He fits the profile alright.
Looks like the most-mong relative of Philip Dwyer, the ex-postman who enjoys booting narky dogs up the arse.
Imagine, this is the chap who Jambo chickened out of meeting up with (after Jambo threatened him online, and was called on his bluff).
That fight club event was '
fierce craic' - as the mad farmer from Cavan would put it.
These same idiots rage all day long about the abuse the migrants are heaping onto Irish native's daily lives.
At night they want to kill each other.
The power of cheap lager/soapbar hash is mong friendly for sure.
Jambo, as long as you didn't let him sit on you, or look at you too funny, you'd have been alright, you big girl's yellow blouse.
Mortified for the poor sap - off in a sulk because he can't riddle the site with Convex/Wouldn't/Mortgage tweeties.
Jambo, he has all the male masculine maturity of a church mouse.
For all his yap, he's immobile - stunted, wasted.
He should really stick to tiddlywinks and let the adults argue the finer points.
Young lads have too few outlets. Everyone else is in too much of a rush.
And yet one might think the same of any town or city in modern Europe. Like Finland for example. I've been up and down the highways and dirt tracks of this broad and majestic country and even with all the budding rally drivers up there in Sami-land, we rarely wake to news of another young person dead as a result of shitty roads with accident black-spots that go back to the 1970's and beyond. There's nothing as awesome as being in the front seat with a spliff being rolled and the miles whizzing by in the early Finnish dawn: spectacular light, countryside, wilds, the works - while hitting one hundred and fifty for a the stright runs where you really can see ahead for miles. We have few mountains in Finland, it's mostly flat all the way up to the Arctic Circle where the tallest Finnish mountain 'Halti' in the heart of no-man's/Sami landscapes.
Finns are crazy for rally driving. Mostly because that far up there aren't any coppers around handing out speeding fines. There's nothing at all for miles at a time. Hence calling it 'The Wilds'. I've heard stories of private/rented buses stopping for a wee-wee break and some gobshite walks too far off the road and into a bear's territory, pissing on the trees and stumbling around drunk. For the bears? Dinner time. For the gobshite? Matins.
Still - yer man in the photo attached cracks me up: he's exactly how I imagined Sham Frog looked.
Fat, Paddy, culchie, three chins/no neck, the hoodie, the manky jeans, the cheap sneakers.
It's his poor Mam I worry about.
Jaze only knows what he gets up to in her wardrobe while she's asleep.