The recession is hitting hard.
Over a pint in Ron’s at lunchtime Dirty Dave offered to eat my pubes between two slices of stale, unbuttered white bread if I would pay him €200.
Naturally I refused. I need my pubes for a wide variety of reasons.
But it’s sad to see a man, a man so proud, so full of dignity, be reduced to eating pube sandwiches to get by.
Are you happy now Fianna Fail? Are you?
You ain’t seen nothing yet, Celtic Tiger! Just wait till next winter and there will be plenty willing to give you head – just to get something hot in their belly.
I’ll join you in cursing Fianna Fail (of whom I have never been a fan anyway) if they reintroduce rates and the recession starts affecting me in that way.
I need my pubes for a wide variety of reasons.
Ah yes, St Twenty of Assisi’s retreat for Jodie Marsh’s Crabs -they have a tough life, poor mites. Though I’m not sure if they really are mites in the strictest sense of the word.
Are you happy now Fianna Fail? Are you?
Reading a Bio of Patrick Kavanagh at the moment – He wrote to Peter, his Brother “I always knew instinctively that Fianna Fail was the dirtiest, lowest crowd we ever had” after Aiken blocked his tour of America.
I’ve worked in a bakery, and I can assure you he’s eaten mine and paid for the priviledge.
There’s a new fad diet in there somewhere…Carbs n’ Pubes or summat like that
Isn’t that how Beverly Cheesy Grin got the nickname? She was asked back to FF after a bet.
Shows you the morals of FF are to let that one back into the fold.
I’ve worked in a bakery, and I can assure you he’s eaten mine and paid for the priviledge.
That’s what makes the crust so crunchy then?
Once the baker has washed his mickey that morning, there’s no problem. In the hygeine sense…
Bleurgh. Pizza anyone?
http://dlisted.com/node/31601
There are politicians of the gay stripe who’ll pay YOU to let them eat your pubes. And they’ll pay you with your tax monies.
The Pubewich. For a limited time only.
There’s more than one way to debase yourself for money in a recession. It doesn’t all have to be about feasting on pubes. For example, for the low, low price of 50 euro, I’ve told my mates that I’ll charge into The Dail with a belt of dynamite (in reality, sausages) strapped to my waste to test our government’s terrorist-alertness.
I’m also prepared to try sticking my head up my own arse for 100 euro. I’m 99% sure it can’t be done, not least of all because of my inflexibility, but I will force the matter until injury or death brings down the curtain.
bad idea coming back.