Eoin Costigan

It feels really crass to try and delude myself right now, so...

RIP Eamon Sean Costigan
Loving father, husband, and brother.
November 5, 1976 - April 13, 2010 (approx.)

Part of me wants to keep on believing he's still out there somewhere, but... let's be honest, even with the powers thing, the chances of him showing up two years later without severe mental scarring are pretty slim, even if he is alive. Maybe it would even be better if he was dead, the alternative could be worse.

In other news, I'm eighteen. Shame I'm not in the mood for partying.

I need another job. Anyone know where I can find one? Preferably one which pays above minimum wage?

Failing that, does anyone have a rich family member who might want to adopt me and remember me in their will?

I jest, I jest, but seriously, you'd think I could make up the extra by not buying booze, but it seems not. I hate the real world. I'd like to go back to happy cheerful drunk-land, please. Happy cheerful drunk-land, or possibly Ireland, which is unhappy cheerful drunk-land. Holy fuck look at those financial figures.

Point stands, though. I need a job. I'd say I was at my wits' end, but I have no wits, so that's okay.

My hours are basically night-shifts any day of the week. I'm super-skilled at most things and I can lift small children over my head one-handed. TELL YOUR FRIENDS!

Sinne Fianna Fáil,
atá faoi gheall ag Éirinn!
Buíon dár slua
thar toinn do ráinig chughainn!
Faoi mhóid bheith saor
Seantír ár sinsear feasta
Ní fhágfar faoin tíorán ná faoin tráill!

Happy St Paddy's day, begorrah! Now, with all due respect to the fact that I'm underage and on the wagon, how's about we raise a glass of something totally non-alcoholic* to the day, and I'll get up on a table and start dancing an Irish jig while singing the National Anthem and speaking entirely in Gaelic. Today, I have every intention of out-Irishing the Lucky Charms leprechaun, to be sure, bejaysis.

Ian McScottishface, your presence is required. I celebrated Burns Night for you, you should definitely come and do non-alcoholic* shots with me and pretend you don't hate the Emerald Isle.

And someone with money should come, too, because I totally can't afford to actually have fun right now.



*It's alcoholic

After the assembly yesterday, I can't help feeling like I've been missing the obvious.

They have government powers. The people running the school now, I mean. They have government powers, plus they have powers to go back and memory-wipe people, apparently, and God knows what else. And they're interested in my powers. I mean, not just mine, but they are interested in my powers, like, what happens when I get emotional.

My da did the same thing. I mean, he wasn't anything like as prone to it as I've been, but there was one time in Gaza he went berserk; he told me about it when he was home on leave after. He took down two guys bare-handed with a bullet in his shoulder. I know it's not, like, the level of crazy shit I'm at, but... he'd only been back in action a couple of weeks when he went MIA.

What if these people aren't the only group who do stuff like this? What if there are people like that in the army? Or stationed in the Middle East?

He could still be alive!

Please don't tell me I'm dreaming. This is the happiest thought I've had in years.

Wake s monday Night at murphys bar. I kno wnot many of yuo knew my uncel but if you did even a bit pease feell free to come

and Im sorry i was sucg a dick the other ngiht. i was really drubk. im just sick of biegn the respondible one adn peoplr are hardd to desl with right nowe. i thinkg i needsome timre alone.

SO Unecle brendans dead

adn the huose is ruined and ther's a car stukc in te wall

and teres no fuckingboze left

hlaf of i ts inteh carept

aunt K wont stop crying anDi tor up das' pgoto anf i shuld be at woerk buut i Cant and everyhting is jsut

help

help

hlep oh jesus idont' nowhat to do

Seriously, does anyone else want to punch me?

TOUGH SHIT because I already have two black eyes, you are all denied the pleasure of giving me a black eye until I achieve the opening of the Third Eye. At which point someone will undoubtedly blacken that one as well.

So if you see me around the place wearing sunglasses, pay me... let's say fifty cents, and I will take them off and show you the wonder that is "Tired Hungover Panda-Man".

Awesomeman no longer needs a domino mask, either. He already has one bruised into his face.

I can keep with the terrible not-really-jokes about my insane panda-eyes all day, people.

( Private to Lisa )

I have a truly astounding black eye right now. Like, seriously, guys, I'm half-blind here. I don't even get how that is possible. I warn you largely so that when I come into school tomorrow looking like Quasimodo, hunching to fit through doorframes and gabbling indecipherably (as always), I can avoid small children running from my monstrous visage and the Biology department taking me in for scientific investigation as the missing link.

Who'd'a thunk you could get a bruise like that by tripping and falling on a barstool? Possibly I should stop getting shitfaced quite so much quite so often quite so soon after practice.

But on the other hand, no. Om nom nom for my delicious liver failure in a bottle. Who's with me?

*crickets*

I'll just be in my corner over here...

I am going to say this once. Slowly. For the hard of thinking. (Speaking of, Azimio, did you get my present? It's a cracking good read, I thoroughly enjoyed it)

Ahem. Sorry. I digress.

Jacob ben Israel, if you do not stop slandering my friends, I will not do anything hideously violent which might get me arrested, nor will I bother my bosses with a case for libel or invasion of privacy. However, I will make your life a living hell.

Believe me, ben Israel. I have five siblings. I know all about how to make life difficult for people.

( Private to Artie )

( Private to Brittany )

Hey, guys, guess what night it is tonight?

IT'S BURNS NIGHT!

In celebration, I shall go out drinking and end up thoroughly plastered.

"But Eoin," I hear you cry, "isn't that what you do every night?"

Why yes, fine citizens. Yes, it is. But you see, tonight shall be different. For tonight I shall go out drinking, end up thoroughly plastered, and not slag off Scotland at any point. I may even eat a haggis. I draw the line at bagpipes, though - we may have invented them, but Scotland can damn well keep them.

Ian, you should come with me, because it is a night for Scottishness and I require a token Scot. Also because you need to take advantage of the one day in the year which I will not spend teasing you mercilessly for your Scottishness.

In fact, everyone should come with me. And all the men should wear kilts. And we should take a round trip to Azimio's house and insult him with our skirt-wearing ways.

OCH AYE THA NOO. And similarly Scottish things.

Awesomeman has a vital question for you, citizens. The very fate of our world may hang in the balance. The question is as follows:

Uncle Brendan and Aunt Katie are headed out to a New Year's Eve party tomorrow. Do I go with them, or do I use my awesome powers of awesome to somehow produce an awesome house party of awesome in the Awesomecave?

By which I mean; practically infinite booze, free run of the house, and I guess music is easy to arrange - would any of you come or would I have to drink all the booze myself while I cried in my lonely little corner of lonely? Because, I'll be honest, not that I don't love the lonely corner, but that would sadden me a little. Short notice sucks.

(I can't believe they waited until the thirtieth to tell me I had the house to myself and could have a party in it. Bullshit, man. Bull-freaking-shit. Have either of them ever even had a house party? I know I never have before, but that's beside the point, shut up.)

Oh my god. I have the hangover from hell, you have no idea.

Go away, Uncle Brendan. stop being fucking merry. Christmas is over. Shut the fuck up.

So the presents I sent finally got to Ireland, which is a relief, because I was worried they'd get stuck in the Christmas post and not make it on time. It's a bit of a weird thought, though - I'm not going to be home for Christmas, and I'm not going to get any presents from my family, either (Uncle Brendan and Aunt Katie hopefully aside) because I told them not to waste the money sending them, so they're being held until I get back. With permission to eat perishables, of course.

But seriously. I hadn't really thought about this before, but this is going to be my first Christmas outside Skibbereen. I guess I'll just have to spend it roaring drunk. You know, like I've spent every Christmas since I was about thirteen? What else is Christmas for!

It's for midnight mass, is the answer. Is anyone else Catholic and planning on staying up stupid late for that on Christmas Eve? Or is that not a thing that happens over here? Is that just crazy Irish people being crazy and Irish?

Either way. Midnight mass and then booze all day with a short break for Skype-age, that's my plans for Christmas, what are yours?

So my computer has been successfully restored to me. By which I mean a ~mysterious benefactor~ lent me the money for the down-payment on a new and better one. So all's well that ends well, and maybe this one won't fucking crash every ten minutes. Here's hoping!

So I have a new Windows but I do still have a broken window. Seriously. My uncle's getting a guy in to fix it, but apparently he can't come out until tomorrow, and it's fucking freezing in my room right now, you have no idea. Who'd'a thunk a little crack like that could let in so much fucking COLD?

This has been your daily Eoin Bulletin. Enjoy your day, citizens, safe in the knowledge that Awesomeman once again has his super-advanced technology available to him to FIGHT EVIL. Even if it isn't actually hooked up properly yet and I am once again writing from the office. Thank God secretarial work includes computers!

( Private to Quinn )

So. Heard you got in a fight with Olivia. Want to talk about it? [/private]

fuckfucfuckfuckfuckfuckfucccccck

she found me how the hell did she find me oh god fuck fuck fuuuuuuck

how dare she HOW FUCKING DARE SHE??



[[OOC: Directly after posting this, Eoin smashed his computer, so assume all replies are delayed a few hours]]

Consider this an education in the fine art of Irish humour.

I feel like someone punched me. And then stamped on me. And then punched me some more. And possibly set me on fire for some indeterminate period during all that.

I don't think I'm going to be in school tomorrow, you guys.

Should I write home about this? I mean, it's not going to do Ma any good, or the kids. They'll just be worrying about me. Oh, man, what do I do now?

Happy birthday, Da.

And on that note, I'm off to get shitfaced. And work out what the hell you do in memoriam for someone with no grave and no places to remember them by this side of the planet.

You know what's fun?

Finally getting paid for the hours spent shuffling the motherfucking papers, and your laptop becoming so overwhelmed by the excitement that it promptly suffers a fatal heart attack and expires in delight. Seriously, man, what the fuck? And what malign force of evil maliciousness decided to simultaneously endow me with the flu? I mean, seriously, I'm Irish, I'm meant to be fucking invincible.

Because of that bullshit, I couldn't afford a Halloween costume. Luckily, I'm scary enough already.

So, now that I'm totally out of the loop, what wacky goings-on did I miss out on?

This perfectly sums up my feelings on the subject, and I have nothing more to say. Thank you, and good night.