Monday, March 16, 2009

And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead

The picture postcard friendly tits, the unadulterated craic of it, the spirit in the place of it, the pouring pints in lieu of it, the shamrock toping off of it.

The corner-sitting-lovely-ladies-grasping-at-the-cocks of it.

The skirts of it, greenhattedness, the pain of it the name of it oh how I fucking love it.

The Americanny twang of it, the gutter belching mess of it, the scumbag wielding day of it, the five-deep panting barring it, the migraine waking noise of it the stupid fucking point of it.

10 comments:

Susan said...

So, 9:30am Mass for you too, eh?

Sarah Gostrangely said...

Did you score a Yank or wha?

Meadow said...

The stupid fucking point of it is arguable but I hope it has the rhythm of this post - lovely.

Kath Lockett said...

Yep, *sigh*, we have an Irish themed-pub down our main shopping strip and I counted at least a dozen green haired, pissed uni students swigging out of brown paper bags at 8:30am this morning.

No doubt, as per the annual grunge festival thingy at Flemington racetrack last Sunday, come tomorrow the pavement will be studded every two metres with fresh splats of spew. Lovely.

Radge said...

Susan - So that's what they're calling work now?

Sarah - Nah. She gone.

Meadow - Thanks.

Kath - Lovely indeed.

Conan Drumm said...

The high-fucking-kick of it?

Red Leeroy said...

The fake ass wearing of it. Yes a fake ass, with Pog mo thóin on it too.

NaRocRoc said...

I nearly stepped in green puke last night on Dame Street. Green puke? For fuck's sake.

Radge said...

Conan - I prefer mid-range, right in its knackers.

Gentlemen - There's getting into character, but that kind of thing is ridiculous. Especially the green puke.

Holemaster said...

There used to be a style to our drunkenness, now we're just like Brits.