It’s midsummer, just the time when Irish weather goes back to being shite and all your friends are posting holiday photos on facebook from their week in Spain, wearing sandals, sipping sangria and swimming in the sea.That’s fine, who needs a tan? Less risk of skin cancer here anyhow. Sigh.

Just when we most need it Chaos Thaoghire brings you an evening of escapism:

We Apologise For The Inconvenience: Journeys
Wednesday the 18th of August in the Odessa Club

Journeys always make for interesting stories — in fact just last month I shared, to the delight of our attendees, a tale of consuming 2kgs of apricots on a Bulgarian overnight train where the toilet was just a hole over the tracks. I will spare you any details. Travel lends to a variety of experiences, often involving some type of toilet humor, and I do like toilet humor. I suppose journeys can be meaningful in other ways too, but I am still just thinking about my own apricot experience. Perhaps the only thing that stands out as much as the journey itself is the music we associate with our travels. I remember once driving overnight from San Francisco to Seattle and discovering that something had gone terribly wrong in the process of making my awesome road trip mix CD — the only song that had burned was ‘Umbrella’ by Rhianna.  Driving through Oregon with no radio we listened to ‘Umbrella’ over 100 times. To this day I can’t say the word without adding the “ella, ella, ella” to the end, my own personal PTSD. To avoid similar disasters at the next Chaos Thaoghire I am charging you, gentle readers, with the task of choosing our soundtrack — we will compile and test it in advance. Please give us suggestions in the comments — you’re welcome to also explain to us your own musings on what makes the perfect road trip playlist. Please, no Rhianna.

Here is some inspiration, from my favorite road trip movie:

That’s what he told us his story was about. And quitting smoking, but like all the best stories, it’s not about the thing it’s supposed to be about. Mark has an uncanny knack for curveball narratives. We love all of our storytellers, and we’ve been flabbergasted by the quality of stories people are telling at Chaos Thaoghaire, and the candidness with which some of them are told. There have been times — every month of this year, in fact — when I’ve genuinely wanted to drop to my knees in gratitude and appreciation of some of our storytellers. For telling such candid truths. For making us laugh. For making us think about shit we never thought about. We’ve been so delighted, even touched, that people would associate themselves with us on purpose, let alone with such enthusiasm. We’re genuinely confused when people thank us for having them because to us it’s the other way around. But now I’m getting emotional, and you’ll probably think I’ve been drinking.

It’s always tough to do the segue when one of our speakers finishes. I always feel a bit like I’m not giving their stories the breathing room they deserve. But there are three times in the so-far brief history of Chaos Thaoghaire (although this month was our tenth!) when, at the end of a story, I was so overwhelmed that it felt wrong to take the microphone and say a simple “thank you”, where I’ve found it necessary to acknowledge the magnitude of what we’d just heard but was at a total loss to express it, so generally end up muttering something incoherent to the room, half-wondering if I should instead leave everyone to have a moment of silence to recover. Una Mullally’s story in November ended with an unexpected burst, John Kamys’s (sadly unrecorded, although we’re still hoping he’ll tell it into a microphone soon because it’s too good not to save) story from the February 23rd Sex Chaos made speaking aloud almost impossible for about thirty seconds afterward, and Mark Congiusta’s story from last Thursday night had me a bit shaky. I was pretty choked up on the night, but listening back to this yesterday in the privacy of my sitting room, I felt even more moved.

I don’t want to give too much away because I want you to hear it, and I don’t want to feel like this is a platform, but it’s not only a good story, it’s a significant one because it’s not something men are generally encouraged to express, especially not publicly, and that was a really bloody brave and amazing and possibly difficult thing to do.

Anyway, the rest of the stories will be up on the site soon, but I think this one generated a lot of discussion, and we wanted to get it up here as soon as we could. It’s a good story for a lot of reasons, and a good story is always an important story.

Congratulations to “Just Married”, the champions of our May 2010 “It was like that when I got here” Chaos Thaoghaire. They won a Doomsday Survival Kit, complete with candles, lighters, a harmonica, and a Guaranteed Virgin, sealed in plastic, in case of any need to sacrifice. Those of you who attended our April Chaos might recognise a couple of these team members as last month’s winners. And you’d be right. But can you spot the difference? It’s not that the woman in the middle there has removed her bra and given it to us for the Chaos Thaoghaire Time Capsule, it’s that it was the bra she wore on her wedding day, which was last Saturday, in Las Vegas, to the guy on the far left. They had their first kiss on May 2nd, and were married on the 22nd of this month.

It’s now a proven scientific fact: being a Chaos Thaoghaire champion can bring you the man or woman of your dreams. Not to mention it begets more winning! It does steal your underwear, but what price victory? Congratulations to the happy couple on their honeymoon win. Oh yeah, and on getting hitched, which is nearly as amazing as winning Chaos Thaoghaire two months in a row.

Those of you who were at our Paddy Gra Chaos back in March will remember our curator, Patrick Freyne, and might possibly remember that anyone who attended that Chaos was entitled to free entry at our April Chaos, provided they could answer the following question:

What is the composition of Patrick Freyne?

Answer at the bottom of this post.

Patrick is back for his second, and we hope not his last Chaos Thaoghaire. We know it’s not a competition, of course, but it does put him neck and neck with his magnificently talented partner, Anna Carey, who was brave enough to be one of our three storytellers at the Chaos Thaoghaire launch night back in October. We should have a lifetime achievement award, shouldn’t we? Also, how about we have a compulsory dance routine element at — oh, wait. We sort of already do, don’t we?

We would also like to congratulate Joey Watt from Finglas, whose text in to Phantom Daily won him four tickets to tomorrow night’s event. Joey, we hope you’ve got some disasters up your sleeve. We’d also like to thank all you foulmouthed pottybrains who texted things that weren’t suitable for daytime radio. Friends, we have something in common.

Now, Patrick.

1. First, do you know what you’re getting into?

Absolutely. It’s a Fianna Fail cumann right?

2. Since we don’t have time for hospital hellos like on Winning Streak, do you want to say hello to anyone who is in hospital?

Those spongers? No way (this is a Fianna Fail cumann right?)

3. Of all the ways the world could end, what’s the one you think you’d be best equipped, not only to survive, but to emerge the supreme leader of the haggard band of survivors?

It would go something like this:

Flaky scientist to fearful mob: “Oh God. We’re trapped… Trapped here to die… Trapped here to die because of this impenetrable wall of cake.”

Me, tucking a napkin into my collar: “Step aside. I’ll handle this.”

4. Name three laws you would implement immediately, and describe the penalties for breaking them.

Law 1 — “Dance Routine Mondays” will be compulsory (however, not dancing is its own punishment).

Law 2 — People should look like their radio voices suggest. The penalty for disobedience will be face-changing surgery.

Law 3 — To call for a cut to the minimum wage you must first live on it for (at least) a month.

5. What would be your eventual downfall?

Through a police radio: “Freyne’s just holed himself up in the cake factory and appears to have hostages. Hold on, just getting some new information. The hostages are made of cake.… take him out.”

6. What’s the worst that could happen?

I can’t say. It will ruin the surprise.

Answer: Patrick Freyne is 85% circles, and 15% water.

Friends, this month’s Chaos Thaoghaire will be positively nuke-you-lar. The games are ready. The storytellers are primed. The Sugar Club says it’s ready for us. But are you?

And in case you aren’t already, tune in to Phantom Daily this afternoon when Jane and Phantom’s own Emer McLysaght will be talking to Simon Maher about tomorrow’s very special Chaos.

If you’ve come to this site looking for info about that, then here’s what you might like to know. You can come with a team of three to six people, or in your onesies and twosies. You don’t need to book in advance, but we do recommend arriving on time.

DATE: Thursday, 27th May, 2010
TIME: 7:30 SHARP
TICKETS: 10 euro
THEME: “It was like that when I got here”: stories about disasters
VENUE: The Sugar Club, Leeson St, Dublin 2

With that out of the way, here’s what you probably came here to learn about Fiona McCann. Fiona, it seems, is practically begging to be challenged to an eating contest against The Chaosettes, two women who think nothing of eating a tub of frosting for a pre-breakfast snack.

1. First, do you know what you’re getting into?

A quiet evening of needlework and pleasant conversation, no? Perhaps a turn around the drawing room?

2. Since we don’t have time for hospital hellos like on Winning Streak, do you want to say hello to anyone who is in hospital?

The Singing Detective. Dr Ross, Dr Carter and Dr Kovac — love your work fellers.

3. Of all the ways the world could end, what’s the one you think you’d be best equipped, not only to survive, but to emerge the supreme leader of the haggard band of survivors?

Some sort of foodageddon, where only those of hearty appetite and an ability to eat five times their body weight will make it. Survivors, yes. But haggard? Not us!

4. Name three laws you would implement immediately, and describe the penalties for breaking them.

Law 1: Give cyclists priority over cars – that means giving us space on the roads and not cutting us off at every opportunity.
Penalty: Lawbreakers must give me a backer to work every day for a month. If that sound easy, let me remind you of my answer to question three.

Law 2: Ban fruit as a dessert option. I got nothing against fruit in its place. But fruit alone or in some poxy salad does not a dessert make. That’s all I’m sayin.
Penalty: Lawbreakers must rustle me up a nice banoffee pie or a good chocolate biscuit cake on a daily basis. The only way to learn is by doing, see?
Law 3: No talking, rustling, heavy breathing or phone call taking or making during films. If you MUST breathe, make it inaudible and far away from me.
Penalty: Forced to watch Battlefield Earth on a loop for a week.

5. What would be your eventual downfall?

Eventual? I was under the impression it had already happened. How much more down can a lady fall?

6. What’s the worst that could happen?

The internet breaking.

Dear Chaos Fans,

Could someone please bring Emer a tree made out of rashers? We promise she’ll empty the contents of her stomach before she attempts to ingest any of the tree-rashers. KTHX.

You may know Emer from the news on Phantom 105.2, but soon you will know her as the multi-talented lady who made you do something that caused you embarrassment but seemed perfectly reasonable at the time.

1. First, do you know what you’re getting into?

No, but I’m imagining a scenario similar to the pie-eating contest in Stand By Me, with a hint of Murphy’s Micro Quiz-M thrown in. I’ll almost definitely puke.

2. Since we don’t have time for hospital hellos like on Winning Streak, do you want to say hello to anyone who is in hospital?

To the doctor who was responsible for sewing back on the finger I chopped off at age three.….thanks for making a complete balls of it. It looks like an old fashioned clothes peg and I believe it cost me a relationship with an unreasonably squirmish man.

3. Of all the ways the world could end, what’s the one you think you’d be best equipped, not only to survive, but to emerge the supreme leader of the haggard band of survivors?

I’ve read World War Z. When the zombie apocalypse comes I will be ready. I’ve also seen Zombieland, so I’m hoping Bill Murray will be involved.

4. Name three laws you would implement immediately, and describe the penalties for breaking them.

Ban fake tan and the toffee apple women who use it and subsequently smell like biscuits. They should be made to wear a onesie made of biscuits. And not even good biscuits. Marietta or something.

Ban people who intentionally litter. They should be made to live in a bin. And drink bin juice and lick all the yoghurt lids

Ban the people who make Eastenders. They should be made to watch Eastenders and lob the gob on all the old ladies in Eastenders. Especially the one who looks like she smells like chip fat. (Although, I believe Rosskempongangs is a by-product of Eastenders. He’s alright. He knows everyone in Afghanistan)

5. What would be your eventual downfall?

I’ve just realised that the laws I made would not apply at all in a post-zombie apocalyptic world. Therefore stupidity, shallowness and frivolity would be my eventual downfall. Zombies would feast on my brains, my delicious brains.

6. What’s the worst that could happen?

The meek shall inherit diddly squat.

So there was my dad, watching his stories (and believe me, Italian Millionario is the best Millionario there is, not least because it never fails to remind me of Howard Stern’s “Who Wants to be a Turkish Millionaire” contest), when his super-canine-hero ears detected a dog in distress. Can anyone reading this tell me how to say “The kid stays in the picture” in German?

But let’s let my dad tell you himself.

Well, you looked like a cop
By Rev Dr Russell G Ruffino
Aged 76 3/4

The dog had been barking for quite a while, but I didn’t pay much attention. I went to the kitchen and fixed myself some dinner and watched “Millionario”. I was at my desk again, and the dog was still barking. The dog had been barking for almost two hours. Now I did pay attention, and I thought that maybe the poor dog was in some kind of distress. I decided to check it out. I didn’t have to go far at all. There was the dog locked in a car only a few yards from my front door. The windows of the car were open a few inches, so the dog was all right. He did not like being shut up in the car. I thought I should do something. I decided to look for a poliziotto. It was around nine o’clock, but I figured I might spot a police car patroling the streets.

I walked down the Corso toward Via del Duomo, and I saw up ahead a group of people gathered and it looked like something special was going on. There might be a poliziotto there. Sure enough, there was a smartly uniformed member of the carabinieri . I approached him and began to tell him about the imprisoned dog. Suddenly, people were shouting out me to get out of the way. A woman came up behind me and said, “He is not a poliziotto. We’re making a film here.” I had walked into a movie set. I stepped back, and watched the “poliziotto” play the scene. Then I spotted a couple other poliziotti at the edge of the crowd. Actually, the first poliziotto did look like an actor—his uniform was too perfect. These fellows look more true to form. I approached them, but I asked first, “Are you actors or poliziotti?” At first, they pulled my chain a bit, having seen what I did a little earlier, but they did tell me they were who they looked like. I told them about the dog, but they couldn’t do anything about it. They had been assigned to ensure security for the film company (a German company; the director was speaking German) and they could not leave their post.

So, back to the car and the unhappy dog. Maybe he was hungry. Up to the apartment. Grabbed some dog biscuits. The dog—kind of a small border collie—gobbled them up, as I dropped them through the partly opened window. No more barking. I was glad the dog seemed somewhat content, but I confess that as I walked away I thought that maybe after the dog had something to eat, he might take a healthy dump in the car. The spilorcio disgraziato who left him there deserved it. I looked out my window just before I went to bed. The car was gone. I wonder if the director will keep me in the scene. My exchange with the “poliziotto” might make it look more authentic.

Oh wow, look, it’s really happening! Ronan has made us a lovely poster. Tell your friends! Definitely tell your enemies! Scroll down below the poster, please, to read what Nick McGivney has to say about Russell Crowe. Nick, you’re off his Christmas card list just like I’m never going to be invited to one of Michael McIntyre’s summer garden parties, not even as the help, which kind of sucks because I’m pretty broke. In fact, yesterday I was in the bank, and the teller wiped her butt with my laser card before she handed it back to me (my card, I mean).

But first!

And Nick. Nick has a problem with Russell Crowe that runs so deep that we’d better hope we don’t end up with an outbreak of cholera on the night of our Disaster Chaos. Nick is the busiest man on earth, and keeps a marketing blog here, where I recommend Rory Sutherland’s entertaning TED talk. His online portfolio here, and his life blog, with adorable kidpics is here. He’s also a very good runner and a very good giver of opinions, which we consider to be among the most excellent of qualities. Who could trust the opinion of someone who didn’t have strong opinions?

1. First, do you know what you’re getting into?

I know what I’m NOT getting into and it’s that Robin Hood malarkey. If I had dysentery, diarrhoea and incontinence and Russell Crowe was the attendant in the only toilet in the universe and it was right beside me AND HE WANTED TO PAY ME FOR USING IT I would politely say ‘Fuck off Crowe, you’re no Robin Hood. Kevin, maybe. Errol, possibly. Michael Praed? Absofuckinglutely. But you? Fuck off Crowe, you and your four fucking months of archery practice, you tosspot.’ That is what I would politely say. Now, the question again?

2. Since we don’t have time for hospital hellos like on Winning Streak, do you want to say hello to anyone who is in hospital?

Hospital is a town of 1,206 people in east County Limerick. Within a 2 km radius that number more than doubles, Wikipedia assures me. And who am I to argue with the word of the Wiki? I don’t know any of the folks in Hospital, but I suppose a hello wouldn’t hurt.

3. Of all the ways the world could end, what’s the one you think you’d be best equipped, not only to survive, but to emerge the supreme leader of the haggard band of survivors?

If, by some bizarre twist, the survivors could only converse in the idiom of 70s lyrics from Canadian folk megastars I would probably order a giant maple throne as first order of business. All in a dream.

4. Name three laws you would implement immediately, and describe the penalties for breaking them.

i) Total destruction of all films, memorabilia and anecdotal anecdotes relating to Russell Crowe. (This is NOT a witch hunt. It’s the far simpler matter of a Tosserhunt.) Penalty for failure to comply: you will be forced to live with Russell Crowe on that island off Kerry that Peig had the brothel on.

ii) Gillette would by law be forced to provide razor blades FREE forever to atone for the way that they have SCALPED an entire generation of accepting men and me. Penalty for non-compliance: that the board of Gillette be FORCE SHAVED at the same idiotic speed as the idiotic models in their idiotic commercials. (Except for real, and not having pre-shaved. I’m not stupid, you know.)

iii) It would be illegal to sucker real money out of gullible dorks for pretend farm produce, pretend gifts or pretend anything else on Facebook. Penalty for breaking the law: Mark Zuckerberg would have to wash the feet, q-tip the ears, clip the nasal hairs and do several other deeply personal chores relating to the private lives of those who have paid money for nothing. Wiping optional. (Careful, he’d probably claim that it was his arse afterwards.)

5. What would be your eventual downfall?

Hanging out with the wrong crowd, natch.

6. What’s the worst that could happen?

Tom Cruise.