Arsefield's Hall of Shame
- Thread starter Electricity
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roc_abilly
Member
Yeah, all they want to do is commiserate in an echo chamber, they're not actually interested in doing anything constructive, can't say I didn't try.
"... It’s pretty clear that websites like Sarsfields are breeding grounds for people who are just enraged at their situation, it’s there that people find the reasons their lives aren’t as they had hoped and Sarsfields helps them find the enemy that is standing in their way – whether it be Jews, African Americans, immigrants and so on,” said Beirich. “Unfortunately it’s not very surprising that people who live in this kind of stew of violent racism eventually pick up a gun and do something about it at some point...”.
All their talk of opting out of society entirely, forming a kind of "Manson family" under fat Dan, is just another way of feeling sorry for themselves.
Granted, as that chap noted above in my quote, some of them do eventually pick up a gun. Remember our own Jambo on here put it when he was over there likewise back with his Sarsfields mates, all feeling sorry for themselves:
"... If you want to have a nationalist site then you should be prepared to be an outlaw.. because nationalism is HIGHLY illegal... You want nationalism? Well then you better be prepared to take up a gu.. eh, sorry, don't want to say anything illegal... That's it, it's Game Over. I have no hope left. But if you want.. You better stop being scared about fucking talking about it.. because you're a racist... And every (subversive) geebag, who ever used that term (I know literally dozens on Irish political fora) will, when the glorious time comes, be put up against a wall and held accountable. May God have mercy...".
('Jambo' aka James Dawson)
"... It’s pretty clear that websites like Sarsfields are breeding grounds for people who are just enraged at their situation, it’s there that people find the reasons their lives aren’t as they had hoped and Sarsfields helps them find the enemy that is standing in their way – whether it be Jews, African Americans, immigrants and so on,” said Beirich. “Unfortunately it’s not very surprising that people who live in this kind of stew of violent racism eventually pick up a gun and do something about it at some point...”.
All their talk of opting out of society entirely, forming a kind of "Manson family" under fat Dan, is just another way of feeling sorry for themselves.
Granted, as that chap noted above in my quote, some of them do eventually pick up a gun. Remember our own Jambo on here put it when he was over there likewise back with his Sarsfields mates, all feeling sorry for themselves:
"... If you want to have a nationalist site then you should be prepared to be an outlaw.. because nationalism is HIGHLY illegal... You want nationalism? Well then you better be prepared to take up a gu.. eh, sorry, don't want to say anything illegal... That's it, it's Game Over. I have no hope left. But if you want.. You better stop being scared about fucking talking about it.. because you're a racist... And every (subversive) geebag, who ever used that term (I know literally dozens on Irish political fora) will, when the glorious time comes, be put up against a wall and held accountable. May God have mercy...".
('Jambo' aka James Dawson)
roc_abilly
Member
Jambo will never forgive himself for breaking rule 13 of his precious bugster script.
13. Think before you talk. Talking about committing violence is a no-go. No talking about genocide tribunals because it makes us look dangerous...
13. Think before you talk. Talking about committing violence is a no-go. No talking about genocide tribunals because it makes us look dangerous...
roc_abilly
Member
I suppose he could be up to much worse than just watching videos on repeat of his favourite white supremacists. E.g.
Fingers (and toes) crossed that he's sticking to the videos.
Mowl
Member
Perhaps Jambo's gone ahead of the rest of the troops on a sort of reconnaissance mission, checking out their chosen destinations of retreat for when the shit hits the fan? They were talking about heading up to Iceland, Norway, and even Finland - like these countries have an open-door policy for fleeing Irish gnomes and fatties who need refuge after their homelands were overtaken by the black man. That there's a special place in every white man's heart for the misfortunate and blighted Irish whose nationalist dreams crashed onto the rocks and sank the shitty little island once and for all.
They say this in all seriousness too.
'Right lads, it's all over - grab your gear and let's go.'
And so they embark on a magical journey from Hell, fleeing Dublin to Holyhead on the SeaLink, on to Felixstowe for the ferry over to Gothenburg, then across the Swedish badlands and finally into Stockholm port to catch the ferry to Finland, where they'll be expecting a hero's welcome from the hardy but gullible Finns who'll take them in, give them salmiakki to warm the bones, rye bread and cheese, traditional potato pies, viini, viina, lots of olut, some reindeer cutlets with a nice mushroom sauce, and some moose for dessert. The type with huge horns and tiny brains.
Then it's into the coolth of the lake for a wash, all the lads giggling and cupping their little willies beneath the rolls of flab as they climb out and try to figure out what the fuck a sauna is. Where to sit. What to do. 'Why's it so dark in here?' and then stumbling into the kiivas and roasting the skin off their feet. When they're finally out of breath from the steam, out they pile and into the snow to cool down. Willies and balls all the way up into the belly at this stage.
Then it's time for housing and money issues: Finnish Kela offers them lists of addresses and tells them to pick one. Into the free apartment they go and there's already mail from Kela, the Finnish welfare body, under the letterbox. Cheques for two-hundred and thirty euros (same as their weekly dole in Ireland you see) and free tickets for the zoo, the cinema, and the parliament house. Later the Finns gather outside Paddy's new front door, singing traditional songs of loss and yearning for the homelands, the breaking of spirit and the emergence of a new sense of Finnish sisu about themselves. Bravery, courage, ready to do battle, but sadly without a country of origin to defend. Ireland, overrun with half the middle east and most of Africa's populations is sinking fast, they're glad to have gotten out just in time to save themselves - with some whispers about how the women and children can come later. If they're still alive what with Jamal and his machete collection getting itchy fingers and a wanton lust for blood and human flesh growing ever stronger.
The Arsefield's lads, all safe and sound in lovely Finland, the world's happiest nation - seven years on the fucking trot - and they just wonder why they didn't think of it sooner:
'This is fucking awesome' - says Roundy, eyeballing all the vintage American roadsters on the highways.
'I'm lost' says Coal Buckett - 'I want to go home'.
'Quit yer yappin'' - says Sham, 'and get away from that yellow snow, you doofus'.
'What in the name of fuck language are these cunts speaking?' asks Jambo.
'Just keep nodding and smiling', says Roundy, 'and don't mention the war'.
Next morning they awake to baskets of fresh fruit and fresh bread.
The raising of the tricolour next to the Finnish standard.
The singing of Amhrán na bhFiann, in English, broken Irish, and gibberish.
Then it's time to pick a wife: all the lovely white and golden-blond ladies parade up and down the side of the lake, flashing boobs and twerking those nice firm buttocks. Roundy gets the small fatty, Jambo gets a trannie, Sham picks a bloke, and Saul's too scared to say or do anything - he's not used to thinking for himself. There's one chick still left after the ceremony and everyone's wondering where Myles is. Then they see him, face down in the water, too much salmiakki and jaloviina, drunk as a lord, cold as a Sami midget lost on the tundras. Two days in and one man down.
Frequent treks over to Iceland and Norway are offered on an almost daily basis in order to bring the lads up to speed with the traditional Nordic lifestyle. Free beer in Norway or Iceland is nothing to be sniffed at, what with it being fifteen to twenty-five euros a pint depending which city you're in and in which season. Watching Paddy trying to build an igloo is made into a hit TV show for the Scandinavians to laugh at. Nordic people, as a rule, don't laugh. They're serious people, not clowns. But Paddy knows how to charm anyone, and so he happily acts out his lapdog role as the village idiot. He hasn't much choice but sure what do you expect when you're a refugee?
Which is exactly what they'll become as soon as they open their fucking eyes and take a look around them.
They'll become the very thing they hate the most: welfare tourists.
Except in their case, they know they're entitled to it.
It's the one subject they're all well-versed in.
They say this in all seriousness too.
'Right lads, it's all over - grab your gear and let's go.'
And so they embark on a magical journey from Hell, fleeing Dublin to Holyhead on the SeaLink, on to Felixstowe for the ferry over to Gothenburg, then across the Swedish badlands and finally into Stockholm port to catch the ferry to Finland, where they'll be expecting a hero's welcome from the hardy but gullible Finns who'll take them in, give them salmiakki to warm the bones, rye bread and cheese, traditional potato pies, viini, viina, lots of olut, some reindeer cutlets with a nice mushroom sauce, and some moose for dessert. The type with huge horns and tiny brains.
Then it's into the coolth of the lake for a wash, all the lads giggling and cupping their little willies beneath the rolls of flab as they climb out and try to figure out what the fuck a sauna is. Where to sit. What to do. 'Why's it so dark in here?' and then stumbling into the kiivas and roasting the skin off their feet. When they're finally out of breath from the steam, out they pile and into the snow to cool down. Willies and balls all the way up into the belly at this stage.
Then it's time for housing and money issues: Finnish Kela offers them lists of addresses and tells them to pick one. Into the free apartment they go and there's already mail from Kela, the Finnish welfare body, under the letterbox. Cheques for two-hundred and thirty euros (same as their weekly dole in Ireland you see) and free tickets for the zoo, the cinema, and the parliament house. Later the Finns gather outside Paddy's new front door, singing traditional songs of loss and yearning for the homelands, the breaking of spirit and the emergence of a new sense of Finnish sisu about themselves. Bravery, courage, ready to do battle, but sadly without a country of origin to defend. Ireland, overrun with half the middle east and most of Africa's populations is sinking fast, they're glad to have gotten out just in time to save themselves - with some whispers about how the women and children can come later. If they're still alive what with Jamal and his machete collection getting itchy fingers and a wanton lust for blood and human flesh growing ever stronger.
The Arsefield's lads, all safe and sound in lovely Finland, the world's happiest nation - seven years on the fucking trot - and they just wonder why they didn't think of it sooner:
'This is fucking awesome' - says Roundy, eyeballing all the vintage American roadsters on the highways.
'I'm lost' says Coal Buckett - 'I want to go home'.
'Quit yer yappin'' - says Sham, 'and get away from that yellow snow, you doofus'.
'What in the name of fuck language are these cunts speaking?' asks Jambo.
'Just keep nodding and smiling', says Roundy, 'and don't mention the war'.
Next morning they awake to baskets of fresh fruit and fresh bread.
The raising of the tricolour next to the Finnish standard.
The singing of Amhrán na bhFiann, in English, broken Irish, and gibberish.
Then it's time to pick a wife: all the lovely white and golden-blond ladies parade up and down the side of the lake, flashing boobs and twerking those nice firm buttocks. Roundy gets the small fatty, Jambo gets a trannie, Sham picks a bloke, and Saul's too scared to say or do anything - he's not used to thinking for himself. There's one chick still left after the ceremony and everyone's wondering where Myles is. Then they see him, face down in the water, too much salmiakki and jaloviina, drunk as a lord, cold as a Sami midget lost on the tundras. Two days in and one man down.
Frequent treks over to Iceland and Norway are offered on an almost daily basis in order to bring the lads up to speed with the traditional Nordic lifestyle. Free beer in Norway or Iceland is nothing to be sniffed at, what with it being fifteen to twenty-five euros a pint depending which city you're in and in which season. Watching Paddy trying to build an igloo is made into a hit TV show for the Scandinavians to laugh at. Nordic people, as a rule, don't laugh. They're serious people, not clowns. But Paddy knows how to charm anyone, and so he happily acts out his lapdog role as the village idiot. He hasn't much choice but sure what do you expect when you're a refugee?
Which is exactly what they'll become as soon as they open their fucking eyes and take a look around them.
They'll become the very thing they hate the most: welfare tourists.
Except in their case, they know they're entitled to it.
It's the one subject they're all well-versed in.
'Paddy: The Nordic Green Dream'
Coming this autumn on pay-per-view. Watch as Paddy and Bridie try to learn to ski cross-country style. See them fall and struggle to get back up. Experience second-hand as they try to catch and skin a moose. Laugh along as they try to start the sauna but haven't a fucking clue what's going on. Enjoy the banter as they argue about whose turn it is to dig a new Shitting Ditch.
Coming this autumn on pay-per-view. Watch as Paddy and Bridie try to learn to ski cross-country style. See them fall and struggle to get back up. Experience second-hand as they try to catch and skin a moose. Laugh along as they try to start the sauna but haven't a fucking clue what's going on. Enjoy the banter as they argue about whose turn it is to dig a new Shitting Ditch.
Mowl
Member
Roundy's now claiming he spent the last ten days on pan-American drive from the Pacific to the Atlantic. To prove it he posted a video of three of the tyres on his off-road rental. Guess where he recorded it? You got it: another fucking car park.
www.sarsfieldsvirtualpub.com
What an utter fucking loser.
He was no more on a pan-American jape than he was collecting some antique furniture for the neighbours for a small fee, the big fat van-driving plonker.
Give it a fucking rest already.
Then Val's in with his epic stories and fake tales of San Francisco. He went to see some totem poles and to get a quick lesson in how to skin a buffalo for meat and warm clothing. In fact, the Natives were/are far more advanced in animal husbandry than Val will ever be. His first test of bravery was to ram his entire left arm up a buffalo's arse without any loob. He was wrist deep before they started shouting at him and telling him to stop - they were only kidding.
Val finished the job anyway.
My Trip across the USA.
www.sarsfieldsvirtualpub.com
What an utter fucking loser.
He was no more on a pan-American jape than he was collecting some antique furniture for the neighbours for a small fee, the big fat van-driving plonker.
Give it a fucking rest already.
Then Val's in with his epic stories and fake tales of San Francisco. He went to see some totem poles and to get a quick lesson in how to skin a buffalo for meat and warm clothing. In fact, the Natives were/are far more advanced in animal husbandry than Val will ever be. His first test of bravery was to ram his entire left arm up a buffalo's arse without any loob. He was wrist deep before they started shouting at him and telling him to stop - they were only kidding.
Val finished the job anyway.
Mowl
Member
Another great all-American car park in the middle of fucking nowhere.
The van isn't a rental after all - he was hired to drive it across the states because hiring a fat little Paddy-whack gomb is far cheaper than having it delivered by rail or truck. Every car park from the Pacific to the north Atlantic - now home to one of Roundy's little turds. He's too tight to pay for the jacks, so he shits in a bag in the back of the van, then leaves it as a souvenir after necking seven cheeseburgers and three liters of Pepsi in seconds flat.
Cannonball run is right - those cheeseburgers tear through him: imagine the smell off the driver's seat?
Sheeeesh.
Mowl
Member
'I was never in Germany but what a vile kip it has become'
How the fuck would you know then, arm-chair Boy?
You never leave the fucking house and the only Germany you've ever seen is via the little yellow guy on Google maps.
'...with these animals about ......if I lived there...'
You live in the schticks, you pathetic little cunt: Monaghan, the single most grey, bland, miserable, wet, damp, filthy, stinking shithole town on the planet.
'I would definitely carry at least a Stanley with fresh blade at all times..'
For what? To try to get some work in a butcher's shop? To offer to cut people's hair on the streets? To slice into your veins and do us all a fucking favour?
'1000% this cunt is one of the ones Assad wants to hang..'
All this big talk out of you lately merely demonstrates how malleable and gullible you really are, Marcus. You want hangings, shootings, stonings, beheadings, gut-ripping, and hands lopped off? Have you any fucking idea how utterly sad and pathetic you are? In - the whole weekend - yapping about murder and strife, sitting in your armchair armed with a cup of tea and three Marietta biscuits with knobs of butter, with a lace doily under the cup lest it stain the arm rests on the laminated armchair your wife bought on the cheap and had covered before being brought home for you to put in a few hours getting your butt groove sorted for the long haul.
You really ought to read back over your posts across the last year: you went from a meek and mild gopher to murderous villain in a few short months.
Radical Buckett - soldier at arms - ready to fight to the death, as soon as he's finished his tay.
roc_abilly
Member
Speaking of Arsefielders, I wonder what the hell Jambo is up to. He must be very busy being a "nationalist".
Mowl said:
Mowl
Member
That, or perhaps he's returned to his 'counter-Jihadi' days.
Man, how I laughed at that one.
He said it in all seriousness too, which rather equates him with the Saul Buckett-level intellect.
These guys honestly think they're moving mountains by posting this level of pap. 'Real as fuck' says one of them about the site. Okay, there is a site and there are members, and the members post all day on a variety of subjects. But to what end? Does Saul really imagine there are people out there who read his schtick and then pump their fists in the air like something really big just happened? Or Jambo, referring to his past as a warrior on the counter-Jihadi issue, all dressed up in his Adventure Kit outfit with a little torch, a compass, a fake gun with some pop-caps, a plastic knife and sheath on his belt, and a small strap-on lamp to wear on his forehead when adventuring out into the kitchen for another Dutch Gold from the fridge in the depths of the night.
Toy soldiers are more active. Those tiny little grey or black or brown soldiers you could buy and paint their uniforms yourself with tiny tins of gloss paint that got under your fingernails and took a week to wear off. Action men, in little boxes wearing all sorts of uniforms and carrying tiny replicas of classic guns like the Luger and war items like the British Sten gun. I used to clip off the stars on the Action Man boxes and after filling a little official book with them, sent away to England and three weeks later a package would arrive for me full of the little items I ordered, which I then sold in the school yard to the kids who weren't allowed out onto the actual streets of Ballyer, just their back garden - which they turned into a battlefield to have wars with other tiny soldier collectors.
Fantasy games, based on snippets of movies they've seen on the telly: yet I don't recall even one kid setting up the gas chambers to toast the Jews in. They were telling us all about it in school, but what they were saying to us was a million miles away from the reality we saw on The World At War:
It was hard to equate these two things at age eight. Yeah,we all knew the stories, we saw the bits of film and lots of photos of piles of bodies in huge holes in the ground. Or that one guy who stared the Germans down as he knelt beside what was to become his mass grave in just a moment. Fully dressed, arms behind his back, a look of grim determination on his wizened and heavily bearded face, they pop him and down he falls in to naked morass of limbs and ribs and feet. Or that Vietnamese guy who gets shot in the temple at point blank range: no questions, no time-wasting, just a quick pop down he goes, his face all creased up from the bullet tearing through his skull and exiting the other side with most of his brain mass and eye muscles spilled out onto the dusty street in a long wet streak of crimson blood. Business as usual. Another day at the office.
So Jambo's 'counter-Jihadi' days?
What were they comprised of? What did he actually do that defined his actions as counter-Jihadi? He used a different source on Telegram than the trio of clowns he re-posts these days? He dressed up for it in faux military fatigues he bought in the camping and military surplus shops along Capel Street? Likely. How exactly did he counter the Jihadi's? By re-posting memes from here and there? How did the Jihadi's respond to his counter attacks? Run away? Laugh at him? Not even be aware that there's some Irish twat out there posting all this shit he knows nothing about apart from what he was told was true and being the lackey he is, never bothered to do the research for himself.
Perhaps today he's out on some counter-Oasis drill?
His big heroes and second-hand chord merchants are reforming to boost the pension pot. Noel's wife took him to the cleaners, he's broke and he needs the money. Why do these twats fall for this shit? Some backstage groupie decides to stop taking the pill and offers her gash to him: gets pregnant, takes him for all he's got. The oldest story in rock'n'roll. Shafted.
Jimmy would be better off either building his own site to see if he's got what it takes, or else just giving up the ghost and start rimming Roundy's hole for him. That might earn him a back-door entrance into the heart of Irish blogging's most unbelievably stupid fucks ever.
Jimmy, the counter-Jihadi champion of Rubik's Cube: takes off all the little coloured stickers and puts them back on in the correct order.
Then declares himself another great victory in the field - countering those pesky Jihadists.
roc_abilly
Member
White supremacism is just the other side of the same coin as Jihadism.
Jihadism is the ideological fringe of Islamism. White supremacism is the fringe of right wing racist conservative politics.
Jimbojadism is in another political sphere again. It's what happens to a juvenile mind when it ceases to articulate itself, and only throws up the articulations of others.
And that is a spiral that gets more and more extreme, and it doesn't particularly matter what ideology or religion it occurs under.
Jihadism is the ideological fringe of Islamism. White supremacism is the fringe of right wing racist conservative politics.
Jimbojadism is in another political sphere again. It's what happens to a juvenile mind when it ceases to articulate itself, and only throws up the articulations of others.
And that is a spiral that gets more and more extreme, and it doesn't particularly matter what ideology or religion it occurs under.
Dan seems to have banned Myles for some reason.
www.sarsfieldsvirtualpub.com
Trolling Misinformation and suchlike!
Looka t the attitude, the body language and the snot nose faces of these goons when Ben calls them out to their faces...... View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B2WAP0nxAF0
www.sarsfieldsvirtualpub.com
Mowl
Member
Word to 'Professor' over on the gay bar site, Arsefield's:
You're banging your head off the wall trying to reason with Myles or any of his idiotic cohorts. These culchie knackers are still living in the mentality of the tenements of old Dublin type-mindset. In fact, when Val Martin was running with them, some of them claimed to wear underpants in the shower if their kids were around. They think a traditional sauna is a pedophile play-center. Anything to do with boobs, bums, or willies in public sets the whole lot of them into a foaming-at-the-mouth rage and wanting to hack off arms, legs, nipples, and fingers. They're still in the Dark Ages of old Ireland, these fucking idiots.
it's not enough that they're allowed to/demand to take offense at what they're intimidated by, but they also want to shut down anyone else who feels any different or even those who don't take it seriously. And any who do are immediately branded perverts and pedophiles. In Helsinki, and all across Finland, the Finns hold sauna as a spiritual event, a place of silence and introspection, a means to return to their roots out in the wilds, living off the land and with no neighbours for miles and miles. Hygiene is one aspect, but the ritual of sauna is almost a religion to Finland.
The twats on your site think a mother and father taking their children to sauna is a sexual abuse-type offense. All they can think of is their willies, and it freaks the fucking fuck out of them to even consider nudity as anything but a massive, massive taboo that cannot and should not be breached. A father sitting naked with his children bathing in darkness and hot steam is a crime in their tiny minds. It illustrates very clearly that - even if the Roman Catholic Church are mostly historic these days, that the trip of Catholic guilt did its work on them so long ago and so deep into them, that they still can't look themselves in a mirror without thinking it sinful and depraved.
No wonder they're all fucked up the head. No wonder the sight of bare skin sends them headlong into paroxysms of rage and anger. No wonder they can't even explain it. No wonder they insist on maintaining it unquestioningly as though it's a tenet of the Biblical rules: 'let no god-fearing man hang free his balls in a place of public interaction lest he lose them both to the savagery of the Christ' and all that malarkey. Can you imagine them on the beach getting ready to swim? The panic of exposing their tiny manhood to mocking and laughter from all around? The bellies hanging over the waist of their knee-length swimming togs? The swimming hat on their fat heads? The sheer horror of their wives' wrinkles and flaps? The kids laughing at them?
Arsefield's is populated by some of the most prehistoric/Victorian knuckle-dragging old-timers and semi-retired half-wits ever to congregate in a public place.
Imagine them all naked and lined up? Roundy Kelly - in the nip? Jaze, doesn't bear thinking about. Val, smelling like slurry, his old grey balls down to his knees. Myles, his tiny little todger in one hand and his bottle of English cider in the other? Saul Buckett - waiting for them all to dip a toe into the water so he can rob their clothes and bags and sell them on Monaghan town square? Or Wolf? Poor auld Wolfie: imagine the grunts and groans of him as he reaches down to take off a sock that has more of his DNA in than his own seed? Trying desperately to cover his arse and his tiny uni-ball lest his neighbours see it and take a photo to post on the gay bar site? That guy is and has been very, very angry about something, smething, something since forever.
Conclusion? Tiny little willy, like the little finger on a brand new baby child - and he's mortified by it.
What you're dealing with some of Ireland's most embarrassing curtain-twitching old men with nothing left to live for except moaning about the rest of us.
The good news though is that they're closer to death than any of us, so take some solace in that, Professor.
Anything less would be tragic.
Dan claims his spoiled brat son bought a $58,500 car upfront, with cash.
www.sarsfieldsvirtualpub.com
My Trip across the USA.
that's a lovely scene --its something my son did last year and he was changed by what he saw --he drove from Milwaukee to LA and then across the desert to Nashville and then to New York . I have it on my list and my wife will retire next Sept and we hope to rent a suitable vehicle -- please...
www.sarsfieldsvirtualpub.com
My Trip across the USA.
that's a lovely scene --its something my son did last year and he was changed by what he saw --he drove from Milwaukee to LA and then across the desert to Nashville and then to New York . I have it on my list and my wife will retire next Sept and we hope to rent a suitable vehicle -- please...
www.sarsfieldsvirtualpub.com
How many would be needed to do a 100% job on Dan?
Mowl
Member
Dan claims his spoiled brat son bought a $58,500 car upfront, with cash.
My Trip across the USA.
that's a lovely scene --its something my son did last year and he was changed by what he saw --he drove from Milwaukee to LA and then across the desert to Nashville and then to New York . I have it on my list and my wife will retire next Sept and we hope to rent a suitable vehicle -- please...
The little cunt robbed it, more like.
Mowl
Member
They're banging on about cloud seeding in the States and Canada now.
These mongrels can't see the wood for the trees. All those air streams you see high-flying jets leave in their wake is nothing more than the pee-pee of so many passengers, and the jets leak streams of it in their wakes like dogs pissing on all four corners of their territory. It's marks their space, you see.
'I don't fly in your wake so you don't piss on my wings' type schtick.
These mongrels can't see the wood for the trees. All those air streams you see high-flying jets leave in their wake is nothing more than the pee-pee of so many passengers, and the jets leak streams of it in their wakes like dogs pissing on all four corners of their territory. It's marks their space, you see.
'I don't fly in your wake so you don't piss on my wings' type schtick.
Mowl
Member
All the gang on Arsefield's are bulling about how shit this summer was in Ireland. Like it's news? Every summer is uniformly fucking HORRIBLE in Ireland, on that you can lay good money. Meanwhile up here in Happy Land, we're still basking in plus twenty-five and clear blue skies, and more of it to come for the next week at the least. It's been really awesome this year, the weekends in particular have been blessed with amazing weather, so we all hit the beaches and sail out to the islands here in the south, while some head way up north into the wilds to have their fun there.
I love Finnish seasons - they're so abrupt and they turn within a few days from one to the next. The sun will continue to shine until the first snows arrive, and it'll be as magical as it ever is. If you're not a fan of deep winters, stay away - you won't like it up here.
We definitely don't need scabs the likes of Arsefield's hosts coming up and destroying the good reputations of the few Irish there are in Finland.
There are more Finns in Ireland than vice-versa: bet you didn't clock that one?
I love Finnish seasons - they're so abrupt and they turn within a few days from one to the next. The sun will continue to shine until the first snows arrive, and it'll be as magical as it ever is. If you're not a fan of deep winters, stay away - you won't like it up here.
We definitely don't need scabs the likes of Arsefield's hosts coming up and destroying the good reputations of the few Irish there are in Finland.
There are more Finns in Ireland than vice-versa: bet you didn't clock that one?