Hilarious jokes
- Thread starter Daemon
- Start date
Mowl
Member
Incorrect: Arsefield's was a cesspit the day it opened. Everything Fats Kelly touches seems to limp away into some dank misspelling hell, like stumpy old fingers on fat wrinkly hands, smelling kind of musty - like damp clothing stored in tied-up plastic bags in your Grannie's attic, and eventually becomes the intellectual equal of the simp clarke/connolly.
You're friendly with cc - and you often rimmed his hoop too by giving him LIKES and setting him tasks (like the one above) which any other fool would ignore.
But not cc - who likely misses you.
I ~ ~ MISS ~ ~ you, Jambo ! ! !
Please ~ ~ come home, and BE ~ ~ my friend ! ! !
As for Zippy, his sweaty old balls likely miss you too, I'm sure: you're the only fucking eejit dumb enough to think he's female.
Maybe the assistant who wheels him to and from the supermarket might be a girl, but he's some fucked up and delirious old bastard.
It was painful watching you adopt him as your surrogate Ma.
That really made a lot of people's skin crawl: it was hot gossip for quite a while.
Your own sexuality and orientation came under scrutiny too, we were worried you might have been considering the snip.
Mowl
Member
I just told you that.
What the fuck sort of lonely fucked up loser from the other side of the planet ends up hanging around an Ireland-orientated site paid for by an illiterate fat cunt from Ballinasloe who drives a van but thinks he's wealthy absolutely beats me. That everyone else on the site bar you took him in like a long lost (criminal) relative and stroked his perineum for him was pitiful to see.
That wooftie chap, though?
Now there's one miserable and fucked up old fart, eh.
I always assumed that one naturally mellowed as death neared, but he must have some serious fear driving all that anger and rage.
Arsefield's claims to be a nationalist site, but they all hate Ireland, Irish people, the rain, each other, you, me, and four-leafed shamrocks.
Some days I just despair.
Fishtits's emergence on Irish political fora remains a mystery. And, as I said before, he never had anything to say about Ireland or Australia
I'm almost convinced that Woof is actually brain-damaged (for real)
I thought it was a great place, and obviously the vast majority of the population live in the cities (admittedly, I never made it to Perth)
He is a pussy
Friends in high places, do you mean the clique?
The only people Fishtits didn't (disingenuously) suck-up to that I saw was moi, Tiglet, because he's (religiously) insane, and Sword, probably because she gave him a few slaps in the mod room. Oh, and Haven of course (trying to impress his mates in high places)
Oh! There's one more (that I can think of).. the bould O'Reilly. But that's only because Myles got on his enemy lits (he would've loved him before lunch)Friends in high places, do you mean the clique?
The only people Fishtits didn't (disingenuously) suck-up to that I saw was moi, Tiglet, because he's (religiously) insane, and Sword, probably because she gave him a few slaps in the mod room. Oh, and Haven of course (trying to impress his mates in high places)
Albeit, Myles has a tendency to get on everyone's enemy lits
Mowl
Member
Oh dear.
So pretty much everybody, no?
Your A Team second in command, as I recall.
But that's only because Myles got on his enemy lits (he would've loved him before lunch)
Albeit, Myles has a tendency to get on everyone's enemy lits
Terminal drunkards tend to do that.
Myles is just another angry Irish sop.
I once saw a man take all the empty glasses off the table in a pub and - with the help of his pals - tilt the table slightly so that the dregs and slops all poured downward and into his waiting wide-open gob. He then licked/supped the table almost clean before being haul-assed out the door by the back of his neck.
Whenever O'Reilly pipes up, that memory comes dripping and drooling back to mind like a slow torture.
I must apologise to you here, Mowl, crossed-wires
You were talking about Woof, and I thought that we were (still) talking about Fishtits
I'm afraid this is what happens when no one reads your posts (as no one does) or only skims them..
O'Reilly got on Fishtits's enemys lits because he called him a paedophile for being honest enough to say that a teenager could be possibly physically attractive
Mowl
Member
Jambo, you have nothing better to do but hang on my every word.
The entire internet knows this.
Get a job, loser.
No, that's not what you said: you were baiting people to try to capture their attention so's you could drag them down into one of your terminal rabbit holes of boredom and memes. You have consistent form in this area, Jimmy. Everyone knows this, everyone laughs at this, and the Mowl is always right about these things.
Nobody likes you or what you have to say (on behalf of your betters at Unhappy Bastards HQ, Dublin Ireland.
Greetings from the capital city of the world's happiest country.
Have another tin and think about your future: it's already here, and look at you?
Oh deary me.
Eh, yes, it's exactly what I said..
A teenager doesn't become physically attractive magically on the day of her eighteenth birthday (or the age of consent)
Which caused heads to explode, namely Woof's (all he ever talks about is paedophilia & perverts anyway), Tiglet's, who's a puritanical religious nutcase and Tommytard O'Reilly's who, like you, thinks that a woman in her twenties is a child (not that you're interested in the opposite sex anyway)
Mowl
Member
And yet nobody anywhere cares even remotely.
This is what you obsess about all day every day, isn't it?
Jimmy, I've dated nothing but the most beautiful women from many cultures and countries. As a fresh faced teen, the girls in the local Sisters Of Mercy teamed up with other schools of the same background to host a competition about boys - Dublin boys, and there were a few sections. I found out some years back that I was voted 'Dublin's Most Beautiful Boy' by a long margin.
Other categories included 'Messiest Hair Boy' which I also nailed: the girlies love an unkempt and wily lad.
After the age of eighteen and leaving home, I set about nailing every one of those girls because they too were of the age of majority. I'm still in touch with several of them, so when I return to Dublin, dates for drinks and dinners are always on the cards. I must admit, I was something of a serial tearaway: I loved beautiful women and they loved me too, so I set myself some targets to conquer before the age of twenty-five. And I nailed that too.
See, it's easier to be laid back at this point in my life because I did everything I ever wanted to do to whomever I fancied doing it to.
Then I chose to live in the world's happiest country, which neatly included the world's most beautiful women, so it's a lot like starting my puberty all over again in that I have another list of goals today which I'm more than half-way through.
Beauty, Jimmy - is a wonderful thing, and I have it in spades.
You, on the other hand, are a lonely shut-in with no life to speak of today any more then you have memories of a youth well spent. You're a social misfit, and no woman in her right mind would so much as countenance even a fling with you. You'd likely bore them to sleep droning on about Myles digging Tommy Robinson, Wooftie being 'kind of angry' at times, Tigger the tosspot as a veritable foe, and other tall tales about trimming your fringe to look like Liam Gallagher and clipping your toenails twice a year.
When I look back and realize that even though I kept diaries, I still couldn't give you an accurate number of the women I've enjoyed. Some you know yourself. They're on your telly. On your radio. Strutting your catwalks, and hoping to meet me again.
So by all means: focus your entire existence on a group of men who hang around on dank chat boards, analyze their mindsets, second guess their moves, consider their choice of words. Imagine how they dress and which pubs they frequent. What their socio-economic background might be. What car they drive.
Me?
I'll still be taking care of business.
Like always, Jimmy - like I always have.
Mowl
Member
When it's not the demon drink in an English pub selling English dinners and culture, he's banging on about Irish nationalism and a Toyota Corolla from 1982.
And that - in a nutshell, is the man's entire world: a Japanese car from the previous century and real English bitter with chips and Yorkshire pudding.
Irish nationalism appears way down his 'to-do' list.
About as useful as an enlarged clitoris on a dying granny.
And that - in a nutshell, is the man's entire world: a Japanese car from the previous century and real English bitter with chips and Yorkshire pudding.
Irish nationalism appears way down his 'to-do' list.
About as useful as an enlarged clitoris on a dying granny.