Hahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!
Y'know, for once in your miserable life you're right? It is fucked, completely fucked - butt-fucked. And there's you are right smack dab in the middle of the toilet bowl, getting pissed on and shat on from above day after day after day, flush after flush. And what do you do about it? Call another member a pedophile? That's it? That's your whole thing? Jesus fuck, it's no fucking wonder you're an angry and miserable old fart. If I were in your position the first thing I'd do is buy a length of rope, a new shed, arrange a temporary separation from your slut wife, and some whiskey to give yourself the edge to do what needs be done: kill yourself.
Nobody will miss you. Nobody will even notice you're gone apart from Kangal and Roundy. You're basically cat herpes. On the edge of the butt-hole that is modern Ireland. Fucked. For. Life. And do you know what else? It makes me laugh. Out loud. Even when I'm alone. You're piteous, sad. Useless. You haven't a single reason to stick around, you do know that, Wooftie? Your country is dying all around you and what are you doing? Pursuing an old online enemy from the last century to fill in the time while your ugly cunt wife is sucking Russian cock down on the docks when the fish come in? I'd imagine she fucking loves it too.
Sadly for you, I live in Finland: the
world's happiest country -
seven years on the trot.
Makes you fucking crazy, right?
Knowing a cunt like me has it so fucking good is what keeps you around. You're the single most frequent poster on the whole Mowl/Isle thread, day after day after day. What a wanker. Have you ever considered how enormous a wanker you actually are, Woofs? I'd imagine your wife is actually tougher and harder than you, and when she fancies a proper fuck, she leaves you to watch the spuds don't boil and the eggs don't stick to the pan. That and washing out her cheap lingerie, usually stinking of other men's sweat, saliva, and sperm. Then you fold them all nice and neat for her so that when the mood takes her next time, she won't still be stinking of some other Russian navvie's seed. Poor auld Wooftie: like a starving rat in cage, up and down the walls all fucking day and night, scratching at your cat herpes and causing it to spread all over your fat gut and up into your rancid armpits. Ever consider washing on a regular basis, Wooftie? No? Ahh, sure..
So anyway - tell us before I go: what in the name of the screaming blue jaze possessed you to call yourself 'Wolf' ??
Have you any fucking idea how
lame you are?
Wolf?
You?
Pahahahhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!
Oh, man - that one makes me laugh - every fucking time.
'
Outta the way there, you. I'm Wolf. Big and strong - and smelling slightly of wee-wee and vanilla ice cream. Nobody tells me what to do, apart from the wife, the idiot that is Swordid Golah McJew, and of course Roundy Kelly. I do what Roundy tells me because he's sort of my Daddy - but not in a sexual way. Or at least not a publicly noticeable way when I have his sperm dripping off my chin and down the front of my new Superman t-shirt. It's really all down to my micro-penis. I'm a medical marvel in that nobody has a smaller willy than me. Me, Wolf - or as my friends call me: 'Wooftie'...'
Enjoy the misery of Irish life, kid. You'll never be as happy as me, and you know it. I'm absolutely on top of the world in every possible way: the babes, the money, the quality of life, the fuck-off huge apartment, the cost of living, the safety, the cleanliness, the wonder of it all. I do what I like when I like, and I get paid for it too. Rather handsomely at that.
You?
You spend roughly seventeen to nineteen hours a day on Arsefield's crying about how fucked up your country is.
What sort of slut wife would put up with that, eh?
No wonder half of Russia's fishermen have your number tattooed onto their wrists: she gets a better bounce off them than you'll ever be able to counter.
What's it like when she comes home at night and all you can smell on her breath is foreign cock?
What's it like when you're lying beside her and she keeps burping up acidic sperm?
Or when she farts and out comes a load of greyish brown jizz that smells like slow death?
You poor sad bastard.
I'm off to the Kallio Block Party - hundreds of bands, DJs, babes, free bars, free backstage shennannigans, and whatever you're having yourself.
Well, not you personally - just me, and all the hot Finnish babes.
Try not to get too angry about this little love letter: I already know about the charges the coppers handed you the week before last: flashing your little willy at kids in a public toilet just off the Nangor Road over by the industrial estate. The horror, eh? The horror. Have a nice evening, you sad bastard. Tell your wife the next time she approaches any virginal little boys that it's not her job to enlighten them about sexually transmitted diseases like the ones you have. I know she's angry. I know she caught AIDS off a Russian navvie - it's graffitied all over the toilet doors of nearly every early house from O'Connell Street east to Holyhead.
Seeya, Wooftie.
Seeya, tough guy.
Heh!
Mowl last posted 
