A closed casket I heard as they can’t get the ink off the poor cunt
As he was lying there, buck teeth on the ground, covered in Cyan and Magenta toner, it was as if life was imitating Art.
If only he’d sat on the photocopier rather than doing it the other way round.
Damn office parties.
He hasn’t posted since the afternoon of the Welsh rugby match. He had a meltdown.
He’ll be back to go to town on the limerick fanboys on May 19th.
Fuck. I thought he was happily married to a woman.
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A grand lad. I saw him at Soloheadbeg. He’s in the Ra.
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Pity it wasn’t a slurry pit. You’d have bagged a few likes on the rural lives thread.
There was suspicion of foul play
Did brimmer not kill mr moonlight
Poor Brimmer never recovered from them oul biddies in the tax office mugging him off over his holidays. He’ll be back once he eventually finds the ‘any’ key on the keyboard.
He fell asleep one day in the union room and they can’t wake him up.