Mowl
Member
Similiarly, Matt wasn't fond of the soap and water either.
Perhaps when they named that bridge after him down the docks they were trying to separate the legend from the smell.
Quite a feat on the river Liffey.
Culchies
- Thread starter Mowl
- Start date
Similiarly, Matt wasn't fond of the soap and water either.
Perhaps when they named that bridge after him down the docks they were trying to separate the legend from the smell.
Quite a feat on the river Liffey.
Electricity
Member
IrelandCritiqued ™️ returns
This is brilliant. Sinn Fein soy boy getting melted by a Dublin woman in the inner city flats in Dublin. Fair play to that girl whoever she is. Give them the hammer treatment 🤣
t.me
G
Gerry
Guest
Th Wehst Britts in Dublins want too be back inn thes Brittish Empire. Nott gud this not
G
Gerry
Guest
Th Jackereens stil tink they th seconds city the Brittrish Empire. Thiss a fwct
Why do boggers keep insisting that Dublin = British city? It's been two centuries since Dublin was known as the 'second city of the British Empire'. I think the likes of Gerry need to get with the times.
It's all the more ironic when you consider how much Culchies love to ape all things American, e.g. Garth Brooks / Dolly Parton music, John Wayne films, Texas-style McMansions in every boreen, plaid shirts, Stetson hats, pickup trucks the size of buses etc. Does that not make Culchies East Yanks? Listening to some Country-and-Irish tune on the radio you'd be forgiven for thinking the fella singing was from Montana or Denver - despite hailing from Mullingar or Dunshaughlin. Culchies are literally obsessed with all things Cowboy-related emanating from Amerikay.
Amerikay is basically the promised land for boggers, or the Culchie-Jerusalem. No curiosity there about say Japan, or Peru, or Greece. It's all about Amerikay! Amerikay! Amerikay! Da Cowboy filums! Doesn't Garth Brooks 's arse look great in those tight-fitting jeans!
It's all the more ironic when you consider how much Culchies love to ape all things American, e.g. Garth Brooks / Dolly Parton music, John Wayne films, Texas-style McMansions in every boreen, plaid shirts, Stetson hats, pickup trucks the size of buses etc. Does that not make Culchies East Yanks? Listening to some Country-and-Irish tune on the radio you'd be forgiven for thinking the fella singing was from Montana or Denver - despite hailing from Mullingar or Dunshaughlin. Culchies are literally obsessed with all things Cowboy-related emanating from Amerikay.
Amerikay is basically the promised land for boggers, or the Culchie-Jerusalem. No curiosity there about say Japan, or Peru, or Greece. It's all about Amerikay! Amerikay! Amerikay! Da Cowboy filums! Doesn't Garth Brooks 's arse look great in those tight-fitting jeans!
Mowl
Member
To real chulchies, this shit IS the shit:
Big Tom & The Mainliners: 'Four Roads To Glenamaddy'
For people from Monaghan, Fermanagh, Leitrim, Ballinasloe, Kiltimagh, and other areas of the sticks, Big Tom was their Robert Plant. Or better yet, their Ozzy Osbourne. Like Ozzy, Big Tom can't do any of his dance moves since the hip replacement, and neither can Ozzy, except in his case it's a heart attack or a brain bleed. But the lifestyle's the same: auld Tom had a woman (or three) down every boreen from Tullamore to The Ring Of Kerry.
His parties were to be envied and blagging the guest list was out of the question for any jackeen. Memorable menus too: starters like six pints of Harp and the shank of lamb (on the bone) before mains like 'Meet The Bull' where they drag a bull out and you get to select the particular steak you want in chalk. Then they slaughter it out back. Desserts like the classic 'chocolate slurry surprise' or else a bowl of Trifle like your granny used to make.
Babes galore too: a few of them can be seen on Valamhic's channel under the heading 'Muff Fair' where Val does a vox-pop with friends and strangers alike at the fair. I say fair but in reality it was just a gang of scruffy old men in rag-order clothes and a few fat Biddies handing out on the hard shoulder of the Kingscourt bypass at eleven on a Tuesday morning. Loads of tractors and donkeys around. Chickens quacking, ducks getting their necks broken. Pure culchie hedonism. Sheep shagging tent and all. The winner of last years 'Shitting Ditch' competition gave a very moving speech when handing the trophy over to this years winner Consolata Hegarty-McSchneagh. Very touching stuff.
In fact, all four of those four roads to Glenamaddy are fucking death traps.
They hired Val to paint the white line down the middle of it, so he dipped his wellington's into a bucket of white emulsion and started walking.
Death trap.
Big Tom & The Mainliners: 'Four Roads To Glenamaddy'
For people from Monaghan, Fermanagh, Leitrim, Ballinasloe, Kiltimagh, and other areas of the sticks, Big Tom was their Robert Plant. Or better yet, their Ozzy Osbourne. Like Ozzy, Big Tom can't do any of his dance moves since the hip replacement, and neither can Ozzy, except in his case it's a heart attack or a brain bleed. But the lifestyle's the same: auld Tom had a woman (or three) down every boreen from Tullamore to The Ring Of Kerry.
His parties were to be envied and blagging the guest list was out of the question for any jackeen. Memorable menus too: starters like six pints of Harp and the shank of lamb (on the bone) before mains like 'Meet The Bull' where they drag a bull out and you get to select the particular steak you want in chalk. Then they slaughter it out back. Desserts like the classic 'chocolate slurry surprise' or else a bowl of Trifle like your granny used to make.
Babes galore too: a few of them can be seen on Valamhic's channel under the heading 'Muff Fair' where Val does a vox-pop with friends and strangers alike at the fair. I say fair but in reality it was just a gang of scruffy old men in rag-order clothes and a few fat Biddies handing out on the hard shoulder of the Kingscourt bypass at eleven on a Tuesday morning. Loads of tractors and donkeys around. Chickens quacking, ducks getting their necks broken. Pure culchie hedonism. Sheep shagging tent and all. The winner of last years 'Shitting Ditch' competition gave a very moving speech when handing the trophy over to this years winner Consolata Hegarty-McSchneagh. Very touching stuff.
In fact, all four of those four roads to Glenamaddy are fucking death traps.
They hired Val to paint the white line down the middle of it, so he dipped his wellington's into a bucket of white emulsion and started walking.
Death trap.
Mowl
Member
Or better yet: imagine being Val and watching his efforts of the last five years simply wiped off the internet map?
Now he's had to resort to this:
Here. E Electricity - what was that you were saying about Val's three-thousand three-hundred subscribers?
See?
Mowl wins again.
Now he's had to resort to this:
Here. E Electricity - what was that you were saying about Val's three-thousand three-hundred subscribers?
See?
Mowl wins again.
The cunt thinks it's ok to engage in illegal dumping within the Phoenix Park.
www.sarsfieldsvirtualpub.com
General Chat For All To Read.
I still rate Guinness as the best stout, but I'm by no means and expert. I imagine if Conor does have one out it will be lower mid-market, same as proper 12. I have tried that. It's not going to win any prizes but it's about the right standard for a Mixo in terms of price. I'm talking...
www.sarsfieldsvirtualpub.com
Mowl
Member
Eddie's a short and stout little fellow, but I'd say a punch to the head from him would knock any man into the middle of next week.
He let us set up our tent over by the Magazine Fort for deer-watching in the early mornings - I was always on the look-out for discarded horns.
They fetch a pretty penny and during the rut, there's usually a few sets left lying around.
I have moose horns on my lounge wall.
Sort of.
He let us set up our tent over by the Magazine Fort for deer-watching in the early mornings - I was always on the look-out for discarded horns.
They fetch a pretty penny and during the rut, there's usually a few sets left lying around.
I have moose horns on my lounge wall.
Sort of.
I can picture Val galloping across the plains of the Phoenix Park...chasing the local deer for dinner just as lions chase gazelle in the Serengeti. After getting close to the deer he leaps onto its back, dragging it to the ground... finally spending the next ten minutes trying to asphyxiate the poor creature.
All followed by a giant shite in front of the Papal Cross before nap time and the next day's hunt.
All followed by a giant shite in front of the Papal Cross before nap time and the next day's hunt.