All aboard the town bike

Oh I tell you what, back in the old days the ould fellas down the back at Mass would chuckle and rub their hands as they described her, with knowing winks, as "a popular sort" or "fierce friendly".

Yes. Nowadays we call them dirty fucking slutbag whores.

Yeah. This blog post is a dirty fucking slut. You're a whore of a blog. You're a dirty fucking whore. Yeah. You're dirty. You little whore.

I don't know who started passing her around first. All's I know is that Radge rogered her rigid, then alerted Leeroy who took rapid stock of his dwindling chances for extra-pre-marital bonkonology and so promptly downed trow and buckleppin' pogo-sticked boing-boinged the poor yoke around the room every day for a week. Leeroy then spread the love around some more and even Meadow got swept up in it all and turned lesbian in the rush.

The dirty fecking article that she is, however, she wasn't done yet, and let's face it, no filthy strumpet is complete without a six-ways-from-Sunday-seeing-to from the aptly titled Holemaster and there's just too many jokes to do there it's just too easy.

Rest assured, Maxi had his deviant way with her as well, most of which involved dressing her as a Ribena berry and getting her to pour prune juice down the front of his pants while giving him a simultaneous cheese and tomato paste wedgie round the other side. In fact, to the best of my knowledge, it was her time with Maxi that finished the poor cratur off entirely and now, she turns up on my doorstep, destitute, bedraggled, begging me to give her one last go.

Oh alright. I have to post the rules first though:

1) Put the link of the person who tagged you on your blog. (No. I'm going to link to everyone I feel like linking to instead.)
2) Write the rules (Check.)
3) Mention six things or habits of no real importance about you (I'm getting to that bit.)
4) Tag 6 persons adding their links directly. (I will in me bollix.)
5) Alert the persons that you tagged them. (No, fuck off.)

My six of the best

1. Every time I visit Susan over at Stony River Farm, her title header loads and every single time without fail I sing, in my mind, Rocky Mountain High by John Denver. 'Cept I put Stony River Farm in there instead. It's actually starting to annoy the balls off me at this stage but I can't stop.
And just to add, John Denver looks like the lovechild of The Milky Bar Kid and Martina Navratilova and that's just wrong so it is.

2. I made a girl laugh today when we saw the really tall guy we know and we were gossiping about him a wee bit and she said he was a tad weird and made her uncomfortable and I said "Ah yeah, sure for fucks sake it'd take a week just to say hello to him he's so tall" and I guess you had to be there and all but I scored me some points there no doubt. Giggidy.

3. It's not especially fashionable or cool, I know, but I really like this song and the lovely sentiment behind it, and the timbre of this girl's voice.
You see, when I'm not out wrestling grizzly bears and skinning them and visiting vigilante justice on ne'er-do-wells in dank alleys with my bare calloused fists, I'm a big softie really. Awwwwwwwww bless...

4. I'd love to bring a girl home one night and after working her to boiling point with my array of sexual move, I mean moves, say to her in a suave, smoky, saxophone soundtrack type way "uh-hurrrrrr well, why don't you wait here while I slip into something more comfortable dahling?"
And then I'd bound in the door minutes later in a sumo wrestling fat suit and furry penguin slippers.

5. I'm eating a creme egg typing this, as John Waters might have typed it were things different. Anyway, when I was six, I stole 50p from my mother's purse and bought me and all my mates some creme eggs. Clearly, this ostentation was way too out of step with grey 80s Cavan where a treat for kids back then was a bag of offal from the butchers, and so the beady busy bitch of a shopkeeper copped straight away and told my Mum. She in turn brought me to the Garda barracks down the street and had the sergeant frighten the blue bollocks off me by showing me the cells and telling me if I did it again he'd lock me up and give me nothing but bread and water for a month.

Anyways, a week later I went back to the same shop and robbed a creme egg instead. Nya-hah! One niiiiiiiiiil you fuckers!

6. I get to listen to the radio for approximately 3 hours a week combined, on average. Lately, I have yet to successfully listen in for anything more than 15 minutes, however, without hearing all the following at some point if not, indeed, twice:

Use somebody - The Kings of AlwaysOn
Are we human or are we cancerous? - The Killers
Pa Pa Pa Pa Pa Pa Pa Poker Face - Lady Blah Blah

I'd put me fucking foot through the radio if I didn't generally happen to be in the car at the time, and it moving because I'd be driving it like. Pah!