The Nordies come down the N1 on their Proddy tanks, painting the roadsigns green as they go. Craigavon, this way, 109 miles.
When they arrive in Swords, they immediately occupy the Castle. That wasn't too difficult for them, as they only had to roll over Declan the warden and they were in. As soon as they have a chance, they level the Catholic church, killing Fr Mackey in the process as they mow him down on his mower.
Next stop was the drinking establishments of the town. The Pound was so shit they just hit it with an orange pipe and it blew up. After that they moved on to the Star, which was particularly revolting because of the Polish disco. That didn't take much knocking down; in fact, they just pissed on the side wall and it began to melt, their piss being so acidic. Lamb was quite tricky as it was defended by an army of holegetters, but a quick spray of Lynx down the Jacko led them all away, leaving the Nordies to mow down the two Poles, which they did with pleasure.
The Lord Mayors is a bit shit, though it's grand really, but the Nordies knocked it down with a few poofs of acidic shite which scorched the hole off all the punters. Now, the only place that they had trouble in destroying was Cock, as the regulars of Cock with the help of gallant Martin and hot youngfella put up the bravest defence ever seen in the history of Swords.
"Harr harr, wee'll bloo up yar Cock!"
"O no you won't!" bellowed the gallant drinkers of Cock. Being those that drink in Cock, of course.
"WE'LL BLOO UP YAR FLUTHER IN THE NEEM OF MARTIN LUTHER!"
The Nordies tried everything, even flinging rosary beads at that. They had exhausted all their resources and were left with no choice but to use the secret weapon: Ian Paisley.
"HARR HARR, PEEPIST BAWSTURDS! COME OYT COME OYT OR I'LL BLOO YOOR COCK UP!"
But it didn't work. Martin boxed Ian...in the face! And he died, God love him. Sure isn't everyone dying? And so the Nordies realized that the people of Cock were too good for them, and so they all committed hari-kari at once, and everyone in Swords laughed. Some ladies puked delicately into hankies when they saw the bowels, but everyone else laughed heartily.
Swords 1, Nordies nil. Well done.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Breakfast juice recipe.
You will need:
Orange juice,
Aquafresh,
A glass,
A mickey.
1. Put toothpaste all over yer mickey and make sure it's nicely rubbed in.
2. Put orange juice in a glass.
3. Dip yer mickey in the glass of orange juice.
4. Drink and enjoy.
Orange juice,
Aquafresh,
A glass,
A mickey.
1. Put toothpaste all over yer mickey and make sure it's nicely rubbed in.
2. Put orange juice in a glass.
3. Dip yer mickey in the glass of orange juice.
4. Drink and enjoy.
Overheard in Made-Up Dublin.
Laced bras with gel pads for five-year-olds, or big people with little tits.
—Are ya a paedo or what?
—No, I just work here. It's my job to pick up kids' knickers.
On the radio with John Kelly:
—And this is the sound of a Korean woman giving birth to a chicken.
—HARAAAAA! RRAAAA! HAAAHAA! Bwowk bwowk. HA HA HOWDEFOCK DID SHE MAKE BIRTH WITH CHIKKEN?
Huang-Hon was expecting an heir, but instead he got a lovely dinner.
And meanwhile in the poshbastard holiday palace in Lancashire, Mrs Thatcher and Cherie Blair were playing with plastic mickeys they got in Sainsbury's, thanks to Jamie Oliver. Try something new every day he says, so instead of prime asparagus, they got prime plastic mickey instead.
I love a bit of tomfoolery in the jacks and a bit of rumpy-pumpy-upon-me-cock.
Popcorn is amazing. It's nature's way of telling you to go to the cinema.
The hindus hate the muslims and everybody hates the jews.
But juring National BrotherHood Wake, Naaashional Brotherhood wake, say Cassius Clay and Mrs Wallace dancing chake to chake with his hand in her gee. O! O! O! he cried and it was O! O! O! all over me cock!
Ffffwtoooom.
Bding.
Ouch!
Angry farmer wipes his eye.
"Thank Jaysus lesbians don't fly."
—Are ya a paedo or what?
—No, I just work here. It's my job to pick up kids' knickers.
On the radio with John Kelly:
—And this is the sound of a Korean woman giving birth to a chicken.
—HARAAAAA! RRAAAA! HAAAHAA! Bwowk bwowk. HA HA HOWDEFOCK DID SHE MAKE BIRTH WITH CHIKKEN?
Huang-Hon was expecting an heir, but instead he got a lovely dinner.
And meanwhile in the poshbastard holiday palace in Lancashire, Mrs Thatcher and Cherie Blair were playing with plastic mickeys they got in Sainsbury's, thanks to Jamie Oliver. Try something new every day he says, so instead of prime asparagus, they got prime plastic mickey instead.
I love a bit of tomfoolery in the jacks and a bit of rumpy-pumpy-upon-me-cock.
Popcorn is amazing. It's nature's way of telling you to go to the cinema.
The hindus hate the muslims and everybody hates the jews.
But juring National BrotherHood Wake, Naaashional Brotherhood wake, say Cassius Clay and Mrs Wallace dancing chake to chake with his hand in her gee. O! O! O! he cried and it was O! O! O! all over me cock!
Ffffwtoooom.
Bding.
Ouch!
Angry farmer wipes his eye.
"Thank Jaysus lesbians don't fly."
Friday, June 27, 2008
Lamb, 2am.
—LADS, GETHEFUCKOUT OF THE BAR PLEASE, LADIES AND GENTS, MOVE TO THE FUCKING DOOR.
Stephanie and Brian had just met that evening for the first time, and they both really fancied each other. In fact, they fancied the hole off each other. Stephanie was from Drynam and Brian was from Kinsealy, so they were a match made in Feltrim. Or rather, in Lamb.
—BRING YOUR DRINKS AND FUCK OFF OUT THE DOOR PLEASE, THANK YOU.
Not wanting to part just yet, Brian and Stephanie looked around at each other.
"I know, Steph," said Brian, "let's go down to Margaret in the cloakroom and get our hole."
"But what do you mean Brian? Who's this Margaret woman?"
"It's deadly, actually. You give Margaret a tenner and she lets you in to the cloakroom to roide. Once you're done you just leave, and we never even have to see each other again if it's not that good."
"Oh, Brian, that's a great idea. Have you any money?"
"Actually, no, I'm broke, I gave all my change to the black in the jacks after I bought those two mojitos for us. Have you a tenner?"
"Well, I do, but I was going to use that for the taxi home."
"Ah, sure, you can walk home. Sure let's get our hole."
—FUCK OFF OUT OF THE BAR, LADIES AND GENTS, NOW.
"Well...okay."
So Stephanie and Brian got their hole, and it was grand fun until he came in her eye and she couldn't see. She washed it out, and thankfully she hadn't gone blind, but she was upset that Brian didn't really give a shite, and so she burst into tears and ran off up the general direction of Drynam. Meanwhile Brian got in a fight with some other holegetters and died, God love him.
And so the moral of the story is, never get your hole in Lamb. It'll just end in tears.
Stephanie and Brian had just met that evening for the first time, and they both really fancied each other. In fact, they fancied the hole off each other. Stephanie was from Drynam and Brian was from Kinsealy, so they were a match made in Feltrim. Or rather, in Lamb.
—BRING YOUR DRINKS AND FUCK OFF OUT THE DOOR PLEASE, THANK YOU.
Not wanting to part just yet, Brian and Stephanie looked around at each other.
"I know, Steph," said Brian, "let's go down to Margaret in the cloakroom and get our hole."
"But what do you mean Brian? Who's this Margaret woman?"
"It's deadly, actually. You give Margaret a tenner and she lets you in to the cloakroom to roide. Once you're done you just leave, and we never even have to see each other again if it's not that good."
"Oh, Brian, that's a great idea. Have you any money?"
"Actually, no, I'm broke, I gave all my change to the black in the jacks after I bought those two mojitos for us. Have you a tenner?"
"Well, I do, but I was going to use that for the taxi home."
"Ah, sure, you can walk home. Sure let's get our hole."
—FUCK OFF OUT OF THE BAR, LADIES AND GENTS, NOW.
"Well...okay."
So Stephanie and Brian got their hole, and it was grand fun until he came in her eye and she couldn't see. She washed it out, and thankfully she hadn't gone blind, but she was upset that Brian didn't really give a shite, and so she burst into tears and ran off up the general direction of Drynam. Meanwhile Brian got in a fight with some other holegetters and died, God love him.
And so the moral of the story is, never get your hole in Lamb. It'll just end in tears.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
GERRY RYAN AND VIAGRA FOR THE LIPS
NEWSFLASH: Today in RTÉ, famed radio presenter and fat Gerry Ryan pioneered the newest medical treatment for men's health, Viagra for the Lips.
"Mrs. Ryan left me because she said my lips weren't sexy enough, so I decided to launch my own brand of male health products so that men can have the best rides possible. I just thought it would be great if you could have lips as hard as your cock for a bit of an aul' shag."
The Legion of Mary protested outside RTÉ holding banners which read "Jesus and Mary hate the Gerry Ryan Show", but nobody cares about them because they're nothing but a bunch of holy aul'ones.
Well done Gerry.
"Mrs. Ryan left me because she said my lips weren't sexy enough, so I decided to launch my own brand of male health products so that men can have the best rides possible. I just thought it would be great if you could have lips as hard as your cock for a bit of an aul' shag."
The Legion of Mary protested outside RTÉ holding banners which read "Jesus and Mary hate the Gerry Ryan Show", but nobody cares about them because they're nothing but a bunch of holy aul'ones.
Well done Gerry.
Mary and the Contraception Train
Mary had been up in Belfast to visit her sister Elizabeth who had just had a baby. She was a right auld one so they were overwhelmed that she had managed to squeeze the little shit out of herself without her dying in the process. Poor little mite, thought Mary, being born at this time.You see it was 1970 and the civil right movement in Northern Ireland was turning nasty. What will become of him, Lizzy's new-born baby boy? Maybe he'll be a minister or a parliamentarian. Mary stayed in Lizzy's house for a week before having to return to her job in Jacob's factory in Dublin.
The train station was unusually busy for the day with women gathering around the kiosks and shouting and laughing hysterically. It must be the Nordies' communal time of the month, thought Mary. She shrugged it off and bought her ticket back to Connolly station.
Unfortunately for Mary, all the noisy women that had been in the station appeared to be going to Dublin too. Well, damn that for the price of a cupcake. She took out her "Alive!" paper and tried to ignore the seemingly mad women.
Mary fell asleep soon after opening the cover of "Alive!". It's not the most interest of reads. But she was abruptly awoken from her dream about Bing Crosby by loud shouts, rushing feet and almighty banging. She sat up in seat and realised that she was back in Connolly station. But, there was something going on outside on the platform. Lines of Gardaí blocked the exits to the street and women were lunging at the broad-shouldered members of the Garda Síochana, emptying their bags out and flinging objects at the barricade.
Mary slowly alighted from the train cautiously. It was mayhem on the platform. She overheard an exchange between one of the female passengers that she had seen in Belfast and a Customs official.
"Miss, have you anything to declare?" asked the Garda with stern lips.
"Yeah, I bought some contraceptives," replied the woman in a firm voice.
"Well then, where are they?" His lips may have stayed firm but his cheeks were slightly crimson.
"I'm wearin' them," she said as she thrust her vaginal region forward in the direction of the Garda who had now diverted his eyes to the ground.
"Oh, right then...well yeah. Eh, well, go on then." he stammered as he moved out of her way.
"I'd like to see you confiscated these!" said another woman as she swallowed a handful of pills that she had dropped into her mouth in front of the Custom Officers.
Oh Lord save us, Mary thought. She was still walking slowly through the crowds of women as they waved flags branded with "I JUST WANNA GET ME HOLE NOT GET PREGGERS. SO, WHY CAN'T I BUY CONDOMS FOR ME FELLA?". Mary faced forward again and nearly walked straight into a big culchie of a Garda.
"Evenin', madame. Would you be havin' anything to declare? Any inappropriate devices on your person, say?" said the big culchie Garda.
"Oh, Lord, no. I was only up in my sister Elizabeth's house for the week. She had a baby, you see." answered Mary in a nervous manner, much like a child with a crayon in front of a newly painted wall with blue and red Crayola squiggles all over it. Or so it seemed to the big culchie Garda.
"Is that right? Look, we know what your kind are trying to pull. We happen to know that this is the Contraception Train. We, eh, read so in The Irish Times. So, for the last time, have you any illegal implements and/or devices that would stop impregnation during the act that is sexual intercourse?"
Mary was, at that stage, fingering her rosary bead that were perpetually in her left coat pocket.
"You must believe me, sir. I don't have any of these devices. I'm a good Catholic, I swear! Look, I've got rosary bead in my pocket."
"Yeah, you show them Catholic bastards where they can shove their bloody feudal teachings! Good woman, you!" interjected a young woman as she was being lead away by another Garda.
"I don't know that woman. I'm just a simple holy auld one trying to get by with my rosary bead and reading Alive!. I've...I've never even had sexual relations. While my husband was alive I used to use jam doughnuts to protect my purity. The Legion of Mary suggested it. It worked well until Peter got suspicious about the sugar all over his, well y'know... sheets."
Mary was hyperventilating and the Garda was standing dumbstruck in front of her.
"You used jam doughnuts?!" inquired the Garda a perplexed tone that even surpried himself.
"I did, sir," she managed to say.
In all the hub-bub and crazed activity around the station, all Srg. McCormack could do was shake his head slowly at Mary and let her pass him. The thought of shagging a jam doughnut stayed with him until he died in the Garda Retirement Home in Dublin.
Mary returned home to her house just off Gardiner Street. She said the rosary three times for the mad women that purchased the inplements of depravity. She prayed that they'd all settle down, get married, have children (obviously without the occurence of the female orgasm) and live happily without those comcoms, or whatever they were called.
The train station was unusually busy for the day with women gathering around the kiosks and shouting and laughing hysterically. It must be the Nordies' communal time of the month, thought Mary. She shrugged it off and bought her ticket back to Connolly station.
Unfortunately for Mary, all the noisy women that had been in the station appeared to be going to Dublin too. Well, damn that for the price of a cupcake. She took out her "Alive!" paper and tried to ignore the seemingly mad women.
Mary fell asleep soon after opening the cover of "Alive!". It's not the most interest of reads. But she was abruptly awoken from her dream about Bing Crosby by loud shouts, rushing feet and almighty banging. She sat up in seat and realised that she was back in Connolly station. But, there was something going on outside on the platform. Lines of Gardaí blocked the exits to the street and women were lunging at the broad-shouldered members of the Garda Síochana, emptying their bags out and flinging objects at the barricade.
Mary slowly alighted from the train cautiously. It was mayhem on the platform. She overheard an exchange between one of the female passengers that she had seen in Belfast and a Customs official.
"Miss, have you anything to declare?" asked the Garda with stern lips.
"Yeah, I bought some contraceptives," replied the woman in a firm voice.
"Well then, where are they?" His lips may have stayed firm but his cheeks were slightly crimson.
"I'm wearin' them," she said as she thrust her vaginal region forward in the direction of the Garda who had now diverted his eyes to the ground.
"Oh, right then...well yeah. Eh, well, go on then." he stammered as he moved out of her way.
"I'd like to see you confiscated these!" said another woman as she swallowed a handful of pills that she had dropped into her mouth in front of the Custom Officers.
Oh Lord save us, Mary thought. She was still walking slowly through the crowds of women as they waved flags branded with "I JUST WANNA GET ME HOLE NOT GET PREGGERS. SO, WHY CAN'T I BUY CONDOMS FOR ME FELLA?". Mary faced forward again and nearly walked straight into a big culchie of a Garda.
"Evenin', madame. Would you be havin' anything to declare? Any inappropriate devices on your person, say?" said the big culchie Garda.
"Oh, Lord, no. I was only up in my sister Elizabeth's house for the week. She had a baby, you see." answered Mary in a nervous manner, much like a child with a crayon in front of a newly painted wall with blue and red Crayola squiggles all over it. Or so it seemed to the big culchie Garda.
"Is that right? Look, we know what your kind are trying to pull. We happen to know that this is the Contraception Train. We, eh, read so in The Irish Times. So, for the last time, have you any illegal implements and/or devices that would stop impregnation during the act that is sexual intercourse?"
Mary was, at that stage, fingering her rosary bead that were perpetually in her left coat pocket.
"You must believe me, sir. I don't have any of these devices. I'm a good Catholic, I swear! Look, I've got rosary bead in my pocket."
"Yeah, you show them Catholic bastards where they can shove their bloody feudal teachings! Good woman, you!" interjected a young woman as she was being lead away by another Garda.
"I don't know that woman. I'm just a simple holy auld one trying to get by with my rosary bead and reading Alive!. I've...I've never even had sexual relations. While my husband was alive I used to use jam doughnuts to protect my purity. The Legion of Mary suggested it. It worked well until Peter got suspicious about the sugar all over his, well y'know... sheets."
Mary was hyperventilating and the Garda was standing dumbstruck in front of her.
"You used jam doughnuts?!" inquired the Garda a perplexed tone that even surpried himself.
"I did, sir," she managed to say.
In all the hub-bub and crazed activity around the station, all Srg. McCormack could do was shake his head slowly at Mary and let her pass him. The thought of shagging a jam doughnut stayed with him until he died in the Garda Retirement Home in Dublin.
Mary returned home to her house just off Gardiner Street. She said the rosary three times for the mad women that purchased the inplements of depravity. She prayed that they'd all settle down, get married, have children (obviously without the occurence of the female orgasm) and live happily without those comcoms, or whatever they were called.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Gee Beauty
Come in to Gee Beauty and get your gee made lovely. God knows, your gee doesn't look lovely now!
"Hello and welcome to Gee Beauty. What procedure would you like us to carry out on your gee today? We have a special deal on the Pat Kenny Nose Beauty Treatment this week."
"I care about my gee, what does that involve?"
"Well, we heat up your gee to a nice tepid temperature about the suggested temperature of a nice bowl of Ready-Brek. Then using the most sensitive and most beautiful manipulative tools, we mould your gee lovingly into the general shape of Pat Kenny's nose."
"Oh, that sounds lovely. I used to love Kenny Live. I'd love for my gee to look like Pat's nose."
"Yes. It's popular this month what with him turning sixty and all. The advertisement in Alive! got us a lot of new customers. Margaret, put on the kettle. Brenda, heat up the gee tongs."
"Hello and welcome to Gee Beauty. What procedure would you like us to carry out on your gee today? We have a special deal on the Pat Kenny Nose Beauty Treatment this week."
"I care about my gee, what does that involve?"
"Well, we heat up your gee to a nice tepid temperature about the suggested temperature of a nice bowl of Ready-Brek. Then using the most sensitive and most beautiful manipulative tools, we mould your gee lovingly into the general shape of Pat Kenny's nose."
"Oh, that sounds lovely. I used to love Kenny Live. I'd love for my gee to look like Pat's nose."
"Yes. It's popular this month what with him turning sixty and all. The advertisement in Alive! got us a lot of new customers. Margaret, put on the kettle. Brenda, heat up the gee tongs."
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Poshbastard Cockhole Mickey.
Anne Devitt's sex tape. I believe it features Mr Cian Bailey, showing off his enormous farmer's appendage (also known as combine harvester). O Anne Devitt, you are so perfect in my hole. We love thee dearly. HOLE. You and your horses, and your face just like a gee. Charming Anne darling, marry me forever. With love, Cianycakes.
And in other news, cock. And a hole lot of other things. MICKEY. Sure fair play to all those people that do be doing things with themselves, and their mickeys owe cock.
No, indeed. Jemma's ma, your mickey, and my lez bean. El owe el. Puking isn't the best, and the government don't speak for us. So when you're not feeling very well at all at all you'd be better off puking right up in a large spiral.
Puking and puking in a widening gyre,
The vomit cannot hear the vomitor.
Take that Willie, you bloody cockfiddler. That's what you get for drumming all over your cliff-upon-cock, for it's always the way. You didn't even need a Hitler haircut to make you look like a Nazi GEEEEEEEEBAAG FLANGE-IN-A-POT.
No, not at all. Lawl, says he. No surprises, please. Well done. COCK!
And in further news, it's recently been discovered that you can actually get pregnant by sticking an ear in your gee. Ask Lola Sleevend about that one, as she's well used to it. O LOLA!
Yes, yes. COCK and hole, and all sorts of other tiring things. Lawl.
Asleep yes, and cock it is for hole. Poshbastard things. Where are you going at a thousand miles a second?
And in other news, cock. And a hole lot of other things. MICKEY. Sure fair play to all those people that do be doing things with themselves, and their mickeys owe cock.
No, indeed. Jemma's ma, your mickey, and my lez bean. El owe el. Puking isn't the best, and the government don't speak for us. So when you're not feeling very well at all at all you'd be better off puking right up in a large spiral.
Puking and puking in a widening gyre,
The vomit cannot hear the vomitor.
Take that Willie, you bloody cockfiddler. That's what you get for drumming all over your cliff-upon-cock, for it's always the way. You didn't even need a Hitler haircut to make you look like a Nazi GEEEEEEEEBAAG FLANGE-IN-A-POT.
No, not at all. Lawl, says he. No surprises, please. Well done. COCK!
And in further news, it's recently been discovered that you can actually get pregnant by sticking an ear in your gee. Ask Lola Sleevend about that one, as she's well used to it. O LOLA!
Yes, yes. COCK and hole, and all sorts of other tiring things. Lawl.
Asleep yes, and cock it is for hole. Poshbastard things. Where are you going at a thousand miles a second?
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