So you think that an African can be more Irish than an Irish person is?
It must make you feel very righteous saying that. Proud as punch
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It must make you feel very righteous saying that. Proud as punch
Mowl
Member
He was born in Dublin and raised in Tullamore by a lady who adopted a total of fourteen children in her time.
He speaks both Gaelic and English with a broad culchie accent and is rather loud of voice - he's also fluent in French.
He's won multiple medals and trophies playing GAA and rugby, and is now a professional gambler (poker, so you may have lost millions to him).
He's very close to your favourite Irish rock stars, and on occasion has invited me along to their various houses.
He, like me, can walk through any closed doors that usually only open for ticket-holders.
We've known each other longer than you've known Tommeh.
He's deceptively smart: plays dumb but is as sharp as a scalpel.
Saying what?
Is must?
Did you fix it yet?
Is must proud Judy and is?
You think an African man is "more Irish" than an Irish man. You must be very proud of yourself
Mowl
Member
Certainly more Irish than you in that he works for a living, pays his taxes, has no criminal record, speaks Gaelic, is well versed in Irish history and a local election candidate in his home town some years back. He's given Ireland two children, both hold Irish passports. He doesn't waste valuable time hanging around hoping the likes of Swordid might help cover his ass when he starts in on some shit he can't possibly finish.
So all in all, yeah - he's definitely more Irish than you, or even me for that matter: he doesn't loathe the Irish like I do, he's actually very patient with them.
I doubt he's even aware that people like you exist on sites like these, at least not until I tell him about it.
Ireland benefits about as much from you as she does from any Somalian or Nigerian dole sponger living in a free gaff on some sink estate off the Sneem bypass. You're of little use to anyone anywhere. It was St Patrick's day two days ago: you posted some British bands' videos, yapped about Tommeh, drank Dutch beer sitting on your Chinese-built chair, fiddling with your Japanese computer and phone, smoking Lebanese hash, wearing clothes made in Bangladesh, getting your hair cut by some Turk or Libyan, buying foods made in Germany from an Iceland outlet. Your shoes/sneakers are from Korea. Your tobacco is from Latin America. You only speak English. You holiday in Australia. And right now you're reading about yourself from an ex-Irishman with nothing but loathing for the lame Irish still on the god-forsaken little island.
So all in all - yeps: I'm rather proud of myself.
I made it successfully out of Ireland and with large amounts of cash euros in my pockets.
I only ever return to bugger her again and again and I take the money and run, back to here, back to sanity, back to happiness and relative luxury.
You'll still be sitting exactly where you are right now in another three years time.
No kids, no partners, no lovers, no money, no house of your own, no car, no bike, no clean knickers and fuck all hope.
And really - that's about as Irish as it gets these days, eh.
When you tell him about it, ask him if he thinks he's more Irish than an Irish person
Feel free to copy paste his answer here
Mowl
Member
Jimmy, what would you say - as an Irish 'far left progressive ethno-nationalist' - is your greatest benefit to Ireland?
In fact, can you list for me the top three things you've done for Ireland and her people of which you're most proud?
If you were to permanently leave Ireland, how do you think she would evolve/change in regard to your absence?
By the way, you're the only one who used the phrase: 'if.. ..he thinks he's more Irish than an Irish person'.
That's not what I said, now is it, Jimmy?
Guess what day it is in Finland?
Mowl
Member
So you have no honourable or worthwhile traits or benefits to offer Ireland?
That's what we thought, but we were hoping for a little more Dutch Gold-type spirit to your miserable life story.
Are they treating you nice on the kiddie site - and is Swordid still propping up your failed threads with questions about Parlon and ROC? That's very decent of him to help you out of the vacuous hole in the ground you dwell in, Jimmy. It's Friday evening: in the morning I'll check in with you about your posts to the kids and their best buds.
Oh, and you might ask your Ma if he'll lash up a few replies to your other two failed threads on your favourite topic of Irish gnashionalism.
They look a bit bare in comparison to the one about
I'm not an Irish 'far left progressive ethno-nationalist', my mother is deceased for more than twenty years etc., etc., etc. It's just endless bullshit with you (I have no idea what you think you're achieving)
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You are a not an ex-Irishman (unless ex is short for exiled)
You're aren't achieving anything other than your fellow teenager who pays for the site smashing the Like button on all of your (dumb, repetitive) posts (that no one reads)
Mowl
Member
I hold a Finnish passport, so I can identify as a Finnish citizen with the same rights as any Finn - or Irishman.
I only use my Irish passport for trips home, when necessary.
As you already know, I'm one of the Irish interblip's hottest properties, with fans from outer Castlerea to the Dundalk bypass.
Whichever site I'm on, I become the center of attention - while you become an even bigger dope than you already are.
See all those numbers on the thread listings?
Those are for me, usually when I'm lampooning your idiocy and oh-so-serious attempts at looking like some sort of oracle on all issues Irish.
You're not on any sites you fucken fool (and no one reads your Facebook page)
You're literally the reason kids (brats) are barred from pubs, and other adult spaces
Mowl
Member
Ten thousand, four hundred and ninety-six people read me - and are terrified of crossing me in any way, so they refrain from dancing with me where possible.
You, on the other hand, are just another guttersnipe, shooting blanks and incapable of a worthy hard-on.
Too much cheap beer, cheap hash, and even cheaper sluts.
It's a gas to see how jealous you really are of me, innit.
I know you wish you had my coverage, but face it Jimmy - you never will.
Your specialist subjects are old hat, boring, repetitive, of little interest to anyone bar your Ma with the massive hanging testicles of death covered in grey pubes.
If you could you'd have your face buried in his crotch and your hands tucked into his sweaty armpits, wouldn't you?
I have no idea what that's supposed to mean, but for what it's worth, the parents of any kids who got to watch me at work always came to me to ask how come I'm not working with kids full time, I have such a way with them. I make learning fun. I include them in what I'm doing and I love to put on a show. That's really what I'm being hired for, not just my artistic angles but my ability to charm even the most hostile fuckers with my simple approach to life and art and music.
I loved working those contracts, and not just because of the money and freebies, but because I love to mosh with new people, draw them into what I'm doing and let them know that the management are paying me not just for artwork, but for the performances I can invent out of thin air that captures everyone's attention and has them offering me drinks and anything else I want.I always refuse, I have never taken a drink while at work even in the hardest of Louis' bars like The Finches, or the Palmerstown House, where he keeps his offices.
Louis and I have only ever had a handful of conversations in all the decades I worked for him. He was the only person I told I was quitting back in 2015 and that I wouldn't be available in the same manner I used to be, but that I did have a surrogate (studied) NCAD artist already lined up for him and she's also great with people, I used her many times to do the filling in after I laid out the graphics and legged it to the next pub/restaurant on the list. She shows up just as I'm finishing, I give her the colour chart and show her where she needs to work freehand (in reverse) to complete the pieces.
Then I'm gone. Next pub, next performance, next three dozen people asking me to come to their homes and do the kid's rooms and rumpus rooms. Please stay and have dinner, the kids love you, they've loads of questions for you? Can you stay another hour? We'll pay you for it.
So I stay a while and inspire the kids with stories about how art breaks all barriers and languages, as does music, which is my first love. My one true love I married and promised never to leave. And how happy it makes me to be doing what I love to do and not just getting paid for it, but being invited into people's lives while I'm splishing and splashing around their houses. On one bizarre occasion, I had the entire patronage of a lovely little spot called An Sibin out in Dunshaughlin stop what they were doing to gather around and watch how I handled their kids: I sat them all (around eleven or twelve of them) on high stools and set about creating any character they asked me to from the pictures in their phones. On the spot, I dreamt up ways of including things they asked perfectly into the overall piece I was being paid to design. The lady I was seeing at the time stood by in amazement, she knew I'm good with people, but she didn't know I was also great with kids. The parents were absolutely delighted that their kids got a free lesson in art, in how to live, in how to turn dreams into realities. And not one of them commented on the fact that I'm covered from head to toe in paint splashes and rumpled clothing from the second hand shops.
The only people who ever passed comment on my appearance was my Mam, who asked why I couldn't just buy some work clothes and change into them for the work, then take them off when I'm finished. Poor Mammy, she was of that generation who believed presentation was vital in improving one's lot in life. But over time I made her see that it's the very wealthy who truly don't give a shit what way they're dressed when they're about doing their business. Besides, what artists shows up all clean and sparkling? I show up like an explosion in a paint shop, and I bring the party with me. That's why I didn't even have to let Louis know when I was around. I could simply walk into any of his hotels, restaurants, pubs, multiplexes, and even his own family spread out in the sticks.
I make art out of nothing.
I use chaos as a medium.
I employ simple skills but get big results.
I love what I'm doing and could do it in my sleep, but I don't want to miss a moment.
Yeah, the money matters - but only for my life up here - never there.
I don't need to buy anything bar bus tickets and paints and inks.
Everything else is free: food, drinks, phones, taxis, you name it.
So yeah, I miss the action, maybe the money, not that I need it, but I did enjoy doing the final tally at the end of a successful run with few hours wasted.
But I have no regrets, only a litany of bizarre experiences that I'd never otherwise have had were I to do what I do any other way.
So I don't really care whether you get it or not, Jimmy.
You're only an arsehole with a fat mouth and no balls, so I don't take you seriously anyway.
I just enjoy wrecking your head, wrecking your day, bursting your stupid bubbles.
You're a spitball target, another yap in a long line of yaps.
But you'll never match how I've lived such a life as I have.
You'll never actually 'get it' because it's not accessible to you.
You have no skills whatsoever, not at work and not with people either.
You're a loser, one of life's drags.
But I like having you around - you remind me of all that I left behind.
And I'm still laughing.
It means you're banned.. from everywhere, for good reason
Kicked out of your own country, your pub band, people cross the street when they see you in Finland..
But you still haven't understood why. I'm afraid you're very mentally ill