The M.M.B.C Old Goats

After we had checked out of the Betty Ford clinic, stocked up on our medication and took some sound legal advice from Messrs Ross & Brand, we knew the first thing we had to do was to get to Goat Towers and hold a crisis meeting in the boardroom next to the VIP lounge up on the 19th floor, overlooking Pulrose. But getting into the place was never gonna be easy. Cunningly disguised in eye masks and black & white striped jumpers and armed only with a crowbar, a clawhammer and a pair of rubber gloves each (I also took a jar of Vaseline in case me lips chapped - but didnt need it),  we discreetly met on a moonlit Heron carpark and tiptoed our way past the chip shop. I couldve sworn I could wiff the faint trace of a King Prawn Schezuan with egg fried rice hanging in the still air but it turned out that someone had parked their breakfast by the pub door. It was only a short walk up the alley to the rear ’stagedoor’ entrance of the once elaborate Goat Towers, a stunning example of 16th century Gothic Rennaissance architecture, strangely almost out of place on the Annagh Coar estate, but now sadly disshevelled and in a state of neglect.

The bald Chief called upon his vast years of experience in the glass & glazing fitting trade by selecting just the right gauge of brick to lob through the window, and before we could say “if we get caught doing this, we’ll get bummed in the mouth” we were inside the welcome lobby and perched on the now threadbare faux Turkish rug that Slapski’s granny bought from Moochers and left him in her will in the late 70’s. It was dark, cold and gloomy what with most of the windows boarded up and cobwebs hung everywhere cos that ballbag of a janitor hadnt bothered to come in & keep it tidy. We were thinking of aborting the mission when we realised the leccy hadnt been paid in our absence and so the lift was out of order, but Just like the monster climb out of Kirk Michael past the Cattery, we took the stairs in our stride and puffed & panted and whinged & cursed and spat & dribbled our way to the top, stopping only on the 8th floor Mezzanine for a well earned blackcurrant & apple Nutri-Grain. Once in the boardroom, we dusted off the flipchart and began to brainstorm. After an hour we still couldnt think what to write, so we drew a knob and a big old pair of boobies and was suddenly struck by a realization that that’s how we got into this trouble in the first place.

It was right at that moment that we simultaneously experienced an epiphany. We knew that the Old Goats site needed not to be ressurected, but to be reborn with a modern infrastructure. Forward thinking. Sustainable. With greater contingency planning and a failsafe exit strategy. Less of the long-winded spewing of utter bollocks, definately no more taking the piss and absolutely zero tolerance to rude pictures with false teeth.  It was right at that moment we simultaneously experienced another epiphany that was greater in complexity than the original epiphany that we had simultaneously experienced a few moments earlier. Nope. We could never conform. Theyll just have to take us as we are or ban us again.

The teeth are back in.

This entry was posted on Sunday, February 21st, 2010 at 1:52 am and is filed under Thursday Nighters. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.