Anton Mochtas

Tue, 14 Jul 2026 23:31:08 +0100

Fabric 01: Peptides & Creatine

Sat, 11 Jul 2026 00:56:56 +0100

“Hello my friend,” said Eddie in a Kerry accent. “How can I be of assistance, mang?”

“I need food,” I said, feeling the weakness now, not just from the absence of eating, but from the memory of the Italian saucy bread and the amount of time that had stretched between it and whatever came next.

Sat, 11 Jul 2026 00:40:45 +0100

I hadn’t realised where the sound of the radio had entered my consciousness, but I found myself in a pawn shop, seemingly having walked the seven blocks from 47th & Vine. Eddie Guerrero stood behind the vitrine. A sign on the glass read: “DON’T LEAN ON THE SERKAPHAGUS”.

Sat, 11 Jul 2026 00:09:07 +0100

I could hear the Corrs on the radio we are so young now we are so young so young now thinking how Asian they sounded and noticing how Asian a couple of them actually looked if you what wat I mean. For Irish broads I mean.

Fri, 10 Jul 2026 23:59:12 +0100

I wandered the streets of Port Renault looking for a place that served anything resembling nourishment, but every doorway seemed to lead back to the same room with a different wallpaper. A waiter in a perfectly pressed green uniform kept apologising and telling me the kitchen was “almost ready”.

Fri, 10 Jul 2026 23:49:42 +0100

I took the Guy Fieri to Roscoff and then rode the Jamie Lee Curtis all the way to Port Renault. By the time I arrived, there was nowhere to get food and I was starving, having not eaten since the upside-down Italian saucy bread we chowed down on at that place on 47th & Vine.

Tue, 07 Jul 2026 21:20:20 +0100

it’s the hills that make the Swiss roll

Tue, 07 Jul 2026 20:55:35 +0100

The National Phantom

Tue, 07 Jul 2026 14:11:08 +0100

shout out to my eggs

Tue, 07 Jul 2026 00:53:05 +0100

All that and more, this week on Worlds Most Dangerous Barmaids

Tue, 07 Jul 2026 00:45:05 +0100

Yeah yo mom still buys them bake your own fuckin mini baguettes

Tue, 07 Jul 2026 00:38:26 +0100

As I sat beside the Seine, it finally struck me that I was in Paris, France. Less than eighteen hours earlier, I’d been in Farnaught, County Mayo, where it was magic mushroom season. The distance between those two moments felt impossible.

Mon, 06 Jul 2026 23:54:34 +0100

Youri Djorkaeff greatest French footballer of all temps

Mon, 06 Jul 2026 23:34:17 +0100

Anyone wanna talk Buñuel?

Mon, 06 Jul 2026 23:29:42 +0100

honey I shrunk the shirts

Mon, 06 Jul 2026 22:54:55 +0100

if we sent Heinz ketchup on Voyager we’d have had first contact by 1978

Mon, 06 Jul 2026 17:29:09 +0100

it’s just that nobody understands what side of the bread my toast is buttered

Sun, 05 Jul 2026 22:38:16 +0100

did I just see Peter Parker from the newsroom wearing a red morph suit?

Sun, 05 Jul 2026 21:08:38 +0100

ah, New Jersey. The Big Potato

Sun, 05 Jul 2026 15:40:50 +0100

she looks like she was aged in a barrel

Sat, 04 Jul 2026 20:29:11 +0100

there’s no microwaves in Northern Ireland

Sat, 04 Jul 2026 16:25:08 +0100

a shark keeps its fin out of the water so it doesn’t lose its radio stations

Sat, 04 Jul 2026 14:56:35 +0100

a lone photographer walks the sun-bathed racetrack

Sat, 04 Jul 2026 14:16:15 +0100

there’s nothing better than a lot of things