What sort of a narcissistic cunt publishes the birth of their child in the newspaper. Could they not just post it on Facebook like all other regular cunts?
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A. D. A. Healy-Feeley will make a great out-half one day.
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Help, my son, the doctor, is drowning
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Still a very popular medium amongst the chattering classes.
Meet Skyler Gisondo, an actor from Florida.
Skyler was the name of Walter White’s wife.
Fr Aquinas Duffy said the mass for Gussie Shanahan today
At first glance I read it as King Vajinalonghorn
The engagement announcements on Saturdays are still must read stuff.
True story: On Saturday July 11th, 2015, after Dublin had beaten Limerick in an All-Ireland hurling qualifier at Semple Stadium, Thurles, myself and my two companions shared two freshly rolled hashish cigarettes which were offered to us by two Limerick supporters (one of them had to have been @anon61878697) in the corner behind/to the side of the Killinan End terrace, which left us in a rather silly, carefree mood. We did not stay for the subsequent Cork v Clare game and instead, over the next two and a half hours, drank between three and five pints in a pub in a rundown housing estate between the stadium and the railway station, to add to the approximately four pints that had already been consumed pre-match and at half-time.
By the time we got on the train back to Dublin at 9:37pm, our inhibitions had been lowered considerably and the most mundane occurrence was resulting in copious bouts of foolish laughter. When we got onto the train, I was seated adjacent to the aisle, in a four person berth with a table in the middle, with one of my companions beside me at the window and the other on the other side of the aisle in the opposite four person berth. We each pulled out some cans of beer we had bought in a shop before getting on the train.
Facing me were two men from Clare, aged approximately 55-60, who appeared to be sober and were downcast after their team’s loss. They were similar in demeanour to how I imagine @Fagan_ODowd to be. One of them had that day’s copy of the Irish Times with him.
After about ten minutes of poor attempts to make neutral hurling-based conversation with them, I asked the man opposite me could I have a look at his Irish Times. He obliged. I turned to the letters page, looked down into the corner to see the engagement announcements, took a slug of my can of beer, and proceeded to read them out, one by one, in a loud, faux, mocking Anglo-Irish accent, interspersed with mini-bouts of foolish laughter from myself and my companions, but mostly myself.
I handed the man back his Irish Times, but he wasn’t laughing. Then I walked down the corridor to the nearest toilet, and proceeded to project a small to medium sized amount of vomit into the bowl.
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Nice tale .Two points
The pub is the Mackey Stand . Not a gastro pub .
Did you go back to the Clare lads stenching of puke .
I asked them did they know “The Puke”. They said no.
Sadly I actually made up the bit about puking in the toilet for poetic licence. The rest did happen though.
You sound like a right bollox
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Sadly i believed the bit about you puking up. I thought the bit about you having companions was a tad far fetched though.
St Mirren striker Duckens Nazon.
or Porta
Or Not.
Never heard of Hugo Not.
any relation of Hugue Not?
Not a first name but the forensic expert in the Mr Moonlight trial is called Dr. Manlove
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He has to be from Cork with a name like that.