...this one had me nearly spitting my tea over the computer screen....some brilliant stuff in here..
http://www.anfearrua.com/db.asp?a=topicdisplay&tid=436611&xpos=0 (http://www.anfearrua.com/db.asp?a=topicdisplay&tid=436611&xpos=0)
"Had a tough 4 hours trying to load 10 of those pricks last november.... The worst jumped and landed on a 200 yr old gate, impaled itself on it.
Had to knock gate with sledge, load the lunatic on HIS OWN after that. With his front quarter ripped still managed to go through 2 ditched over a wall and another gate.
I was one happy boy when I got him to factory about 3 hours later.
I was too mean to shoot the p***k with the rifle.
Funny thing he made more in factory than the other 9 in mart,"
;D ;D ;D
Quality stuff alright! Brings back some memories.
Funny stuff, although I'd be very wary of this guy
"I didn`t winter any livestock this year ss. I was just up there mooching around"
:o
Cracking stuff!
:D
I wonder if Superquinn can track that cow back to the farmer? Perhaps I should take advantage of that service, that cow was dying for hours before it was slaughtered.
:D :D :D :D :D :D :D
Feckin brillaint, funnier it gets the more you read through the posts.......
I'm sure there are alot of lads on here that can relate to some of them stories.................
QuoteA sewer rod with the metal bit at the end was the only job. Hitting them with a hazel wand wouldn`t even drive the fleas from the animal never mind driving the animal up a sh1t covered piece of wood slippier than an ice rink at 45 degrees into a dark sh1t covered truck.
For that you needed a sewer rod in each hand and have 5 or 6 guys acting the "helicpoter". Anything less and you had complete anarchy on your hands.You`ld start hitting them at the base of the field and not stop till you were in the truck yourself and half way to the mart.
Then you get out and beat them to the stall at the mart.
It was better exercise than 2 hours of weights.
When I die I know I`m coming back as one of them. Karma will see to that.
Yours in staying alive till I`m a thousand,
GSH.
;D ;D ;D :D ;D ;D Brilliant
Can't stand the farming at all at all, but that's one of the funniest things I've ever read.
Any good links to some of our own classics? Was the Forkinknife one deleted?
I remember giving a good two days chasing 40 of the f**kers around east clare one day when were testing them when I was a young fella. We had to get a fella to come and weld on an extra bar to the cattle crush as they were jumping it like champion steeplechasers. Mad baxtards indeed !!!
:D :D :D
Garda Sean Horgan
A sewer rod with the metal bit at the end was the only job. Hitting them with a hazel wand wouldn`t even drive the fleas from the animal never mind driving the animal up a sh1t covered piece of wood slippier than an ice rink at 45 degrees into a dark sh1t covered truck.
For that you needed a sewer rod in each hand and have 5 or 6 guys acting the "helicpoter". Anything less and you had complete anarchy on your hands.
You`ld start hitting them at the base of the field and not stop till you were in the truck yourself and half way to the mart.
Then you get out and beat them to the stall at the mart.
It was better exercise than 2 hours of weights.
When I die I know I`m coming back as one of them. Karma will see to that.
:D :D :D :D :D
Jesus Christ, thats priceless. Read his other posts, this boy is from a long gone age. ;D
this has got to be the best thread that i have ever read.some classic stuff.
QuoteGood times though, starting the Ford with a 50p piece and bringing 50 times the max weight of hay down main roads being "held together" by some 12 year old local lad up on top of it trying not to get electrocuted by the overheads.
Remember it well! :D :D
Taken from here - http://www.anfearrua.com/story.asp?id=2424
The making of a minor footballer
By the time you reach minor level, as a young footballer you will have encountered many difficulties, writes An Fear Rua...
In smaller clubs, you might have been approached at fifteen to enter the murky world of minor football. As a fifteen year old, you are in awe of these big hulking seventeen to eighteen year olds, each with the very small beginnings of a beer belly.
You see them walking moodily around the school, making sarcastic comments at teachers you're still afraid of. You watch in frustration as the girls in your year, especially the one you fancy, almost throws herself at the six foot one midfielder. A rage builds inside of you that you can't let out till you're at home in your bedroom and your mammy wonders have you been drinking too much cocoa at night.
The star minor footballer is a lad who is respected by old and young alike. He is the great white hope of the parish, the fella who'll bring back the county title when he gets to senior grade, barring he gets lured by some crowd to play Aussie Rules or ... worse ... to a soccer club in England. Cue screams and howls of protests from the auld bucks at the counter of the local pub who mutter to themselves that the pup was never any good anyway nor neither was his father before him.
So you have a lot to live up to. As you begin to go to the minor training sessions, a strange thing occurs. Those same lads who are eighteen or so, begin to recognise you at school and grunt a greeting towards you as you walk nervously past them down the corridor.
However, with the big lads noticing you, the 'wan' begins to as well. She comes up and actually talks to you. Her eyelids start fluttering, the sly grin, and the fidgeting of the hair nearly make you run for a bucket of water to cool down with. You stutter like a diesel car on a frosty morning as you talk about how the science teacher is such a so-and-so for having giving out to the 'wan' for a bad test result. Then...awkward silence ...
This awkward terrified silence is like sitting in a dentist's knowing you have to get three teeth pulled. You begin to sweat like Christy Moore playing the old National Stadium as you panic about the next topic of conversation. And then the question you have to ask her... are you going out on Saturday night?
A surprised glance at you confirms your fears that it was the wrong question, but she tries to remain cool.
'Of course I am.' 'Why?'
'Well I thought we might meet up at the nightclub.'
'But there's not a hope we'll get in.'
'Sure we'll try it', says you, beginning to get courage back.
'We'll see, it's only Tuesday after all. See you in the next class.'
You have a Homer Simpson 'd'oh' moment as you realise you have asked her not only three days too early, but maybe even two years early as well. And there is the small matter of the Championship derby match on the Sunday morning you could be making your debut in.
By Friday, you are on Cloud Twenty, never mind number Nine and you know that something has got to give, either the 'wan' or the football. Now, at any other age it would be a foregone conclusion that you would ignore the match and go out with the girl. But at fifteen or sixteen the aul' brain is still not functioning in that kind of way. Remember you have only played under twelve football three years earlier. What are you to do?
Reluctantly, you decide the pride of the jersey and the parish is more important and you approach the 'wan' cautiously. You tell her you forgot you had a match on Sunday morning and you can't go out the night before. You wait for the slap, or worse, the tears, but they don't come. You're happy enough see that she has a relieved look on her face and you arrange to go out some other time.
Fast forward then to Sunday morning and the big match. You're nervous as a kitten togging out in the dressing room. Some of the other fellas look suspiciously hung over, though they're not supposed to be drinking. You put on the jersey and try to remain calm as the red-faced trainer goes bananas in front of you talking about pride in the parish and all that guff.
You walk out onto the field and take your position. You note your opposite number is six inches taller than you. Despair sets in. How are you supposed to beat this lad? You see your daddy and mammy looking at you with pride or maybe worry from the sideline. Your mammy blesses herself. Now you're really worried.
But then salvation of a sort. You hear someone shouting good luck to you from another direction. You scan the crowd for a messenger of hope, and you see her. The 'wan' is there with a parish jersey on. She gives you a smile and a thumbs up and you're walking on sunshine. You give her a wave back and your marker looks at you with disgust, but you don't care. This fella would probably be more interested in the internal workings of a Massey Ferguson 165 than a member of the opposite sex
By then you're distracted by cheers and shouts. The referee is about to throw up the ball. You go for it and the game is on.
Ah yes. You're a minor footballer now...
End
Pure magic. Can you relate?
jaysus that limousin thread bring back the memories alright. spent many a summers day and night chasing the hoors, they could jump fences better than any national hunt horse. reindeer would have been easier handled!
The minor footballer post is a classic - thon boy should be writing novels..
:D
http://www.anfearrua.com/db.asp?a=topicdisplay&tid=442143 (http://www.anfearrua.com/db.asp?a=topicdisplay&tid=442143)
Here`s a question. What do you do if she happens to be in her moons on V day?
Get her to blow you.
:D :D :D :D :D Class thread.
lead her to the bed room. Give her your A-game for about 1-2 hours so she is absolutly boll*ksed. Sleep like a baby.
P.S. your A game needs to be top quality so do some research before hand. No holding back
1 to 2 hours !!! Of your `A` game !!! Are you off your head?
If you start going down the 1-2 hours route and that will be expected to be the norm. If you are on top form then that will also be expected to be the norm.
From that day on if you last 20 minutes you`ll be branded a failure and asked why you can`t go the 2 hours.
If you`re more of a penguin than a bucking bronco then that will also be critised !
If you keep it at 15 minutes then you`re saving 1 hour 45 minutes 4 times a week, which is a full days work saved !
Thats 2 rounds of golf or 3 movies and the list just goes on and on.
If I was you, I`d be aiming for the 15 minute mark and keeping an eye on the watch and then sleep.
You`re only damaging your own lifestyle otherwise.
Also, by doing this, she will tell her friends and they will attack their "15 minute man" at home. He doesn`t deserve this abuse. Do mankind a favour.
Edit - even more Valentines Day advice
Your A Game should not involve you humping her like a f**kin dog for 1-2 hours. I dont think that I can go into the graphic details on this site, but 15 - 20 mins massage, foreplay 10 mins, round 1 15 mins, 5 - 10 min breather. Thats one hour killed. Tie her up for a while (her hands, with silk, not her neck with rope ) produce some strawberries, cream etc, put them places that you probably shouldnt etc etc etc. 2 hiurs will be killed in no time.
She wont expect this everynight, and it shows that you did something other then buying her a card and she will be all over you, simply because all you`ll be hearing is "ahhhhhhhh, that was fu+king amazing, where did you learn that" and you lie back with your chest pumped out like your after cleaning Shefflin in the All ireland (or wjhatever makes you proud ) and say, " I thought I would give you a special treat for valentines this year, should I not of?"
:D :D :D
From UptheYard
QuoteI`ll have to disagree ST. What a man writes in a love letter can never be said in words or performed in actions. Mr outcast is obviously in love and good luck to him. However, I would still expect that he busts some moves when he gets her to that fancy hotel. All regard and respect for furnishings & fellow guests should go out the window when you get your missus to a hotel for a few nights. The maid should walk in there in the morning and think to herself `what the f**k did these animals get up to last night`. Lockers should be knocked over, curtains hanging off the rail, muff diving from the top of the wardrobe (superfly Jimmy Snuka style ) reverse piggy backs etc etc. The whole shooting, f**king gallery
:D ;D
OneLeggedDancer
Posts: 1,116 Posted 12-Feb-2008 18:49 Report offensive post
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Originally posted by Escobar:
Very amusing discussion lads, and informative too! As a housing estate Jackeen, I didn`t get to dehorn anything other than meself when I was a young fella so I`ve enjoyed reading these misadventures in the vein of All Creatures Great and Small.
B]
I was admitted to St. Luke`s Hospital, Kilkenny for an appendicitis operation when I was 14 and a nurse was carrying out the task of shaving my testicular region. My efforts to defeat nature by mind control proved fruitless and willy stood right up there as proud as Punch, much to the nurse`s amusement and my mortification. The mortification turned to agony when a passing nun dehorned me with a rap of her pencil.And that`s my contribution to this subject.
Some great contributions and I`ll be very careful with the spelling if I ever have to book a limousine for the bride.
A great uncle of mine has had a wariness of ginger haired women all his life. As far as he's concerned, if the red cattle are mad in the head, the female version is not to be taken lightly.
Limousin II
http://www.anfearrua.com/db.asp?a=topicdisplay&tid=524081
:D
Only seeing that Valentine's Day thread now. Funniest thing in a long time - had me rolling around laughing more than a year of reading stuff that's supposed to be funny and watching lads on TV that are paid to make you laugh. If you haven't read it, get into it - a treat in store.
Quote from: Hardy on September 23, 2008, 07:25:15 PM
Only seeing that Valentine's Day thread now. Funniest thing in a long time - had me rolling around laughing more than a year of reading stuff that's supposed to be funny and watching lads on TV that are paid to make you laugh. If you haven't read it, get into it - a treat in store.
thats a classic thread!!! some headers there....
Obviously if you are normally '2 stroke O Rourke' it would look a bit suspicious
:)
Did any of ye ever say you had a pain in the arse over something or other?
Well, I can say it now and it isn't funny at all, at all.
My posterior pain, which can be quite severe at times, is down to arthritis and the arthritis is down to walking my oul' fella's bullocks to the fair in Swinford a couple of times a year.
We'd set off around daylight in order to meet some of the 'dalers,' who'd come out the road to meet the early arrivals and pick up the best before anyone else would get to see them.
The gaffer also wanted to get a good 'standin,' a prime position on the main street for those he couldn't sell on the way in.
Here, me and the brother would have to try and keep the 'bastes' quiet, running around screeching and waving our sticks, and up to or knees in the smelly stuff. This could go on for hours and us having had to lep every fence in the country and race ahead to cover off gateways and crossroads all the way in!
The buckos we were bringing along would be as worked up as we were, lowing and bellowing every step of the way. When one bunch of animals heard another coming along, the craic really got good!
Trying to separate them was more an art than a science and, God knows, there was more action and commitment in evidence, from bullocks and herders, alike than you'd ever see from the Mayo football team.
Sometimes, the kids would be so excited that they'd aim an odd skelp of a stout ash plant at each other. I'm sure the same Mayo team would have picked up a few Sam Maguires along the line if it wasn't for emigration. Believe me; all the young fellas of our locality could run, jump and eff better than any one I've seen in the green and red then or since.
For all of that, we might get two bob and a bottle of lemonade if the day went well and if it didn't, we had to walk the unsold ones back home again.
By mutual consent, as we were all shagged out, bullocks and kids would walk along without any theatricals.
If they were the good ol' days, I'd hate to recall the bad ones. ;)
thats a hiliarous thread allright hardy lol a few times getting some strange looks at the moment :D :D
Originally posted by DavidO'Carlo/Wex:
Got the missus to be a box of chocs (in a heart-shape naturally, 7.99-aprox. in Tescos Clondalkin....think they're called Milka Pralines & yes I want to milk her' pralines! ) plus an 18.99 double-box of Christina Aguilera Eau De Parfum & Shower-Gel in the local pharmacy. All I've to do now is learn how to write "Happy Valentines' Day". In Polish. & get her to understand English. Gonna be plucking up the courage all-day Thursday. Might even have a snifter at lunch for a bit of Dutch Gold.
************************************************************
Is this the Polish woman who already has a boyfriend and you work with both of them? What is it about you and your stalking tendancies. didnt you go after another one for ages and kept texting and ringing her when she asked you to leave her alone? You want to take the casual approach to women lad, dont be going hell for leather trying to get them.
Valentines day is a load of crap tho to be honest. Why do you need one particular day of the year to be told that you love someone. If you are being forced to be nice and please someone on one particular day, then whats the point? Rip off day where shops, florists and hallmark make a sh!tload of money. Better off doing it sporadically on different times of the year, makes it more
I posted this before but here it is again for anyone who didn't see it..
This is a thread about a user of a Liverpool Fc forum that i am a member of.His name is Drummerphil and is dying.
It is amazing to read as he describes nearly day by day what he is going though and also his eternal love for Liverpool FC,It follows his progress and then suddenly you notice no more posts from him and then the confirmation from another poster that he has in fact passed away
If you have an hour it is worth reading through all the posts
http://www.liverpoolfc-newkit.co.uk/cgi-bin/forums/ikonboard.cgi?s=86bb2eac560570758869d355964237ef;act=ST;f=1;t=18072
That's a tragic story. I was nice that he got to get married before he passed away.
That limousin cattle thread is hilarious, them Munster culchie types have a great way wi words!