Holy Clustered Shit Fuck

I've just returned from my post lunch sham shite, although it's almost too cold to be sham shiteing, and in the imortal words of Brian The Boult ...



Someone had left a floater and no ordinary floater I might add. It must have been a five pounder. I swear to jaysus it was the biggest continuous human shite I have ever seen. To call it a log doesn’t do it justice it was more of a trunk if anything. How he walked after passing that thing I’ll never know. It’s no wonder the fuckin’ thing wouldn’t flush you’d need a jack hammer and a welders mask to sort that thing out. It must be five or six inches in diameter and must have torn the hole out of him pushing it out. Rectum, rectum I’d say it nearly fuckin’ killed him!

Anyway here are some amusing pictures to take your mind of that colossal shite …

The Christmas Spirit i.e. The Spirit Of The Christmas...

How's Yer Ould Wynyagog.....

It’s been a while. I’ve been in the Far East brushing up on my specialist black ops ninja training. By Far East I mean Stoke and by specialist black ops ninja training I mean working. It sounds a bit cooler if I say that way. My time is not my own these days as I’ve been somewhat promoted and I’m now surrounded by a bunch of cunts who are not content with their own time and always want some of mine. “Can I just check something with you..can you spare me five minutes…when you have a second can you explain this…” on anon ad nauseam. I was supposed to be working in Stoke all weekend and then fly from Manchester to Aberdeen this evening but to due to a spot of luck, partly brought on by in-competent staff and a sick machine, it was cancelled. So I had the joy of spending five long hours in Manchester airport Saturday afternoon waiting for a flight back to Dublin. Manchester airport is pretty big, second only to Heathrow and it was busy as fuck. The place was full of Muslims waiting for the arrival of loved ones. They all milled about in their garb and finery some carrying flowers others carrying necklaces of flowers not unlike those you see in Hawaii. Others had necklaces of Christmas style tinsel which I found confusing but amusing all the same. The females were great, all decked out head to toe in black Burqa style outfits. There were fuckin shitloads of them. It was like a Ninja convention. I sat and drank my coffee and watched as they waved and bobbed trying to catch the attention of whomever had just walked through the arrivals door. My thoughts instantly transferred to that person. I imagined walking through the door only be greeted by a vision of a throng of women lunging toward me. I mean how the fuck are you supposed to know who your family or friends are if all you can see from a distance is someone looking through a letter box. No offence like.

I was on the Luas the other night listening to two young louts having a conversation. Lout A was explaining to lout B how to get a Garda ID, “so he could buy da gargle like”. Lout A went on about having to get a birth cert and the hassle that was. “They ask you all sorts o’ bleedin questions, who yer ma’ was who yer da’ was where yer gaff was n’all.” His next sentence was priceless and it took all my strength not to laugh right into his face. “They ask ya wha’ yer ma’s maiden name was and even what yer da’s maiden name was. I don’t know me fookin da’s first name never mind his bleedin’ maiden name”. It reminded me of something I read somewhere once that in Australia your counted as royalty if you can trace your linage back to your father. So your man was no prince.

Child Of Prague !!

Fuckin Child Of Prague my arse. There are people here in my place of labor, and by people I mean women, who firmly hold true that a statue of the Child Of Prague, placed in the back garden of an evening will result in the following day being rain free. Apparently it’s an old wives tale and is mostly observed or should I say put into action on the night before a wedding. I’m not sure where this ridiculous notion comes from but I voiced my concerns and told all assembled that it was complete and utter shite. "It's complete and utter shite" I said, "I don’t fuckin care if you bury a whole family of the cunts it’ll have no effect on the weather. I mean what happens if you accidently throw it out into the front garden instead of the back garden does that result in a hurricane? If the thing really works then why don’t we all get together and organize to put one out on alternate days and have ourselves a rain free summer. I mean is that what happened in Africa did someone bury the Child Of Prague and forget where it was thus resulting in drought and famine?" Maybe it’s more powerful than I thought, or maybe it’s just bollocks.

Plastic Paddy's

So there I stood staring out at the fuckin miserable pissy muck falling from the sky wondering what the fuck the Irish ever did to deserve summers of this shiteous magnitude. Seriously the last time it rained like this Atlantis sank! I read that in a book somewhere so it must be true. As I stood my ponderings began to drift from wondering about the weather to wondering why the fuck the queue wasn’t moving. I strained to catch sight of the person being served. It was one of those non cash carrying cunts who insist on using a laser or debit or credit or as I like to call it the slow the fuck up card. Has every one in Ireland gone mad? What’s wrong with carrying cash? Not only did the bint at the till not have cash but the five or six plebs behind her had no cash, all plastic. Cunts.

Was in Chicago for a few weeks. Great place, great city, but full of Yanks, but as a friend pointed out “sure America’s infested with them”. They have beach’s in Chicago too. Beach’s not bitches. We could have beach’s in Dublin too. There could have been one on the N3 on Saturday, there was enough bloody water wha?

The weather reports on the news will be good this week. It'll be like a competition to see how many ways one can describe rain. The Eskimos have 100 words for snow we could rival them for words for rain.

“Well today we had light rain, showery rain, heavy rain and patchy rain. There was blustery rain, straight down rain and some of that crazy rain that comes at you sideways from around a corner and blows up into your face. Tomorrow we’ll have more rain with a chance of showers. The wind will be from the east, west north and south. It’ll be blowing in a circle basically so you’ll be dizzy as fuck in no time but sure it’ll take your mind off the rain.”

The Fat Lipped Cunt

From todays Indo....

Taoiseach-elect Brian Cowen claimed yesterday it would be "hypocritical" not to accept the massive pay rises awarded to him and fellow ministers.

The Tanaiste revealed there is no change to the plan to pick up the recommended €38,000 pay rise he inherits from his predecessor, Bertie Ahern.

On the day new pay talks begin and as he continued to warn about wage restraint, the Finance Minister said it would be worse to do a u-turn on the recommendation of the independent body which proposed the pay rises.

"There is nothing more hypocritical than seeking to support an independent pay determination system that has served successive governments for 40 years and then walk away from it when a populist argument arises that suits one's case," he said.

It's shit like this that makes me hate politicians and old fat head deputy dog with the bee stung lips isn’t doing much to change that.

Bank Or Ireland Ya Cunt Ya Bank Of Ireland

Hi lad,

In case you’re wondering why that money has not reached your account yet don’t panic. I’m still good for it. You see I thought I would simply put it into your account via the magical black arts of the interweb being all apt with the electronics and technology as I am. But it would seem Bank Of Ireland are about as much use as a chocolate tea pot.

In the good old days one could ring up give them the account details and before you know it, Robert’s your fathers brother one could transfer funds into said account with the lightening speed of a gazelle fleeing from a cheetah. But not so now it would seem. No now you call them, give them the bank details and sort code and bank account holders name and your name and the reference you want your details to appear on the other account and your address and your fathers address and your mother’s maiden name and her mother’s maiden name and your peoples family tree and medical history and all manner of pertinent information. Then the hatchet faced wench with a voice that would melt your face informs me that things have changed.

Now they are going to post me out an activation code to activate the new account and when I receive the activation code I should call her again tell her what the code is and she’ll type it in thus activating the new account.

And how long might this wondrous new level of service take I enquired. Five days she said with not a hint of irony nor mirth. The bitch said it like I should be pleased.

So the good people at Bank Of Ireland saw fit to take a service where action and activation were granted with ease, minimum of fuss and in a timely fashion and bastardize the fucking thing into a behemoth of clerical red tape and security driven bullshit where by I’d have been quicker opening up an offshore account and putting the money in that.

Why oh why I implored couldn’t she cut through the red tape and just type the fucking thing in herself. But alas she could not because the activation code sending out department was not her department, no she was only in the account setting up department and had no remit to gain access to the activation code.

So I told her that I hoped the crotch rotted and fell out of her and that her winyagog, uterus and womb remained the dusty lifeless uninhabited pits that they clearly currently were.

I should have the activation code in a week and complete the transaction forthwith.

OhBeJaysus .....