WOULD THE REAL FLASH BOGI PLEASE MAKE SENSE

I recently had an identity crisis, Flogophiles. I met Butterfly and Courto in The Orchard in Rathfarnham,along with all of Courto's mates from school. The evening started off on a ghostly note, with Courto telling us stories of hauntings in his house, but that wasn't the spookiest moment, no no. Those of you with faint hearts should look at

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right now! During the night I continuously heard my name being called: "Flash!" came one cry, then I heard my name being used in varying coversations as I tuned in and out of them. Then it came to me... there was ANOTHER ME there! Or at least, someone who seemed to have the same nickname than me. It didn't help that Flash 2 was taller, stronger, better-looking, wittier and altogether cooler than I was. He was Flash the superhero, whereas I was more like a free sample of Flash liquid - and not the nice new lemony stuff either.

"Flash" seems to be little more than ironic nomenclature at times, despite the fact that I do try and make my job "flash" and exciting. I regale my listening audience with tales from my intrepid medievalist adventuring (some more ironic nomenclature). Last week, for example, I went to visit the Book of Kells, only to find it had been absconded by some Nazi treasure hunters. I hopped on a plane to try and catch them ,but both pilots parachuted out of the plane and I was left with a beautiful but feisty cabaret singer with a man's name and - bizarrely - an annoying lippy little Asian kid who was a bit retarded frankly. We crashlanded on some beautiful location somewhere and after saving a few villages and stuff I infiltrated a top-level Nazi base, where it was practice-your-english day and all the Germans - that I had no trouble rendering unconscious - were exactly my uniform size. I got captured however, whereupon I had a hilarious reunion with my father Sean Connery, where after some excellently entertaining dialogue, we escaped on a motorbike and sidecar. By happy coincidence, we found ourelves on the road to where the Holy Grail was kept, and we, the Nazis (who aren't so bad after all once you get to know them) That Arab guy with the Fez, and a crusader knight made the Cup of Christ into a beer-bong and partied til dawn. Sadly for the retarded Asian kid, we stuck a few chinese fireworks up his arse for a laugh, before we realised it was actually miners dynamite. Ah well, at least it shut the snivelling little fucker up.

And now I fear I may have totally lost it... perhaps it's time to have another look at fluffykittens.com...

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