he doesn't have a shaved head, and he has no discernible sense of menace about his person but I know that it's him.
I take to my phone and Google myself up Bryan Cranston's IMDB page and it was him alright, before the meth and the madness took to him, but I sit through it for the end credits anyway. I don't mind King Of Queens and I need the closure of his name to the theme music.
Instead, infuckingstead, Comedy Central decide to eschew the credits and vomit up a promo starring Ashton Kutcher and the formerly fat half man. No closure. Even though I know it was Bryan Cranston I feel denied the last percent of my tiny piece of trivia because channel 134 must always... be... closing. ABC. They must always be selling and I get a little bit of sick in the stomach at the fact that...
a) I'm wasting a pretty good day off
b) I've finally thought up a blog to write that has to begin like a bad '80s comedy routine, but ultimately ends up even less funny and more pointless than something that stars Ashton Kutcher and a formerly thickened half man.
If I didn't lose you, what's left of you, in the first three words of this entry I am very glad and I'm grateful, and I want you to spare a thought for me this coming weekend as I become a man who walks into a bar, and out of that bar, and into the next one on a stag trail in Galway.
I won't need direction as I've done it all before, to the top degree of shitawful hungoverness, so this time I'm not drinking.
I'm sticking to the Smithwicks and the world won't seem so gloomy come the break of Monday morning.
Fógra: Can I flog all Irish people who use the word 'douchebag'?