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Mowl
Member
And one is the limit of your circle of friends, Jimmy.
You're an army of one, fighting a battle with an enemy who only exists in your head.
You have one online pal - and you're only more than willing to believe him when he says he's a female.
That's about as lame as it gets in the online world, Dawson - you really need to up the ante and try much harder than this if you're ever to succeed.
Which you're not.
You'll die as lonely as you were when alive.
Unfucked, untouched, ugly as sin, weird, an oddball, and a total fucking loser.
No wonder you glued yourself to me - even the thrown out flotsam and jetsam in my slipstream is food for your empty soul.
All your most favourite people were partying all night with all my favourite people - and you didn't even know what was going on, never mind be invited. Were I in Dublin last night then I would've gladly taken a hammer to Bono's bathroom porthole to block his view of the common man and Dublin Bay in general. Face it Jambo: your life will never amount to anything.
You never leave the house and you haven't logged out of your sites since you joined them.
Between all the free porn you must be watching (cos' you're certainly NOT getting laid) and the parties you're not invited to, you might as well kill yourself.
I'll always be more popular than you, Jimmy - always at the right parties with the right people.
Here's a song which best reflects my point about the differences between you and I:
I find it strange that you can't seem to take in more than a very small piece of information at any one time. Which means that you can't follow a train of thought or have a sensible conversation with another human being (you must be a nightmare to be around IRL)
I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news.. but you're clearly significantly mentally retarded
I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news.. but you're clearly significantly mentally retarded
Mowl
Member
You're never on the guest list, are you?
You're not a human being, you're a inhuman non-entity.
Yeah.
That's it?
That's your best shot?
Poor Jimmy: loves Bono, has never been backstage at a U2 gig though.
Loves Liam and Nowl, but can't afford to see Oasis live.
Has a crush on Susanna Hoffs - she's nearly seventy, is single, and still Jambo doesn't stand a chance.
Thinks Cyndi Lumper's 'True Colours' is about him.
Poor Jambo Dawson.
Poor, poor Jimmy - his frustration at the slapping around he's getting lately is beginning to show.
Anger, rage, disappointment: the full gamut of self loathing.
It amuses me greatly to watch you conduct conversations with yourself, answering your own posts because nobody else will.
I'd say your most recent ejaculation was a lot of hard work searching porn channels followed by seeing yourself in the mirror, pants around your ankles, a tub of Vaseline next to your typewriter, a cigarette burning long ashes in your ashtray, and your cheeks ruddy red from the strain, which really wasn't worth it, right?
Jimmy - kill yourself, it's just not worth it being you.
Does anyone actually care?
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Mowl
Member
I seriously doubt it, after all it's just a forum for kiddies to pretend to be having adult thoughts on all manner of things.
Big huge pages, fuck all content.
No wonder Jimmy D's so happy to be part of it.
Did you get banned from Discussions, Dave?
Don't you just love it when Jambo posts that little 'thinking face' when he's lining up for another hiding?
He's about as unpredictable as the Irish weather: dull, overcast, slightly damp and moist, and terminally grey.
Proper order - that kid's a waste of time and internet pixels.
Jambo cares a lot.
He's a right fucking care bear.
What was your chosen handle at the time, Jimmy d?
It's just that you've changed usernames so many times in the last calendar year alone than I can possibly recall.
What's the AN stand anyway?
Anal Numpty?
Arsehole Nigg*r?
Another Name?
Fuck, you must change handles as often as you change your pissy little panties, eh.
Why don't you just ask Feeney if you can be his best buds?
He's a loser, like you.
He's ugly, mostly likely as you are too.
He's mean spirited and has no apparent life - exactly like you.
His wife's a horse-teeth having munter of exceptional ugliness.
He has no idea what he's doing with his life, which reminds one entirely of you.
He's an oomska of an oaf, drinks yellow piss, goes to places like Fuerteventura to meet equally ugly Brits and Scots.
Like Jambo - he has no friends to speak of in this life.
He's a miserable cunt of epic proportions, eh.
Mowl
Member
Hey, how comes you guys never rag on Arsefield's anymore?
Because there's no point: they've all proved themselves to be mentally unbalanced angry old men with massive egos and fuck all opinions worth reading. They have no lives outside of driving vans full of old dears and talking about gold and silver as though they're actually up to anything. It's all hot air and LIKES for clarke/connolly, who's likely a mental case not allowed out of the house. The sort of old codger who likely had his arse ridden sideways by the brothers and the rest of them just want to comfort him lest he talk about it and bore them all to tears with his:
'Maybe Jambo IS ~ ~ a good guy ! ! '
After Coal Gas and Farts died, they all forgot about him overnight. Some paltry effort was made a few weeks later to change the name of the most popular thread (general chat) to include his name. That still makes me cringe to even see the poor fucker's name bandied about like that, so visiting Arsey's is invariably a waste of time along with a piteous reluctance to deal with any of them.
Woof's probably the second angriest man in Ireland, after you, Jimmy. Though you don't display your anger and frustration as much as he does, it's still there. You're morose about these things. Everything seems to be a disappointment with you, yet you never outwardly show your dismay. Instead, you ride the wave of national irritation at the mess Ireland is in while focusing only on one specific area of Irish social/political life on the bereft little island. Nothing you do makes any difference to that, but you can't seem to let it go. Or even allow room for any other way of looking at the world around you and life as it really is. It's almost as though all this misery Ireland has to offer has broken your spirit and left you empty inside.
So you try to fill the time with Oasis, leftisms, Dutch Gold, sad name-dropping and other pointless exchanges with Swordiddly, the single weirdest Irish bloke on the Irish intersnot comment sites. There's nothing funnier and yet as sad a sight as seeing you too agreeing on things. It's a cringe-fest from top to bottom. It's one of the reasons I shine a spotlight on you: to show others how fucked up this lifestyle you mongs all share is about as productive as teaching a chicken to ride an electric scooter.
It's also one of the most boring sites on the entire Irish scene, and that's saying something.
You know you'd be a busy little bee within hours of being accepted back, so really you have more answers to that question than I do.
But I don't think you're ready to accept that your lifestyle choices are truly sad and pointless as they actually are.
You don't seem to have anything else at all going on in your life.
You're not social - you're at home blogging every weekend.
You don't work, so the dole's your main income, which also explains the above point.
You're often extremely angry, but nothing's gotten to you in any physical or material way: the dole life just drones on the same every day.
You don't seem to have any drive for, shall we say: 'intimacy' in your life - you're a loner, likely occasionally suicidal, but only in a lighthearted way.
Your life achievements thus far add up to very little.
You're not very well traveled or cultured in terms of even understand local European lifestyles, of which there are very many.
You seem to have a desperate need to chip away with Finland's many successes, rather than learn from them and apply them where you are.
Your jealousy at how easily I can flip you when you do try to belittle Nordic life is a simple mechanism that never fails.
You want what we have, but you don't know how to get it - and you're angry I don't give you simple directions as to how to learn from it.
You'd like to live in a country as progressive and self-confident as Finland is, but you won't make any effort or sacrifices to achieve it.
In short, you're as angry as Woof, you're also as empty and directionless as he is.
You think that befriending Swordid puts you on some higher intellectual plane when in fact you're being taken for a ride.
It's all just an illusion, but you can't seem to see it.
You could possibly be an exceptional human being if you tried, but you never will - something in you is very seriously damaged and beyond repair.
Something's happened to you to isolate you in the manner you appear to be: but you'll never open up about it.
You carry a lot of negativity in everything you do and say, it's like you've given up on life.
You find the notion of 'national happiness' a laughable idea - yet you know we don't.
The only things you seem to take any pride in are mostly British in origin, not Irish.
You're a fish out of water, or as your Mancunian heroes might say: ' an angry man with a fork in world of soup..'
Some days I pity you.
Some days you're so fucking rude and dismissive that I have to take you in hand and remind you who and what you are.
But that only seems to make you even angrier.
But you still have time to change all of that, though I suspect you never will.
It's easier to simply stay where and how you are, that way you never have to make any effort at all.
There are many more like you out there: you know something's gone badly wrong, but you're in too much of a hurry to stop and consider it.
What your rush is for is a mystery to me, it's not like anything's waiting for you when you get to wherever/whatever you think you'd prefer to be.
You're a lone goldfish in a tiny glass bowl, and your world view from in there is warped and twisted by the very glass that contains you, protects you.
But while you're here, let me ask you the same question:
Hey, how come YOU never rag on Arsefield's anymore?
*
Mowl
Member
Hey, how comes you guys never rag on Arsefield's anymore?
I noticed that Diarmuid, a relative newbie, is wondering why more people don't sign up. He reckons there's a 100/1 lurkers/members ratio on the site, which is utter bollocks. Nobody even knows that shitty little site exists outside of Declan and his massive ego, an ego massive enough for him to think that $1,495 per annum is a small price to pay for having it stroked for him.
What they don't seem to realize is that for any lurkers they might have, they'd need to be rather fucking dumb not to see that if you do join up and join in, that unless you agree 100% with all their bullshit, you'll be rough-necked back out the door pronto.
And the shit they come out with is so disagreeable, why would anybody want to join in with them?
Angry old men, full of rage, full of disappointment, looking for someone to blame.
It's hilarious really, but they do take themselves oh so seriously.
Dermot's away with the fairies, generally speaking
For once in your miserable existence you're right about something..
Have you ever seen a site to be so clannish. Even the one corrupt, culchie fucking weasel they have "modding" the kip is firmly embedded in the clan
Mowl
Member
Even four is a stretch.
His accent makes me want to smash his teeth in with a hurley stick.
He reminds me of my old biology teacher, John 'Bod' O'Connor. I named him after the stick-man cartoon character from decades ago. Whenever he'd walk into the lab, we'd burst into whistle-song of the theme tune of Bod.
On the football pitch, he was a violent bastard. But he was also extremely short and very stocky, kind of like Declan. Ever noticed how Declan's vans look to be of a monstrous size? That's not the van. That's just him and his little self. A midgety little fucker with a fat gob. His stance when he's telling the bingo ladies about some street sign or old wooden shack, his left arm sort of pointing outwardly toward the object he's bladdering on about, as though he's giving you permission to pass him at a door he's holding open for you.
Yap, yap, yap. Paul Revere. The Boston tea party. Southie. The North End. As though these are cultural hot-spots rather than tired old towns and cities currently falling apart much like Detroit and Michigan. His saggy little arse. The rotund and obnoxious presence. The fat under his chin. The way he sucks bis belly in when breathing to appear slimmer than he is, only for it to flop back over his pants-belt as soon as he starts his yap again.
If Irish nationalism is in his hands, then it's as dead as your sex life is, Jimmy.
Is he really a newbie though? Are you sure he isn't some plonker from Belgrade's days? Or possibly from P.ie?
Regardless of whether I'm right or not (I always am) I'm far from miserable, Jimmy.
I have an actual life, I don't live for these sites like you do.
My goals are in the here and now, not some pipe dream about Ireland once again becoming an island nation of the true Gaels.
That shit's dead in the water, and it's the voting Irish of the last fifty years who helped them seal your fate.
Ireland has nobody left to blame for her current woes, and blaming the British is nothing more than more self-destruction.
Like the Jews blaming Hitler for everything, they can't seem to let it go either.
As for my being right?
Jimmy, take a look around you.
See all those full ashtrays and empty beer tins and frozen pizza boxes?
There are millions more men just like you out there, always putting off the Big Clean-Up until the day after the revolution.
You're too busy blogging the days and nights away to deal with it now, you have a war to win, right?
Wrong.
You have nothing to win, you only have a long list of things you've lost and will never get back.
These are the same things Finland grasped tightly even with eight hundred years of Swedish occupation along with a hundred years of Russian occupation.
Finnish is the first language of Finland: English is the first language of the Irish.
That alone exposes the tiny island and leave her defenceless against the incoming hordes looking to take your women, houses, and money.
Like I said: if you twats were speaking Irish today, then half of Africa and Asia wouldn't be raining down on you in torrents.
How soon until Mick Martin embarrasses you twats all over again with his bowl of green weeds?
Seven days: the same amount of time it took the god of Arsefield's members to create the world as they know it, five thousand years ago.
And when he's done with the role, when is Shimmy Harris stepping up to the plate?
Your two-party state has you by the nuts, Kid.
They ain't letting go any time soon either.
The kiddie site isn't that much different: Daemon's clearly afraid by now, he knows he's been overrun and that it's too late to stop the dyke from leaking. So he's keeping his finger firmly in the hole, trying to keep up with conversations he doesn't understand. With members far too pseudo-intellectual and with far too much time on their hands. Unemployed men of every age, retired old men, and handful of hairy-legged women like the shitstick, and of course Swordid, the bloke you call your Ma.
You could say that The Isle too is clannish: it's just you, David, and I.
The reason nobody wants to join up on here is that the handful of active bloggers Ireland actually has is busy on competing sites.
There is no golden horde of potential new members out there, because nobody gives a shit about these joints.
Why would they?
I mean even if they are politically active?
There's nothing to be gained or lost on these chat boards: just old farts trying to out-jibe and out-slag each other.
Of course, the there's me: and my goal is the same one as ever.
To lampoon the shit out of the whole cabal of ye.
You need to be a weasel to take that sort of role on in the first place, Jambo.
Anyone with not just the time to do it, but with the vindictiveness to warp it and twist it.
That's why Swordid was a shoo-in for the role all these long dull years of his sad excuse for an existence.
The only reason you don't offer to do it yourself is that you're too fucking lazy, you lack any discipline at all.
Getting out of bed at lunchtime isn't helping your cause much either.
Getting drunk by four in the afternoon is going to cave in on you eventually, loathe as you are to realize it.
Funny how you call it a kip now, when only a few weeks ago you were hammering the posts up one after the other.
You're a fucking mess, Jimmy.
In rag order.