December 06 2012

Jenny’s spoon gets dirty as Keith gets freaky with a mouthful of yogurt.

Freakish strength meets Venetian blinds as bananas get engulfed.

Paddles, pain and perspiration.

Fear is the fire in which we burn. 


December 03 2012

Jenny raced through the floodlit garden, sparklers streaming in each hand. She was a little girl again, no taller than a knee, unworn by worry and unstained by shame.

The world shook as the booms bellowed above, the night sky rattling as explosive blooms of color and crackle lit the world below.

Little legs moving as fast as they could, her blue buckled shoes padding across the freshly cut grass as she took flight down the garden, Jenny hurtled boldly towards her forbidden destination, the Candy Striped Marquee.

She knew she shouldn’t be going there. Father had told her so. He had put her to bed early with strict instructions not to move until morning.

Proudlock Hinde’s Annual Halloween parties were the highlight of the silver spoon social year. Immaculately staged affairs where the affluent and entitled could cut loose and raise hell away from the prying eyes of the bile spewing media or envy eyed serfs they oppressed.

They were no place for children.

Jenny knew that, but still she had clambered from her cot and snuck from her room to see.

Her only crime was being a child—hopelessly inquisitive, recklessly naive.

As Jenny approached the Marquee she heard her father’s voice from inside. Finishing the end of one of his signature anecdotes.  Boisterous Laughter followed the punch line. The thunder to Proudlock’s lightning.

As Jenny slid through a small slit in the tent, her sparklers caught in the plastic sheeting. Oblivious to the flame hazard, she set them loose as she clambered inside.

Creeping underfoot, she found her hiding spot beneath the bar, oblivious to the flames that licked their way along the tarp.

Jenny crouched and watched the adults as they conversed and sipped champagne from platinum plated cups, sucking smoke through ivory tip filters, tapping ash on their fur and mink with little regard for their expense.

This is the world of grownups, Jenny thought. I can’t wait until I grow up and become a part of it.

As the fast spreading fire snaked its way up along the rafter poles, a reveler caught its amber flicker from the corner of her eye and screamed.

Jenny had barely anytime to react. With a sickening whompf, the entire marquee was engulfed in flames.

The smell of burning flesh assaulted Jenny’s senses before the sight did.

She had messed up bad this time. Real bad.

In an instant, all her Fathers friends were on fire, ablaze, burning in agony.

Cowering beneath the beer keg, Jenny watched as they burnt like effigies, arms floundering, mouths shrieking, bashing against one another in a desperate scramble for the only entrance, now blocked by the smoldering ruin of the dead and dying.

As little Jenny stood to avoid the viscous fluid that spurted from one poor revelers overcooked eyeball, her father caught sight of her.

His eyes met hers across the rippling room of death.

“Dear God, Jenny!” he screamed, “you’ve killed us! You’ve killed us all!”

Jenny awoke with a start. The morning sun sprang to catch her eyes by surprise.

Just a dream, she told herself. A long buried memory that forced its way to the surface.

It can’t hurt you, not no more.

Jenny rolled onto her side, her aching face sinking deep into the mold covered pillow.

She was in bed, but not her own.

A figure hovered over her. A large man looming into focus. He brought with him the unmistakable smell of bakery and Vinegar.

‘Keith?’ Jenny croaked.

“Easy now.” Keith responded. “ You’ve had a bad bang. Just take it slow.”

“What happened? What am I doing in your bed? “

Jenny jiggled her hips a bit to see if anything had been knocked loose. Much to her dismay, there wasn’t so much as a low rattle.

‘You’ve been unconscious the last three days’. Keith informed her, ‘You bolted off up the back lane like a blubbering banshee and sprinted face first into a parked Lorry. You must have been going some speed, cause you snapped the back axle on impact and gave an albino toddler whiplash… I really hope you have insurance.”

50 shades of Jay Cloth continues this Thursday


October 09 2012

Jenny gasped as the paddle came down.


Keith’s backhand was hard and fierce, but Jenny knew it was merely an appetizer for the punishment to come.

With a gleeful chuckle, Keith swung the paddle once more.


Jenny let out a primal moan as she tried to recover, but it was no use.

Unrelenting and quick as a cat, Keith administered another lash, this time connecting with a violent CRACK.

Her face flushed red, sweat dripping down her face and neck nape, palms clammy. like two fleshy ponds banked by thumbs and fingers, Jenny lurched forward onto the table, arms out stretched, wailing.

But she was too late.

The white ball skittered past her, ponging across the hardwood floor to stuttering stop.

“Game. Set. Match!” Keith hissed as he tossed his paddle into the mesh net.

Jenny congratulated him on his victory. There was no shame in losing a game of Table Tennis to someone as skilled and as agile as Keith.

“Well, that’s enough tom foolery for one day,” Keith declared, elliptical arcs of sweat staining his shirts man boob region, “We have an article to write.”

Jenny wiped a burgeoning bead of perspiration from her left earlobe. Keith toweled his brow with a frayed strip of two ply toilet paper.

Though Jenny had been initially hesitant about her first non chaperoned visit to a boys house, so far the evening had gone swimmingly.

Initially she was taken aback by Keith’s suggestion to work on the Hospitality article at his place - “away from Screen Scene distractions” - but after taking the grand tour and playing a quick set of Table Tennis in his ‘Beige Room of Fun’, she realised that nothing untoward was on the horizon, much to her dismay.

Keith filled a glass with orange juice and swilled from it, not bothering to offer her any.

He must know that I don’t like orange juice, Jenny told herself. He is so intuitive to women and their ways.

They retired to the sitting room.

As Keith fired up his Laptop, Jenny, feeling brazen, took a seat next to him on the dull yellow settee.

Their legs brushed together for a moment.

One. Perfect. Moment.

This was the closest Jenny had ever come to him. Close enough to feel the simmer from his stifling body heat.

To breathe in his body odour.

Like bakery and vinegar, she noted. 

His scent, mixed with the smell of Weetabix and damp emanating from the settee cushions, filled Jenny’s senses and made her feel warm and tingly all over, like a protagonist in a Mills and Boon novella.

Jennifer Hinde, you are so scandalous, she chortled to herself, not realising that she had in fact spoken aloud.

‘What?’ Keith asked in his thick North Dublin accent.

‘Nothing,’ Jenny replied, her pulse quickening.

‘Oh-kay.’ Keith sighed, twisting back to deliver a flurry of finger fire to the keypad.

Jenny observed him: A northsider, born on the mean streets, now living here, deep in the heart of Dublin’s affluent Southside.

He’s like a rose that grew from concrete...

Keith turned back to her, a deadly serious expression on his defiantly unsymmetrical face, ‘Before we get started on this article. I have a favour I need to ask you...’


‘This is kind of embarrassing.’

Jenny sat forward.  Last week she accidentally locked herself out of the house while wearing nothing but a bath towel, tripped on a mouldy batch-loaf and got her head wedged in a wrought iron gate. She knew all about embarrassment.

‘I have a growth on my lower back.’ he continued, ‘I’m worried that it might be malignant. Sorry for springing this on you, it’s pretty gross but I didn’t know who else to show it to.’

The blood drained from Jenny’s cheeks. Does this mean we’re going steady?

‘I don’t mind at all!’ Jenny sputtered enthusiastically.

‘Oh, good. Is it okay if I take off my shirt to show you?’

Jenny could not stifle the squeal as it erupted out her throat.

Keith pulled back in horror.

‘Sorry,’ Jenny stammered, ‘I don’t know why I made that sound just then’

Keith made no effort to conceal his disgust.

‘It sounded like the death wail of baby pig.’ he remarked, visibly shaken.

‘I know, I… I’m sorry.’

A horrible silence engulfed them.

‘Look… Maybe this was a bad idea. I think you should go.’ He said finally.

‘Okay.’ Jenny replied, fighting back the oncoming wave of tears as she pulled on her coat.

It was the perfect night, and I ruined it.

Hysterically devastated, Jenny took off out the front door at high speed.

Arms flailing, tears streaming, clogs mashing loudly on the gravel covered macadam, she cursed herself repeatedly as she disappeared into the cold and lonely black of night.

Stupid, stupid Jenny! Now you’ll never get to see Keith’s growth!


September 26 2012


The year was 2011.

Looking to break into the film industry by coat tailing on the success of others, I decided to write a Spec script for a sequel to Oscar winning indie darling, ‘Once’.

Entitled ‘Twice’, the screenplay could best be described as a singer songwriter version of ‘Point Blank’, only with added telekinesis and nunchucks.

Sadly, the script was rejected on the grounds of being “too amazing”.

Here, published for the first time, is an exclusive excerpt.


‘Once’ ended with ‘Guy’ (Glen Hansard) departing for London to reunite with his ex girlfriend. Though he and ‘Girl’ (Markéta Irglová) had planned to meet up and spend his last night together, Girl never showed, as she could not bring herself to betray her husband. Unable to find her to say his final Goodbye, Guy buys Girl a piano and arranges to have it delivered to her flat before heading to the airport.

It is one of the most bittersweet and poignant endings in motion picture history.



GIRL and her HUSBAND are watching Fair City with their four neighbors. There is a loud knock at the door.

Girls Husband opens up to find GUY standing in the hallway. He looks very angry.

HUSBAND: Hello. How can I help you?

GUY: You can start by wiping that crap looking smile off your muck looking face.

HUSBAND: Excuse me?

Guy nuts the Husband a loaf and struts inside. Girl leaps to her feet.

GUY (to Girl):  Is this him, is it? Is this him?

HUSBAND (In Czech): Who is this man?

GIRL ( in Czech): It’s okay, he’s a friend.

GUY: What are ya saying about me? Are you slaggin me hair, are ya?

Guy belts girl’s husband in the shin with a nun chuck.


Girls husband hits the floor, yelping in agony. Guy gives him a few more warning belts across the head and pelvis to let him know he means business.

GIRL: Stop it! What are you doing?

GUY:  Six years ago—Me and you had a date, ya stood me up! Left me looking like a right dope so ya did!

GIRL: What? I thought that you understood our love could never be! You bought me a piano!

GUY:  Well that’s why I’m here, isn’t it? Two grand that bleedin’ thing set me back. Two grand and I didn’t so much as get to second base on ya.

GIRL: But it was such a beautiful gesture.

GUY:  A fool’s gesture! You mugged me off like a fool, so ya did!

GIRL: No! That’s not true!

GUY:  Two Grand ya set me back! Two grand, now I want reimbursement.

GIRL: Reimbursement? We don’t have that kind of money.

GUY:  Well you had better get it, ya hear me?

GIRL: But I can’t--

Guy turns and looks dead into the camera. His eyes are every bit as afire as his long flowing locks. If ever a line had Oscar bait written all over it, this is it:

GUY:  Fool me once shame on me. Fool me twice, shame on you.

GIRL: What?

Guy puts his foot through the TV set. The neighbors howl their disapproval and leap to their feet. Guy repels them with a sonic C note, killing two instantly. The others lie crumpled on the floor, bleeding from their eyes and ears. Guy sets about garroting them with a vacuum cleaner tube.

GUY:  No one stands me up, ya hear me? No one! If you don’t have me money in three days I’m coming back here to kill your dog.

GIRL: But I don’t have a dog.

Guy produces a cocker spaniel pup from his jacket pocket. It is doe eyed and adorable. He flings it into Girls face, hard.

GUY: You do now.

Guy blows a hole in the wall with a high pitched D, then storms out of the room.

Tears stream down Girl’s terrified face as she watches him go.

The puppy is howling. Girl picks it up and sits at the piano. She begins to play the opening chords to “Falling Slowly” as she tries to hush the animal. It’s no use.

Girl collapses on top of the keys, sobbing.

HUSBAND (in Czech):  My shin… My f**king shin.


September 13 2012

A whirlwind of thoughts swirled through Jenny’s head as she ascended the stairs to bookings.

Why has Jim summoned me?, she wondered to herself, Have I been too efficient? Perhaps my good looks are proving an unwelcome distraction for clients...

If the later were true it could hardly have been Jenny’s fault. After all, she had purposefully detracted from her alluring beauty by wearing ugly shoes to work everyday for the past two years.

No, Jenny assured herself, it must be something else.

As her unflattering maroon coloured macassans slapped their way across the hardwood floor towards Jims office, Jenny glanced to the spot where the companies web content producer would normally sit.

Jenny’s heart sank.

For once, Keith was not sat at his desk weaving words like a latter day Joyce.

Probably for the best, Jenny thought. The last thing she needed was a nest of butterflies fluttering about inside her stomach right before she had a meeting with the Managing Director.

As Jenny wrapped her granite hard knuckles on Jim’s door three times, she was surprised to hear boisterous laughter bellowing from inside.

Curious, thought Jenny, I hope Jim’s not laughing at my shoes.

Jenny entered to find Jim sat at his desk, wearing a well ironed cobalt blue long sleeve shirt offset by a pair of corduroy dockers. Conservative, yet casual.

Jenny’s stomach whirled as she realized, to her horror, that Jim wasn’t alone. There, leaned up against the wall, unfurling the folds of a browning banana, stood Jenny’s ultimate crush, Keith George Michael Jordan.

As Jenny took in the sight of the towering blonde Adonis, her face flushed bright red.

“Hello gentlemen,” Jenny stammered, struggling to keep her cool. “How are you today?”

“Good.” Jim chuckled, “Keith was just regaling me with one of his ribald anecdotes.”

Jenny shook with fright as Jim erupted in a sudden sharp burst of primal laughter, slapping his well toned knee cap as he recalled whatever hilarious tale Keith had just recanted. “Such a character, my sides are splitting.”

“I’ll stop telling them when you stop laughing, big guy!” Keith replied, his banana now raw and ready for eating.

Such camaraderie between the two men, Jenny noted in her mental diary.

Why couldn’t she could have such a relationship with her boss? Or her father...

“Great news, Jenny!” Jim started, “Keith is developing an article about all the wonderful work you’ve been doing in the Hospitality department. He’s looking to do a full page spread for next weeks Supplement. I’m gonna need you to work closely with him on this one. Over the next week I want you to really get inside each others heads.”

Jenny could not stifle the gasp as it left her throat.

“Is this going to be a problem?” Jim inquired, reclining in his seat as an amber ray of afternoon sunlight beamed through his office window to highlight the strength of his freshly shaved jawline.

“No!” Jenny gushed, “Not at all. I would be delighted!”

Jenny glanced to Keith to gauge his thoughts on the matter, catching his gaze at the precise moment he enveloped his first enthusiastic mouthful of sumptuous banana.

Big mistake.

As her legs gave way, Jenny’s arm instinctively shot out to steady herself on the door frame. Overshooting by a country mile, her pincer like fingers seized hold of the Venetian blinds, reefing them free from their hooks and bringing them down on top of her with clattering clash.

Jenny lay on the floor, a crumpled lump of hair and moccasin, too embarrassed to move.

“Are you okay, Jenny?” Jim asked with genuine concern.

Not wanting to acknowledge the humiliating predicament she had found herself in, Jenny decided to shut her eyes and play possum.

If I stay still as a stone, Jenny assured herself, this will all blow over soon enough.


September 07 2012


September 03 2012


August 31 2012


August 29 2012

“Listen to that horn!”


August 24 2012

The counter was riddled with breadcrumbs.

Jenny shook her head and let out a sigh.

‘What is to be done with these breadcrumbs?’ She wondered aloud.

The kitchen was empty. So no one responded.

Several moments passed.

Jenny walked to the sink and dampened a fresh J cloth under the facet.

Though she was the Manager of the Hospitality department, a beautiful overlord of underlings, Jenny didn’t mind applying the elbow grease when a situation called for it.

With a flick of her lustrous long auburn hair, Jenny set about wiping the crumbs into her palm, before depositing them into the bin with an elegant flourish.

‘Got them!’ she said to herself in a congratulatory tone.

Several more moments passed.

Realising that her over efficiency had lead to a slow work day, Jenny decided to treat herself to a low cal yogurt.

After pealing the lid from the tub, Jenny took a spoon from the drawer and mentally prepared herself for consumption.

But before she had a chance to taste the creamy goodness, a co worker twirled into the room like a blonde tornado.

This was not just any co-worker, however. This was none other than Screen Scene’s Web content producer, Keith Jordan.

Jenny took a moment to take him in as he rifled his way through the bread bin:

Keith was all drive, all dazzle, Soft and hard at once, like steel encased in velvet. His frayed jeans two sizes too small with a busted zipper that demanded the eyes attention, his crease addled t-shirt tumble dried just tight enough to perfectly accentuate his brazenly bulbous love handles.

Jenny dropped her spoon absent mindedly. It landed on the floor with a clatter.

“You dropped your spoon,” Keith observed with his keen blue eyes “Now it’s on the floor…. Getting dirty”

‘The cleaners mopped the floor with disinfectant this morning,” Jenny was quick to point out. ‘I think it should be okay. Once I pick it up.’

But Jenny didn’t pick the spoon up. Not yet.

The tension began to build. A silence engulfed them.

“So… I see your eating yogurt.” He said, resting his broad elbow on the countertop. “Is that store brand?”

Jenny could only nod, her breath stolen from her body.

“Mind if I have a taste?” Keith asked boldly, “or is that gross? I brushed my teeth earlier, so my mouth isn’t rank or anything. And I haven’t had a cold sore in a good three weeks, so… Cool?”

‘It’s fine.’ Jenny whispered as she took a new, non dirty spoon from the drawer and offered it to him.

Keith took the spoon from her hand with his thick jam slicked fingers and slid it deep inside her pot of yogurt, a small amount of its contents gushing forth and speckling the floor as he scooped a generous portion to his full bodied lips.

‘I’ll have to mop that up with a hand towel later’, Jenny mentally noted to herself.

Slowly, deliberately, Keith slurped the yogurt deep into his mouth.

He sloshed it around his pallet a few times, then swallowed. Loudly.

“Not too mad on Fruit of the forest.’ he remarked, “But it’s pretty good. Thanks”

Keith span on his heels and strode out of the room like a manly brick layer.

Jenny watched in awe as he bounced his way up the hall and out of sight.

Though she hated to admit it, this had undoubtedly been the single most erotic moment of her young life.


August 20 2012


August 17 2012


August 15 2012

How did they release this as a kids film? It was made by mentals who hate life.


August 13 2012


July 20 2012

Just because…


July 18 2012

This is insanity…


July 16 2012


July 13 2012

Hero of the Week this week is none other than soft spoken Graphics gruffian John O’Riordan!

A man of almost mythic proportions amongst the workforce, John recently broke his foot during a particularly horrific Hurling clash.

Undeterred, the cyborg like determinator continued with the game as though nothing had happened, only deciding to call it quits when the fractured bones in his foot crumbled like a digestive inside his muck caked boot.

This tale of double hard insanity is barely the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the many feats accomplished by John “Jackhammer” O’ Riordan. Here are a few more that we’re aware of:

• Keen hurling player John is a direct descendant of Cuchulain.

• In September of 2004, hundreds of eye witnesses claim to have seen John save a whales life by removing a granny smith apple from its blowhole in off the coast of Howth.

• John often puts granny smith apples inside whales blowholes in order to teach whales the true value of life.

• John once dismantled a Banshees face with a hurl.

• Since John ORiordan broke his foot, the number of crutch related assaults across the country has jumped by 250 %

• John knows every Seamus Heaney poem off by heart, and will gladly recite them to you if you agree to make a minimal cash donation to the GAA.

• Much like the late 90’s television show ‘Early Edition’, John inexplicably receives tomorrows newspaper today, but refuses to read it as he thinks “tabloids are a load of old rubbish”

• In 2009, John was attacked by a motorcycle gang in a road rage incident on the M50. Their disembodied spirits are still said to roam the roadside at night, searching for the limbs they lost in the ensuing melee.

• John erupts in manic hysterical laughing fits whenever he comes across a game of camogie. Nobody knows why John does this, and nobody dares to ask.

• It is widely agreed throughout the company that if Screen Scene were the X Men, John O’Riordan would be Wolverine.

Sorry to hear about your foot good buddy.  Hopefully the Hero Cape will give you some mild flying ability to keep the weight off!



June 29 2012

Hero of the week this week is none other than lovely voiced lord of the one liner Lisa Courtney.

Oft compared to an Irish Bill Murray with mammaries, dolorous beauty queen Lisa spreads her wings and flies free from the confines of the Screen Scene coup today, and one can’t help but shudder at the thought of all the egos that will go unchecked without her around to keep us line with her pithy put downs and mesmerizingly judgmental eyes.

Best described as an contradictory yet irresistible mish mash of good cheer and cynicism, you’ve been a true breath of fresh air since the day you arrived on our door step.

It goes without saying that on both a professional and personal level, there will never be another who could come close to filling your well worn, soft soled shoes.You had the truly impressive and achingly unique gift of being able to light up a room with your beautiful darkness, a talent that I fear I may never see again, and will sorely miss.

God speed, you befuddling singularity. May the glass finally fill half empty in your future endeavors, and your teeth remain unchipped.



May 25 2012


May 16 2012

By Keith Jordan

Wednesday, May 16th. 4.39pm

Coleslaw scented under arms. Sweat pumping. Guilt festering in my gut like a bag full kittens.

Jenny stands by the coffee machine, six foot some of pure statuesque loveliness, looking like an erotic greek sculpture breathed to life by some sick dark art and smeared in flesh and hair.

I glide up to her like a lovelorn assassin; ready to deliver the bullet of truth I know will crack her fragile heart in two.

“Jen” I whisper in the loudest singing voice imaginable, “We need to talk”

She turns to face me, eyebrow raised, hair wafting to and fro like a Vidal Sassoon advert. Slowly her gaze falls to my heaving man bosom. A look of fear rippling across her eastern European visage. 

It takes me a few moments to realise that now may not be the most appropriate time to fidget with my left nipple. Mumbling my apologies I remove my hand from my undershirt and wipe the milk from my fingers with a single brush down the front of my jeans.

Resuming eye contact, I take a breath and continue.

“I went out on a date last night.” I spit, the confession spilling out of me in a jolting high pitched pig squeal, “With a girl. A real live girl… one what’s not imaginary.”

Jenny doesn’t react. Her face is a blank mask. Clearly she is too stunned, too wounded to respond.

We stand there staring at each other for what seems like an eternity. Finally she parts her lips as if to speak.

“What has that got to do with m—“

“Don’t talk” I hiss, driving my marmalade encrusted index finger up into her lips and silencing her semi parted mouth hole; so pink, so perfect. “Just let me get through this, please.”

Her eyes widen in a mixture of terror and trepidation, I double check my fly is up so as to alleviate any fear of physical threat.

Sadly, the zipper is down.

With an apologetic nod, I whoosh it closed and continue--

“It just happened, okay? It just… God this is so hard.... I know that you and I have a bond. A special, terrifying bond of lust and longing and stolen moments in pantry’s with hair smelling and ankle oogling—But that’s over now! I can’t spend my life waiting around for you to realise that I’m the man you’re gonna marry.  I want someone to be there for me when I get home at night. Someone to tell me how beautiful my stretch marks look in the morning. Someone to feed me grapes on long summer evenings by Mister Crinkalby’s orchard. I need love now, dammit. NOW!”

Dumbfounded isn’t the right word to describe the look on Jenny’s perfectly symmetrical face, but it’s the only one that comes to mind.

“Don’t you cry,” I blubber, a melon sized lump rising up in my throat, “Don’t. You. Cry… Just know that, whatever happens… I want us to always stay friends. Like Superman and Wonder Woman, or Batman and that kid he used to touch up”

I place a gentle kiss on the front of her hand, stealing one last lingering squeeze of her fingers in the process, remembering all the times I’d day dreamed about them constructing sandwiches for our children on school nights as I practised my naked air guitar in the dining room mirror… Jenny’s hair tied up in a bun, summer dress a bright lilac lattice work of floral design trimmed in crimson silk, sea breeze wafting through the kitchen window and carrying the sweet scent of may flowers from the modest plot of garden we’d spent the spring break seeding together.

Jenny reefs her fingers from from my grasp with an almighty jerk, snapping me back to reality.  It appears I lost time again. Just how long have I been drooling on her knuckles?

“You’ll find someone else, I know you will.” I lie, “Maybe not someone as funny or as charming as me, but someone all the same… either that or you’ll die a lonely spinster, like Jessica Flether or Cliff Richard… Look, regardless of whether you find someone or not, you’re definitely going to die, so you know, take comfort in that.”

Her eyes are dry when I turn to walk away.

Such a tall, brave woman.

I try not to swing my hips too much as I exit… she’s already suffered enough.


May 14 2012


May 11 2012


May 08 2012

By Keith Jordan

12:56pm. Tuesday, 8th of May

Silence in the bookings area.

Nought but the clatter of clacking keys, the intermittent exhalations of hard at work clockwork mice pouring over computer stations, willing chaos into order, looking every bit as fabulous as we undoubtedly smell.

I scan my mesmerizing, lilac coloured eyes around the room, taking in my co-workers, thinking my brilliant thoughts.

Four girls sitting in close quarters for 40 hours a week… I wonder how long it will take for our cycles to synchronise?

“Did I see you in here yesterday?” Russ asks as he ascends the stairs, suddenly jolting me from my internal musing, “Where you filming something?”

“I was indeed”, I nod in confirmation, spreading the two-third smirk, semi non-toothed business appropriate smile I’d spent the morning perfecting in the Scullery bathroom.

“What kind of man makes people work on a Bank holiday?” Russ bellows good naturedly at Jim before continuing on his merry way up the building.

Jim pokes his distinguished, ever youthful head out of his office, letting us drink in his attractiveness for a few glorious moments before enquiring quizzically, “What was that? Was someone in here yesterday?”

My ears burn white hot and my belly burps butterflies.

“Oh, it’s… nothing. I was in for a little bit.” I comment, underplaying like De Niro in Goodfellas, blatantly omitting fact that I wasn’t actually here on Screen Scene related business.

“Well done, Keith” Jim says with a jovial hint of amiable hilarity to his mellifluous voice. “We’ll have to put a star up on the wall for you. Better yet, you should make yourself hero of the week this week!”

Though I know such a star will probably never materialise, and in all likelihood Jim’s patronizing me as he thinks I’m mentally weak and physically unpleasant to look upon, the very fact that he formulated such a sentence and then sounded it out in my general direction makes me feel like the most beautiful boy on Gods green Earth.

“Will do” I titter, gesticulating with a wink and a gun, desperately hoping a gleeful squeal won’t explode out my throat and sully the moment.

Today the light of his love shines on me and me alone.

This won’t sit well with the others.

As Jim exits, my eyes rack focus to Peter; eyes misted over, body spasming like a shock victim as he struggles to suppress the Tsunami of tears rushing up to break all over his boat race.

Aine is glaring at me so hard my frown lines actually begin to itch; her skin turning pea mush green with steaming envy. She mouths a derogatory composition of colorful curse words at me as she traces her index finger along her throat in an overtly threatening and oddly arousing manner.

I don’t bother look at anyone else. This is my moment, and it’s far too perfect to be wasted on them and their desperate need to be as amazing as I am.

Turning my attention to my keyboard, I proceed to type ‘Keith and Jim forever’ into a Word Document. I do this repeatedly, over and over and over, until the letters lose meaning and my finger nails come loose.

Then I type it some more. 


May 08 2012


May 04 2012

Hero of the week this week is none other than Hospitality Department head and dream haunting figure of fun Jennifer Hinde.

A true woman for the ages; equal parts towering and efficient, feminine and ferocious, Jennifer catwalks through the halls of Screen Scene like a fugitive from a 1980’s Rock Video, hair bigger than life, easy to take in face smeared with a tantalising tint of Eastern European glamour model pazazz: Bold as brass, eyes weeping fire.

With a work ethic every bit as powerful as her bone crunching pincer fingers, I doubt there’s a red blooded man or woman in Screen Scene who hasn’t at some point contemplated a sneaky sniff of her Vidal Sassoned wig while she stocks her shelves in the low lit dangerzone known as the pantry.

An all too loveable, irreplaceable, integral piece of the Screen Scene machine, I’m at a loss to imagine the violent blood curdling anarchy that would erupt should our Amazonian Warrior Princess ever leave us.

Anytime I find myself in trouble or waist deep in hard times, no matter where I am, I scream her name to sky like a birthing banshee in the desperate hope she’ll come bounding into frame with a handful of purple snacks and a kind word to help get me back on top. A true hero, this week and every other, you make our world a better place on a day to day to day basis. It’s just a shame you have such a terrible taste in footwear.

The cape is yours, my beautiful lobster.



May 04 2012


May 02 2012


April 30 2012


April 27 2012

Hero of the week this week is none other than angel faced sweetheart and homecoming prodigal son Kenneth Coyne!

Returning from his globe trotting adventures, Kenny will be calling into Screeners this very afternoon to catch up on old times and spur on an evening of drunken merriment and jovial frivolity.

But after a year of rampaging across the globe, one can’t help but wonder what manner of atrocities this wild at heart and weird on top world has inflicted on our porcelain skinned boy next door. Just who will greet us this afternoon when the buzzer rings?

A lust filled lothario, drunk on the power of his own sexual voraciousness, cheekily moustachioed and consciously remorseless at the trail of wounded hearts and jilted lovers left sour eyed in his billowing wake?

A filth encrusted backpacking Petri dish on two legs, riddled with Philadelphia and doused in Outback knits?

A gaunt growth on a bamboo bark opium pipe, precious face diluted into a blank mask of indifference, feet adorned in well scuffed imitation crocs (gasp)?

Who knows! But whatever condition he arrives in, Screen Scene has certainly missed his dulcet tones and puppy dog eye globes. Can’t wait to hold your face and kiss your ears again, Kenny. Be sure to prep your palm for an ear deafening and soul warming high five on arrival!


April 27 2012

I would totally pick up guys to this song.


April 25 2012


April 23 2012


April 20 2012


April 18 2012


April 17 2012


April 13 2012

Hero of the week this week is none other than 41 buzzer Queen and buxom brunette bombshell Ailbhe de Bhulbh!

A clean smelling, generously eyed oddity, Ailbhe has been putting smiles on faces and credit lists in my inbox like a sun dipped sensation for almost a year and a third.

Bringing a singular brand of irreverent banter (infused recently with a to die for hipster lisp), Ailbhe effortlessly endeared herself to any bipedal creature fortunate enough to arrive in her reception in search of a lollipop or an audience with Allen Sillery.

Departing Screen Scene to fulfil a life long ambition and sell her body to medical science, the company will suffer a gaping deficit of gregarious gorgeousness and impeccably disconcerting conversational set pieces in her absence.

We’ll miss you dearly, “Da Bulb”! Be sure to stay in touch, you delicious slice of abnormal joy! Go forth and live your best life!

Situational appropriate air kisses: Mwah! Mwah! Mwah!


April 13 2012


April 11 2012


April 02 2012


March 30 2012


March 28 2012

Absolute insanity kicks off around 55 seconds in....


March 26 2012

Look at him go!


March 23 2012


March 16 2012

Little known but startling facts about St. Patrick
by Keith jordan

A heavily inebriated St Patrick banished snakes from Ireland during a drunken argument with an Anaconda over what tunes to play at a house party.

A Proud former Shepard, Patrick once beat a woman into a coma for flicking a smoke at a lamb.

Often torn between his vows to God and his need for physical earthly love, St Patrick sent numerous mixtapes to St Brigit over the years, and once “ironically” carved her initials into his forearm.

Despite maintaining a facade of politeness in the company of ethnic minorities, St Patrick was a closet racist who refused to eat sandwiches made by anyone who looked foreign.

Former slave Patrick often used white guilt to make reticent pagans take communion.

St Patrick’s man servant and constant companion was a dim witted Derry boy named Sean Delaney. Inbred and riddled with polio, Sean suffered from intolerable leprosy and hardcore psoriasis. Due to his resemblance to salt-cured meat, Paddy nicknamed Sean “Cornedbeef”.

An abusive and dark hearted man, Paddy would spend two hours every Sunday beating “Cornedbeef” with the business end of a hurl and calling him “a cabbage”. Historians believe that this is why corned beef and cabbage are now synonymous with Patrick’s day.

While killing time during his Shepard days, a teenage St Patrick enjoyed making crude vaudevillian plays with a cast of figurines fashioned from four leafed clovers. During intermission, Patrick spent his down time doing shots of urine and pondering whether his grip on sanity was slipping, until the fateful day when God materialised in the form of a stratus cloud and instructed him to hook the pagans up with some Christianity.


March 16 2012


March 14 2012

Japanese Toilet Training video.....


March 12 2012


March 09 2012

Today, after a decade of diligence and bedazzlement, we must say Goodbye to our beloved Audrey Dawson.

A human Swiss army knife of skill and efficiency, Audrey is one of life’s rare skins: A true blue hero, noble of spirit and kind of heart, the type of person who can brighten a room just by entering it, instantly endearing herself to any soul lucky enough to cross her path.

A talented baker, enthusiastic amateur singer, and lover of all things fluffy and nice, there is nigh a soul in Screen Scene that hasn’t been touched by her tender spirit or sunny disposition in some way.

One of Gods own prototypes, emanating warmth like a consistently pregnant radiator peppered with smiles, it is with a heavy heart we bid you Farewell, Audrey.

Screen Scene won’t be the same without you here to brighten our days and lighten our nights.

We wish nothing but the best for you and yours in the future, and will be counting the minutes until we see you at the Barbeque this Summer.

PS: I think I speak for everyone when I say that no pregnant woman has ever looked as fetching in a velvet cape.


March 05 2012

To watch more, visit tag


March 02 2012

The magic starts ten seconds in…


February 27 2012


February 24 2012

Winning the title by a landslide of votes, Hero of the week this week is none other than Hospitality heart warmer Lisa Courtney!

The hardest working woman in Screen Scene, Lisa is famed throughout the company for her faultless work ethic and sardonic sense of humour.

Affectionately known as “Bill Murray with mammaries” amongst her peers, our beloved Lisa is every bit as furious as she is fair, as bold she is beautiful, and as cantankerous as she is caring—like the world’s most delicious hard boiled sweet, glazed in melancholy and sprinkled with cinnamon encrusted grandeur. Yum!

Ruling the Hospitality department with an iron fist in Jennifer Hinde’s absence, Screen Scene thanks its lucky stars to have you patrolling its halls, forcefully applying you’re no nonsense brand of trouble shooting and joy-making to this great company we all love so well.

Congratulations, Lisa! The cape of heroism is yours!

I look forward to seeing you draped in heroic velvet for the next seven days, no doubt delivering your patented pithy one-liners amidst a flurry of whirling fabric and scowling eyebrows. Yay!


February 24 2012

Gonna miss you so hard, girl....


February 22 2012

She just wanted to make it snow!


February 20 2012


February 17 2012

Hero of the Week this week—and the first employee to receive the much coveted HERO CAPE—is none other than IFTA award winning Sound maestro Niall Brady!

Powerfully complemented by his pepper coloured hair, ice cool attitude and lust filled eyes, never has a velvet cape draped so snugly over a lean and toned man frame!

Niall receives this glorious boon after he and his Team took top honours in the Sound (FILM / TV DRAMA) category at the glittery IFTA awards ceremony last week!

Looking destructively dapper in his well crafted three piece suit, there is no denying that Niall took to the Dublin convention center stage to accept his award looking like a platinum glazed boss master.

Delivering a speech equal parts witty and poignant, Niall grew visibly more handsome with every word that he spoke, with each gracefully executed gesticulation casting a hypnotic trance over his rapt audience.

One must bear in mind that I’m basing this interpretation of events entirely on the three second clip I glimpsed on the highlights later that night—but I can safely say without hint of hyperbole that those three seconds will be seared into my memory for an echoing eternity.

For serious though, big time congratulations for your terrific work and for your well deserved win, Niall!

I hope you enjoy skulking around the Outback in that glorious garment for the next seven days, fighting crime and righting wrongs as you wait for the kettle to boil.

Never has heroism looked so heroic or sensual!

Be sure to heep the Hero nominations coming in, the re-cloaking ceremony takes place next Friday!


February 17 2012

Things I’ve learned (feeling like dirt on Valentines day)

February 14 2012

Pain stabbing through the heart as a football sized lump clogs its way up your throat. Tears welling in your hopeful eyes as the Postman strides past the front garden, leaving your mail box untouched. Your skin afire, flesh aching from toe to tongue, your mind desperately strains to recall the absent touch of the supposed soul mate that recently wised up and slashed your existence out of their “new amazing life.”

All this can only mean one thing — It’s Valentines day!

Here is what I’ve learned about the most magical of Hallmark Holidays:

• The Christian martyr St. Valentine had his head viciously butchered off his shoulders for performing marriages in secret. 

• Valentine’s Day actually traces its roots to an ancient pagan holiday called Lupercalia, in which men stripped naked, grabbed whips, and spanked young women in hopes of increasing their fertility.

• “I love you” in German is “Ich liebe dich.”

• According to the condom company Durex, condom sales are highest around Valentine’s Day, which are 20 percent to 30 percent higher than usual, despite this fact more at-home pregnancy tests are sold in March than in any other month.

• Penicillin, a popular treatment for venereal diseases such as syphilis, was introduced to the world on February 14, 1929.

• No matter how happy you are in your relationship, how certain you are that you will be together forever: Everyone—EVERYONE—dies alone.

Happy Valentines Day.


February 13 2012


February 10 2012


February 08 2012


February 06 2012


February 03 2012

Shame on you all, there is no Hero of the Week this week!

That’s right, although work ethic and productivity remain at an all time high within the company, heroism has sadly not been in abundant display these past seven days.

So, as an incentive to spur you on in your good deeding, from next week on, the Hero of the Week will not only receive a palm busting high five, but will also be adorned with his or her very own HERO CAPE!

I swear to God, This is not a joke.

The lucky employee who dazzles me with his or her altruistic actions will now be given a badass cape with the Screen Scene logo on the back, and (after being snapped in a tasteful photo shoot for our company Facebook page) will get to keep said cape in their room as a snuggle blanket, with an option to prowl the halls while draped in its sumptuous fabric while on a tea or coffee run.

The Hero will get to retain the cape for the duration of their one week reign, but sadly (and this is important) must pass it over the following week when his or her successor is announced.

So, if you want to be the proud wearer of a striking velvet cape that singles you out as an incorruptible symbol of justice and raw sensuality, now is your time to shine!

Nominations for Hero of the Week can be sent to

Good luck to everyone!

PS: Props to Elish for suggesting the cape idea!


February 03 2012

Thanks to Owen Peters for bring this to my attention!


February 02 2012

Worried about mixing your darks with your whites on laundry day? There are bigger fish to fry—If you wash towels with underwear there is a very good chance that they will be contaminated with feces. And I’m not talking about baby mice.

In the 1960′s, the US spent millions developing a zero gravity pen for use in space. The Russians used pencils. Face!

Martin Luther, the religious reformer, reputedly ate one spoonful of his own feces every day, stating that he “couldn’t understand the generosity of a God who freely gave such important and useful remedies.” He was sadly forced to abandon this practice after many Lutherans became reticent to french kiss him in public.

Criminals who are generally considered to be physically unattractive receive, on average, a 50% longer jail sentence for their crime than good looking criminals. This is the main reason I have curtailed my law breaking. Cursed frown lines.

In Papua New Guinea, people can enter a bank just wearing a penis sheath (koteka). My flights are booked. Just hope they have my size (small to average).


February 01 2012


January 30 2012


January 30 2012

Ubiquitous [u·biq·ui·tous] adj.  Being or seeming to be everywhere, or in all places, at the same time; omnipresent. 


January 27 2012

Hero of the Week this week is none other than departing runner and Gerard Butler look-a-like Colm Mullally!

A handsome man with an exotic non-Dublin accent, Colm exploded onto the scene late last year like a incendiary grenade of stubble and fury, bringing a vivacious physicality and fervent vim to the hospitality department not seen since the fabled days of “Stocky” Nick Murphy.

With twinkling eyes gleaming out the windows of his rugged face, Colm had the company on constant swoon alert as he took on stairs two by two, carrying trays ten cup deep while dazzling us with a pearly white smile boldly curtained by sumptuous lips of flesh glazed silk.

With a head full of ambition and a belly full of fire, Colm set his sights on securing a job in Audio, a goal which he achieved this very week, when he was taken on as Audio assistant on the upcoming Titanic: Blood and Steel—Audio post for which will be posted here at Screen Scene and Ardmore Sound (plug!).

Screen Scene would like to bid you a heart felt congratulations and wish you all the best in your future endeavors, Colm! Though we will miss your gregarious nature and quizzical musk, the fact that you will be working just next door in 32 Upper Mount Street should go some way towards alleviating the pain stabbing through our hearts.

Be sure to pick up your well deserved high five this evening in Scruffy Murphy’s!


January 27 2012


January 25 2012


January 23 2012


January 20 2012

Hero of the Week this week is none other than junior editing assistant and enigmatic man of mystery David O’Brien.

The archetypal strong silent type; tall and lean, with midnight black hair and haunted eyes that speak of a checkered past long since buried, David began his Screen Scene career as a runner late last year. In record time, David’s easy going and affable manner saw him frog jumping down the rungs on the ladder to success, landing himself a tasty little promotion and his very own swivel seat in the delightful Data Lab.

With the soft spoken manner of Paul Simon, and strikingly similar bone structure to Hollywood heart throb Johnny Depp, David is fast becoming an integral cog in the magic making love machine known as Screen Scene.

Congratulations David on your hard work and well earned success! Be sure to stop by my desk for a well calibrated high five at your earliest convenience!


January 20 2012


January 18 2012


January 16 2012


January 13 2012

Hero of the week this week is none other than sultry Sound Engineer and diminutive faced delight-ball Emma Butt!

The tiny fingered but big hearted Emma (known as “Buttsy” or “Em-belism” to her friends) earns the title of Hero for securing her very first IFTA nomination for her work on Monster animations groundbreaking series ‘Punky’!

Congratulations on your well deserved recognition Emma, you surely must be the first recorded success story to ever emerge from Coolock!

Be sure to stop by my desk for a well deserved high five at your earliest convenience!


January 13 2012


January 09 2012


January 06 2012



December 23 2011


December 21 2011


December 20 2011


December 19 2011


December 15 2011


December 14 2011


December 13 2011


December 12 2011

....is Nicky.


December 09 2011

Hero of the week this week is none other than Screen Scene MD and recent birthday boy James “Jim” Duggan.

A slender man with kindly eyes and a razor sharp business mind, Jim has accomplished much in his thirty two years on this Earth. An outspoken supporter of the benefits of daily moisturising, many people in the industry vehemently refuse to believe that Jim is a single day over thirty one, as his face remains so completely devoid of blemishes that its smoothness draws fair comparison to the backside of a new born infant.

To mark this milestone event, and to celebrate his apparent immunity to the ravaging of age, Jim will be giving out free hugs to everyone who stops by his office between now and 6.30.

PLEASE NOTE: This is a one day only offer, so I would advise everyone to start queuing early before his still youthful arms grow tired.


December 09 2011


December 07 2011

Christmas can melt even the most frozen of hearts.....


December 06 2011

That way he says “Merry Christmas” at the end makes him seem properly unhinged. I’d absolutely cack myself if he crawled out of the chimney.


December 05 2011


SANTA WITH MUSCLES: The ultimate festive film…


December 05 2011


December 02 2011

By Keith Jordan

Friday 2nd of December, 12.39pm

No amount of Cool Waters aftershave can cloak the musk of shame that wafts from my every pore.

After several complaints were lodged with the brass about my “inappropriate urinal conduct”, my Screen Scene bathroom privileges have been indefinitely revoked.

Now, singled out as a social pariah, I must make my water in a rusted spittoon down the side of the Engineering portacabin; urinating amongst the spanners in the chill winter air like some kind of lowly dog or free spirited Garage attendant.

As a bitter steam rises from my bladder oil, I try to figure out where it all went wrong.

How could a man as handsome and insightful as I become the subject of such derision from my peers?

“Has the world gone mad?” I scream at a passing Client as she tries to make her way to her car.

Am I the only sane person left?

My business concluded, I mentally prepare to stomp back to my desk and play the clarinet poorly until my social standing is reinstated –

-- When suddenly a filth encrusted hand fires out from beneath the cabin and seizes my ankle, causing me to scream in masculine terror.

As I scramble into the wall feigning cowardice, a twisted figure flops out of the dank crawl space and kicks free from a blanket of moss revealing a malnourished old man, wild eyed and half mad with scurvy.

With his arterial spray sloshing on my left Converse like raspberry syrup, I can’t help but notice the slew of arrows jutting from his lower back and upper face.

Feeling lonely and starved of human affection, I decide to engage the Stranger in polite conversation.

“Did you ever see that movie ‘Sleepers’?” I enquire, only three quarters interested, “Quite the little tale.”

‘Ancient Tribesmen….’ the Mysterious Stranger croaks, “Got me with their arrows…. I’m dying….’

With little time left to act, I pull a crooked twig from my pocket and quickly jab him several times in the ear.

There is no real thought process behind this act. I just really enjoy jabbing things.

“The treasure…” He clacks, mere moments from death. “I saw it.”

My eyebrow rises adorably. “Treasure you say?”

“Your turn…” The Stranger gargles, slamming a battered document into my unsuspecting palm. “Your turn to play….”

The Stranger struggles for air that will not come, his eyes rolling deep and white into his skull as the pain overcomes him, his cragged body erupting in the throes of death before his life full stops with an explosive bolt of foulness from the back axle.

Mildly perturbed, but mainly sleepy, I unfurl the creased parchment the curious man bequeathed to me with his dying breath.

It’s a treasure map all right. But who ever heard of treasure being buried in Dublin 2?

“Dear God!” I loudly exclaim as it dawns on me. “Could this be the fabled map to Oscar Wilde’s gold?”

Previous Installment


December 02 2011



How many houses must Santa visit on Christmas?

How fast must he travel to visit all those homes?
4,796,250 Mph

Conclusion: Despite the mid-section paunch, Santa could easily beat Superman in a race.

Previous installment.


December 02 2011


December 01 2011


I can’t wait to pop this in the DVD player and smash down a Coke float!


December 01 2011

Twenty Five Days til Christmas!!!!



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