Tales Of The Gurrier

Jesus I’ve just seen Harry Connick Jnr on the news rescuing old people single handedly in his gumbo boat. Stripped to the waist, Hollywood muscles bulging, two water canteens strapped like bandoliers to his chest. There’s Harry wading hip deep through the sludge and slime carrying some wizened old guy to safety. Wow what a [...]

Test post from the future Originally uploaded by Gurrier. Wahey posting from the interweb phone. Truly I am now from the future!

Flickr image post test, originally uploaded by Gurrier.

The Gurrier sniffed the night air apprehensively. A cold wind was blowing in from the East, sweeping over the torpid depths of the Liffey, snaking down the city’s back streets and chilling The Gurrier’s old bones. Something was amiss in the city, he could feel it in his waters. Something had come back to Dublin [...]

The Longstone on Townsend street, a bar. The Gurrier, Kesey, Heinous and The Gin Lady arrived and surveyed the environs. “Goths!” spat Kesey, “I hate those guys.” “Remember we’re here for Wahlberg. Don’t get distracted” said The Gurrier. He scanned the pasty faced, kohl eyed crowd for the telltale signs of Wahlbergs passing. The place [...]

If it keeps on rainin’, levee’s goin’ to break If it keeps on rainin’, levee’s goin’ to break And the water gonna come in, have no place to stay Well all last night I sat on the levee and moan Well all last night I sat on the levee and moan Thinkin’ ’bout my baby [...]

Mulligans of Poolbeg street. The dark cavern of the belly hordes. The Tiger does not hold sway down here amongst the fir bolg. This venerable stout encrusted establishment has squatted for countless years on Poolbeg street. A murky shrine to Arthur Guinness. A yellowing monument to Dublin’s past. Nominally a ‘literary pub’ with the likes [...]

Things were not going well. Only in the door and already the atmosphere was charged with a fearful expectancy. Heinous had been gobbling those horrible horse steroids all day, the veins on his neck were beginning to writhe and squirm like fat maggots in the sun. His pupils, tiny pinpricks of hate swirling in a [...]