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Very strict. In fact it’s compulsory. The trick with a farm is to have less than 10 animals in total, with a minimum of two llamas.
That way people will assume you are cool and environmentally aware. Own 10 or more animals and you become, what’s known as, ‘a farmer.’
This is a total nightmare because people will assume you listen to Country and Irish songs called ‘I’d love to feel ya in Inchigeelagh.’ (Imagine.)
Not to mention his wife. I checked with my GP about this. He said we are slap-bang in the middle of Norry Season, it’s highly contagious, and if any southsider starts contemplating pitch and putt, or watching Can’t Pay, We’ll Take it Away, they should stay indoors wearing a Pres scarf, until the symptoms subside.
I said, are you actually a qualified doctor? He said not really, but I’m from Sunday’s Well, so people just assume.
Tony? Isn’t it well for some.
It’s hard to beat a horny handyman. (Unless he asks for it, says you.) I checked with my Posh Cousin, where would be the best place to find a pure-bred bitch around Blackrock.
She said, try the school run. I said, I didn’t know dogs could drive. She said, who said anything about dogs. Very cutting.
You don’t want people thinking you’re from Kilmallock. I’m having a similar problem with My Conor. I imposed a sex ban week after he asked me to pretend to be Caitriona Perry in the sack. (Here’s the news My Conor, you’re on your own until March.)
Unfortunately his barber sprayed him with a new fragrance developed for the posh Cork market, called He’s A Legend on the Mall. Let’s just say my hands are busier than an STD clinic in Clonmel. (I hear some people are calling it New Kinsale.)
My Conor used to swear by JWT. I asked my sex therapist friend what happened to your erection. She said it’s probably anxiety.
I said what could possibly worry a man about having sex with his 79-year-old wife. She said where do I start?