Hello old stock. The wife Marjorie was furious when I arrived home from the Christmas party. I said, but it’s 1am and I’m not even langers. She said, I know, but the party was last Tuesday week. Anyway, long story short, I’m spending Christmas alone in our under-the-tax-radar apartment in Jacob’s Island and didn’t I buy myself a robot cleaning lady to help out.
You can choose from a menu of options, so I went for “Coy Stunner With Blackrock Road Accent”. (I wouldn’t be able for a Norry.) Well would you believe it, but I’m after developing feelings for her and I’m thinking of bringing her to the RCYC bash for New Year’s Eve. Do you think people will talk? — Reggie, Blackrock, She’s anatomically correct.
I don’t think you’ll have a problem, the Posh Cousin imported a robot from Rio de Janeiro for Christmas. I saw her in Brown Thomas yesterday and shouted: ‘How are you things with your Brazilian?’ She said great, I can’t wait to show it my new robot. #Misunderstanding. (No one batted an eyelid.)
Ey, it’s Ken here from Douglas Road Doctors with American Accents. I’m in love and I don’t care who knows it, except that’s not true because if the consultants hear I’m dating this hotty from Kerry Pike, they’ll make me eat lunch with the porters. (They have racing pigeons!)
The problem with my hotty is her grammar do be all over the place, as she’d probably say herself. And for her the first letter of the alphabet is pronounced Ah, rather than Ey, as in, Ey, It’s Ken here from Douglas Road Doctors with American accents. Do you think I should correct her? — Dr Ken, Douglas Road, Happy New Year baby.
Not if you pull up a Norry over a bit of grammar. I had to date this guy from Farranree once, as part of my community service. (Never start a pyramid scheme in south Kerry, they’re actually not as thick as they look.) This Norry said, Audrey girl I’d love to give something new a go in the old bed. I said, how about you stop using the present continuous. He said, do that be southside slang for condoms. #Speechless
So, I’m the top social media influencer in the Western Europe measured by the number of my sheep-people followers who think I’m actually talking to them in my Instagram Stories. (As if like — I can tell from the comments that most of them nearly pissed themselves watching Mrs Browns Boys on Christmas Day.)
Anyway, speaking of pissed and Christmas Day, I cracked open a magnum of prosecco for breakfast so people would think I’m relatable, which would be grand if I didn’t drink it and post a rambling story where I actually used the phrase “ye shower of drooling saddos”. I went viral and got 85,000 new followers! #WhatsWrongWIthPeople So like, might as well ride this now while I can — any chance you could get me on the waiting list for Dancing with the Stars in case someone gets injured? #FingersCrossed. — @YouSoWishLike, Turners Cross and Monte Carlo.
Never again on the prosecco breakfast, I get fierce giddy. I was two glasses in when my mother-in-law rang this year. She said, what did you give My Conor for Christmas. I said, Chlamydia Beatrice. She said, that’s what I was known as in college. (She was on her second bottle of bubbles. Double hilaire.)
So, just because my old man gave me a cheque for 10 grand on Christmas morning didn’t stop me from waking the following day and thinking something must be done about the homelessness crisis, because my new girlfriend is visiting from New York for New Years and I don’t want her to think Cork is full of cruel bastards.
Anyway, it will be just a few hours walking around the city before I whisk her off to the the lodge of my old man’s gaff in Crookhaven to ring in 2020, peace and love. The problem is she’s a New York intellectual, I’m worried she’ll look at the yachting dullards in Crook and go, Ed, my gawd, is this you now? Will she find anyone like herself? — Ed, Ballintemple
I’d say you’re snookered. The definition of an intellectual in Crookhaven is someone who doesn’t drink Heineken.
How’re oo’ goin’ on? Herself suggested we should try something new for Christmas dinner and I said: ‘Do you know what? I’ve never had magic mushrooms.’ A quick call to my hippy neighbour, Tie-Dye Tadhg sorted that out, and long story short didn’t I grab the mic at 11 o’clock mass on Christmas morning and tell half of Dunmanway that deep down, we’re all women.
As a result, I am now known around the town as Dan Paddy Mandy. Should I just embrace it and wear a frock? — Dan Paddy Andy, Dunmanway, herself isn’t talking to me.
Aren’t you lucky. I steer well clear of the drugs myself. My Conor is always at me to try a joint with him, he says it does great things for your orgasm and there is no loss of short term memory. I said, who told you that. He said, who told me what? #Langball.