The act of an Irishman going out on the lash at the local pub only to realize (after too many cups of the pure) he locked himself out of his dwelling, his primary means of communication ascended to the pearly gates without so much as a farewell or Slán out of courtesy, and he has a horribly urgent need to piss but isn’t smart enough to return back to the pub. The closest petrol station open at this hour is over a kilometer away from your pub and apartment.
The objective of the exercise is to walk to the station, find where they keep the jacks politely ask the lad to charge your phone, then text your fookin roommate to let you in, then walk back. Makes sure if you’re too plastered, avoid the Garda Síochánaat all costs, or you fail.
The result of repeated practice of this exercise will culminate into strong Irish Balls and an erection so thick, not even the donkey cocks of the Ethiopians can ever hope to please your lass better than yours.
The objective of the exercise is to walk to the station, find where they keep the jacks politely ask the lad to charge your phone, then text your fookin roommate to let you in, then walk back. Makes sure if you’re too plastered, avoid the Garda Síochánaat all costs, or you fail.
The result of repeated practice of this exercise will culminate into strong Irish Balls and an erection so thick, not even the donkey cocks of the Ethiopians can ever hope to please your lass better than yours.
Seamus: Look at that buffoon, poor sod’s locked himself out.
Padraíg: Aye and he’s doing him some Irish kegels there now as well. I see piss dripping! Two shillings say he doesn’t make it to the toilet.
Seamus: Begorrah and yer justified, Pat, but may he have the Almighty’s favour.
Padraíg: Aye and he’s doing him some Irish kegels there now as well. I see piss dripping! Two shillings say he doesn’t make it to the toilet.
Seamus: Begorrah and yer justified, Pat, but may he have the Almighty’s favour.
by WoodyPooShoes September 4, 2019