What a way to start the week, expect more of the same I'm regular and consistent.During the summers when I was young in the wee village of Frigadoon we had a festival to mark the time when one of the lost tribes Israel settled in Scotland and founded the village, they were called the Knudsenites originally it was one of the tribes that God wanted completely wiped off the face of the Earth but we promised to change our ways which means we lied of course and continued to orgy and binge drink in private.
Not like God has a clue of whats going on, hes too busy trying to sort out the Catholics and the Muslims with their famous 'we are the best pedos' competition, a close call on that one.
The whole village would sit out on the grass and drink wine made by the vicar, his secret ingredient was Yank tourist blood, he also baked lovely French bread, no Frenchies available so he ground up the bones of an Englishman to make that.
We'd sit and dunk our bread and listen to the cries of the new policeman as he screamed inside the wicker effigy we light up at dusk.
I was young and thought all gurls were icky, I still do and I'd wish they'd clean their stench trenches once in a while, also I wish they would do something about the dampness in their gunties when I enter the room, it smells like a fish market.
There was this gurl named Tracy, Green was her last name but who cared she was the fat ugly gurl that hung around with the hottie. We all called her 'Tracy Tree-trunks ' because it sounded funny and her legs were fat.
The whole village would sit out on the grass and drink wine made by the vicar, his secret ingredient was Yank tourist blood, he also baked lovely French bread, no Frenchies available so he ground up the bones of an Englishman to make that.
We'd sit and dunk our bread and listen to the cries of the new policeman as he screamed inside the wicker effigy we light up at dusk.
I was young and thought all gurls were icky, I still do and I'd wish they'd clean their stench trenches once in a while, also I wish they would do something about the dampness in their gunties when I enter the room, it smells like a fish market.
There was this gurl named Tracy, Green was her last name but who cared she was the fat ugly gurl that hung around with the hottie. We all called her 'Tracy Tree-trunks ' because it sounded funny and her legs were fat.
Whats that? you say that's cruel? no it isn't its character building, she went on to become a famous swim suit model, no wait that was Stacy Lard arse Tracy was the one that hung herself.
You know thinking back on it maybe it was a tad cruel but hey funny at the time and that's what matters.
Nothing really to do with the story except there is a gurl and a dog.
Now this part is totally true, its a you had to be there moment but I don't care cos its my blog and one of the funniest things I ever saw.
Tracy and her friends were on a blanket about 10 feet from where me and my mates were sitting.
This sandy coloured dog named 'Brownie' that wandered around and no one knew who owned him or if that was his real name or not walked up behind Tracy as she sat there and lifted his leg on her, on the first touch of piss on her back she reacted and shouted, "Hey!" and pushed the mutt away.
I was the only one to have seen it and just busted up laughing. I couldn't make it sound funny at the time either but it was highly amusing to me that brownie singled her out .
It was a good day, I came third in the egg and spoon race and we burned the peeler at dusk in celebration to the dark lord Xanthan. Why is it that the men leading lost tribes never ask for directions?
It was a good day, I came third in the egg and spoon race and we burned the peeler at dusk in celebration to the dark lord Xanthan. Why is it that the men leading lost tribes never ask for directions?
I'm not upset or in any way dwelling upon my defeat. To say that 10 YouTubes of TV shows etc on the winner's current blog page makes a better blog than mine in any category other than 'best use of YouTubes blog' is easy to accept, maybe the karma of oppressing paddys under British rule has caught up with me, ah well maybe they will see my genius when they learn to speak English.
I may not have won an Irish blog award but I represented the north with futile honour maybe I'll hold 'The Real Irish Blog Awards' but without all that more Irish than thou kinda attitude, if ya wear a shell suit, never sober and snort coke yer Irish enough anyway like I'd give my address to a load of IRA er I mean Irish people so they could post my ticking award to me, nice try.
I have won better, for I have won the coveted Golden Bog Award as given out by the most flushable MJ.
Look at it sparkle, bling bling plonk!
Next year Irish blog awards look out for I'll be going for a losing hat-trick, oh yeah I'm on a roll now I'm off ta take a golden crap, Mj has also promised me a golden shower.
Better than my current crapper with its 40 shades of brown and a long bloody history.
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