Culchies
- Thread starter Mowl
- Start date
Mowl
Member
That's exactly how they compete with each other to find suitable wives in Cavan.
He who farts the longest and smelliest gets the fattest heifer on the dance floor, or mart floor - depending on the day.
Of course, the earliest form of the semi-biped knuckle-dragging pure-blooded Cavan culchie of the early Jurassic period both historically and presently are known to hollow out these strangely coloured and bizarrely shaped objects and fill them with their lifetime of teeth: that either fell out by themselves from the rot, or else got knocked out on express purpose. Archeologists have found many of these urn-like objects laid out in what appears to be a religious worship ritual in the basements of many farms across Cavan. All filled with teeth. But whose teeth? And why? Were these teeth pulled out or did they fall out naturally?
The Cavan Urns.
G
Gerry
Guest
Loda shite ther abov. It nott counry peopl caussing al crimed. Ot Jackinee typws abd th druga.
Brouft wifee tp Rochss stors Duvlin onee chritmsas. nerlt gett robed. not hppens arund hear evvr
Brouft wifee tp Rochss stors Duvlin onee chritmsas. nerlt gett robed. not hppens arund hear evvr
Mowl
Member
A load of shite?
Isn't that your department?
The only drug problem Dublin has is that there's too many drugs and not enough not culchies.
Liar - you where nowhere near Roche's Stores.
You shop in Hector Gray's.
Culchie wives are well known for their thieving ways.
Spuds in pockets, carrots up fannies, cabbages in the bra.
Knackers.
Mowl
Member
Aaargh - my stomach is heaving.
Val's latest video - he's now eating the earwax as well as the snots.
Jezus fucking lamb-chops?
What a toothless and disgusting old culchie? Between the mad white greasy hair, the twitchy eyes, the missing front teeth, the glitch around his gob, the snots, the earwax, the filth under the fingernails, the manky jumpers, the suit and wellies when out and about, the rusty old van, the big stupid sign behind him, the way he talks to the camera as though he's whispering in the ear of some other useless culchie, and his blithe confidence that his audience think him a great man altogether?
It's a recipe for insanity for sure.
A knacker AND culchie, all in one.
Val's latest video - he's now eating the earwax as well as the snots.
Jezus fucking lamb-chops?
What a toothless and disgusting old culchie? Between the mad white greasy hair, the twitchy eyes, the missing front teeth, the glitch around his gob, the snots, the earwax, the filth under the fingernails, the manky jumpers, the suit and wellies when out and about, the rusty old van, the big stupid sign behind him, the way he talks to the camera as though he's whispering in the ear of some other useless culchie, and his blithe confidence that his audience think him a great man altogether?
It's a recipe for insanity for sure.
A knacker AND culchie, all in one.
G
Gerry
Guest
Ths thh problims Dubkibs oeople upp th xity. Them drusg iss nott doig thre head anu god.
Thisd why bettr kive th xountry. Non the drugws o th ccrim3s.
Thisd why bettr kive th xountry. Non the drugws o th ccrim3s.
Mowl
Member
Culchie landlords.
I recently found myself thinking back to my first ever bedsit at age eighteen on Belgrave Square in Rathmines. It was £28 per week, a sizeable amount back in those days but it was either pay up or find anything cleaner and brighter for less money. At least the bed was new, even if the kitchen was actually in the wardrobe. I'm not even kidding either. One time, the only time in my entire life at that, I fucked off for the weekend and forgot to close the big Georgian window overlooking the back garden (it was the main reason I took the flat) and someone climbed in kicked the lock off the electricity meter and took whatever was there, leaving everything else behind. Didn't touch a thing, I had my entire drums rig piled up in boxes and flight cases in the corner, cymbals and drums worth thousands, but they weren't even touched - which made me wonder if the fucker was in there when I put the key into the lock to let myself in.
The cops came around (had to call them, landlord's instructions) and looked at the window, then at me, and then left saying they'll be in touch. Yeah, right so. Landlord arrives the next day, I'm deep asleep after a long weekender, he's letting himself in when I get up and kick the door closed again, then swing it open and demand to know what the fuck he thinks he's doing. We have a row and he leaves, not bothering to put a new lock on the pre-paid electric meter, so I use a fifty pence coin over and over and clock up a sizeable credit and was able to properly heat the flat with a two-bar plug-in electric heater which I left on all day and night. Landlord eventually shows up again with a new lock for the meter, so I tell him I'm leaving, that he's some cunt walking in and out of my home.
Rotten fucker, he advertised the flat immediately and started bringing people in when I was there and when I wasn't. So I stopped paying him any rent, found a new place (miles out in Palmerstown Woods, about twelve canal bridges out from the city. A depressing housing estate, nobody around, a view of a factory with a pile of pallets as tall as Carrantuohill. Suicide central for sure. But I kept my key to the Rathmines flat, and when lady I was seeing went to Japan for three months, I gave her the phone number of the old A/B phone in my old bedsit. When she reversed-called me at a set time, I accepted the charges from the Japanese operator and we'd chat for while about whatever. The bill must have been bigger than the pile of pallets, because I was in and out of your man's hallway a couple of times a week, and even met the new tenant. A nurse from the sticks. I asked if she was bothered by the landlord and she said no, apart from him coming and going when she was out and he was 'doing some maintenance' when she got home.
Maintenance my arse - he was panty-sniffing and likely trying on her dresses, the big culchie scumbag he was.
I recently found myself thinking back to my first ever bedsit at age eighteen on Belgrave Square in Rathmines. It was £28 per week, a sizeable amount back in those days but it was either pay up or find anything cleaner and brighter for less money. At least the bed was new, even if the kitchen was actually in the wardrobe. I'm not even kidding either. One time, the only time in my entire life at that, I fucked off for the weekend and forgot to close the big Georgian window overlooking the back garden (it was the main reason I took the flat) and someone climbed in kicked the lock off the electricity meter and took whatever was there, leaving everything else behind. Didn't touch a thing, I had my entire drums rig piled up in boxes and flight cases in the corner, cymbals and drums worth thousands, but they weren't even touched - which made me wonder if the fucker was in there when I put the key into the lock to let myself in.
The cops came around (had to call them, landlord's instructions) and looked at the window, then at me, and then left saying they'll be in touch. Yeah, right so. Landlord arrives the next day, I'm deep asleep after a long weekender, he's letting himself in when I get up and kick the door closed again, then swing it open and demand to know what the fuck he thinks he's doing. We have a row and he leaves, not bothering to put a new lock on the pre-paid electric meter, so I use a fifty pence coin over and over and clock up a sizeable credit and was able to properly heat the flat with a two-bar plug-in electric heater which I left on all day and night. Landlord eventually shows up again with a new lock for the meter, so I tell him I'm leaving, that he's some cunt walking in and out of my home.
Rotten fucker, he advertised the flat immediately and started bringing people in when I was there and when I wasn't. So I stopped paying him any rent, found a new place (miles out in Palmerstown Woods, about twelve canal bridges out from the city. A depressing housing estate, nobody around, a view of a factory with a pile of pallets as tall as Carrantuohill. Suicide central for sure. But I kept my key to the Rathmines flat, and when lady I was seeing went to Japan for three months, I gave her the phone number of the old A/B phone in my old bedsit. When she reversed-called me at a set time, I accepted the charges from the Japanese operator and we'd chat for while about whatever. The bill must have been bigger than the pile of pallets, because I was in and out of your man's hallway a couple of times a week, and even met the new tenant. A nurse from the sticks. I asked if she was bothered by the landlord and she said no, apart from him coming and going when she was out and he was 'doing some maintenance' when she got home.
Maintenance my arse - he was panty-sniffing and likely trying on her dresses, the big culchie scumbag he was.
It's crazy to think that despite decades of urbanisation and industrialisation that Gombeen Culchies still run the show in Ireland...from politics to farming to the rental sector. They are a plague of locusts which this country can never seem to throw off - preferably off of the Cliffs of Moher into the ocean on a stormy night.
A lot of Irish people love the delusion that we're a modern, progressive, urban society. Yet parish pump Gombeens still call all the shots at the end of the day.
A lot of Irish people love the delusion that we're a modern, progressive, urban society. Yet parish pump Gombeens still call all the shots at the end of the day.
Mowl
Member
Just chatting with Bríd Smith (TD for Dublin Sth/Wst) earlier this morning about the lunatic farmer up in Cavan sending out some nasty threats in her direction in this attached video. Poor auld Valamhic isn't well at all. His marbles have rolled so far away he'll never catch up with them. I sometimes wonder what he's thinking when he flips the lid like he did on Smith in this video. He's seven colours of completely insane. Screaming and shouting at the camera, his missing front teeth bared in a rage that even a hungry lion would run from. Pointing his filthy fingers in a menacing fashion.
Someone really out to tell the white coated medics they need to put this mad bastard behind high walls lest he do some damage we can't fix.
Anyway, Bríd said she'll take a look at it and get back to me as soon as she has. She's retiring from politics, so again Valamhic's timing on this one is as bad as it is on his 'song' called 'The Scratching Song' - a complete and utter fail, and an embarrassment to the entire nation. Valamhic has a desperate need to be considered intelligent. But the kind of person who needs to shout their 'intelligence' from the mountain top are usually the dumbest fuckers you'll ever meet.
Val needs:
A dentist
A Straitjacket
A psychologist
Another dentist
A set of false teeth
A wash
Did I miss anything?
Someone really out to tell the white coated medics they need to put this mad bastard behind high walls lest he do some damage we can't fix.
Anyway, Bríd said she'll take a look at it and get back to me as soon as she has. She's retiring from politics, so again Valamhic's timing on this one is as bad as it is on his 'song' called 'The Scratching Song' - a complete and utter fail, and an embarrassment to the entire nation. Valamhic has a desperate need to be considered intelligent. But the kind of person who needs to shout their 'intelligence' from the mountain top are usually the dumbest fuckers you'll ever meet.
Val needs:
A dentist
A Straitjacket
A psychologist
Another dentist
A set of false teeth
A wash
Did I miss anything?
Lumpy Von Talbot
Member
A cow-suit. Friesian.
Lumpy Von Talbot
Member
Means they are in active mode rather than on stand-by.
