Chat 🔥🤬General Chat Thread
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roc_abilly
Member
Ah jaze, would you look what's after only turning up in the BBC archives:
roc_abilly
Member
Mowl, any thoughts about how Ketamine might have caused Matthew Perry's death?
Matthew Perry: Two doctors among five charged over ketamine-related death | BreakingNews.ie
An investigation into the actor’s death unearthed a ‘broad underground criminal network’, US attorney Martin Estrada said.
www.breakingnews.ie
Recalling that the 60's "neuronauts", researchers like John Lilly, used to take collossal amounts. Lilly even took it through an IV drip to get the maximum amount possible, while he was inside a sensory deprivation tank, towards the development of his "inter-species communication" dolphins project. Its advantage over LSD was that the more you took the higher you got, whereas with LSD there was a limit to how far out you could get.
John C. Lilly: The pioneer of floating
He may have invented the world’s first float tank, but who exactly was John C. Lilly? We explore the life and times of floating’s most important figure…
floatworks.com
My Wild Lunch with John C. Lilly, the Scientist Who Inspired Arrival
Stuart Gordon flashes back to the time he met with the interspecies linguistic researcher to discuss a sequel to Honey, I Shrunk the Kids.
www.talkhouse.com
I can understand someone not properly grounded in the world, whether through science, like Lilly, or through their social relations, having a major psychosis. But ketamine actually killing someone? I suspect there must have been some other drug involved.
Mowl
Member
I've never used Ketamine myself, so I wouldn't know. Last time it was near me was a show out in Maynooth University with Keltic Posse sometime in the nineties (actually Therapy? opened the show that night - Fyffe Ewing burst my bass-drum head, I had to cover the gash with a tin beer tray) and it was a rather odd scenario. The kids weren't drinking very much, there was a bar in the hall but they mostly sat on the floor hugging each other. Later in the evening and towards the end of our set, they were sort of limping around and leaning on each other, and some others were literally crawling on the floor.
I was invited to an after party same night and was offered some pills in someone's rented student house. I refused the pills politely but the girl who invited me took some more. After a while she was gurning so badly I couldn't stop laughing at her facial contortions. She was cute, but not cute enough for me to stick around and end up shagging a jelly-legged part-human part-biological experiment with her eyes rolling around in her head. So I split and put it down to experience.
Here's an odd one: up here, I've asked some local friends/connections if they can get me some things I'd like to try even once before I die. They asked what I wanted. I asked for some clean heroin, clean crack, clean methamphetamine, and modern ecstasy: that they were all passed and clean and safe and that I could experiment here at home in relative safety. They all laughed at me and told me to: 'forget it, and fuck off - there's no fucking way I'm giving you any of these things. And if I hear of anyone else doing it, they're in trouble too'.
Which on the one hand is very reassuring, but on the other I now know that if I wanted to try them anyway, nobody I know will give me any and so I'd have to hit the streets, which only a complete fucking lunatic would do in this town. But I still want to try, just once. I'm confident that the next experience I'll have outside my normal routine is to attend an Ayahaushka ceremony in an old friend's farmhouse out beyond the airport in Dublin. That's next time I'm home, issues of the day permitting. He runs a society of people based on the farm and has a number of things going on that I'll have to see first before I consider my next move.
It's a side of drug-taking/sourcing I never really considered: 'hi, can I get one dose of smack to chase, one dose of meta-amphetamine, one ecstasy pill and some crack, please?'
No - fuck off.
Ahh, go on?
No - scram.
Pleeease?
I said fuck off.
Damn it.
I was invited to an after party same night and was offered some pills in someone's rented student house. I refused the pills politely but the girl who invited me took some more. After a while she was gurning so badly I couldn't stop laughing at her facial contortions. She was cute, but not cute enough for me to stick around and end up shagging a jelly-legged part-human part-biological experiment with her eyes rolling around in her head. So I split and put it down to experience.
Here's an odd one: up here, I've asked some local friends/connections if they can get me some things I'd like to try even once before I die. They asked what I wanted. I asked for some clean heroin, clean crack, clean methamphetamine, and modern ecstasy: that they were all passed and clean and safe and that I could experiment here at home in relative safety. They all laughed at me and told me to: 'forget it, and fuck off - there's no fucking way I'm giving you any of these things. And if I hear of anyone else doing it, they're in trouble too'.
Which on the one hand is very reassuring, but on the other I now know that if I wanted to try them anyway, nobody I know will give me any and so I'd have to hit the streets, which only a complete fucking lunatic would do in this town. But I still want to try, just once. I'm confident that the next experience I'll have outside my normal routine is to attend an Ayahaushka ceremony in an old friend's farmhouse out beyond the airport in Dublin. That's next time I'm home, issues of the day permitting. He runs a society of people based on the farm and has a number of things going on that I'll have to see first before I consider my next move.
It's a side of drug-taking/sourcing I never really considered: 'hi, can I get one dose of smack to chase, one dose of meta-amphetamine, one ecstasy pill and some crack, please?'
No - fuck off.
Ahh, go on?
No - scram.
Pleeease?
I said fuck off.
Damn it.
roc_abilly
Member
I think your Finnish friends are right. I wouldn't feel like tempting fate myself. That said though, the one drug I've very rarely done, loathed because of a number of observations I've made about it, cocaine, I might take up when I'm very old and start to slow down in a way that I can't overcome by regular intense physical exertion. Maybe then the added pep you can get from it will be justified.
I recall in my late teens, a week of using hash that was heavily laced with ketamine which we were smoking through big bongs. That was a very strange week. The high was highly dissociative, long lasting, "outer body". I was looking down on myself and my group of friends from about 12 foot up, and 12 foot to the side, basically for the whole week. It was eerie.
I'm not sure what the attraction is in a club situation. I too saw clubs, in New York, with clubbers on special K as it was called, sitting around on the floor. I couldn't work it out. I suppose it was "different", and I suppose in New York, at that time, there was always that search for something different.
Anyway, that Matthew Perry story is a strange one. It's a strange drug. I think you need to harbour a few strange inclinations in yourself to gravitate to it as a drug of choice. But I don't know how it can kill you. Well I suppose if you take a lot, and go to somewhere you're not able for, your heart might give out with the fright and the stress. Especially for someone of Perry's age, and I think he might have been in poor health.
I recall in my late teens, a week of using hash that was heavily laced with ketamine which we were smoking through big bongs. That was a very strange week. The high was highly dissociative, long lasting, "outer body". I was looking down on myself and my group of friends from about 12 foot up, and 12 foot to the side, basically for the whole week. It was eerie.
I'm not sure what the attraction is in a club situation. I too saw clubs, in New York, with clubbers on special K as it was called, sitting around on the floor. I couldn't work it out. I suppose it was "different", and I suppose in New York, at that time, there was always that search for something different.
Anyway, that Matthew Perry story is a strange one. It's a strange drug. I think you need to harbour a few strange inclinations in yourself to gravitate to it as a drug of choice. But I don't know how it can kill you. Well I suppose if you take a lot, and go to somewhere you're not able for, your heart might give out with the fright and the stress. Especially for someone of Perry's age, and I think he might have been in poor health.
Mowl
Member
It's definitely true that Perry had a long-term drug problem. I recall some time just after his death that he (had) said that he could tell exactly which drug he was on during any episode or season of episodes just by looking at his posture. I find the show trite and shallow, I could never understand people's reactions to it and the fact that it was on multiple channels every day and night for years. Six white kids in New York, token blacks include? Can't recall many. There was a statement made that the series was based on a black/coloured person's show of a similar nature which was ripped off to make the version with white middle-class New Yorkers, but I can't recall the title of the show.
Like the Simpsons, Friends seems to be everywhere all the time, even up here in Finland they still show it most evenings. On the weekends they show multiple shows to fill in hours of viewing at a time. The ladies seem to like it more so than the blokes do: every girl in the world wanted hair like the Rachel actor, along with her tits, legs, make-up, and clothes. The other one, who married an Irish bloke from some Irish band, apparently got loads of surgery done to her face and neck and came out of hospital looking like a highway smash-up between an artic full of raw chicken wings and another artic full of horse fat.
But yeah, the party I went to that night was stranger than the gig was: they all sat on the floor, all the armchairs were empty and gangs of them scattered around, some behind the sofa in their own little microcosm, others on their hands and knees clawing blissfully about. Didn't look like much fun to me. In the early nineties, myself and my two housemates threw parties every weekend for one summer with a limited guest-list and themed events. The first one was a lemon party (not my idea) but my housemate went to the markets and bought up loads of fresh lemons which we scattered all over the place. The smell was delicious. We'd all take a hit of ecstasy at the same time and then party on through the night into the early dawn. Music, yes - but not banging techno, more like laid back hip-hop, dub-step, low tempo drum&bass sort of vibe.
Lovely times, never a bad word or gesture, everyone got to be themselves and do what they liked.
Haven't tried ecstasy since, but would love to have one more dance before I clock off.
I have a tub of mushroom powder in the fridge one of the guys gave me months and months ago, and I haven't gotten around to eating them/making tea.
Just can't seem to find the right moment.
Or maybe it's just me telling me to cop the fuck on - I'm not a teenager anymore.
roc_abilly
Member
'Friends' was horrible. I couldn't believe it became the phenomenon it did. The whole premise was tragic. It was cringeworthy. I was made sit through it a couple of times, and I just had the thought in my head all through it that millions of lonely young Americans watched this show, and lived vicariously through it, imagining the friendships depicted as something to aspire to. It was a kind of satire on American life, the falseness of it, the shallow aspirations, an essentially empty but busy life, an inner neediness, and constant desire for continual affirmation. It spoke to everything that was beginning to go wrong in the world. The deluge of cliches made me feel like vomiting. Maybe no wonder that Perry went the way he did.
roc_abilly
Member
'The Simpsons' was fucking stupid too. I can appreciate it as a fantastic piece of script writing. But it was a bit like that column in the IT, the rugby fellow. It just went on and on when it should have been knocked on the head after a couple of seasons.
Mowl
Member
Wasn't the conclusion death by drowning/misadventure?
Dude went out the same way he lived: pepped up from first thing in the morning - then drinking strong coffee all day with more and more reds to keep him up. Seems the ketamine hit him hard, he passed out in the hot tub, slid down under the surface and wham: life over. Which is hardly surprising: ketamine's also used for tranquilizing horses.
Mowl
Member
Has Jimmy been screaming and balling for another nappy change?
That cheap-assed Dutch Gold lager rots the liver and the bloodstream.
roc_abilly
Member
That Jambo chap is unfortunately a bit of a clown. It doesn't really matter how much rope you give to him, or not give to him, he'll still work out a way to do a Michael Hutchence with it.E Electricity
Off moderation. This time please abide by the new rule concerning all tweets, screenshots, Telegram links etc. being kept in the bellow thread.
X / Telegram etc
By the way, I saw this clip on Telegram recently and I couldn't help but be reminded of @roc_abilly. It's a clip taken from a rather long stream with The Distributist, Wokal Distance and some moderator. I wouldn't know much about any of them, a little bit about The Distributist, who's not a WN...islepoli.com
roc_abilly
Member
And the brain. If he only had a brain.
roc_abilly
Member
Ah, I see. The old celebrity bathtub claims yet another victim.
Electricity
Member
Wolf & SaintJavelin
Post in thread 'Trolling Misinformation and suchlike!' https://www.sarsfieldsvirtualpub.com/threads/trolling-misinformation-and-suchlike.978/post-110852
We are witnessing the return of authoritarianism, fascism and eventually western Nazism.
Post in thread 'Trolling Misinformation and suchlike!' https://www.sarsfieldsvirtualpub.com/threads/trolling-misinformation-and-suchlike.978/post-110869
He fucking hates any [sic] remotely socialist or Jewish.
No, he doesn't hate anything remotely Jewish.
Despite being a casual racist (can't mention Africans without calling them 'savage', 'feral' etc.), his 'antisemitism' is really of the 'far left' kind i.e. about the war crimes your people are committing against brown people in the Middle East. And he repeats the (anti-white) Jewish trope of the Nazis being the epitome of human evil and that it's a burgeoning new 'western Nazism' that has the regimes in white countries against their own people today.
I mean, fucking retarded.
Post in thread 'Trolling Misinformation and suchlike!' https://www.sarsfieldsvirtualpub.com/threads/trolling-misinformation-and-suchlike.978/post-110852
We are witnessing the return of authoritarianism, fascism and eventually western Nazism.
Post in thread 'Trolling Misinformation and suchlike!' https://www.sarsfieldsvirtualpub.com/threads/trolling-misinformation-and-suchlike.978/post-110869
He fucking hates any [sic] remotely socialist or Jewish.
No, he doesn't hate anything remotely Jewish.
Despite being a casual racist (can't mention Africans without calling them 'savage', 'feral' etc.), his 'antisemitism' is really of the 'far left' kind i.e. about the war crimes your people are committing against brown people in the Middle East. And he repeats the (anti-white) Jewish trope of the Nazis being the epitome of human evil and that it's a burgeoning new 'western Nazism' that has the regimes in white countries against their own people today.
I mean, fucking retarded.
Mowl
Member
Paahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!
Mnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnmmmmmmmmmmmmmmrgggggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhpftttttttttttttttttttttttt!
Of course, the funniest part is that Roundy's stumpy little legs can't even reach the forward footrest. He's got his right foot and ankle on the motor, which would fry his plump little legs in minutes, he's that small and roundy.
As you can see, Jimmy - nobody responded, nobody even mentioned you, and as I pointed out to you a long time ago - no one cares what you say.
Not one sinner soul.
If you're referring to your intra-site screams and wailings, then yes: you're completely fucking retarded.
It's been that way since your around eleventh username-change.
Mowl
Member
Here's another whammy from Roundy: https://www.sarsfieldsvirtualpub.com/threads/general-chat-for-all-to-read.483/post-110955
'Hello, all. Can anyone guess where I am?'
He's at the Framingham, Massachusetts branch of an outsize clothing firm called Sierra Trading Post. He's sitting in the parking lot behind the enormous (fake) wooden cabin (usually built with a metal frame inside the facade to hold all the fake logs in place) who provide clothing items for the 'more delicate scale' men and women. That is, pants and shirts for the taller man, or the very-much shorter man. Outsized Farah pants, short-sleeved shirts, and waterproof/leak-proof underwear for the elderly dealing with incontinence. Perfect for a man of his age.
Sierra's Wiki page: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sierra_(retailer)
Here's a closer look at the name:
Full address:
Google map showing the distance from Dedham to Framingham: 11km:
Link to Sierra's shops across the states: https://www.sierra.com/
So it's very near to his wife Marianne's house in Dedham, close enough he could have walked but he obviouslydidn't feel like wasn't up to it. Better to show up in a big fat gas-guzzler van and act the hard-chaw midget. He probably thought nobody on Arsefield's would give a second glance to where he was or why was there in the first place - never mind asking them to guess. Rather - they just swallow it whole. That's how meek and broke-backed they are. The only person who questioned him was Mods V Rockers, mentioning that it is, in fact, just another parking lot behind some all-American fat-people's clothing shop.
There's no fucking end to Roundy Kelly's spoofs. He lies like a petulant child. You'd think a self-employed man would have the ability to make it harder for his acolytes to figure him out so easily? It took me all of ten minutes to gather all of the above information using nothing but the name of the shop and the fact that Roundy lives in Dedham. So by all means, if you feel like tearing him a new arse using any of the above information, then we'll team-up and double the pain he has to feel.
Roundy, you're a loser of epic scale and proportion. It's hard to fathom why a fat little Paddy-whack cunt like you thinks you're something/anything special. But even funnier again is the way your members just swallow whatever shit you throw at them. So in answer to your question in the video attached:
You're some sad bastard. I have nothing but cringing embarrassment not just at you, but rather at the lame-brained gobshites you've assembled on your crank page who take everything you say at face value and lick your boots for you. You may think there's some degree of a 'win' somewhere in there, but let me inform you: there isn't. Not even remotely. You lie. Every day, all day, you lie. And the little lies like this one are remarkably easy to unravel. You made a move, I countered it, now I'm handing you your fat arse all over again, you thick fat little culchie mutant.
'Hello, all. Can anyone guess where I am?'
He's at the Framingham, Massachusetts branch of an outsize clothing firm called Sierra Trading Post. He's sitting in the parking lot behind the enormous (fake) wooden cabin (usually built with a metal frame inside the facade to hold all the fake logs in place) who provide clothing items for the 'more delicate scale' men and women. That is, pants and shirts for the taller man, or the very-much shorter man. Outsized Farah pants, short-sleeved shirts, and waterproof/leak-proof underwear for the elderly dealing with incontinence. Perfect for a man of his age.
Sierra's Wiki page: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sierra_(retailer)
Here's a closer look at the name:
Full address:
Google map showing the distance from Dedham to Framingham: 11km:
Link to Sierra's shops across the states: https://www.sierra.com/
So it's very near to his wife Marianne's house in Dedham, close enough he could have walked but he obviously
There's no fucking end to Roundy Kelly's spoofs. He lies like a petulant child. You'd think a self-employed man would have the ability to make it harder for his acolytes to figure him out so easily? It took me all of ten minutes to gather all of the above information using nothing but the name of the shop and the fact that Roundy lives in Dedham. So by all means, if you feel like tearing him a new arse using any of the above information, then we'll team-up and double the pain he has to feel.
Roundy, you're a loser of epic scale and proportion. It's hard to fathom why a fat little Paddy-whack cunt like you thinks you're something/anything special. But even funnier again is the way your members just swallow whatever shit you throw at them. So in answer to your question in the video attached:
You're some sad bastard. I have nothing but cringing embarrassment not just at you, but rather at the lame-brained gobshites you've assembled on your crank page who take everything you say at face value and lick your boots for you. You may think there's some degree of a 'win' somewhere in there, but let me inform you: there isn't. Not even remotely. You lie. Every day, all day, you lie. And the little lies like this one are remarkably easy to unravel. You made a move, I countered it, now I'm handing you your fat arse all over again, you thick fat little culchie mutant.
Mowl
Member
Pahaha! I must have hit a sore-spot with that last post. The minions of Arsefield's are circling the wagons and pepping up for a battle to protect their Dear Leader and Administrator-in-Chief, Declan 'Roundy' Kelly from any further lampooning. Now I know I can be a bit close to the bone at times, but those of you who know me know too that I only ever bite back at the losers who try to out-smug me. The Feeney kind of mentality which, after looking at his own naked body in the mirror after a weekly bath, then looks at my physical appearance and tries desperately to fling something/anything in my direction in the hopes it'll both hit and hurt. Like this:
A photograph from over a decade ago of a commercial music project I built, named, acted as manager/agent for, made a lot of money with, and then disbanded. That's me second from the left in the white raw silk jacket. We've neither met nor played together since around 2015. But poor auld Feeney's still trying to get his head around how I managed to rope in so many hard-hitting Finns when I'm supposed to be an illiterate working-class scumbag. As you know, the other members consist of one professor of theology, two high-ranking Finnish military men, and a Finnish junior diplomat currently serving in Geneva.
Oh, and one more thing: apparently, we're all gay, or LGBT, or something like that.
You see, when a twat like Dave (Feeney) sees his beloved dear leader, Declan - the fat little roundy Irish midget van driver, being reminded that he's been in women's clothes many times over the years, Davey (Feeney) has to take up arms to try to do battle with me. For this battle to commence, he must provoke a war. So the post above this was the one he selected. That one bothered him a lot because he obviously followed the links I posted and then he clocked it:
'Fuckin' hell, Mowl fuckin' nailed me best mate; I'm going to re-post that same photo I found on his old band's page AGAIN and see if it causes a spark...'
Sadly not, Dave. Everyone's seen that public photo multiple times over - but thanks again for the share. Again. We're still not planning a reunion any time soon, nor are we currently available for bookings (not that you could afford us) because that was then and this is now. But apparently, and according to Dave, what women really want isn't a physically fit and handsome/devilishly cute and over six feet tall Mowl like me, but rather, this:
Which I'm sure would make even the engineer and bit-part model/actor Rory O'Connor of 182 Slaney Road in Sandyford feel a bit queasy. The rat-like features of Dave's cider-swilling fat pan-like face are enough to convince us all that he has the bad breath of a mongrel mutt looking to lick your lips after getting into the bio-garbage bin. Again. The football jersey (Man Utd - an English team) shows you the depth of his Irish nationalism. Probably hasn't attended a single game of any Irish sports, just sits in drinking tins watching the big games on pay-per-view. On Sundays, he obliges the wife (jeez fuck - but what a right fucking munter SHE is) and her mother and pours his cider from the tin to a glass before necking the whole lot and opening another.
The Feeney's have an inherent rodent gene, you can see it on Dave's fat face, you can see it under the mounds of slap his Missus wears (jeez, what a sour-pussed munter) and you can see it on Mandy's (his midget son) face: acne, severe pimples and running sores, lumpy areas of the face and neck overgrown with the scars of spots, skin ulcers, pimples, abscesses, and the permanent scars of years of contagious herpetic open sores that destroy the skin and underlying nerves and remain for the duration of the sufferer's life. So at least they have consistency in some areas of the natural world: three right knackers with the physical appearance of an ad for severe acne infection cream.
Mowl, on the other hand, has no such skin conditions. As you know Dave - search and search and search and still you won't find any pictures of me with acne like yours. I know you can't help it, that you were born with it. Just look at your son's face. Then look at your own. Then the wife's face (jez, I'd rather not). See? Now, imagine what your son's children might look like? If you find it too difficult, just upload a recent photo of him into your Paint app and then use a pencil or brush to add loads of red, green, and yellow spots all over his face and neck from the eyebrows down. That's your grandson - long before the ugly little rat was even conceived, let alone born into this world. Of course this is all conjecture as we still haven't had confirmation that Mandy's actually not a homosexual, a cross dressing midget who loves to be in the company of cross-dressers like Declan and Val, and a few more.
No wonder you're all in love with make-up.
And women's clothing.
And homosexuality.
And acne.
Severe acne.
A photograph from over a decade ago of a commercial music project I built, named, acted as manager/agent for, made a lot of money with, and then disbanded. That's me second from the left in the white raw silk jacket. We've neither met nor played together since around 2015. But poor auld Feeney's still trying to get his head around how I managed to rope in so many hard-hitting Finns when I'm supposed to be an illiterate working-class scumbag. As you know, the other members consist of one professor of theology, two high-ranking Finnish military men, and a Finnish junior diplomat currently serving in Geneva.
Oh, and one more thing: apparently, we're all gay, or LGBT, or something like that.
You see, when a twat like Dave (Feeney) sees his beloved dear leader, Declan - the fat little roundy Irish midget van driver, being reminded that he's been in women's clothes many times over the years, Davey (Feeney) has to take up arms to try to do battle with me. For this battle to commence, he must provoke a war. So the post above this was the one he selected. That one bothered him a lot because he obviously followed the links I posted and then he clocked it:
'Fuckin' hell, Mowl fuckin' nailed me best mate; I'm going to re-post that same photo I found on his old band's page AGAIN and see if it causes a spark...'
Sadly not, Dave. Everyone's seen that public photo multiple times over - but thanks again for the share. Again. We're still not planning a reunion any time soon, nor are we currently available for bookings (not that you could afford us) because that was then and this is now. But apparently, and according to Dave, what women really want isn't a physically fit and handsome/devilishly cute and over six feet tall Mowl like me, but rather, this:
Which I'm sure would make even the engineer and bit-part model/actor Rory O'Connor of 182 Slaney Road in Sandyford feel a bit queasy. The rat-like features of Dave's cider-swilling fat pan-like face are enough to convince us all that he has the bad breath of a mongrel mutt looking to lick your lips after getting into the bio-garbage bin. Again. The football jersey (Man Utd - an English team) shows you the depth of his Irish nationalism. Probably hasn't attended a single game of any Irish sports, just sits in drinking tins watching the big games on pay-per-view. On Sundays, he obliges the wife (jeez fuck - but what a right fucking munter SHE is) and her mother and pours his cider from the tin to a glass before necking the whole lot and opening another.
The Feeney's have an inherent rodent gene, you can see it on Dave's fat face, you can see it under the mounds of slap his Missus wears (jeez, what a sour-pussed munter) and you can see it on Mandy's (his midget son) face: acne, severe pimples and running sores, lumpy areas of the face and neck overgrown with the scars of spots, skin ulcers, pimples, abscesses, and the permanent scars of years of contagious herpetic open sores that destroy the skin and underlying nerves and remain for the duration of the sufferer's life. So at least they have consistency in some areas of the natural world: three right knackers with the physical appearance of an ad for severe acne infection cream.
Mowl, on the other hand, has no such skin conditions. As you know Dave - search and search and search and still you won't find any pictures of me with acne like yours. I know you can't help it, that you were born with it. Just look at your son's face. Then look at your own. Then the wife's face (jez, I'd rather not). See? Now, imagine what your son's children might look like? If you find it too difficult, just upload a recent photo of him into your Paint app and then use a pencil or brush to add loads of red, green, and yellow spots all over his face and neck from the eyebrows down. That's your grandson - long before the ugly little rat was even conceived, let alone born into this world. Of course this is all conjecture as we still haven't had confirmation that Mandy's actually not a homosexual, a cross dressing midget who loves to be in the company of cross-dressers like Declan and Val, and a few more.
No wonder you're all in love with make-up.
And women's clothing.
And homosexuality.
And acne.
Severe acne.
Mowl
Member
Mad, if you squint your eyes a bit and look at Dave's ears, it looks like he has four faces pointing in different directions.
Of course, the same's true of his wife's face, except in her case it's more like four faces piled on top of each other and fighting like rats to get out.they are Ireland's acne problem.
Of course, the same's true of his wife's face, except in her case it's more like four faces piled on top of each other and fighting like rats to get out.they are Ireland's acne problem.
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