‘Grab ‘Em By The Balls’

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From top: Terry McMahon in Fair City, 2007; Terry today

Neither advisable for every situation nor technically lawful,

But sometimes you have to reach for the part.

Terry McMahon writes:

The rabid determination of Leo Varadkar and Regina Doherty to criminalise recipients of social welfare brings back memories of the vulnerability of what it was like to be on the dole.

Over twenty years ago I was broke, ignorant and desperate. Dumb too. On multiple levels. A kid. But, by then, I was having a kid of my own. A boy.

Varadkar would have been proud of me. I was up early every morning.  4am.  In a blind panic. When we brought our boy home from the hospital and lay him on the mattress of my bedsit I decided he’d never lie on that damn bed again. It was time for something bold. Audacious. Drastic.

And when you have no formal education, no experience, and no way of getting in the front door of anywhere, you learn to quietly kick in the back doors.

I was being investigated by the welfare. Nothing personal apparently. They were doing it to everybody. Still horrible. They arranged for a meeting the following month where I was to explain to them what I was doing to get off the dole. I knew nothing about anything except a little about movies. And less about television. And nothing about soap opera.

Fair City was a long running soap opera. A juggernaut. Still is. Incredibly successful. Some may say incomprehensibly. To each their own.

But this soap opera is made by the national broadcaster RTÉ, which means they have to respond to whoever contacts them. This means they were willing to audition a completely unknown lunatic looking to do something drastic to get his boy off a dodgy mattress in a dodgy bedsit.

I called the producer. This was a time when people answered their own phones. No buffers. He agreed to meet. It wasn’t verified but we penciled in a bank holiday Monday a couple of weeks away. That day arrived and I called the number. The producer wasn’t there. Understandably. So I decided to leave a message to say we had made an obvious mistake and could he call back tomorrow to arrange a more suitable time.

That’s what I intended to say. But somehow the words that came out were essentially’ go fuck yourself’. Told you I was dumb. Game over. Couple of days later I get a call on the coinbox in the hallway. The producer’s assistant. Would I come in and audition for the show? Game on.

I’d never been in the RTÉ canteen before. This was not my world. But I kept thinking of that beautiful boy on that bedsit mattress. My world wasn’t working. I

had arrived two hours early. Scared I’d miss it. Walked out to Montrose from town. Stomach sick. Found the entrance to the Fair City lot and peered through the tiny opening in the doorway. Saw a long line of actors. Waiting. Rehearsing. Vogueing. The acting community was small back then. Tight. Incestuous. Maybe still is.

I bolted back to the canteen. The bathroom. Puked up a breakfast I’d never eaten. Just tell the missus it’s done. Pretend it already happened. Slip out the canteen into town. Away from RTE. Forever. Then I thought of the kid. On the bed. In the bedsit. Bastard.
Without looking up from her schedule a bored assistant gave me some pages with words from a scene. Sides she called them. Told me to take a seat. But all the seats were taken. And all the takers were looking up at me. Recognised some of them too. Some were big shots. Some were medium shots. None of them knew me. The virgin in the whorehouse.

I read the words on the pages. It was an angry scene. A threatening scene. A soap opera scene. I needed to puke again but focused instead on the sounds coming from the audition room. Read the words on the page as the actors played them inside. They were really going for it. No prisoners. Balls out. Eleven on the Richter scale.

My turn came. I told the others to go ahead. One by one they went inside. One by one they got to the fractious part of the scene where the two characters go toe-to-toe.

One by one they raised their voices on the big lines. Angry. Macho. Hate. The threat delivered. The bloke reading in for the other character was getting more confident with each reading. He was loving this shit. His day to show just how good he was. Cock-blocking the other actors. Same beats every time. Same reactions. Same everything.

Eventually nobody was left. Just me. The bored assistant looked at me. Time.

There was a surprising number of people in the studio. Good size crew. Lights. Decent camera. Proper sound. Real playback monitor. More than an audition. A screen test.

The producer looked at me and we shook hands. I wanted to apologise for the asshole message I’d left on his machine but was too busy trying to conceal the fact I hadn’t a clue what I was doing. They told me to sit. And that’s when I saw him. I had been listening to his voice for hours now. And his physicality was just as arrogant as his voice.

The Cockblocker.

I sat beside him and offered my hand. He shook it but didn’t look at me. Too busy demonstrating how tight he had become with the crew. Laughing loudly at a shit joke. I whispered was it okay to touch him?

He looked at me for the first time. Pure dismissal. Comic book contempt. He said, anywhere you want, tough guy. The producer asked if I wanted a rehearsal. I understood the word. But not what it meant. I shook my head. No. The producer asked for quiet. Cockblocker got in one final guffaw, rolled his neck as if he was doing me a solid, and nodded. Action.

Cockblocker began the scene as he had every other time. King of the hill. Top of the world. Made it, ma. I didn’t look at him. Wouldn’t look at him. I kept looking at the producer. The one I had left the asshole message for. He was looking back. Confounded. Curious. He kept glancing at me then back at his monitor. Frowning. I spoke quietly. Tentatively.

Cockblocker was in his element now. The more I swallowed back the words the more he projectile vomited his out. He was on a roll and nothing was going to stop his victory lap. It came to the big finale. The showdown. The knockout. And he went for it.

I could feel his spit splashing against the side of my ear. Burrowing in. Abusing my brain. He got to the highest point possible. His raging screams echoing off the studio walls. His pitch blowing the mics. His genius unquestionable. This was the greatest performance in the history of acting. He knew it.

And, now, as he waited for my response, his warm breath repeatedly slapped off the side of my face. I’d never had sex with a man. But this must be close to what it feels like.

The producer stared at me. It was my big moment. Where I lose it. Where I dominate. Where I show what it means to be macho. Every other actor had nailed it. On time. On cue. On the nose.

But there was nothing from me. Zero. The producer sighed and was about to say Cut. Wrap it up. Go home. But, without looking at Cockblocker, I gently, tenderly, almost imperceptibly, rested my hand on his crotch. Not a squeeze. Just an open resting palm. Slight curvature of the fingers. Spread over his cock and balls. Deathly silence.

This wasn’t how Fair city auditions were supposed to go.

Cockblocker continued speaking the scripted text. But his voice was different. He stuttered. Words weren’t working. Semi-paralysis. His fingers gripped my knuckles to remove the uninvited hand.

But that’s the thing about force.The more relaxed my hand became the more impossible it seemed for him to prise my fingers off his retracting testes. He began shouting the words louder. The words that he had learned so well. The words that he had used to upstage every previous poor bastard looking for a life-saving job. The words that were now betraying him. A bit like his balls.

Behind the camera the producer’s shoulders rocked silently, rhythmically, up and down. Suppressed laughter. The crew looked to each other. Faces frozen in strange shock. Something was happening in the scene. That was certain. But what the hell it was, nobody knew. Or, if it was even legal.

His face now purple, Cockblocker gave up trying to remove my hand. As he continued speaking, the meaning of his dialogue had altered. The subtext of every statement now was a plea to stop. To unhand him. To unfurl him. To stop being a bastard.

As gently as I had cupped my hand on his cotton covered undercarriage, I now removed it and looked at him for the first time. Almost shy. I hesitated then tenderly inhaled his aroma from the tips of my fingers. The aroma was imagined. But the point was made. This was love. Not hate. Vulnerable. Not macho.

I raised the hand with the imaginary aroma and delicately touched my thumb onto his dried lips. He stopped speaking. I had cut him off slightly early but I don’t think the author would have minded. I spoke to him the way you speak to an animal you love. A dog you adore. At the vet. Before he’s put down. I slid the tip of my thumb into his mouth. He didn’t resist. He knew I was willing to kill him. Because I was. The threat delivered.

Nobody knew what to do. The text was over but the scene wasn’t. I held my thumb there. In his mouth. He stared back at me. All pretense gone. I liked him now. I could finally see his potential.

If he dropped the swaggering horseshit he could be a half-decent actor. No Brando. But not bad. The producer let it hang. Like all good producers do. Then he looked up from the monitor. The laughter was gone. No guffaws left. Game over.

I ran out of the Fair City lot. Out of RTÉ. Out of my mind. My kid was going to be lying on that bedsit mattress longer than intended. By the end of that month the welfare folks came around to investigate. Surprisingly nice people. Doing their job. Wanting to know what I had been doing to get off the dole.

Mid way through my stumbling answer there was a knock on the door. The coinbox in the hallway. A phone call. The producer’s assistant. We want to offer you the part.

Later, the producer, a beautiful man, told me he had brought people in to listen to my original answering machine message to him. Wondering what basketcase had balls big enough to leave such a message.

They were different times then. Not as insular. Not as cancerous. Twenty years later I’m still broke, ignorant and desperate. Except now there are four kids. And a dog. And a government determined to destroy lives.

Might have to give RTÉ a bell and swing an audition for a role. Or call the Benefits Office and swing an interview for the dole. Or just join Fine Gael, and swing a welfare recipient from a pole.

Terry McMahon is a homelessness activist, acting coach and award-winning film director. Follow Terry on Twitter: @Terrymcmahon69

Previously: Apollo House, Simon Coveney And Lying For A Living

195 thoughts on “‘Grab ‘Em By The Balls’

  1. Terry McMahon

    To all you gorgeous trolls in advance.

    I am the illiterate fool who penned that previous dog turd on Simon Coveney that you so kindly critiqued. No doubt your will do likewise with this faeces too. Thank you for the awakening you have inspired then. And thank you in advance for the one you will inspire now. You are correct in every cancerous comment. It is refreshing to have a such group of truth-seekers finally reveal me for the self-important, lying, narcissistic, pig-dog-hack that I am. (I am also mostly sexually impotent. And, on the rare occasions I’m not, I’m a terrible lover anyway.)

    Your literary knowledge is staggeringly accurate. Your insight into the mucky motivations behind my self elevation is revelatory. It’s as if you have been living inside me for decades. How the psychology experts among you have not been plucked up for paid post graduate residences at John Hopkins is incomprehensible. And don’t get me started on the literary minded among you. Sufficeth to say, Princeston’s loss is our gain.

    For you I have decided to do the noble thing and kill myself, lest another pretentious sentence should ever escape these failed filthy fingernails. (See? Such sickening alliteration. I can’t help myself.) But I beseech you to continue your courageous work. Your creative contribution to society is unequalled. And future generations will surely acknowledge your brilliance.

    Keep making magic.

    1. bertie "The Inexplicable Pleasure" blenkinsop

      Don’t kill yourself Terry, you look like somebody photoshopped David McWilliams hair on to a pug, that’s got to be a reason to go on living.

    2. Happy Molloy

      Fair play for ringing that producer and getting yourself that audition, you found yourself in a tough spot and showed some real drive.

      Maybe it’s just your writing style but you seem really intense and adversarial. Not a criticism, just an observation.

      1. MoyestWithExcitement

        Well seeing as a bunch of self important no marks decided they were in a position to lecture him about writing style and judge his personality (like you’re doing right there), it’s understandable he might decide to pre-empt the petty attacks from the Brain Trust.

    3. mildred st. meadowlark

      Wow. You might want to take a step back there and chill out buddy.

      If you don’t like critique, why put yourself out there at all? If this is your reaction, then is it worth it?

      You really need to take these things with a pinch of salt. And possibly also get a firm grip of yourself.

      And your little sarky superior temper tantrum up there does you no favours, unless you actually wanted to sound like Trump doing his usual twitter strop. Though your vocabulary and grasp of the English language is miles better than his, in fairness.

    4. Kenny U-Vox Plank

      Wow. It’s like Brendan O’Connor never went to school.

      However, “For you I have decided to do the noble thing and kill myself, ” is an insult to people who really suffer.

    5. Shayna

      Are you not just a tad pre-judgey on it. I enjoyed your piece. I’ve been through the doors of Montrose and it’s a step-back in time. I was trying to flog projection screens and projectors for an ‘Art Show’ that was never commissioned. That arrogance that you met with your producer, I can empathatize. Camera operators and technicians favoured the look of Moses Sandals with Argyle socks, accompanied with cordurory blazers.
      I think it’s great what you’ve done.

    6. Rowsdower

      I’m not sure what the point of this article or this comment were but, are you bragging about committing sexual assault?

  2. Daisy Chainsaw

    As someone who’s done auditions before, if anyone had touched me like that without prior explicit permission, s/he’d be eating the chair.

    Not big, not clever, and nothing to brag about.

    1. Steph Pinker

      When I saw the title, I thought it was about Trump meeting Putin and I wondered how he’d managed to get away with it…

    1. superbad@memes

      You’re not alone Frillz.

      Confused as F….
      It oughtn’t be this hard, but somehow…

      BEST POST EVER ON BULLSHEET.
      hundred and four percent, if not more.

      (And before you ask, no…
      Just like Shaggy, it wasn’t me.)

      Terry, stop acting, keep writing.
      You’re almost like me already.

  3. Mrs S

    What over-written nonsense!

    I’m sure there’s a good point buried in there somewhere, but I really think you should give your text to someone to edit.

    At the minute, you come across like Jeremy Clarkson or Alan Partridge.

    1. Frilly Keane

      well that just killed it
      flipping Clarkson!!!!!!!!
      Partridge

      jesus t’night

      here get Johnny into his tightie whitie there

      1. Mrs S

        If Bodger or the Broadsheet crew are looking for a title for this series of articles, this would be perfect!

  4. rotide

    Ahh, 20 years ago.

    The dark dark days of 1997 when poverty was rife on the streets of Dublin. Sure what choice did you have to be on social welfare with houses sometimes costing as much as 60 grand and the economy in such a bad place they would go on to give it a name as to live up to its horror. The Celtic Tiger, who wouldn’t be terrified by just the sound of it?

    Small wonder that an economy expanding at only just under 10% per year would trap people in such a dystopian social welfare state.

    Yours
    Someone who remembers the 80s.

    1. Ross

      Haha brilliant! He seems to be blaming everyone else for his predicament except himself.

  5. Common Sense

    The viper trolls must get a google alert every time Terry McMahon writes something. Lads & lassies, come on, show us some of your own implied literary genius by actually writing something yourselves. (I can’t wait.)

  6. francis almond

    Terry McMahon is so real he makes my balls ache. I’ve never been with a man… but I’m sure my balls would ache like this if I was… and he was a no nonsense, devil may care bastard like this frankly ROCK HARD Terry character.

        1. HappyWinklePie@memes.com

          I’m off on one of me rants
          (Why do no words rhyme with ‘rants’?)
          At the end of the day
          It’s the second best way
          To forget the tinkle-too in me pants*

          *trousers

          I made a proper mess there, just now, didn’t I?
          (I did!)

  7. Barry the Hatchet

    I’m not sure if this story had a point, but I enjoyed reading it. It put me in mind of the character of The Street from Prime Suspect 5.

  8. Dave

    Partridge-esque. Needless to say, Terry had the last laugh.

    Intriguing combo of unusual writing-style and getting digs in first in the comment section. Very odd. I wouldn’t put my writing out for public consumption if I was as easily upset by criticism as Terry appears to be. The suicide threats are worrying at best and in poor taste at worst.

  9. Tony

    I’d say Terry would suck a Gaia melon through a length of garden hose then wipe the juice from his mouth with the pelt of a timber wolf he strangled earlier.. He’s like Van Damme in those Coors commercials. He’s Ireland’s Tommy Wiseau. I lLIKE HIM A LOT

  10. Frilly Keane

    Ah here
    ye’re bloody useless
    30 odd posts in and none a’ye’s asked who da’ f
    is CockBlocker

    1. Tony

      Cockblocker is everyone who is not Terry. You are Cockblocker. I am Cockblocker. We are all Cockblocker.

      1. Frilly Keane

        ah sur thats no fun
        I was hoping for a bitta’ve a now big famous Film Star
        like
        that started off being a stunt man on Fair City

        any chance it could Fassbender

          1. Frilly Keane

            Tech
            Is that all

            Fassbender wouldn’t made for a great story

            – grabbing a Kerry Ape by the boo boos

          2. Frilly Keane

            Oops didn’t have me glasses on there

            Tsk
            Fassbender would have made for a great party piece

            In fairness like

    2. Clampers Outside

      Not sure it was used in the strictest sense. Originally it meant someone who got in the way of a guy getting the ride.

      Dunno what ride Terry was hopin’ for… at an audition tho, in fairness… :)

    3. Rowsdower

      Nobody care because he doesn’t exist, this whole situation seems like it was invented in his head in a bizarre attempt to make him seem likable.

  11. Common Sense

    We’re blessed as a nation, that we have so many critics of unquestionable genius in the ranks of our Broadsheet commentariat. Never mind that this savvy of geniuses have never written anything of substance in their collective lives. Why should they? Why, they don’t even need to discuss the actual topic of a piece. Everyone knows that real geniuses always attack the man and not the ball. Everyone knows that messenger-shooting is for REAL men & women (and literary geniuses). Everyone knows that a real man always remains anonymous when he displays his literary genius and penchant for cleverness. Exposing oneself as an author, is only for naive fools, right? Note to the geniuses: Have I used too many big words? Does my tone upset you? Please, I need you to set me straight. School me in your collective genius. Teach me the art of distraction and sophistry. Teach me how to avoid the point of a debate. Teach me how to elevate myself by denouncing someone else. Literary geniuses; I await my first lesson. Yours in giddy anticipation.

    1. Dave

      Everyone who write publicly puts themselves or their work out there for criticism of topic, tone, content or style; by anyone. The writer is free to read, engage with or ignore any comments or criticism. You seem to think the critics require certain qualifications and must stick to the topic proposed by the author. Bizarre point of view.

      1. Common Sense

        When ‘critics’ meander and amble away from the point and topic of an original piece, comments sections become battlefields for pseudo-intellectual messenger-shooting keyboard heroes. Anyone fancy discussing yet another aspect of Terry’s writing & his personality, at the expense of the points, even a ten year old can grasp. Am I annoying you trolls? Teach me how to be one. I await your magnificent contributions to all things kind.

        1. Frilly Keane

          Yeah
          ya know what tho

          ITS THE INTERNET
          ,i>comment sections becoming battlefields for pseudo-intellectual messenger-shooting keyboard heroes
          is the entire point

        2. Dave

          Great example. You have a condescending posting style. This detracts and distracts from any points you attempt to make. Terry has similar issues with his writing. You can’t expect readers to ignore this and happily mine the dross for nuggets of meaning.

          1. Common Sense

            Ha ha. Thanks Dave for more stunning literary insights. (That genuinely cracked me up.) : )

      2. Frilly Keane

        ah now Dave
        I’m gonna assume that’s for Come’on Sense there
        ’cause there’s no effin way you can pin that onta me

    2. Happy Molloy

      sorry but what is being debated? it’s a story about how you got yourself together for you’re kid which is admirable, and highlighting how much you hate fine Gael which is your opinion. Don’t see the debate yet?

      But fair fecks for writing, it’s good to see new contributions and to put yourself out there is brave.

          1. jusayinlike

            I agree, really nice ring to it.. Fine Gael are scum.. like a chorus to a catchy song

          2. Happy Molloy

            there’s a t-shirt in it too. you’ll make a fortune. remember to declare it to revenue.

  12. Verbatim

    Two points I’d like to make 1) it pays to go last and 2) I’d say he’s good in bed.

        1. mildred st. meadowlark

          True.

          I was busy with my extreme quilting club until an hour or so ago.

        2. sǝɯǝɯʇɐpɐq

          Happy
          ’til is the proper abbreviation of until.
          It is the proper way to spell it if you’re beginning a sentence.

          Sometimes you’re hard to decipher.

          Waste yourself less than two minutes here…
          Weekends are short.

          1. Happy Molloy

            Thanks memes. I do enjoy some constructive criticism and I do struggle with spelling.

            however, I seldom follow links so I cannot comment on the quality of the items you have shared but I thank you none the less.

  13. sparkilicious

    Kind of reminds me of when I rang up a 1550 sexline called ”The butcher put his meat on the board” (or something liked that) on my parents’ dial-up phone in the 1990s when they were out one Sunday afternoon.

  14. Happy Molloy

    I just re-read this in the voice of Mickey Rourke’s character from Sin City and it worked pretty well

  15. italia'90

    Do some people have to put others down so they can feel superior and better about themselves?
    Is that a thing? Has it always been that way or is it just in comment sections?
    Is this what happens on the Journal and Youtube?
    …Is this my stop?
    Where’s the damn button for the bell!?
    Is this even my bus?
    When I get home I’m going straight onto Redtube and read the comment sections (on any Irish streams I can find) as it must be the only place I know where the comments are super positive and just so nice and complimentary about all the actors, no matter what your taste or preferences.

    Fair play to Terry for expressing himself and not hiding behind an anonymous profile.
    And to all the others who do likewise, even you Dan.

    1. musing@memes.com

      At my hen, Italian one hundred and ninety something or something else completely eh…
      …who brought the chicken?

      Think about it…

    2. Rob_G

      Gives out about others commenting from anonymous profiles, by commenting using an anonymous profile…

  16. unremarkable@memes.com

    Everything I do…
    I do it four queue
    And also, four queue U2 too.

    Bobo is a deadly singer, admittedly.
    His wife is okay, I suppose.
    I haven’t met his kids, yet.
    …but their music is, eh… How can I put it?
    (It keeps me up all night, Oasis fans.)

  17. Blah

    On another reread, I really feel the need to tell the author to just piss off.

    A point in his life comes when “It was time for something bold. Audacious. Drastic.” once his kid had been born.
    So he was jobless and living in a bedsit for 9 months of his partner’s pregnancy before deciding it was time to do something about the situation?
    That’s a nice forward thinking vision you got there.

    Then he says he had “no formal education” and “no experience”, so was he stopped from going to school or did he decide himself to drop out?
    From memory there was people screaming out for builders and the country was at full employment during the 90s.
    And the dole had the gall to ask was he looking for work? That’s their job!

    He gives the impression that everyone before him at the audition are from a different strata of society but here he comes,
    ready to run away from self doubt, and decides to use sexual intimidation to make his point against the supposed injustices he’s experiencing?
    Actually writing that the other person was so uncomfortable with the situation that they tried pushing his hand away but he forcefully kept it there?
    Fantasizing that the feeling happening at the time must be what it’s like to have sex with a man, “Where I dominate. Where I show what it means to be macho”.
    Throw in am implied threat of violence and this humdinger: “But what the hell it was, nobody knew. Or, if it was even legal.”. WTF?

    It’s bizarre that he would write an article detailing this and a bit disturbing that broadsheet would go ahead and publish it, regardless of how many alliterations it contains.

    Cards on the table, I think Coveney is a ladypart and Varadkar is a twit, FF should be relegated to the dustbin of history,
    the less said about Labour the better, and most arms of government need an overhaul. I would be a bit of a lefty as they say.

    But this above, as someone who is broke, currently jobless and with an education gained in Tallaght,
    lest you think I’m from the upper echelons of the hoi polloi (and I have no problem whatsoever with being educated in Tallaght)
    I haven’t read such narcissistic, self aggrandizing crap in a long time.
    I also thought the author’s Simon Coveney article was interesting, so no, I’m not just here to troll him.

    As was pointed out above, that time period was one of the most beneficial times to the country as a whole,
    so what exactly had the author done beforehand to end up in that position and how much of it was from his own choice?
    At what stage is your own mess your fault rather than everyone else’s?

    You can sum up the above article by “Everyone was out to get me, but I showed them what-for with intimidation because I’m a bad-ass.”,
    I really don’t understand what the point of this article is. It’s alright to abuse people if they’re perceived assholes?

    The really strange thing is that “cockblocker” term he keeps making. does he know what it means?

      1. mildred st. meadowlark

        I’d really rather he didn’t, else we’ll end up with another self-righteous rant. How dare we offer criticism on something he has written and put out there for public consumption.

        As I said before, if he doesn’t like what people have to say, why put it out there at all? You have to take the good with the bad, and his style isn’t to some people’s taste.

        I say this as someone who has been writing creatively, for my own pleasure, for over 20 years. You will get critiqued, and no, not all of it will be nice. That’s the nature of sharing it with people, and not all recognition is good.

        1. bertie "The Inexplicable Pleasure" blenkinsop

          I’d love to read your stuff Mildred *

          * not an euphemism

          1. mildred st. meadowlark

            Maybe some day I’ll get over myself and share something on BS.

            I expect it to be thoroughly lambasted :)

    1. sǝɯǝɯʇɐpɐq

      @ Blah, etc.

      You can learn all you like in Tallaght.
      I’m actually in Tallaght right now and I could teach you some stuff, but I digress, too often, so that’s off then…
      What was I talking about again..? Oh yeah…

      Not ALL literature should be taken literally.
      There’s this thing called ‘humour;;. You might have heard of it…

      It doesn’t mattress.
      Nothing really does.

        1. Blah

          Thanks for the offer. I know all I need to about cirrhosis though.
          And nothing really matters to me.

    1. spudnick

      Bad writing about creepy self-aggrandisement is off limits now? Let’s say he was your personal nemesis, a ‘right winger’. Would you be defending the writing style then?

  18. Brendan

    Terry McMahon 2012: I wrote over 100 episodes of Fair City. Fair City is appallingly disrespectful and patronising to the working class.

  19. Eamonn Clancy

    Terry, this self centred rant is the answer to a question nobody asked. We don’t care, most of us have been there.

    1. sǝɯǝɯʇɐpɐq

      I wish I knew how to change my avatar.
      I wish it was possible to submit a subtle joke, but hide it behind your name, dynamically.

      If wishes were dreams I’d be asleep. No joking.

  20. :-Joe

    So what, he’s telling a story, his writing style is not liked by some or he’s just having a rant about life on the dole.

    Terry has attcked coveney and the establishment directly for the shambolic disgrace that they are and I’m sure I’m not the only one to notice that there’s quite a few new commentators not ususally seen around these parts that are attacking him back on thier behalf.

    The rest of them without a fair argument are using lazy ad hominem attacks and are just being classist or acting like cultural snobs.

    :-J

      1. :-Joe

        I was right about the sudden wave of abuse from a lot of new commentators, eh ?

        I thought it had the whiff of the FF/FG freelance cyber warfare division…

        :-J

        1. Lilly

          If you don’t recognise the names of some of the people commenting here, maybe it’s because you haven’t been around long enough.

          1. :-Joe

            I’ve been reading BS for around 10 years….

            Seems longer when I think of the time wasted trying to understand some peoples inane ramblings and strange attitudes…

            :-J

          2. What do I get?

            What do you not get?

            9 o’clock…I’m going to have to get meself to the offy.
            English is beautiful. Toe tall E superbesr words icon spell.

          1. :-Joe

            Ye sure, more like a fraction compared to all the negative comments.

            Apart from a few reasonable arguments there’s lot of establishment apologists and people with vindictive class driven spite being thrown around.

            Plenty of ordinary decent people too

            :-J

          2. Fully Keen

            His first post about Fine Gael was thesaurus heavy. This post was actually a good read. Griping/groping even. But his need to dive into comments to defend is cringe City. I also seem to have the first comment on his Fine Gael post. I stand by every letter.

            This post was better. But I find his flippant use of the word suicide is heavy handed given the history of actual suicide on broadsheet. I like him. I don’t think he likes himself. Maybe he should avoid checking the comments after his Bodger approved posts. He appears to not like criticism.

      1. :-J

        Just out of personal choice, habit and by way of a reminder that whatever I write(and read) online should not be taken as anything more than “tongue-in-cheek” at worst.

        & Also to appear silly and annoying to some people.

        We always need more silliness it’s just a tough break if that annoys you.

        :-J

      2. :-Joe

        Just out of personal choice, habit and by way of a reminder that whatever I write(and read) online should not be taken as anything more than “tongue-in-cheek” at worst.

        & Also to appear silly and annoying to some people.

        We always need more silliness it’s just a tough break if that annoys you.

        :-J

      3. :-Joe

        & Also because the art of letter writing is almost dead to most people.

        “Social media” has convinced the majority to dumb themselves down in echo chambers of nonsense in ways I never thought possible.

        The likes of twitter promotes concision in communication which is a tool of mass control of information, ideas, thought and the tried and trusted method of oppression by establishment media propagandists.

        People communicate and understand each other better when they are allowed to express themselves fully.

        The most intelligent use of twitter and the best thing ever written in a tweet was :

        ” I’m having a bad case of diarrhea right now ”

        ..well you did ask.

        :-J

  21. Lilly

    Based on what he has written here, he’s clearly comfortable with sexual assault as a means of asserting himself. It’s a measure of the dysfunctionality of RTE that he was given a second glance after his abusive carry on.

    It is tragic that some of the most vulnerable in our society, ie homeless people were exposed to such a shady character in the name of self-appointed activism.

  22. Dermie

    Did anything exciting happen at the end of this post as I couldn’t get past the first few paragraphs…

    1. Lilly

      The 30-year-old ‘kid’ got a job in RTE and went on to have a further three kids. Edgy.

  23. Terry McMahon

    Hear about the peanut that stumbled onto Broadsheet?
    It was a-salted.

    Thank you for your insights. And your facts. And your knowledge. Once again it is powerful antidote to mediocrity to have one’s shallow soul revealed in such sublime company.

    Leaving aside the accurate accusations of being a lousy hack aside the interesting aspect of the piece on Simon Coveney was the sustained insistence that I was also a lying asshole. And this insistence of lying was presented as a statement of fact. An absolute. Despite the irrelevant fact that none of those who insisted they knew facts were in the room. Or in Apollo House. Or in Home Sweet Home. Or anywhere within my vicinity. For such meticulous evisceration it also seems bizarre that there were fifteen people in that negotiating room who contest none of those days facts. But you are right. And everyone else wrong. That piece remains a document of lies. A spurious fiction. A figment of a fool’s imagination.

    The second article did have some fiction in it. And spurious it was too. There was no assault. Just like there was no peanut. I put my hand on his knee. Nowhere else. Yet nobody felt the need to expose that agenda suiting fallacy. That non-fact.

    As for critical appraisal, the fact that you would take time out of your complex life to read the musings of this moron is more than enough compensation for any and all criticism.

    No doubt these words will make you think I’m a bigger nonce than you already do – if that’s possible – but thank you for your post truth and please do keep making your magnificent magic.

    1. Terry McMahon

      …and please forgive incorrect spelling or other mess-ups, this was finger-tapped into an old phone almost as dodgy as my writings.

      1. bertie "The Inexplicable Pleasure" blenkinsop

        Terry McMahon doesn’t dial the wrong number. You answered the wrong phone.

        When Terry McMahon turned 18, his parents moved out.

        When Terry McMahon was born he drove his ma home from the hospital

        etc etc

    2. Lilly

      If the company here is not sufficiently sublime for you, might I suggest you submit your short stories to Granta instead.And thank you for the encouragement to ‘keep making magnificent magic’, especially since it’s obvious you imagine you’re addressing the hoi polloi, or a bunch of philistines at least. I can but return the compliment and urge you to keep those gems, such as Charlie Casanova, coming.

  24. Lilly

    I’ve probably been dropping in here as long as yourself Clampers but this is the first time I’ve seen Broadsheet seriously put a foot wrong.

    Why give this silly a platform for his noxious outpourings. I hope the rooms in Apollo house had locks lest one of the residents had the temerity to wee him off or fail to treat him with due deference.

    Is he still on Fair City? Water finds it’s own level for sure. Still a gravy train is a gravy train, I suppose – not that different than FF, FG or whatever you’re having yourself.

    1. :-Joe

      You’re taking this way too seriously…

      An aspiring film / TV script writer decides to send in another post with a personal story….

      Broadsheet decides.. what the hell, we give all sorts of clowns a chance and let them back on a weekly basis…. take Derek Mooney the PR spin doctor extrordinaire turned social justice warrior and wise sage for the futer common good… as an example…

      Keyboard warriors lose the plot…

      Some more than others…

      The End.

      Broadsheet Productions LTD 2017

      :-J

  25. Astain

    No love lost on the BS troll,wherein the little bs resides, the ‘b’,as in ‘broad’ ? Perhaps ,cause ain’t seen no ‘ladies’ in here
    No gentlemen neither ( I mean you’re cool and articulate and all, but what are you , like, really?)
    And the poo
    You know as in, bull(go fupp your self censors I’ll write my own …)
    So no love lost on the trolls then, it’s cause we write good isn’t it?
    It’s cause we’re always right though isn’t it?
    Can’t be cause we’re wasted here when we could be , I dunno , makin our own stuff.
    Is it ?
    Who could love a dirty troll ? Hey ugly troll, why so slovenly? Blasted dregs , why so lazy?
    Anybody got a light ?
    Got a ride? Oops somebody wrote ride!
    But you’re all thinkin it anyway . Cause let’s face it, he’s beautiful.
    Or the time? Who’s got the time ? Or much time . Left.
    For that matter , eyes?
    Come to mention it,has anybody seen poor Joan ?
    Still , much love for the broadsheet troll, this bs stroll , the write,
    Jesus when you write you’re beautiful
    Do you know that , that when you pick it up and write somethin, you’re beautiful ,
    Even you, troll.
    And the fight , the gift .always come back, always write, even if they’re wrong and it’s not actually broadsheet poopy, cause t’s still right,
    And you, you’re still a troll
    But.
    Always fight .
    Cause nobody’s nothin. And everybody’s got a pencil left, right?

    1. Bertie Brokeback Mounting.

      At last, finally 4 the first time someone came up with the affront to come from behind and take the lead, following the true leaders, setting the pace and being the first, staying ahead and watching everyone else’s back at the same time
      (Or something.)

      If you can pencil I might rubber.
      If I had more cents I could get a dollar, but change doesn’t come easy.

      Can I just say this is the second time I’ve ever been on television?
      Okay then.
      I won’t bother.

      1. A stain

        Always Bother.
        Bother til it bleeds. Your use of the word ‘rubber ‘ as opposed to ‘eraser’ made my day better.
        This is my second time between these…

    1. Lilly

      Seems so, our very own Bobby Ewing. The real story is he had an aunt working in makeup.

  26. Chris

    Terry McMahon is a pack of cigarettes shakily torn open after a shocking diagnosis.

    1. Chris

      ….he is the face you make when drinking a can of cider in the cold November rain.*

      *(to the moderator who deleted this last time, it was not an insult, it is a metaphor, an abstract metaphor to embody Terry’s own tone and being based on his own experiences as described by him. It is namely a metaphor for that which is something you should be able to enjoy were it not for life’s harsh realities, obviously it went way over your head, since you purged it from internet and record alike)

      1. Bernie

        I’ve read your comment three times and I have no idea what your weird ‘metaphor’ is all about. Is it some artsy fartsy thing or what? It sounds like an insult right enough

  27. Lilly

    I’ve just read the Simon Coveney piece and couldn’t agree with it more. Why didn’t they get an undertaking in writing before pulling out of Apollo house? Why not earmark another building and start the occupation afresh.

    1. Clampers Outside

      It’s a party… yay!

      “Put that Orbital track on…” said one lad
      “Which one…” says I

      “Cock Blockin’ Bleats”

      I put the needle on, and got me coat

    1. bertie "The Inexplicable Pleasure" blenkinsop

      One of my neighbour’s kids is called Max.
      The unfortunate child’s full name is Maximus Decimus Meridius (Surname withheld).

  28. Casey

    I read:
    I like using my kids as justification for sexual assault and trivialising suicide.

    Oh good. We’re don’t have enough people with poisonous attitudes like that about the place.

  29. Taking Allsorts To Town And Back Again.

    @ Basset
    The thing you did yesterday is why I’ll hound you forever.
    You know what I’m talking about.

    Nobody should be that stupid, but you….

    1. A stain

      You mean Gary Oldman in the mirror would be a bad thing? Or maybe the sarcasm’s lost on me, but Johnny Depp’s hardly a flaw and I’d no doubt _ (appropriate f word or similar) Gary Oldman.
      Just sayin’ . , also who can know with any degree of accuracy much about the thoughts thought in anybody else’s own mind?

      1. Lilly

        I get it. They think they’re pulling off a Jeff-Buckley-if-he-had-lived, aging rock star vibe but the rest of us are seeing Matress Mick.

  30. A stain

    Again, must be me with the blurry vision , cause Mattress Mick is a beautiful man. Too.

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