Ross O'Carroll Kelly story. Long but good

joejoem · 12-12-2005 11:58am #1

Its a true story from Ross O'Carroll Kelly column in the
Sunday Tribune. If you haven't heard of him he's a fictional D4 head ...

TOOL and all as he is, the old man's solicitor ended up playing
a blinder in court, roysh, and I ended up getting my, like, driving licence back on the grounds that I shouldn't have been given penalty points for my passenger not wearing a seatbelt because my passenger was basically a driving instructor,roysh, and driving instructors don't have to wear them. Cut a long story short, roysh, the feds focked up big style and though I wouldn't normally be
one to gloat, I couldn't resist the temptation to turn up at Donnybrook last Sunday to let them know the ledge is back on four wheels again.

As luck would have it, roysh, the bogger who actually pulled me
is behind the counter when I walk in, just standing there with his big mulchie mouth open, waiting for someone to throw turnips and cabbages into it.

I just, like, slap the old licence down on the counter, roysh,
and he goes, "What's thash, eh?" making no effort to hide what he is, and I end up going, "That would be the driving licence of the handsome, rugby legend, sex machine called Ross O'Carroll-Kelly that you tried to take away."

Suddenly he cops who I am, roysh, but before he has a chance to
say anything, I just go, "Go back to focking Templemore. And listen
this time, and then I'm out of there.

It actually puts me in cracking form for the night, roysh. I was meeting the goys . . . we're talking Oisinn and JP . . . in Slapper Face Jacks of all places. Not that we make a habit of going there, roysh, but to be honest we've been overfishing the waters of Anabel's, Reynords and the Club of Love the last few weeks, so we decided . . . as we sometimes do . . . to go agricultural.

Of course Sunday was All Ireland final day, roysh, which meant
Slappers was wall-to-wall Eileens and Noleens that night.
So there's the three studs up at the bor, roysh, JP saying how
inter-county jerseys are the most unflattering garment a bird can put near her body, Oisinn coming back from the can white-faced, saying he just met a bird who was wearing Blue Stratos, and you get the idea, roysh, we're ripping the total piss.

'The Lion Sleeps Tonight' comes on, roysh, and of course the
three goys hit the dance-floor and stort giving it loads. I ended up dancing with this total Noleen . . .

"May O, " she goes when I asked her where she was from . . . and when the music slowed down, roysh, I asked her did she want a drink. I'm there, "Bacardi Breezer? Smirnoff Ice?" and then under my breath, "Ivomec?" She doesn't hear the last bit, roysh, but of course the goys do and I can hear them, like, high-fiving each other behind me. So I buy her a drink,roysh, and we get chatting and it's, like, the usual vibe you get off bogger birds, keeps referring to Dublin as "the big shmoke" and calls everyone
including other birds "lads".

We're talking big-time chip on her shoulder here and it takes a
good hour of spadework before I've persuaded her to take me back to hers for a few intercounty games of our own. As we're leaving the building,Oisinn hands me a packet of love zeppelins and goes, "You might need these. Protect you from HIV, hepatitis, mastitis, liver fluke and cattle grubs."

Her gaff turns out to be her cousin's bedsit on the Merrion Road, roysh . . . definitely the last time I go rural . . . and there I am about to throw the lips on her when all of a sudden, we're talking totally out of the blue, she goes, "I want you to wear something for me." Of course I'm about to take out the little packet Oisinn gave me, roysh, when all of a sudden she produces this big box and what's in it . . . you are SO not going to believe this . . . a focking SUPERMAN suit.

I'm there, "You are seriously yanking my chain if you think I'm
putting that on, " but she goes, "It's a fantasy of mine. If you don't want to do it, you know where the door is."

I'm thinking, well, no one's going to see me, roysh, so to cut
a long story short I end up putting it on. Of course the focking thing's, like, 10 sizes too small for me, roysh, but I have to say it shows up my abs and pecs pretty well.

The next thing, roysh, she produces a set of handcuffs and I'm
there, "Let me guess. This fantasy of yours wouldn't involve chaining Superman to the bed, would it?"

She's like, "Just give me your hands, " and, game for pretty much anything after eight or nine pints, I let her snap the old bracelets on me.

That's when she turned into Cathy focking Bates.

The next thing she does, roysh, is she whips out her mobile and
storts going, "Lads, I caught one, " and I'm there, "Oh my God! What the fock is going on?" She's going, "Get over here quick, " and all I can think about,roysh, is that scene from Pulp Fiction, where the two boys get basically rogered senseless and then I'm wondering who she's got coming . . . maybe some Mayo version of Zed . . . and I'm wondering are they going to produce the gimp.

Ten minutes later, roysh, three birds show up and the bird that
I pulled goes, "We're off to Marbella now. For two weeks, " and I turn around to her and I go, "You could have had the night of your life with me, " and she goes, "I did. Lads, stick
the CD on, " and one of the birds . . . pig-ugly if the truth be told . . .lashes on that focking Katie Melua song, we're talking 'Crazy' here, and she puts it on repeat and then the four of them fock off, presumably to the airport?

I must have listened to the song 50 focking times before one of
the neighbours, like, heard my screams and called the feds. And you KNOW who the first cop through the door was when they booted their way in, don't you? Of all the feds in this townf When he's stopped laughing, roysh, he goes, "I've no cutting equipment on my person. And I don't want to go troubling the fire brigade. Sure we'll take you and the headboard back to Donnybrook and I'll see can any of the fellas there find a hacksaw."

I'm there, "We're driving, I presume, " and he goes, "No, it's
a nice morning. Let's walk."

For as long as I live, roysh, I'll never forget the sneer in
his voice, as we're walking up Adelaide Road, roysh, me in the Superman suit, with two coppers either side helping me carry the headboard, like your man Jesus carrying the cross, and him . . . a bogger . . . going, "Is it a bird? Is it a plane?"