Arsefield's Hall of Shame

[Mowl]

What's the matter, Zippy? Did I hurt your little feelings yesterday? So much so that you'll let that mention of my hallowed name hang on the site until Roundy wakes up and deletes it? Have your little old grey balls seized up and retreated up into your fat stomach making it difficult to sit in front of your computer all day every day and all night every night? You should take my advice: kill yourself, and do it soon.

You know perfectly well I'm 100% right about your nasty and withered old testicles, innit. Not to mention that slimy cowardly streak of yellow across your generous mid-torso: stuffed full of Tayto and white sliced bread. Your manky auld tea-cup: bronzed on the inside due to a lack of hygiene. You never get around to scrubbing it out because it's a sort of calendar of the waste you made of your life. Cup after cup, trying to fill a void not even an avalanche of rocks could fill.

You're one of life's least worthy maggots, Paradosis: why pretend any more?

Why bot just take off your rat-skin cardigan and lay down with the rest of the rodents that scamper around your lazy useless feet?

Let one bite you, contract rabies and film it for me - I'd love to count down the last of your filthy breaths.

You're scum, Swordid - utter fucking scum.

 

[Mowl]

You, Jimmy.

Just you.

 

[Mowl]

The spoils of Boston's number one street hustling grifter as lived out by Ireland wealthiest ever exponent, mister Declan 'Roundy' Kelly - seen here in his multi-million dollar mansion with the kitsch little purple curtains over lace from Boston circa 1958 and the ceiling left unpainted since the same vintage. See how large wealth buys art - real art, like the poster-painted and dusty old frame behind his fat little head. It's a ship, lost at sea but still on the move, much like the Marie Celeste herself. Drifting, grifting, sifting through the garbage bins behind Burger King in Dedham, he roves as no rover has ever roved before.

The spoof factor with Kelly is hilarious: he keeps up this bullshit about making his money on gold and silver - then denounces any Jew whose head pops up above the parapet talking about same. The cheap clothes, the fridge in the corner of the living room - all signs of the modern lazy fat bastard Simpson's family of today. Kelly's gaff is a glorified wooden shack next to the interstate and subject to endless noise from trucks and lorries whizzing past all day and night. It has a problem with the vermin too: so if you're planning on going over to visit, bring your wellingtons with you: it'll stop the rats nipping at your ankles for long enough to finish your tay and be on your way.

He's looking more and more sickly and wan as the days pass and the cheeseburgers go down.

His face sagging like a wet paper bag full of plop and his neck's a gizzard of wrinkles and folds. He's old now. Fat too. Well past his prime but for a man in his late sixties he's trying his damnedest to appear young and vital. Traits he lost back around 1998 when his wife Marianne finally inherited her Ma's house and Declan finally found some security in his sad little life. That was when the cheeseburger habit finally took him over: no more rent to pay, lots and lots of cheeseburgers to be had. You can see the results of that all over his wrinkled and pock-marked little culchie face.

Short man syndrome. Mistakes brash braggadocio for actual manliness. Refers to himself as an alpha male. Perhaps an alfalfa male would be more suitable? Watery, pale, drooping, and listless? Thinks he's a big man but is still a stunted little culchie pipsqueak with a fat lip. Balding, withering, dying of old age and decrepitude. Looks good on him too: he wears it well.

Fiddler On The Clapboard Roof: 'If I Were A Rich Man'

 

[Mowl]

Nice work, Jimmy. Keep this shit up and it's either Arsefield's is going to fall apart or you getting barred - permanently.

You already managed to get the site's most prolific poster, Tigger the pussycat twat. That chap reamed off walls of text that baffled the site drunk and left you struggling to keep up pace and finally resorting to your favourite go-to bullshit posts when you're cornered:

'I have a high IQ. Everyone knows this. Everyone. I'm the only one who can do this. I'm not even boasting. No. See? Even my doctor said that nobody else can have an IQ like mine. Nobody. And it's not because I like Oasis either. Lots of very rich people like me also listen to Oasis. My lawyer said to me just this morning, he said: 'Jimmy, nobody loves Oasis like you do'. I fired him on the spot. Then rehired him at 50% less of his original wage. He said to me, he said: 'Jimmy, nobody can rehire a sacked lawyer like you. Nobody'. So I clattered him in the face and had another three Big Macs with two strawberry shakes. My doctor later said to me, he said: 'Jimmy, no one necks cheeseburgers like you do. Nobody'. So I pointed the way across the pond to Boston and I said to him, I said: 'Doc, you see that water there in between our two countries? That's real water. Big water. Real big'. I said so. He said he didn't understand. Didn't understand. It was huge. Nobody had ever seen anything like it. Nobody. So I posted a cover version of 'Wonderwall' by Mike Flowers Pops and took a bath. A hot bath. Water, warm water. Big warm water. And me. In it. Right there, in it. Nobody ever seen anything like it. My wife said to me, she said: 'Jimmy, why don't you post a picture of a chess table?' That's what she said. To me. It was crazy. Real crazy. Big crazy. So I said to her, I said: 'Mel, why would I post a picture of a chess table with a little China girl sitting there smiling?' It was awesome. The chess table. The little girl. China girl. Big China. Real big. China. Girl. You never saw anything like it. Mel thinks that because I post chess tables and Chinese women when I'm stuck for an answer, and I've spoken to her doctors about it. They said to me, they said: 'Jimmy, nobody posts pictures of chess tables and little oriental chicks like you do. Nobody'. Incredible. They said it. They said it. To me. It was amazi.....'

Never in the field of human conflict was so much spasticated bollocks uttered by just one to so few.

Fridays are always a gas with you clowns: the concerted clicks of so many tins of Dutch Gold getting opened earlier every Friday evening every week leading to the usual bollocks that only ever turns into an Oasis song. Isle bad. Roc bad. Mowl bad. David bad. If Oasis were really Irish, would they be nationalists?

 

[David]

Liam Gallagher meets 60s kitsch?

 

[David]

....did Liam refer to Mike Flowers as a fuckin wanker for that rendition of Wonderwall?

---

 

[Mowl]

Liam Gallagher meets 60s kitsch?

Gallagher has an even worse hairstyle.

....did Liam refer to Mike Flowers as a fuckin wanker for that rendition of Wonderwall?

He should take a look in the mirror so, the copy-cat rat bastard bollock-boy.

 

[Mowl]

LOL

The National(ist) party is a dead duck. It does nothing, it goes nowhere, it's full of losers and other brain dead half-wits who actually think that the midgety little bollocks Barret is their man. He's a fucking loser - of epic proportions. Even if you managed to rope in every nationalist twat in the country, it still ain't going to do or change jack shit. It's a loser's ship of fools, lost atop a windswept ocean, bobbing about like a message in bottle nobody wants to open.

Face it.

You're already fucked, and you know it.

So why all the yap?

Shouldn't you be out doing nationalistic things instead of scratching your bollocks and mouthing off online?

No wonder your nationalist buddies are as thick as you: you all follow a midget in a confirmation suit.

But not one as cool as Brendan Behan's story goes: https://www.ireland-information.com/confirmationsuit.htm

Cop on to yourself, Jimmy - you're on a losing streak as long as your list of enemies.

 

[Mowl]

We have 53 registered members now but about 10 are no longer posting.

Bullshit: you have three active posters - and they're all mods: because Jambo bored the rest of the regulars to hell.

So in a few days, any poster that has not posted in a month will be scrubbed.

Try scrubbing your fat arse, Roundy - nobody buys your spoofs any more.

30 active posters are more than enough and in the future new posters will more likely than not to be using their own names

Look, just because I exposed YOU for the lying fat rat you are doesn't mean the same applies to everyone else.

Try asking your current (three) active members to post under their real names and see what happens.

You're too fat and too stupid to do this shit any more, Deco.

 

[Mowl]

If it takes a culchie loser like this cunt to convince you what I've been telling you for years by now, then you deserve everything you fucking get, you stupid loser half-wit gobshite. In fact, twenty-five years ago you might have been forgiven for what you're griping about today, but to have waited this long to come to such a blatantly obvious conclusion only confirms your gross stupidity.

Your next problem is what you're going to do about it. As an outspoken nationalist, what would YOU consider to be the correct course of action? Stay and try to repair even some of the damage? Or apply for a J1 Visa and start again in Trump's paradise? Your choices are few: you can only go to another English speaking country like Canada, Australia (the desert continent) or the United States. Outside of that you only have the United Kingdom and her few remaining territories, most of which will become independent nations over the next few years/decades.

You're stuck where you are, like your gombeen pals on Arsefield's, one of whom seems to think that blocking my IP address is going to stop the Mowl laughing into your faces every chance I get, you sad little midgety acne machine. You're all spots and pimples, all mouth and no trousers, you tiny little cunt-bucket. Go suck your dead Granda's dick, you useless little yap.

Did you just give him a table blow-job before eating your chips and sausages, Mandy?

 

[Mowl]

True, at the moment, no alternative.

Bullshit: kill yourself, that's an alternative, Fat boy.

So , form an alternative.

Why don't you form a suicidal pact with your sad little minions, fattie?

Nobody will miss any of you.

And if it does not click, then form a clan .

You're some thick cunt, Kelly.

No wonder you ended up fat little yap with notions of self importance.

Take your IP ban and ram it up Marianne's gash, along with half the black population of Ireland.

I have known this for years.

The only thing you've known for years is that you have to lie to feel okay about yourself.

The only hope is an economic collapse.

Hold your breath then, why don't you?

Die, Kelly - just wither and die.

Mr IP Loser.

 

[Mowl]

Nobody fucking cares what you say, you useless sack of shit.

The fucking state of you, Kelly:

 

[Mowl]

Arsefield's current busiest posters - and secret lover-boys, no doubt.

Poor Jambo - now he only has Ireland dumbest aul sock as a best bud.

I bet CC hates Oasis, but Jambo'll likely overlook that minor issue.

 

[Mowl]

So how did you like Finland, Milfy?

Must have been hard when the plane landed you back into your backward little island in the rain though, right?

But at least you got out for a wee while, eh.

But now it's back to the grind, you dumb cunt-bucket load of wet scutter, you.

Wolf?

WOLF??

Pahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

You tiny-balls little shit-streak.

You make Mowl laugh.

 

[Mowl]

How's my IP address ban working out for you, Fatty?

Munching on cheeseburgers while sitting on the toilet pot?

Like a big fat fatty, Fatty?

Gold?

Silver?

And a street busker?

Poor auld Declan - hates that I keep posting pictures of his poverty:

CAPTION: 'Have ye any spare change?'

 

[David]

What's with the tradition on Arsefield's of pretending one doesn't visit Isle?

"Lulz, haven't been there in a million years lulz. Omg, deserted Isle....lulz"


People who don't visit here don't go on, and on and on about it...they simply don't give a fuck either way. You always know when someone is a liar by how often they make that claim. It's almost like a circle-jerk, bromance thing going on over there.

 

[Mowl]

Yeah.

And I never visit Arsefield's.

Ever.

Seriously.

Haven't seen the site since before the last Irish recession.

And you know that's right.

 

[Mowl]

Poor auld Frankly - he's about to get canned again.

It's become a weekly event lately: post a pic of Mowl and try to frame it as gay (all bands who have group photos taken are gay, even the Gallaghers) then wait for Swordid to show and delete them and delete Frankly alongside. It's a pity really - they're gas fun, those lads.

Have a look at this shit:

All of those views were from Ireland. I get this shit every fucking morning, and it's NOT from Finland. We shelved that band project up in 2014, but we still have five hundred or so fans who know we're not available for shows, but they stick around anyway.

See, the problem they have with that shot (and the attached message) is that the Arsefielder's showed it to their wives who straight away said that they'd let me slap the arses off them given half a chance.

'He's Irish? Really? He doesn't look it. He's not so much handsome as he is beautiful. If I was with me girls and we saw that shot we'd all be creamin' are knickers and batterin' are clits. He's a total fucken roide. He could eat crisps in my bed for sure - and you can fuck off back to the pub to watch the horses all day. He looks sort of Spanish with those seriously dark eyes. But kind of Italian as well, the sallow skin that never pales. Jaze but, I could get lost in dem eyes, me...'

I posted that around a year ago because every fucking time I opened Facebook, I get a notification that Irish people in Ireland have been all over both my old art business and my old band. Both are shelved, have I not made that abundantly clear? The Senators are no longer available: Mikko's writing another book (his fifth published thesis) Antti has been promoted from Lieutenant up to some higher rank, Marko's Missus just had another baby, and Jukka's still over in Geneva representing Finnish interests in Switzerland. Me? I'm still having an excellent time without them. I have my own book to complete, my own girls to satisfy, and am generally on top of the world here on the planet's happiest country. Minus one in late February, and the sun beaming down from crystalline beautiful skies.

Suck it up boys: especially the message from Ms Leadbetter: the one where she mentions that the ladies in her basketball team got together with all the other basketball playing girlies from across Dublin and had a competition to see which boys would be voted into which winning categories. Mine was the 'Most Beautiful Boy In Dublin' category, and I won it hands down. Hundreds of teenage girls, all having mad crushes on me. And you can see why.

Beautiful - truly unbelievably beautiful.

Add in my scampish waywardness and you have a winning combination.

Does it really bother you that much that I'm so good looking?

Are you 100% sure you're not actually a faggot, Frank?

Is that what it is?

You wanna suck my dick?

Sorry, Mowl's strictly a lady's man - 100%.

You know what's really funny though?

This:

And this:

And this:

And especially this:

Now that shit's funny.

 

[Mowl]

Let me make this as simple as I can for you, eh Frank?

I mean, while you still have your current account - which'll be banned by this evening.

Anyway: here's Landen Road in Ballyer: pick a house, any house, Frank - there are only four hundred and thirty-eight of them to choose from:

About half of those addresses would crown you before you got to the garden gate if you started sniffing around asking questions, Frank.

You think you're ugly now?

They'd batter you until you're a good looking pile of broken bones and hape of shite.

See?

Everyone loves the Mowl.

Don't be jealous - that's unbecoming, and sad.

Real sad.

Seeya.

 

[Mowl]

Frank, are you aware that your name rhymes with wank?

I ask only in passing as you seem to have an even bigger crush on me than the ladies do. Are you sure you're not bisexual? Or trisexual? Or that you have any testicles at all to speak of. The 'lad' who gave you my Mam's address is a figment of your imagination, not a very exciting or interesting one, but still. You've apparently had that address (and Helen's) for about three years by now, maybe four.

So what's the deal?

Are you a scaredy cat or what?

Knock on either door, see what happens next. I dare you, you sad little spoofer. Everyone in lower Ballyer knows exactly who we are: my Mam was political in her younger years - as well as a beauty queen, my Dad a bus driver's union man who led the bus strikes in the 1970s and shut the country down for six weeks forcing the government to bring out the army to bus people around. The brother's an ex-Republic Of Ireland soccer star, and then there's me: everyone's favourite smart kid from the block. If I dated your daughter, that gave your family some respectability. Ask anyone. They'll tell you the same.

And do try a bit harder to bullshit me the next account you open, Frank: you've been posting the same two pictures for years by now, and you didn't even have to steal them - they're all free to view and with my full permission. I ran the band's websites, as well as multiple others for various projects I designed and made my money from. Try to find something a bit more interesting, will ya? Even I'm bored looking at myself in three shots.

Poor Frank - desperately wants Mowl to be scared of him.

Never happen, matey: now get back to being depressed about the state Dublin city is in.

Especially the Phibsborough region, right? Where your current bedsit is? What's the rent like, Frankie? Is there a sauna? No? Ahhh, sure. How about a garden? No? Fuck it. What size coin does your electricity meter take? The old Irish fifty pence coin? How long do you get for fifty pence? Two bars of your plug-in heater from 1973 for two hours or else a dinner with three ingredients in? Does the kitchen close up like a wardrobe, Frankie? Does your landlord come in when you're out so he can sniff at your manky y-fronts off the (shared) toilet floor?

Man, I wish I lived in Dublin with all that fun you guys are having with the incoming hordes.

Never a dull day, eh Frankie?

Frankie?

Frankie??

Are you there?

Frank???

Nope, he's barred.

Oh, well.

Eye'll seeya later, Frankie.