Chat 🔥🤬General Chat Thread
- Thread starter David
- Start date
It's not just Dublin though, it's in every town across Ireland, including Athy where I lived for six years.
Dublin City Centre also has the unfortunate position of attracting scumbags from Limerick, the Midlands etc. due to the methadone clinics. Other councils dump their troublemakers on Dublin City Council as a last resort when they can't provide accommodation themselves. 99% of homeless folks are good people, but locating such services beside some of the nation's top tourist spots is just asking for trouble.
Mowl
Member
Same here: Ballyer had some right fucking scumbags, but every one of them got theirs in the end.
The one that hit the hardest was that bastard who hung around outside the lower Decie's chip-shop tapping up odds with threats attached. When he was drunk he was even fucking worse. Then one night, he and the lads went down to the bridge at Inchicore to wait for the Guinness train heading south with a full load in tow. Stupid cunt grabbed a keg, then when trying to fuck it off into the grass verge, slipped and went under the gap between the carriages, losing both legs from the mid-thigh down.
Later, in his wheelchair, he returned to his usual perch to resume tapping up odds.
With threats of violence attached.
One by one the local kids lost their fear and took to slapping him when he threatened them.
He was dead within a few years of that, and nobody missed him any more than they missed his legs or his threats.
Do you know, I always wondered about that: why campaign for a local loser clinic when you can just load them up and bus them out of town?
But yes, Dublin - and Ireland - will always have her quotient of scumbags.
Just look at Jimmy here?
AN4
Member
Mowl
Member
You're still outraged that I'm happier and better off than you are, innit Jimmy?
Not only am I living in the world's highest standards of everything ever, I get to rub it into your sad little mush as often as thirty-seven times a day.
That's not even on a good day, mind.
And you KNOW I mean a good Irish day, full of spuds, Guinness, and little girls more Irish than you are yourself.
Is must.
Always.
A lot of troublemakers know the Gardai are a soft target. Try messing with the French police by contrast and they'd be wrestled to the ground with a bruise or two - no questions asked.
Mowl
Member
Irish cops are scumbags, I know this from personal experience.
Said Jimmy to the mirror..
Mowl
Member
Same fella again
That Dublin/knacker accent just kills me: I'm reminded of the last time I took a walk across the city centre (September 15th 2025) from the top of Grafton Street past Trinity and over the bridge into the badlands of the north-side: Talbot and Henry St nearby the GPO, and then up to Parnell where I flagged a taxi and headed to the airport for a beer instead of in the city. It was horrifying, I felt like I came from another fucking planet, not another EU member state.
The sense of dread and danger on the streets, the dirty looks from men congregating on street corners in large numbers, eyeballing everything and everyone, looking for weakness or distraction before moving in for the kill. The dirt, waste bins overflowing onto the pavements, all this spitting as a nasty habit/means of showing how 'hard' one is. The queues at the McDonald's and the piles of wrappers outside with the seagulls screeching and swooping, filthy pigeons with burned off talons from the electrical cables, and fuckers with huge vicious dogs on short leads, also giving dirty looks like they were dying to hoose the bull/staff raging canine at you.
The take-aways, dozens and dozens of them on the main street. The smells: chips, vinegar, horrible vape smells, burgers, piss, endless fucking piss-stinking lane-ways. Chewing gum embedded into the concrete. Dead rats in gutters, bellies swollen from rat poison. Fucking hell. I was born into THIS? Jesus fuck, how I endured Ireland for twenty years is still a mystery to me. Never felt so utterly bereft of national Irish identity as that day. Couldn't wait to get onto the plane and take a deep breath that didn't stink of Ireland. Fuck that.
Just watching those two in the shop doorway going at each other reminded me of the endless fucking divides in all sections of Irish life:
Northern Ireland v Republic uvv Urrland
Culchies v Jackeens
North-siders v South-siders
Catholic v Protestant
Working class v middle class
Knackers v estate heads
Homeless v themselves
Tents v Doorways
Jaze fucking help yiz all over there.
I couldn't endure that for more than a few days.
The sense of relief when I landed in Helsinki was enormous.
Like I just dodged a hail of bullets and a few grenades tossed in my direction.
Then it dawned on me: now I have NO family at all in Dublin: we all left.
That came as a bit of a shock mixed with deep relief and a sort of 'we all made it out.. ..thank fuck for that..'
The nearest family base I have to Dublin city now is in Kilmacanogue, at the foot of the Wicklow mountains, one of my favourite places in Ireland.
Then the brother's spread out in the quiet regions of Kildare: two and a half acres, thick bush surrounds with two old stone cottages rebuilt and joined together, ultra-modern everything indoors, peace, calm, that vague Irish country smell of slurry and cow-pats in the distance, gentle rain on soft grass, outdoor barbecue under a roof, sound system connected to every room bar the bedrooms. Lots of my paintings and other pieces on the hallway walls. The framed oil portrait of my Mam as a younger girl on the lounge wall, pride of place with tea-candles lit every evening beneath it. A great sense of comfort, of security, timelessness.
That, I miss.
Dublin - not so much.
AN4
Member
Mowl
Member
This is what you guys are wetting your knickers over?!
I know you're inured to all that infects the streets of your city due to your having lived/existed on them for your entire lifetime.
I know you know of even worse sights than those I mentioned, that you don't talk about, because it hurts too much to even try.
I know you're sad and angry about what's happening to your country, to your life, to your playstation and huge telly.
I know too that the Hollandaise saucers increasing the export price of Dutch Gold slabs has hit you particularly hard.
I know that the crazy fucker who stabbed those three kids and tried to kill their teacher has been living in more comfort than you since his crime.
I know you want someone to kill him, attack him, gang up on him - so you can post a few smilies and act like it was YOU who instigated it.
I know you're terrified of women, that you don't have any in your orbit, and that masturbation gives you less of a fear of how your life's gone completely awry.
At least until you finish yourself, when the guilt and the long shadows start to reappear and dance around you, taunting you, reminding you of who you really are.
But at least after a decent wank there's some playstation action to be had:
Mowl
Member
Jambo couldn't give a shit what goes on - he's too busy with his playstation and trying to make new pals on the kiddie site.
AN4
Member
I think it's a gas that you and moron #2 think that you live in a Ireland of the 1990s, when it was a homogeneous society (not that moron #1 has set foot in the country for thirty years) and it's only "white Irish scrotes" who make the wee dribble down your legs..
Mowl
Member
I think it's a gas how you're starting to use Mowlisms all over the place, eh.
Besides, the Ireland of the 1990's was already turning into a shithole, and it's only ever gotten worse since then. Everything that's happened since then happened on your watch, within your sphere of influence, but you did nothing but sit there and take it. But not I: I had plans hatched long before the turn of the millennium, and anyway had spent most of the 90's on the road abroad, including my first visit to Finland (I'd been all over Sweden and Denmark many times, but only two brief tours of Norway, which paid well but was ridiculously expensive) where I decided I was going to move to.
Lots of lovely girls, and not in the Father Ted sense: a culture on the cusp of rebirth, having fixed her system after the collapse in the early 1990's with a housing bubble similar to yours. Except Finland did the opposite to what Ireland did: investors took the hit, any money in the state coffers was ploughed into education, education, education. And it paid off handsomely: within three short years of belt-tightening, a new generation of thinking dawned wherein all the values that existed before the crash were amplified: hire more women on better than equal pay. Open the political ranks to female influence, which in turn has led us to where we are today - world's best quality of life in the world's happiest country.
Ireland - on the other hand, bent over and took it up the ass. She made sure everyone who bet on her to win got their money back, that's the first seeds sewn which ultimately added up to this:
Seventeen and a half thousand homeless Irish people, with the dregs of the planet hanging around your cities sponging up your dole and houses and dragging the godforsaken little pox-bottle down into a third-world hole in the ground. And again: it all happened on your watch,
AN4, on YOUR watch.You can shrug it off, you can post a facepalm, but you're still going to have to live with it while I'm surfing the wave of Nordic successes, one after the next, with nothing but endless opportunity all around me which affords me the choice of doing what I love to do and paying me handsomely for it. You're still paying off the EMF and everyone else who took a bet on your failed success attempts.
Your white Irish scrotes are as bad as your darker skinned imports who now own your capital city.
They own it, you get to visit it, and sometimes you might even get to leave without having been bare-backed while doing your Christmas shopping.
You're fucked, in every way it's possible to be fucked - while I'm laughing my arse off at ye.
It's a sad state of affairs but it's life and life only for the deluded and lost Irish of today.
You have coloured people who are more Irish than Jambo is.
You have third-worlders also now more Irish than Jambo is.
You have 17,500 homeless people: we have none.
Our third world guests work for their crust, yours just sign on for it.
I've contributed to Finland many successes and am rewarded for my faith and decency every passing day.
I live a life you can only dream of, Jimmy - one you'll never even get to see, let alone experience.
What you're laughing about I don't know - but believe me: my laughter's for real.
Yours is nothing but the hopelessness of any hope at all, and it's getting worse every passing day.
So have all the craic you like using my style of writing and my little motifs everyone knows.
You're still just Jambo, and I'm even more The Mowl today than I was last week.
I've been over to see where you losers are at, and thank fuck my next stop was the airport.
So have it, love it, enjoy it - it's all yours and none of it's mine, bar the cash I rip out of your city and take with me back here to sanity and comfort.
Losers lose, Jambo - and you've lost more than you'll ever realize.
Which makes me laugh - which makes The Robber laugh at you too, and you know he's right.
AN4
Member
Ireland - on the other hand, bent over and took it up the ass. She made sure everyone who bet on her to win got their money back, that's the first seeds sewn which ultimately added up to this:
Seventeen and a half thousand homeless Irish people, with the dregs of the planet hanging around your cities sponging up your dole and houses and dragging the godforsaken little pox-bottle down into a third-world hole in the ground. And again: it all happened on your watch,
You can shrug it off, you can post a facepalm, but you're still going to have to live with it while I'm surfing the wave of Nordic successes, one after the next, with nothing but endless opportunity all around me which affords me the choice of doing what I love to do and paying me handsomely for it. You're still paying off the EMF and everyone else who took a bet on your failed success attempts.
Your white Irish scrotes are as bad as your darker skinned imports who now own your capital city.
They own it, you get to visit it, and sometimes you might even get to leave without having been bare-backed while doing your Christmas shopping.
You're fucked, in every way it's possible to be fucked - while I'm laughing my arse off at ye.
It's a sad state of affairs but it's life and life only for the deluded and lost Irish of today.
You have coloured people who are more Irish than Jambo is.
You have third-worlders also now more Irish than Jambo is.
You have 17,500 homeless people: we have none.
Our third world guests work for their crust, yours just sign on for it.
I've contributed to Finland many successes and am rewarded for my faith and decency every passing day.
I live a life you can only dream of, Jimmy - one you'll never even get to see, let alone experience.
What you're laughing about I don't know - but believe me: my laughter's for real.
Yours is nothing but the hopelessness of any hope at all, and it's getting worse every passing day.
So have all the craic you like using my style of writing and my little motifs everyone knows.
You're still just Jambo, and I'm even more The Mowl today than I was last week.
I've been over to see where you losers are at, and thank fuck my next stop was the airport.
So have it, love it, enjoy it - it's all yours and none of it's mine, bar the cash I rip out of your city and take with me back here to sanity and comfort.
Losers lose, Jambo - and you've lost more than you'll ever realize.
Which makes me laugh - which makes The Robber laugh at you too, and you know he's right.
Mowl
Member
Oh, no!
Not a GIF!!
Please - anything but that!!!!
See?
And I'm still miles ahead of you.
But the one crucial fact here is as plain as the nose on Jimmy Dawson's face: he's TERRIFIED of women.
And I don't just mean the fact that he hasn't been laid in jaze only knows how many years, and I don't mean that his Mammy and Daddy beat him so hard either. Nor is it his flaccid little willy - which he hasn't used for anything bar pissing and wanking for so many years he can't even remember himself.
No, Jimmy is terrified of women in positions of authority.
It keeps him awake at night if he lets it.
Jambo thinks that the only way to succeed is with an old man in his sixties in the driver's seat. Anything less is tantamount to deliberately making him weep and shiver and grab at his nuts like Eminem on decent coke. Jambo's an old dog in the sense that he believes women's place is in the kitchen, and only in the kitchen (not even the bedroom) so the possibility of Jambo being bisexual or full-on gay is getting higher by the day. Add that into the soup of his life: no job, no family, no friends (bar David and I) no drive, no ambition, no balls, no direction, no skills worth mentioning, no achievements worth mentioning, just a trip down to Australia in the 1990's to give him any sense of the world and what goes on in it.
Poor Jambo: I named him, I boxed him up, I battered him, and now I'm cooking him - slowly - over an open fire on a wooden spit.
It's great being The Mowl.
Especially with an easy target like James Dawson to spit-roast!
Not a GIF!!
Please - anything but that!!!!
See?
And I'm still miles ahead of you.
But the one crucial fact here is as plain as the nose on Jimmy Dawson's face: he's TERRIFIED of women.
And I don't just mean the fact that he hasn't been laid in jaze only knows how many years, and I don't mean that his Mammy and Daddy beat him so hard either. Nor is it his flaccid little willy - which he hasn't used for anything bar pissing and wanking for so many years he can't even remember himself.
No, Jimmy is terrified of women in positions of authority.
It keeps him awake at night if he lets it.
Jambo thinks that the only way to succeed is with an old man in his sixties in the driver's seat. Anything less is tantamount to deliberately making him weep and shiver and grab at his nuts like Eminem on decent coke. Jambo's an old dog in the sense that he believes women's place is in the kitchen, and only in the kitchen (not even the bedroom) so the possibility of Jambo being bisexual or full-on gay is getting higher by the day. Add that into the soup of his life: no job, no family, no friends (bar David and I) no drive, no ambition, no balls, no direction, no skills worth mentioning, no achievements worth mentioning, just a trip down to Australia in the 1990's to give him any sense of the world and what goes on in it.
Poor Jambo: I named him, I boxed him up, I battered him, and now I'm cooking him - slowly - over an open fire on a wooden spit.
It's great being The Mowl.
Especially with an easy target like James Dawson to spit-roast!