How'd you know I was talking about you?
Because you're needy like that - you're always clinging to me like some sad lapdog dying of AIDS.
Lol, looks like Dan will be heading up to Ireland to pay someone a visit.
He's on a tour of Eurpope's cheeseburger chainstores for research purposes.
His visits to European Dunkin' Donuts branches are a separate issue.
Up to Finland you mean?
He'll probably get lost in the arrivals area and they'll have to find a roundy box to send the thick cunt home in.
Can Dan even afford to fly to Finland?
With THAT beergut?
I strongly doubt it.
How much does it cost to get from Portugal to Finland?
Hard to say in Declan's case: two adjoining seats for his enormous butt plus one more for his bullshit stories about billionaires taking twenty-dollar custom tours around Boston's sleaze-pit dive bars and whore houses.
I know no one wants to go there but it must be fairly cheap.
A direct flight (
business class for me) is currently €970 return, open for three months.
And it's hardly as if it would be a wasted journey.
Your entire life thus far is a wasted journey, Shay.
Sure Mowl himself has practically told us where he lives, bar the number.
Finnish apartment blocks clearly show which tenant is in which address and on which floor.
As far as I'm aware, there's nothing stopping Declan from taking the city bus 741 from the arrivals gate directly to Alppila and a tram 6/8/8H to the terminal at Arabia. I'm two minutes from the tram stop past Ravintola Olotila and in the last entrance before hitting the beach. Ask anyone for me. As Declan said of himself that one time about Ballinasloe: 'I
would have been known to all in (Arabia) during those years...'
I'd fucking LOVE IT if the fat roundy little wanker DOES manage to find his way to me: I'll batter nine flavours of cheeseburger shite out of the little bollocks.
Won't happen though: that fat cunt's too tight to spring for a flight.
And he knows perfectly well the mess I'll make of his roundy little head using nothing more than one fist and a grasp of one of his Jumbo-dumbo ears.
I had a science teacher just like him in St John's College: culchie, short man complex, roundy head, roundy body, slow on the pitch, easy to topple, tense and bored in the classroom (which made it easier for us to set the stupid Cork cunt up) and prone to starting fires every time he touched anything in the lab after we had at it. Hated my guts. Adored our kid - who at the time was doing trials with Arsenal while still doing his InterCert. So between the two of us we made his life hell. I nicknamed him Bod. Like the old cartoon. Every time he passed us in the corridor or walked into the class, we'd all whistle the theme tune.
Here - this'll amuse YOU, Seamus:
But sure, that would only take 5 Krona
That's Sweden, you thick cunt.
(or whatever currency the Frozen Wasteland has)
Euros: and guess what else?
No national debt.
...for a local yokel to say which flat the Irishman who stinks of hash is in..
You can't find hash up here, Shay.
That's more of a Dublin thing for the local knackers around your estate.
Up here, growers take great pride in their work and they represent themselves very professionally.
If you still haven't clocked which door is mine (
Google Maps is your friend here) by the time you're boarding the plane, just ask any hot silver-blonde Finnish naturally beautiful and curvy stewardess: they all know me well. And intimately. They're one of the reasons I always fly business class: But I'm not the one paying for the flight, so hey. Economy class usually has seats with padded headrests for headcase spas like you who can't stop spazming and dribbling down your bib and all over your short-sleeved brown polyester shirt.
www.sarsfieldsvirtualpub.com
amp.cnn.com
