For 'tis the one they call - The Montuss.
I'll tell you this for nothing - I really fucking like steak. Put that into your beautifully inlaid bong and smoke it, ye fucker ye.
Back in England after my 'sojourn' in Ireland, he said very fucking informatively. Adverbs. Cunts.
Anyways here's some shit that went down in the Emerald Asylum:
Trying to breakdance when utterly shitfaced, as usual. Hole in knee, duff shoulder. Fuckwit.
Comin' on with the Monkey Pirates. You don't need to know.
Being on O'Connell Street for Easter weekend 1916 commemorations. Well weird.
Running away scared from trotting cows a lot in the Tipperary fields, looking for standing stones. Those cows are huge. As you can imagine, there was lots of, "Run at it, shouting!". Hilarious at the time by the way.
Steak. The Trucker's Steak in the Tipperary Inn in Toomevara is the size of a giantess's placenta, the finest Irish beef. Golden Vale, I fucking salute you.
Having a Twin Peaks moment in a one-horse town when being led after the pub to the local club. Expecting a pub with a dancefloor I entered a cavernous dance area lined with three balconies, hundreds of cunts givin' it to really shit music. Do my head in.
The hills of Tipperary, as Spring is spranging and the sap is rising and get your knickers off, are fucking beautiful. Particularly so if you are as drunk as a lord, which, thankfully, I constantly was.
The warm peace of sitting in front of the open fire of an evening can be nicely embellished by getting shitfaced on red wine and instigating an argument about Africa with your companion, the nub of which neither of you can remember in the morning. Fucking edifying. I bet I was fucking right an' all.
The first Swallows of Spring givin' it large speed through the air, bo selecta.
What the fuck is up with the traffic in Dublin? The place is a mess I tells yah.
Almost having a seizure climbing to the top of Devil's Bit Mountain, then getting vertigo and going back down almost immediately. Nonce.
The picture above is not of the real One, it cannot be, for only he is the One they call - The Montuss. Our canine companion in Ireland. 'Tis the One.
Let's kneecap this motherfucker right here, right now. Moby is a vegan-fuck hypocritical fucker, and I wanna slap his head with a spoon. A tablespoon. Fuck.
Sirrah!
"The bartender is a cunt." Me, too loudly, in the bar on the ferry. Didn't get served for ten minutes.
posted by Brewski @ 8:28 pm
10 comments
10 Comments:
the bartender must have a good sense of humor, I wouldn't have served you the rest of the night...well, maybe you, but anyone else? Nope. ;^)
Mayor-girl he was Dutch. We became firm friends after the first few. The Dutch need coaxing sometimes. Geweldig.
And anyway, I would never direct the word 'cunt' toward a woman. That shit is wrong. I'm a cunt, he's a cunt, and that chair is a cunt cuz I just stubbed my toe on it, but never a woman. You bitches just deserve too much respect.
Have missed your streams of consciousness Binty m'lad. I really fucking wish you'd submit something to Blunt Cogs - you'd do it proud.
Fuck. I typed Brewski. I know I fucking typed Brewski. Fucking blogger turned it into Binty.
Fucking cunting Blogger
Bitches! Now that's more like it! ;^)
Welcome back Brewski! Missed your peculiar brand of philosophy.
The Trucker's Steak in the Tipperary Inn in Toomevara is the size of a giantess's placenta
You've been at the Cruise-Holmes birthing thing, haven't you. Bad Brewski.
ckmgzf: Standard SOS call for those whose idea of amusement is to frighten cows with a display of breakdancing. Loosely translated, it means Would someone please be kind enough to get this hoof off my tonsils.
Holmes a giantess? Philip, you need to brush up on your celebrity knowledge. Buy yourself some copies of Heat and The Times, man.
If Brewski's back, then by Cthulhu, so am I.
was the steak a revenge attack on the cows?
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