So we’re in Ron’s last night and in comes Stinking Pete followed by a gaggle of young girls. As they stood in a circle talking loudly about drinking Smirnoff Ice and Babycham or something, I called Pete over.
“Erm, what the fuck are you doing?”
“Don’t blame me. I just happened to be in town drinking a couple of pints with Perspicacious Paul, you know, the lad who knows everything about everything. Well, he knows a little something about everything. So, we’re sitting in Ned’s bar on Townsend Street having a chat about why exactly it would be a bad idea for a man to consume an entire New Zealand lamb in one sitting and in came these girls.”
“And?”
“Well, they’re out celebrating their results!”
“The results of their pregnancy tests? Look at them, they all look like strippers.”
“No, some exams. I assume it was Beauticians College or something. Anyway, they said they were out manhunting and they weren’t interested in the scores of young lads that also happened to be around town, they wanted older men who could grow a real beard and not the pathetic bum fluff they had to put up with normally.”
“So?”
“Well, you know fine well that alonside hang-gliding, ice-fishing and playing Yahtzee that eavesdropping is one of my favourite things so I told them I could bring them to a bar where there were plenty of older men with beards. And here we are.”
The girls were still standing in a circle looking as if they were afraid to touch anything. One of them went to the bar.
“Six quadruple vodkas and Red Bulls, please”, she asked Ron.
Ron, shaking his head, looked down the bar at Jimmy, Dave, Lucky and I. I shrugged and tried to watch the football. Jimmy motioned for another pint. Lucky muttered some clichéd Italian phrase about his Mama and Dave got up, tucked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and wandered over.
“Let me get these for you ladies”, he said.
“Ahh, cheers”, she said.
So Ron poured six quadruple vodkas and filled them up with his home made Red Bull (which he makes from sugar, more sugar, some caster sugar, pigs blood, a squirt of his own semen and wallpaper paste). Dave and Pete sat with them, stroking their stubble and talking about how tough it was to shave it.
I watched the football. They got another round in. I continued watching the football. They got another round in and soon girlish shrieks and laughs filled the bar. It was wretched. I hate when Dave laughs.
Eventually they decided they’d had enough and were going to leave. Dave and Pete were going with them.
“I can’t wait to go to the disco”, said Dave. “When the slow dance comes on I’m going to ask the blonde one to dance.”
“Which blonde one?”
“The blonde one with the orange fake tan!”
“Which blonde one with the orange fake tan?”
“The blonde one with the orange fake tan and the really short skirt and high heels.”
“Which blonde one with the orange fake tan and the really short skirt and high heels?”
“The blonde one with the orange fake tan and the really short skirt and high heels and revealing boob tube type top.”
“Which blonde one with the orange fake tan and the really short skirt and high heels and revealing boob tube type top?”
“The blonde one with the orange fake tan and the really short skirt and high heels and revealing boob tube type top who looks like a Goodfella’s wife.”
“Which blonde one with the orange fake tan and the really short skirt and high heels and revealing boob tube type top who looks like a Goodfella’s wife?”
“The ugly one.”
“Good man, Dave.”
When I got my LC results I bypassed the girls, mini skirts etc and simply drank a 1 litre carton of Don Simon red, then spent the evening spewing up in private. But that was Meath in the 1980s.
So did the lads score or what?
No idea and I don’t care to know. I hope, for the sake of humanity and those girls, that they didn’t.
don’t birds realise they look like David dickinson with that fake tan on,oh and fat birds your not good looking in a belly top it shows your stretch marks
Ah some girls are good at using fake tan, it comes with practice or age. I’d rather see a good attempt then a shinny whitie or purple legs from the cold.
v funny stuff 20; good start to this day of horribleness – yeah i know that’s not a word
combover – good phrase I heard once with girls who are too chunky for that type of gear was – “do my jeans look big in this arse”
best one ive heard for that bit of fat hanging over that garb was “muffin top”.
I cant even eat muffins anymore after that.
They’ve started a rumour on Jim Carroll’s blog that you are John Ryan of Stars on Sunday Fame, 20.
Great post Twenty. Later
My favourite look is the “bacon truss” – generally achieved by putting size million drunk girl in backless top with stringy things criss crossed over and back between which pink flob oozes. Usually spotted drunk on Grafton Street at 3am. Always reminds me of cooked ham!
They’ve started a rumour on Jim Carroll’s blog that you are John Ryan of Stars on Sunday Fame, 20.
They being that reprobate Mulley. Mischief maker…
‘looked down the bar…at me.’ Surely?
Either way I don’t care, when you’re right you’re right. Whale tails are the very worst. Thongs pulled up at least two inches above waist line of jeans. Yack.
Camel toe is none too appealing either especially on the really “larger” ladies in leggings when you can actually just about read their lips.
Bleugghhh!!!
And so the future of Ireland is secure with another gagle of Leaving cert students finding out how hopeless life is after a visit to Rons.
Urgh I know – I know… so many guys just come up to me all the time and tell me how much they lerv my baggy poo-catcher type tracky daks and docs, my luminescent pallor and my ‘just stuck my finger in an electric socket’ hair, & what a blessed relief I am to not only the fashion world but the whole world.
Being blonde and tarted up is just the worst thing, init, poor dears.
‘camel toe’ – we call them mumblers – you see the lips moving, but cant quite make out what they’re saying…
Walter. Thats not called “camel toe”. Its called “moose knuckle”…
http://img186.imageshack.us/my.php?image=mooseknucklebz2.jpg
Oh dear God. That’s like a Tyrannosaurus Moose knuckle. They don’t really make them like that over here I’m glad to say.That looks like somewhere to park your bike….motor bike.
Mumblers tough……heee heeee.
Bacon truss, indeed. Very descriptive.
Or, as I remarked to one girl recently, Put the fucking lotion in the basket!!
fucken hell, post no. 16′s name was about as long as the post…the girls in Dublin don’t seem to have changed much , bless them.
awesome post, won’t drink any home-made Red Bulls from now on. Not that I ever have in the first place.
Jayzus Twenty it’s a sign of old age when you keep repeating yerself. It’s a bad sign of old age when you keep repeating yerself. In fact it’s the sign of being a grumpy old Fart when you keep repeating yerself.
thanks Twenty. Needed that after today!
Think I’m going out tonight…
I still haven’t recovered from those pictures of Britney’s clopper.
That pic is classic.Put your flange away, bigun.
I bet she knows her mother’s a lying bitch when she says, you look beautifull honey.
Gee – that is one killer wedgie – she should definitely go the dungers.
fair play twenty, sayin’ it like it is!
have to say, reading your blog is the second most satisfying event i do every morning….
fatmammycat said: “Whale tails” Brilliant name!
Is it enough to make builders cover up their bums?
Doubt it!