The Ireland team of the 70s and 80s was shit, and nobody (especially in Ireland itself) gave a fuck. Then that ex-Leeds cunt, Jack Charlton, ropes in a load of Englishmen (and the mighty Paul McGrath) to play for the Irish and they get to the 1990 World Cup. Astonishingly they get to the quarter finals and these Irish ‘fans’ come crawling out of the woodwork.
Then four years later (USA 94) the whole world is infested with these ‘lifelong’ Irish fans who think football started in 1990. They were all over the place: Celebrities, journos, comedians, members of U2 and so on. None of them ever showing any interest in football, but all of a sudden part of Big Jack’s green and white army Seriously: in the mid 90s you couldn’t move for the bastards.
Fast forward to 2014: The Irish team is shite again, once more nobody gives a fuck and all their showbiz arselicking Plastic Paddy lifelong fans are nowhere to be seen. Gloryhunting, bandwagon jumping Plastic Paddy cunts!
Nominated by: Norman Whiteside
Irish themed pubs are shit as well. There must be two hundred of the cunting things in every city in the world.
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Odd how you never have Welsh themed pubs. Why I wonder is that?
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That’s because they’d be shit. “Would you like some more leeks my love”? Ugh.
Oh, and there is such a thing as an English-themed pub – it’s called a “pub”…
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Along with the bandwagon of Jack Charlton’s Plastic Paddies there was a whole lot of 90s ‘Oirish’ shite that came along with it: That Riverdance bollocks (with that Plastic Paddy Yanky Doodle cunt, Michael Flatley), Boyzone, B-Witched (and any other Louis Walsh shite), The godawful Cranberries with their banshee singer (an example of their lyrics: ‘I thought nothing could go wrong. But I was wrong.’), unfunny cunts like Ed Byrne, the watered down Fleetwood Mac of The Corrs,… Not to mention that atttention whore (and IRA loving slag), Sinead O’ Connor…
Rose MacGowan is also another clueless, terrorist loving, Plastic Paddy Yank tosspot, and so is that ugly cunt, Micky Rourke….
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Imagine having to live in the Republic of. No wonder the gobshite cunts have spread all over the world. Forget John Wayne dragging Maureen O’Hara through the quaint thatched cottage to be sure to be sure. Southern Ireland is a garish piss puddled shite hole covered in bungalows with crap cuntry music blasting out of every orifice. They gave us Val Doonican (who has got him in the Pool?). Bugger. Why am I always so charitable about the micks?
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While in a charitable frame of mind and by way of testing out the new spam filter arrangements (3 links me dears) I give you Fat Tattooed Cunts as a nomination:
http://blogs.reuters.com/photographers-blog/files/2008/01/hells-angel.jpg
http://pic.epicfail.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/tattoo-fail-money-over-dick.jpg
http://assets.tattoofailure.com/hashed_silo_content/c29/bf9/dce/resized/tattoo.jpg
Now that the temperatures are rising I am orf to ventilate me privates by the sea side. Have instructed me butler to knot a hankerchief for me head, lever me old arse into a deckchair and break out the Pims. Must say one cannot help but remark upon the invasion of the British beach by fat cunts tatooed up to the eyeballs and beyond. In my day a tatoo was the mark of a convict, a brass or a camp sailor. Now the world and his wife has got ’em on sweaty display at Margit or Brighton.
Acres of flags and chains and flowers and death skulls but very little useful information such as “Rear Entry Only” on the arse or “Do Not Feed Me Fat Crap Burgers” on the gut. Selfish exhibitionist cretins who think a snake on the cock or a sunset on the tits enhances their self esteem. No it don’t me dears. It just advertises that a sick fat ugly unfuckable cunt is taking up this space.
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Oh and this one goes under the heading “Fell asleep in the tattooist’s chair” : http://forum.verysrs.com/composition/attachment/c69671da734989c7dd2797198be0cf00/773798/cat-ass-tattoo.jpg?thumb=1
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I’m watching the canadian GP and thinking Bernie “tax dodging dwarf” Ecclestone has missed a trick. There are horticultural adverts painted on the grass around the track. The opportunity that Shorty missed is that he could combine the GP with the Chelsea flower show, and have gardeners making the adverts with real flowers while the cars are racing. The tension will be unbelievable as you won’t know how many millions of pounds Bernie will make from the endangerment of other people, and how much tax he will avoid
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And on the subject of plastic paddies, I would also like to nominate man childs who think they are gangsta yardies. They seem confused as they once shopped in Kingston, Milton Keynes, but they they talk like they are from Kingston Jamaica, innit.
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I remember that woman from ‘Father Ted’ (her who kept saying ‘Go on!’ all the time) being on Fantasy Football on BBC2. When those two cunts, Baddiel and Skinner asked what team she supported, she said Aston Villa… Not because she was a real Villa fan or had any ties with Birmingham, but because they were challenging Man United for the title in 93 and she ‘hated’ United: because it was trendy for Irish media and arts types to do so at the time… Pure Plastic Paddy cunt!
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Pure plastic paddyness…..
http://www.u2.com/news/title/they-think-its-all-over/
“As far back as 1990?'”They’ve been a (recording) band since 1979. Yet no mention of their ‘love’ of football until 11 years later (when ‘their’ team get to their first ever World Cup)?
As the song goes: “Where were you when they were shit?”
Cunts….
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