I had to broaden my Tinder search last month, because the only Cork people on offer were from Newmarket. (It’s like they took the worst bits of Limerick and Kerry and put them in a person.) Long story short, last Friday night I was in bed with a doctor from New Ross in Wexford, dangerously close to Waterford, bit of a turn on if I’m honest. When it came to orgasm time, didn’t he turn into a Super Bogger GAA Man and start shouting ‘hup the yellow-bellies, hup the yellow bellies’ before lying back and going to sleep. He didn’t exactly check if I had enjoyed the ride if you get my drift.
What do you think I should do?
— Orla, Model Farm Road.
I rang my Posh Cousin, and said what do you reckon? She said, I need more details. I said, he’s a GAA mad doctor from Wexford who’s crap in the sack, what’s missing? She said, whether he’s a consultant or GP. (You could be looking at 100 grand a year in the difference.)
Me name is Hipity Hopper, out of Dundalk so I am, amateur rapper and a bit of a sham, got a job down in Cork yo, aint ever felt so low, leaving the town a no-no, farewell to Mam, prefer Amsterdam, but the dice it’s been rolled and truth to be told, know nothing about Cork, step down from New York, goodbye to the girlfriend, see you only at weekend, train down to Connolly, Luas to Heuston, accents so weird, what’s all of youse on, realise haven’t got all day, suppose trying to say, when push comes to shove, will Cork show me love?
— Hopper, Dundalk and Carrigtwohill yo.
W T Actual F was that? You’d get more sense out of a Listowel woman with her head in a bag of geese. My nephew has taken up rapping because, according to himself anyway, the sex is terrible in Young Fine Gael. I said, who should a Dundalk rapper call if he wants to meet someone in Cork? He said, Just Eat. #ThatsLouthy #Geddit?
Hey girl, so I’m the leading social media expert in Western Europe measured by the number of times I’ve been pranked by an undercover Channel 4 documentary who have me on camera praising a new ground-to-air missile system after they persuaded me it was a protein bar. #DidntLoseASingleFollower #InYourFaceChannel4.
Anyway, I got the flu jab last week and didn’t it turn me into a nymphomaniac. I’m finding it impossible to open a service station without asking one of the lads on the forecourt if he’d ‘take a look at my wipers.’ On the one hand I might lose customers, but then maybe I should run with it and pitch a Netflix documentary about a sex-mad influencer, do you know that sort of way. So, bit of guidance like?
— @YouSoWishLike, Turners Cross and Monte Carlo
I’d steer clear of the documentary. I trapped a TV executive in a lift once and asked him if there was any interest in a 4-part mini-series story of my life. He said, describe yourself in 10 words or less. I said, borderline sex-addict, social climber, Ballinlough. He said, sorry, we’re looking for someone unique.
Now listen up Paddy. I’ve just come back from a meeting of the British Establishment where we dressed up as Big Ben, drank like Russians and ran around bumping going ‘bong’ every time we ran into a minor royal. Huzzah! (And Huzzar, oodles of it.)
The occasion is of course Brexit Day — finally we are free from those meddling Belgians and their pitiful attempts to stop us exploiting people who didn’t go to Eton. That said, I had a word with Boris at this celebration and he said “Now listen up d’Servant-Shagger, I need you to get a message to the filthy spud-munching Micks — tell them we would like be back in the EU by early next year.” Then he went off to roger the help. So, could you pass that on to whoever is in charge?
— Lord Edmund d’Servant-Shagger, London.
What gives you the impression someone is in charge? My nephew the political anorak gets turned on thinking about Fianna Fáil transfers in Carlow-Kilkenny, it would save him a fortune in Viagra if the need ever arose. #Unlikely. I said, what are the chances of Boris being let back into Europe? He said, they’re up there with Prince Andrew googling ‘weekend break in New York.’
How’re oo’ goin’ on? Herself has always been fierce competitive, so when I heard that her sister got a weekly column in the Bantry Bugle called ‘Hot love in your 80s’, I braced myself for the worst.
Long story short, the wife arrived in just now and said, put on your good coat Dan Paddy Andy, we’re going dogging in Glengarriff. Am I wrong to hope it has something to do with greyhound racing?
— Dan Paddy Andy, Dunmanway
You’re not completely wrong. When I suggested it to My Conor he was very quick out of the traps. He said, will we be letting people watch us having sex in our car. I said, no way, I’d be mortified. He said, why? I said, we only have a 151 C Renault, that could be enough to get us kicked of Ballinlough Tennis Club.