Bridges of the world
Unite and take over
This morning I was taking the DART (Dublin Area Rail Transport) to work. We stopped briefly in the middle of nowhere, about half a mile short of Sidney Parade-station. After about ten minutes of agonizing silence, the train continued to the abovementioned station.
Then something very peculiar occurred: through the speaker a metallic voice announced: "Due to a bridgestrike at Grand Canal Dock, this train will terminate at Sidney Parade and will proceed southbound,,, yadeyadeyade..." Luckily he repeated this message a couple of times...
A BRIDGESTRIKE? What, in heavens name, is a bridgestrike?
Then it dawned on me: all the bridges in the world must be so jealous of that newly opened humungous bridge in France that they went on strike. Hmmm, that's probably just the free drinks from last nights Christmasparty talking.
Probably I misunderstood: maybe it was the local Bridge Club who went on strike and lay their heads (all five of them) on the railroadtrack, waiting for the Double E (I'm alluding to a Warren Zevonsong here, retards). But why would they: Dublin is reputedly friendly to bridgeplayers.
Eureka! I've found it. It's the English! The R.A.F. executed an airstrike on all Dublin bridges to teach them Fenian bastards a good lesson. I took out my Union Jack (always take the side of the aggressor, I say), but realised that something wasn't right. Tony would never invade a country unless Georgy told him to.
Anyway, after a 45-minute walk, I arrived at the company, which is situated just in front of the Grand Canal Dock-station. There I saw what really happened: a drunken truckdriver had hit the bridge with his lorry, and the people who had to fix the bloody thing were obviously on strike. Well, actually, they were just really Irish in approaching the calamity and couldn't be arsed to start working before they had their full Irish breakfast...
Laziness will be the downfall of this country, I tell you!
Unite and take over
This morning I was taking the DART (Dublin Area Rail Transport) to work. We stopped briefly in the middle of nowhere, about half a mile short of Sidney Parade-station. After about ten minutes of agonizing silence, the train continued to the abovementioned station.
Then something very peculiar occurred: through the speaker a metallic voice announced: "Due to a bridgestrike at Grand Canal Dock, this train will terminate at Sidney Parade and will proceed southbound,,, yadeyadeyade..." Luckily he repeated this message a couple of times...
A BRIDGESTRIKE? What, in heavens name, is a bridgestrike?
Then it dawned on me: all the bridges in the world must be so jealous of that newly opened humungous bridge in France that they went on strike. Hmmm, that's probably just the free drinks from last nights Christmasparty talking.
Probably I misunderstood: maybe it was the local Bridge Club who went on strike and lay their heads (all five of them) on the railroadtrack, waiting for the Double E (I'm alluding to a Warren Zevonsong here, retards). But why would they: Dublin is reputedly friendly to bridgeplayers.
Eureka! I've found it. It's the English! The R.A.F. executed an airstrike on all Dublin bridges to teach them Fenian bastards a good lesson. I took out my Union Jack (always take the side of the aggressor, I say), but realised that something wasn't right. Tony would never invade a country unless Georgy told him to.
Anyway, after a 45-minute walk, I arrived at the company, which is situated just in front of the Grand Canal Dock-station. There I saw what really happened: a drunken truckdriver had hit the bridge with his lorry, and the people who had to fix the bloody thing were obviously on strike. Well, actually, they were just really Irish in approaching the calamity and couldn't be arsed to start working before they had their full Irish breakfast...
Laziness will be the downfall of this country, I tell you!
