| Subject: ignore this |
Author:
RO
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Date Posted: 18:37:40 03/27/03 Thu
Author Host/IP: NoHost/12.111.167.145
(wouldn't let me post it on the WB board, and I ain't goin' through it tryin' to figure out what "violates their terms of service", so I'm linking to it. And yes, I had the normal tags in any word that contained another bad word...so unless they're onto that trick...)
*in Irish accent* Oh, well, I'm Irish, too, and they've gotta lotta nerve gettin' their jollies from gigglin' at our traditional songs. And "the stone back in my end"? That was a blatant reference to the blarney stone, and they can kiss me arse for it! And their pathetic aye de di de di. Ha! We all know ya got ta be drinkin' fer hours with complete strangers till you're completely bolloxed an' you've fallen down on yer arse an' pissed yerself tryin' to throw up, an' as ya crawl off yer knees, tryin' to pour the last drops of yer drink inta yer mouth, some amadain asks if yer alright, an' ya mumble "aye" while orderin' up another round of bevvies an' wond'rin' if ya should try to make it to the bogs. Then the cafflers you've been drinkin' with start in with the singin', an' they keep goin' till you've been thrown outta the pub. That's the real aye de di de di. Not this bolloxed up rubbish these apes are tryin' to pass off.
Oh, an' after yer done singin'. Why, then you're all knockered an' ya stumble off ta drain the snake, so ya say, but ya actually do a bunk an' head down to yer other pub. An outside, why, ya spot this pretty bird dressed to the nines, an yer so fluthered, ya grab her diddies. And yer sure yer gonna get a kick in the balls, but it turns out she's a doxie, and all ya gotta do is giver 'er a danny boy ta flah wit' her. You're searchin' through her trousers, but turns out ya don't gotta 50p livesaver on ya. You're gonna do it anyway, though, figurin' feck it. It's so foundered outside, ya just can't get it up, so ya drag 'er inta the pub where it's warmer. Ya grab a seat in the corner and start gettin' off wit' her till the git of a bartender comes pesterin' ya about foostering an' takin' up his seatin'. He's goin' on and on like a gobshite, so ya finally tell him ta dry up and go sit on a gooter.
Now ya haven't got a baldy of stayin' in that pub, an' yer knackered, so ya hoof it on home, leavin' the old bird back on the docks. An' by the time ya get back to yer house, you're so jacked ya can't even find the key. Luckily, yer lack is still there, so she lets ya in. She takes one look at ya and sees you're locked. You're terrified you're gonna start milling, and you're just too tired fer that, so ya mind yourself an' try to find the bathroom, but yer mot isn't about ta let ya go that easily. She's all narky from bein' up so late waitin' for yer arse. She looks like she did when ya started gigglin' at her the first time ya saw her in the nip. She's rantin' on and knocks ya upside the head till ya pass out on the floor. And that's where ya wake up the next evenin' ta do it again! That's the real Irish drinkin' song! Let's see 'em do that on their little program... (anyone want a translation of a word? lol oh, the Irish in me...)
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