Sorting out Cork people for ages...
I’m flying to Malaga on Monday from Cork, we’re travelling on to Tarifa further down the coast because it isn’t Torremolinos, or Norry-molinos as we call it on the Rochestown Road. #Hilaire.
Anyway, I’m worried about the flight because bad things happen when you share an enclosed space with member of the lower orders for three hours. (My sister caught the Norry flu coming back from Lanzarote, and now she can’t pass Penneys.)
This got me thinking.
You know the way they’re always saying that an oxygen mask will come down in the case of an emergency.
Well, this is clearly an emergency for me and my family. Is there someone I can contact to say we’d like our masks hanging down when we get on the plane?
I’m friends with an air hostess in Cork Airport, she goes baloobas if I use the term waitress in the sky.
I said, will the cabin crew be able to help here? She said, they’ll be delighted to help actually. I said why? She said we won’t have to listen to the deranged fartbag with a mask over her face. (No offence.)
C’mere, how long should foreplay last when you’re really gagging for it?
The old doll is always saying we need to take our time and build up to doing the business, because women are different that way.
To be honest, I can’t really understand what she’s on about because I’m not an old doll myself, do you know that kind of way.
So, like, what’s the minimum amount of foreplay time I can get away with?
I checked with my sex expert friend, Twice a Day Tania.
She said it depends if you’re married. I said go on. She said, foreplay before marriage is seven minutes, after that it goes down to 30 seconds. I said why? She said in case your husband walks in and catches you. #ShesFromKinsale
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Hey man. I’m todally down in Schull at the moment wearing no-label 60 quid t-shirts you can only get in sailing shops, so the people that matter know I’m loaded but not flashy, ya feelin’ me?
Anyway the local guys are todally ruining my love action because they sound like those O’Donovan rowers from Skib and the tourist babes go gaga for that even though none of these marsh-men can afford a RIB, let alone a yacht.
So, like, tell me there is an app I can use to learn their West Corky, or else I’m going to have to hit on local babes which is a todal freckle-counting exercise.
My cousin is studying linguistics in UCC because there was a grant going. I said how do you sound like someone from West Cork.
She said the trick is to mumble away with a stupid grin and lure people into a false sense of security by using half your IQ. I said could you put a number on that for Skibbereen. She said 25. #SeemsHigh
I had a very difficult break-up a few years ago, when my high net-worth Sunday’s Well boyfriend decided he could do better than someone who was voted in Mount Mercy as ‘Most Likely to Be Described as a Leading Light on Leeside in a patronising article about Cork in the Irish Times’.
Unfortunately the grief was so bad, didn’t I end up marrying a lower-middle class data security engineer from the wrong end of Ovens.
Long story short, I’m going to a wedding this weekend and the bitch of a bride is after putting us at the same table as my ex and his Blackrock princess of a girlfriend. Do you think I’d be well-advised to stay off the drink?
Staying sober at an Irish wedding is a bigger risk than unprotected sex at Puck Fair. #Itchy.
It was really awkward when I was seated with my ex last year, so to break the tension I decided to drink him under the table. And no, that isn’t a double entendre, you filthy pervert.
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So, what is the actual story Cork? Myself and my Sandymount goys are heading to Croker for the footie Saturday night, which is gargantuan hilarious because it’s still a game for skangers, end of.
But with Leinster rugby off for the summer, we’ve got to look elsewhere for our culchie humiliation rituals, so come on yiz boyz in blue, wha?
Now concentrate your little pink heads for a moment — I don’t want to hear any whining from you Cork marsh merchants about how the money you paid for your match ticket is going straight to Dublin GAA.
The last thing I need on a Saturday night is a posse of pig-pokers looking for a fair crack of the whip. Capiche, totes?
We do, thanks very much. I know more about Norry chip shops than Gaelic football so I asked my GAA mad friend, No Fault Fergus, who is the most important guy for the Dublin team? He said, Leo Varadkar. #GiveMeAllYourFunds