Home
By:
Filters

Arsefield's Hall of Shame

Awww, did the poor liddle Fwankie get ze bullitt alweddy??

frankly.jpg


See?

That's what you get, Frankie. Mess with the Mowl all you like, but you'll never get to laugh as loud as me. Tell us: was it worth it posting those few pics of me? They didn't just ban you, they deleted all 178 posts you made too - and not only that: even the quotes of your posts are long gone. You're not very good at this sort of thing, are you? Maybe you should leave it to the senior trolls like myself to play these sort of games, eh.

Look above? See all those pics I posted of me?

That's how much you bother me posting my public pics around, thinking you're annoying me.

You're not: you're only adding to my already legendary status, a height of fame you'll never know. It's great fun being much loved by Irish bloggers. They all know me. I have just the one account and I play alone - I have no army to back me up, nor do I require one. I do what I do for the laughs, you do what you do to try to be malicious, but you fail every time. Lookit, let me make this as plain and simple as I can:

The photos you post of me ARE ALREADY IN THE PUBLIC SPHERE AND HAVE BEEN SINCE 2009.

You haven't been given anything about me that I haven't given you myself - are you bright enough to understand that much, Frank?

Good, now next time you open an account, just buzz this thread on the Isle, the pictures are already here for you to 'steal' from me.

And now for a wee musical interlude, we have Sister Sledge with their 1985 hit 'Frankie' by three very talented black ladies:

 
Rodent-faced fat fuck beer-swilling culchie loser from nowhere.

He needs to learn his place in the general order of things.

It's right under the busted sewage pipes of Galway's remotest villages with just the one Spar shop twenty-two miles away from his little hovel.
 
lkjhjkl.jpg


I see Wilf's up and at 'em already. Nine in the morning in wet and grim Ireland, and off he goes with today's whinings and yelps of horror.

There's no Frank to stand by his side either, which is a gas.

Poor Frankie got the chop for trying to say that the Mowl's ugly when everyone knows he's a fucking ride. Not a very bright poster, mind you: it took me five posts of reply to get him booted off the gay bar panel. Never to return. Not under his last handle anyway. Gone too is the drunken sad bastard O'Reilly, a fucking hopeless case altogether. Between living in his caravan at the end of the new runway in Dublin Airport, his only other refuge is the gent's toilets of his local Witherspines where he gets his coffee in the morning and brushes his teeth over the sink. Fixes his comb-over, lashes a pint into himself, and starts to whinge like a little baby that his life is a waste of time.

Arsefield's appears to be falling apart, all it takes is a little tinkering under the hood and the nuts and bolts begin to fall.

Soon enough it'll be just Jimmy Dawson and Wilf DeMilf spitting daggers at each other over who's the angriest about Ireland's sad demise.

Ain't me - that's for sure: I'm living the high life up here in Wonderland, deep in the snow at last, and still the sun shines brightly on my balcony.

The white skinned lad who stabbed another black skinned lad's only a fucking kid:

lkkllk.jpg


Rory Carr, from Balbriggan, Co Dublin. So a white supremacist/ethno-nationalist finally took things to hand and murdered a black man on the streets of Dublin. A black man who raped a young girl elsewhere and then legged it to Ireland to hide out in plain site as a refugee; his flashy mobile phone, a silver pocket whiskey-shot, shoes by Nike, t-shirts by Diesel, and pants by Paulo Giorginni. Nicely turned out, for a refugee? His Irish counterparts look like hobos by comparison.

So anyway, how do the Irish nationalists and white supremacists on Arsefield's feel about their side finally scoring one over the incoming hordes? Pretty reserved, it appears. No one's mention Carr's name, no one's post his picture either, apart from me. So what's the deal lads? Did any of you help set this Irish kid up for a life a prison? Will any of you go and visit him in the 'Joy with a cake stuffed with a flick-knife? Or a few yokes to pass the time? A bit of the auld cheap soap-bar will buy him some soap and toilet paper if he does a good deal. He'll be in prison for the rest of his productive life - on your tax euros, then finally released somewhere around 2038 to not much fanfare at all. By then he'll be pensioned off at your expense and will live out his days anonymously in some hick town in the sticks like a hermit.

Are you happy enough now that you you got what you wanted, Wolfie?

How about you, Jimmy?

Happy enough so far?

One dead black man, one white kid collared?

Looks like a happy enough rapist to me, no?

0021ecdb-800.webp


So at least now you won't have to pay to keep the dead man housed and fed, his mobile phone topped up and his sneakers always next to new condition. Y'know these days the black lads are very tender about their sneaks:



Do the right thing, Jambo: hang yourself.

Get out now while the going is still good, or wait until the majority of TDs are black and you find yourself at the bottom of the pecking order all over again, just like you were under British occupation. It's a tough one alright: stay or go? Stay? Where? For how much per month? Leave? To where? Only a few countries have English as a first language. Things have changed. There are more French speaking people in Europe than Irish, and the French are wet-backs. There are more German speaking people down in West Cork than there are Irish, and that ain't even new:they were already there back in 1992 when I went down there with a lady friend's Dad looking to buy a house and some land to grown forestry. The state were throwing out money for anyone looking to get into the lumber business. Like Padraig 'Pee' Flynn's wife, who skyed that £50,000 sterling from Tom Gilmartin Snr and never returned it.

Even with all the furore of Flynn getting the bullet an an EU commissioner, he still kept the money?

Yeps, that's the Irish way.

I notice too that the Irish papers are rather light on the facts surrounding a white Irish boy killing a black refugee?

That's odd, eh.
 
bnmnb.jpg


Still a far better post than your OP, Mandy.

So you've had enough, eh?

Tell you what: send me your postal address and I'll send you six feet of rope, okay?

Good for you?

Or even three feet of twine, you're a tiny little zit-faced loser anyway, right?

Tell us: did you spit or swallow?

ant3.jpg
 
kjhgf.jpg


'Would someone such as "Anglophile" or "Clanrickard" be willing and capable of doing similar here?'
Click to expand...

Perhaps just as pertinently, would YOU Swordid - if given the duty of babysitting an infant child, be inclined to perform a kitchen counter circumcision on the child and then after sucking out any oozing blood, cook the foreskin and have it on a slice of toast while eyeballing yourself in the mirror with your manky old testicles hanging down by your knees and your Star Wars-style golden bra trying to heave your old man's moobs into a cleavage?

Aside from the simple fact that all of your OPs are heavily front-loaded and as baiting as, as.. ..well, maggots on a fishing hook - what the fuck is wrong with you anyway, you fucking creep? You're the single-most fucked up nutjob on these boards. You're a danger to children, and I swear this much to you: if I ever got within swinging distance of your rat-like person, I'd happily stamp your filthy and cancerous brain into mush and feed it to the rats, if they'd have it.

You're scum, utter fucking scum, you sewer rat-like fucking monstrosity.

The only light at the end of the tunnel here is that you're clearly a friendless, lonely, sick at heart and fucked up in the head freak of fucking nature.

And that when death comes for you - as it soon enough will, I'll be the first one to take a piss on your ashes before tossing them back down into the sewers they were born of. I hope you die screaming and in horrific pain, and that it takes a long time before it snuffs out the misery you are to this world. Death. The end, the ultimate end: it's coming for you, you sick fuck. It'll treat you as you've treated life: with extreme prejudice. Something sweet and long term: like lung cancer, or maybe AIDS. Add in a dash of dementia and a few viral infections, and terminal loneliness due to your insufferable character and nature. You're so easy to hate. Even easier to wish dead. But that's a wish that will come true, eventually.

It's a day we'll all celebrate - because any family YOU ever had abandoned you a long time ago.

You're the type of cunt not even a soft-hearted mother could love.

You deserve to be tethered to the ground by ropes and four wooden stakes and fed to starving mongrels while wearing a metal helmet so that your pain is as prolonged as possible. In a prefect world, a video of the event would be made and sent to any bloodline left that you were born of. If you weren't born in a rat's nest. I don't even hate you, you leave me cold.

All I want is for you to suffer for a long, long time before you finally die in extreme agony and the world is rid of you.

 
oiklo.jpg


Another day, another body, another killer, and another bill for Paddy to pay to keep 'em locked up nice and safe.

It sucks being Irish, innit? You poor saps, you were bought and sold before you even knew you were born! For all the whining ye conjure up, you're still a shithole little country out on the edge of Europe, battered by wind and rain and living the lives of direct descendants of Peig Sayers. Misery, grim clouds over everything, a sense of foreboding everywhere you go from your buses to your trams, your streets to your schools, and your pubs are all closing.

Soon enough it'll be time to let go and give up the ghost, but your problem there is having nowhere to go and no contingency plan to cover it. So, it'll be packing your bags in the dead of night before walking out your front door and dropping the keys into the letterbox with a note to your landlord telling him you left one pair of well used y-fronts behind for him to sniff at and thanks for all the fish.

It's a fucked up situation, boys: sorry I can't be of any help but you know the drill.

You are where you're supposed to be, just like I am too: in the happiest place on earth, while you're trying to keep Ireland afloat by posting about your desperation and how you're ready to give it up along with your auld sins and go somewhere else to start again. Some of you will be serving coffees in an Australian branch of Starbucks while those with any brawn on them will be digging trenches for the sewage pipes that service the out-of-town fenced-in communities of Aboriginal drunks and junkies. The desert continent. Damn, that has to suck.

Maybe a trip across the pond to Boston? Roundy could put you up in the garage of his clapboard house in Dedham and his Missus Marianne could do your laundry for you, after she's finished sniffing at your manky caked-up y-fronts. No rent, just long and boring interviews with the man of the house about all the reasons why Ireland's fucked.

It's fucking hilarious some days watching you gullible spas getting it in the neck hour by hour.

Finland has lots of room for new arrivals: but you need to get a few things sorted out first. You need to learn to speak Finnish. You need to learn how to stand on your own two feet. You have to be able to handle inclement weather of all kinds: blazing heat and light in the summer and snow, ice, and darkness in the winter. We love it. We're having so much fun and it isn't even Friday night yet. Oh, and you'll need a wad of cash to get an address sorted out, but before that you'll have to deal with customs and immigration: those lads don't fuck around, so you twats don't stand a chance. Unless you have a job and contract in hand, you'll be granted seven days to get your visa sorted out and you'll need to show them you can afford to take care of yourself if you choose to stay the maximum three months as a fellow EU citizen. That'll require a bank statement showing you have at least €8,000 in readies. After that they'll be knocking on your door, calling your phone, checking your bank account details and brushing down a seat at the back of the first available flight to anywhere outside Finland but inside Europe.

May I suggest Romania? No? How about Poland? Too Catholic, is it? The Hungarians are a gas shower, but they eat with their fingers and dislike conversation. Sweden has lots of room, especially down south in Malmo - or as we call it, Hell On Earth. Of course you'll need to learn to speak Swedish. No fun there. How about the Orient? Polynesia? Easter Island? Dronning Maud Land?

Ahh, wait - that's a great song by a great Irish band: The Fat Lady Sings.



How about you, lads?

Do you need to tell lies?

Heh!
 
Fridays on the blogs?

oiuyuio.jpg


Hasn't even started yet and already I'm in stitches of laughter.

Here, Frank??

You out there?

No?

Still barred, is it?

Ahh, sure... . .
 
frftrf.jpg


Awri' there, Jimmy D?

You did a little postcard to Clark/Mong, did you?

Diddums, that's so sweet.

There's a good little lad.
 
Does anybody know what this fat fool is on about?

rdfdf.jpg


Those stumpy little thumbs he calls his fingers always seem to mash the alphabet into mush:

creepy-hands.jpg
 
lkkjkl.jpg


Poor Jambo: he has far, FAR, FAR too much time on his hands.

Time that could be better spent by say.. ..wanking, or making cups of tea and then not drinking them. Just to see what happens, like. An experiment, if you will, of the pure and thorough waste of everything only Jimmy Dawson encapsulates. When you find yourself not just watching Val's videos to find something even mildly interesting to comment on, but instead you're actually reading and then responding to comments and then discussing them on a completely other site that the arses on youtube don't even know exists (Arsefield's) then it's time in send in the social care workers.

Jambo - this is about as bad as it gets, kid.

You're all fucked up, mate - you need medical and possibly even religious intervention.

I've seen some really sad shit in my time as an online agitator and lampoon artist of merit: but you, Jimmy - are the dog's bollocks of existential sadness.
 
frewsde.jpg


Yeah, of course you did, you roundy fuck-witted fool.

blueshirtcunt.jpg


This spoofing fucker and his weight problems?

Try not eating seven pies instead of one.
Try walking even one hundred meters without stopping for snacks.
Try fucking your wife properly instead of pretending to prematurely ejaculate so you don't have another heart attack.
Try using a normal mirror instead of that circus one you use to try to appear skinny.
Get a proper job: dig some holes, fill in other holes - but not the one in your face.

cunty.jpg


While I'm aware that this fat fool's head is blocking most of it, look at those curtains as opposed to the more recent ones with the purple mini-curtain over white lace curtains? This indicates that Marianne, Roundy's long-suffering wife, actually added those short-arsed curtains some time in the last couple of years. She actually chose them and then hung them. And this in the home of a millionaire plastic Paddy from Ballinasloe?

Spoof, spoof, spoofer.

fagdanpinkbustedflush.jpg
 
Hilarious the way 'Val's Thread' has descended into 'Mowl's Thread' what with Jambo hawking all over the Isle when Arsefield's goes dark.

:unsure:
 
roc_abilly said:
There are some of the most exceptional fuckin eejits gathered over in Arsefield's anyone's ever seen in history I think. It's quite the phenomenon.

Click to expand...



There's enough material over there to cover a hundred PhD Psychology theses. You'd have to wonder how many of them are already under observation at the funny farm.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Top Bottom