Tag Archives: anger

Like I Said

Any confidence displayed
Is fobbed off as arrogance
Any voice I choose
A bitter fallacy
And to speak too loud
Akin to sinfulness
Any display of joy
Just seen as selfishness.
Any mention of my pain
Just insignificant
Because I can’t suffer
Cos that too’s just silliness.
And when we’ve talked our anger through and shaken hands
It doesn’t matter cos with time and choice forgetfulness
The whole thing just resets and needs must we start again.

© The Hairy Teacher, Friday 13th December, 2019

Holnap és hónap Nagy iX

Holnap és hónap Nagy iX

What did the orange say to the apple at bedtime?
Sweet dreams.
Maybe it could work as a joke. Perhaps it should be a sour cherry talking to a normal cherry, or even the other way around for a piss-take. Am I making any sense?
Let’s go back to the beginning.
Fábry: Ferihegy! Ki a Feri és hol van a hegy?
It was the first Hungarian joke I got and while Fábry may have his detractors, he remains for me the bridge to Hungarian humor. Again, I imagine, many Hungarians clambering to assure me that this is not the quintessence of Hungarian wit and while I’m sure it’s not, as a foreigner getting a joke in the target language (however basic and unsophisticated…yawn) is the greater achievement. And listen maybe I am a paraszt in the Hungarian derogatory sense. Yokel, slack-jaw, redneck…you choose. I don’t quite get the Little Aggressive Pig jokes. I’m merely of the opinion that that tool is a twat and he reminds too much of somebody unpleasant. Maybe this is the point… Maybe I’m still in the dark.
Anyway, why I brought up the original orange and apple “joke” was because years ago after drinking cider with my brother-in-common-law, I later texted him Szép alma-kat. He got it, and I had achieved a result, an originally coined joke in the target language. As for Fábry, feck* that bunkó ember 😁.
Now, trying the joke in Hungarian I might have said:
Mit mondott a narancs az almának a lefekvés ideje előtt (Google translate helped me)?
Szép almákat.
If you are Hungarian and you’re not laughing, you’re humourless, or worse you’re racist! (Didn’t say I was going to box fair now, did I?😁)
Conclusion: As a teacher, going the road of teaching jokes is dark and dangerous and only few of your charges will ever understand, or worse, pretend to.
As a student, be prepared for the fact that your joke is only funny to other target language as a foreign language learners. The native may be forever left flummoxed. Don’t try to over-explain it. That just leads to embarrassment, or worse, anger and murderous rage. Well, hopefully that last part is an example of exaggeration.
Conclusion on the conclusion: As a teacher stick to the slapstick and if people insist on its base essence remind them of the comic genius of Charlie Chaplin, and be prepared to throw them an Andy Kauffman curveball (or Andy’s equivalent in your native tongue).
And remember, teach like you want to not like you have to.

The neighbours

The neighbours
I don’t want to speak to them
I don’t know what to say!
Is she better?
Which one?
The younger one too!?
We’ll see, as my words fail to smile.
I need all my energy for us now
And not for them.
I can paint their world with regalery
Once my own has again found stability.
First things first: Family then friends then neighbours I guess…
But who are they?


© TheHairyTeacher2016

I hit my girl

I hit my girl this morning to make her see some sense.
She glared at me through teary eyes.
I could see she’d learned to vent.
It’s for your own good, I promise you
And she frowned and snarled and wept.
I slapped my girl this morning, and this has made all the difference.


© TheHairyTeacher2016

Do old wolves cry out…

Do old wolves cry out…

“…for their mothers?”

“Huh?” Catching only the end of the question, Billy had been paying little attention to his friend, preoccupied as he was with his own thoughts, his mind adrift in a fantasy – this fantasy had a name and her name was Maria.

“I said : Do old wolves cry out for their mothers?”

What kind of question was that, Sammy was beginning to wonder, rapidly losing confidence by his friend’s obvious disinterest.

“You mean by howling and stuff?”

“By howling and stuff! Not by howling and stuff!!! Ah fuck it!” Sammy’s irritation beginning to grow. It was glaringly apparent that his moment of profundity was being ususrped by something other than the moment, judging by the glazed look in his friend’s eyes.


“That’s it! Where are YOU, boy?”

“Huh?” Billy was becoming aware of his friend’s change of tone but he was still half way off from touching down in this conversation. He’d have to make the effort, he supposed.

“Sorry man, I was elsewhere.”

“No kidding…Maria perhaps?”

“Fuck off” his words implying annoyance, a cheesy grin erupting ón his face conveying otherwise.

“Hah! Well, what were you two doing this time?”

This was the point where Sammy would, usually, crudely depict a coitus perverticus, whereas Billy had been moulding paradise.

He braced himself for the onslaught, but somehow something seemed different.

Maybe there had been something in Sammy’s question that alluded to this now serious demeanour…

“So did you ask her to marry ya?” …or maybe not.

“Ah, for fuck’s sake…”

“Gotcha” the leery grin pasted, sparkling on his face.

“Now give us the gory details.”

Who needs enemies… Billy pondered.

“Why? I’m sick of this dreaming. I wish I knew what she really thought of me.”

“What! And risk disappointment? Those fantasies you have are better than the real thing, I’d imagine.”

Though spoken almost facetiously there seemed to be a tone of honesty in Sammy’s words.

“If not better, at least less complicated.”

“Maybe…” Billy continued, “but how the fuck would I know. I’ve never even had a girlfriend before. Fuck, I really need this!”

“Christ” gasped Sammy and with that they both fell into convulsions.

“I really need this” Sammy parroted, while Billy perched himself on the armchair’s arm, posing in stance, face all askew, pain and pleasure intertwining.

And then in came Ivan.

For whatever uncanny reason it always ended up this way when Billy acted up. It was as if Sammy’s older brother and the Gods were in cahoots.

“ You queers watching this?” Ivan snorted, grabbing the controls as he asked and switching to the news anyway. Sammy was about to protest but instead left it at that, shoulders drooping before hunching.

“Do you want a coffee?” he asked Billy, already moving towards the kitchen.

“Yeah” Billy replied, following sheepishly, trying to avoid eye contact with the bigger brother but somehow being drawn in by the supercilious smile.

“Make me one too, won’t you Billy,” Ivan sai with a wink.

The blush on Billy’s face rose furiously.

“Careful you don’t boil before the kettle does!” Ivan’s derisory laughter bitch slapping him out into the kitchen.

“Wanker!” Sammy snapped, obviously now enraged.

“ Well, that’s what it looked like to me! ,” came the muffled voice from the living room.

“ Shit!”. Sammy wasn’t necessarily afraid of his older brother, he was terrified, and although Billy tried to play the diplomat – all at ease with differences- in his heart of hearts, he, too, would rather not be anywhere near that man.

“Don’t forget…two sugars!”

“ No worries” Billy, like the Pavlovian dog, responded.

“Good boy!” The snigger that followed slowly drowned out by the rising volume of the television.

“ Why the fuck does he have to listen so loudly?” Billy asked, resisting his powerlessness in style.

In a future hindsight, Billy would wonder, if it wasn’t to give them, Sammy and himself, carte blanche to bitch about him so fully secure was he in his dominance, but at that moment Billy could only share his friend’s anger.

“ But, eh, …” he began.

“ Are you really going to serve him his coffee?” Sammy queried.

Predictably Sammy had started to take his frustrations out on Billy.

“ What can I do?” Billy implored.

“Tell him to fuck off”

Suddenly the door flew open and in came the beast in question.

“Coffee ready yet?” the question all-demanding.

Billy began to stutter, but couldn;t find any purchase.

“ I’m not askin you!” Ivan snapped, eyes turning towards Sammy.

“ All right. There you are!” but with the look bearing down on him, Sammy appeared to flinch, as Billy would put it, in slow motion.

“Enjoy” Ivan sneered, and just like that the storm was gone.

“ De…but…eh …de…” Sammy’s deliberate mockery of Billy falling short as Billy put a piece of the puzzle together.

“ Are you really going to serve him?” came Billy, mimicking Sammy’s voice, badly.

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck you, too!” This would sometimes be followed by: “ especially Bono” but this wasn’t one of those times. And for the seconds in which the gloom fell, the fantasy Billy had been having seemed to dissipate, or relegate in importance.

“Fuck it. I’m out for a fag” Sammy announced, and this call to arms would bring back the focus, and Maria would return.

“Well, he’s in there!” Billy sniggered but Sammy either didn’t hear or wasn’t interested, so feeling slightly juvenile just then, he turned to follow his friend outside.

“ I’m with ya,” he said, this subtle sign of solidarity hopefully the peace flag necessary.

A man, Billy decided, didn’t need to make enemies, especially of friends, when love was on the line.

Some day

Some day

In the interests of safety, I will write this carefully
but don’t confuse caution with fear.
I have not chosen prudence to avoid any conflict
just I know better than to create what’s not there.
Ah, but therein lacks a passion, to never fully explore,
and I surrender to the notion right then.
Yet on further inspection, and I’m off down the road,
Such hollow words oft come from men who’ve not lived them.
So go swimming with sharks, or float higher than larks,
and as you plummet remember my face!
I’m not here to live your life, nor follow your dreams
So please leave me alone with my ways .
Because if you can’t tolerate choice, while iterating freedom,
and if you can’t see the hypocrite you’re being,
then sorry to say but you’ve spent your worth away
And what I liked about you dissipates.
Now, as for the one who does as he pleases,
maybe more exciting by far than I know,
of him I say nothing if of me he claims ditto,
because every man’s life is just his own.
So wallow in depression if need be,
or holler your madness out loud,
Go read a book in the park near where the single moms sit
Or join the theatre and hold your head proud.
Do things that are cool for people different to you
and say things like: “all men are fools”
For there in the end when your image is spent
You’ll be dead along with me too!

Me too

Me too



I had skinned knuckles once too.
I even tried to express this as significant;
It wasn’t, anymore than I was,
in the sense that I was me.
I had the marks of brutality upon me,
they remained long after any sense of bravery.
If you display yours to an intimidation,
remember I did that and I know what lies beneath.
If, however, you pick at these in shame,
like somehow they are wrong for you,
like somehow you are better than these scabs,
then I have nothing to work with –
dare I judge?
I’d judge thee, judgement being… what?
A penchant you might say.
I have tonight tried to contradict myself
but it’s so much easier to believe the fallacy,
so much easier to reason to your passions
than to the core of fact itself.
Half-informed I’ll rage in dreams
against the dying of our rights
but if ever proved I will not stand against the foe
as I perceived it,
and therefore vacant,
I may as well
stand for nothing!



Just In That Moment

Just In That Moment


Ding dong one witch is dead

and another scales the closet

and hurls abuse from up on high

at all of you below.

Ding dong what’s wrong, revolution’s dead

it’s with O’Leary raping Darwin’s ghost.

The future is a certainty but the past is unexplored.

The mode, the chicish mania

soon will be our shame

new morals, lies, define them such

will amount to much the same…



Keeping A-head

Keeping A-head

I race against the bitterness.

I’m just ahead –

it’s catching.

I’ve grown to recognise – yet

I’m still quite prone to it.

It’s easier sometimes, I guess,

not to keep the darkness in check.

It’s wiser to observe, I know,

I’ve done this too, many times before.

But drink, and this shall be the key,

it makes me strong but leaves me weak.

I’ll build again a resevoir,

then pull the plug as oft before.

I’ve tried, I’ll try, and conjure on.

Till death – the parting,

and my swan song.


In response

In response

To further answer your question: I’m standing at the river bank in the sunshine. It’s hard not to love this city, and my mobile job, at a time like this. I have, however, stood on this spot many’s the time in another mood, with nothing but hatred in my heart!



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