@gilgamboa seems like the sort of cunt who would follow you out to see if you were up to no good to report back to your missus
A great staple of the Irishmanās session woes: It had to be the bit of fast food that did the damage, no way could it be have been the ten pints of hops, yeast, pesticides (cc @anon61878697) and fish bladders I swamped in the last two hours.
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I had a questionable shit before I ever left for the pub.
Guinness no longer uses fish bladders as an ingredient.
Nicely written post
I did know a guy who, after a night out abroad, shat on a car bonnet/windscreen. It was about 5am, in the summer, so when the driver found it, it probably was already in the high 20s, so the shit was baked on Iād say.
You dirty cunt
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Youāre a sick fucker.
Signing in.
When setting out on my intranational travel back to Cork I let off what I thought was an innocent fart. Unfortunately what ended up as a shart will haunt me from today onwards. The clean up of the resultant dangleberries was the lowest point
If only you had somewhere to research the quality shitting establishments off Irelandās main motorways
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Mild in comparison to what Cark radio personalties get upto.
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Iāll never trust a fart again
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Tfk app opportunity right there.
Signing in. Details to follow, Iām away back to the pub now.
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Go home you sick fuck, no matter how well you think youāve gotten away with it I garauntee you thereās a smell of shit off you
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This guy fucks
Text me hun x
Long-winded, unentertaining @PhattPike post mk2. So anyways, weāre away on a stag and porter is flowing and the diet is fairly stag-like. Weāre in the pub and it is a pub I am fairly determined not to take a shit in. Iām not precious about where I shit, I will shit anywhere, but thereās no lock on this door and itās the kind of venue where lads are standing around the jacks supping pints because they have forgotten that they are in the jacks. Plus, the house is only a 5 (five) minute walk out the road. Grand like.
So the house is actually a 10 (ten) minute walk out the road. A good ten minutes. Iām already tight enough leaving the pub, every fart requires precise releasing. Technique here is everything. My walk turns ābriskā about 5 minutes out. By the time I turn in the entrance to the estate I am running. Itās a stag house so there is one of these fiddly combination yokes at the door to get the key out. An eternity. 6-6-0-2? No fuckit, thatās my old credit card. 1-9-7-3? No thatās @Batigolās password for everything. Bollocks itās on the WhatsApp chat. Aaaaaaaargh.
Shitting oneself, in my experience now, is not about a misplaced fart. It is the tale of too much poo, with too few places to go, mixed with too much gravity. It just happens.
Hi, my name is @PhattPike and I shat myself five yards from a jacks in Carlingford in December 2019.
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Lolzers.
Filthy Limerick cunt.