From sir ye lord u/fagginox:

“[Ye paddy O’boyle, jus likes toes dayz wherest de sun drove over toes hillsides from afar. Ye, I ‘member it well O’boyle. Dat day we vollied over de net into dey extravagance of de place. Ye ‘member it well laddy. Now fetch ye paw a ‘nother pint of ye ole guiness and bailey’s will ya O’boyle? Cheears ye IRA bashturds!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ojKoTjsSks8)” – Jame’s Choice

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Story For My Countrymen:

The Irish blood in ye have swapped thy ever loving dignity, and the battlefield rages in flames hot as aye ginger hair. He rubbing salt in de wounds is me brother Jeqk, who’s lost love has found her way back into me arms. I feel no shame, for my brother’s love of my home country has left me dearly profound in the arms of my brother’s loving wife. Aye, for he that could not take a joke has made his own love astray from his saddening affinity for structure and strict un-easing demand for life without laughter. Aye, me brother is hard, strong, yet full of malice.

[A Guinness is to be raised](https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=H8Zs1xfxaq4#t=27) for I love ye brother, but I love ye wife even more.

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zj055qdb63M&feature=youtu.be

For sharing ye attention, I shall share a passage ’bout my newfound love for my dearest Molly O’doyle. Once we were pub crawling in the wee hours of the Dublin night, when we struck thy faint sense of merry humor about this cobble stone bar down within the back alleyways. The place seemed to glisten with the sparkle touch of water, sickness, and brew on its cold stone floor. Neverminding that, we found ourselves joyously united with the comradery afloat for me love sold them wit a show.

I say, “look at me wife lads, for she will do a thing you’ll never witness again. she’ll amaze you by her beauty as well as her thunderous can.” And so I brandished the .44 caliber round and handed it to my love as she swallows it down with a pint of Guinness. “Prepare yourselves now,” I yelled to the merry countrymen as she danced along the bar then drops her trousers down. Low and behold the men couldn’t believe such a thing as she distributed that once devoured bullet with the loudest proud Dublin sound Ireland has ever found.

Bolting across the wet stone bar, ye round lodged itself into the nearest corner wall while the cheery pub rats celebrated ye magic of the event. And then so struck twelve on ye clock, that majestic hour while the midnight wrote thy loving memory and legend of that cobble stone bar that drunk itself out of service and the morning I found love in my Molly’s fat jiggling bottom. [And here’s to you, my fellow lads who bleed shamrock green.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cbenhxn8Xwo)

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[Soliloquy From My Blooming Darling Molly-Hipster’s Account of Her Tickling Bestiality:](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zmPzbZVUp3g)

God of heaven, there’s nothing else like nature. The wild mountains then the sea and the waves rushing the beautiful country with the fields of oats and wheat. And all those kinds of things and all the fine cattle going about that would do your heart good to see rivers and lakes and flowers. All sorts of shapes and smells and colours springing up even out of the ditches, with primroses and violets.

Nature it is as for them saying there’s no God, for I wouldnt give a snap of my two fingers for all their learning. “Why dont they go and create something?” I often asked them atheists or whatever they call themselves, “go and wash the cobbles off themselves first.” Then they go howling for the priests and as they dying and why, why? Because they’re afraid of hell on account of their bad conscience. Ah yes, I know them well. Who was the first person in the universe before there was anybody that made it all. Who?

Ah, that they dont know, neither do I so there you are. They might as well try to stop the sun from rising tomorrow. “The sun shines for you,” he said. The day we were lying among the rhododendrons on Howth head in the grey tweed suit and his straw hat. The day I got him to propose to me, yes. First I gave him the bit of seedcake out of my mouth and it was leapyear like now, yes.

Sixteen years ago, my God, after that long kiss I near lost my breath, yes. He said I was a flower of the mountain, yes. “So we flowers all a woman’s body, yes?” That was the one true thing he said in his life and the sun shines for you today, yes. That was why I liked him, because I saw that he understood or felt what a woman is and I’d know I could always get round him and I gave him all the pleasure I could, leading him on till he asked me to say yes and I wouldn’t answer.

First only looked out over the sea and the sky, I was thinking of so many things he didn’t know of Mulvey and Mr Stanhope and Hester and father and old captain Groves and the sailors playing. All birds fly and I say stoop and washing up dishes. All the queer little streets and the pink and blue and yellow houses, and the rosegardens and the jessamine and geraniums and cactuses and Gibraltar as a girl where I was a Flower of the mountain, yes. When I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again, yes. And then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him, yes. And drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will, Yes.


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(puffing tobacco-pipe) Yes, I shagged her along those rocks by the sea. Sprinkled my fairy dust into her vast moist cavern. Joyce said the country side was golden with the wheat and barley. And that I could see, for anyone that was watching us could witness a touch of heaven in its sparkle, as she moaned in the fields while the fertile grain graced her light cream skin. As I scratch my neckbeard in remembrance, it was a majestic experience that it was. Her hair, fire from prometheus’ first givings, was undiluted and a direct descendent from its spread. And there she lay, all flushed and all from the hour’s first tumbling. You could hear her presence in Louth or Cork and all over the magnificence of Ireland.

Even in the bars alongside the countryside, even in the deep center of ye lover’s eyes. It’s from a novel experience, she’ll whisper into your head but they silly fedora tipping people here will never understand. They’ll jerk themselves together to fade from their depressing social lives and into the trending attention contest for whoever can make these pains go away. Reference not and fuck the semantics of it, she’ll design satires, puns, one-sided arguments, and even funny little condescending quips at a small nothing at all to join in on the amusing empty concert hall of worthless information redirecting itself away from the world. She’ll entertain the cynics while the rest of us sit waiting for validation from strangers we’ll never know. We come in her to find a place where we are truly lost.

Fin. TL;DR https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4sT99Y4AnmA

Source: http://www.reddit.com/r/pics/comments/1xfk8k/my_irish_friend_talking_to_some_of_the_locals_in/cfaxttm