What's the etiquette here??

Brendan Bendar

https://www.boards.ie/discussion/comment/119703617#Comment_119703617

No wonder she is “ex”.

Filthy kernt!!

Called into the office today and saw that a new consultant had started. This guy is huge - Giant Haystacks size. Must weigh 30 stone.

Heard the strain and creaking of his chair and of him wadding off towards the facilities. He emerged about 15 minutes later with a bright red face and dabbing his forehead with a tissue.

Yellow hazard tape was placed over the door only 30 minutes later by facilities, and I now see two chaps from Drain Doctors have arrived with what looks like an industrial hoover, tub of some heavy chemical, and a set of sewage rods.

Can’t help but think the arrival of this guy is somehow linked to the work these two unfortunate bastards are about to undertake.

CGI_Livia_Soprano

https://www.boards.ie/discussion/comment/119704345#Comment_119704345

I can’t help but wonder if this new consultant is a fabrication to cover up this “good doctor’s” hazardous outburst, lest it makes the national media.

Be honest, Phibesy, let us “wipe the slate” clean. Was it you?

A less “regular” and grumpier poster than I might take offence to that line of questioning, Livia.

I “dropped a weight division” circa 7.50 this morning in the comfort of my own home. I did visit the facilities in work for approximately 20 minutes this morning, but that was for a sit down slash and to do the simplex crossword.

Had absolutely no involvement in whatever fiasco the professionals encountered upon entering the crime scene.

Larbre34

Oh dear me. Really folks, my Dog could just have died and I'd still get a hearty chuckle from this thread.

The fact I don't currently own a dog is irrelevant to the level of mirth.

Grouptherapy

We've a big unit in our main office like that. Think I mentioned him before - works in logistics. Fcuker nearly needs planning permission for a sh1te.

Count Dracula

I succinctly remember attending Dublin Castle on the day Bertie gave his submission to the Mahon Tribunal. It was around Christmas week as I had been on the sauce at the Office party the night before.

I dropped into the packed hall and suddenly got the inital five minute warning, a large build up of unseemly gases and stomach rumbling, which I knew required my immediate attention. I tried to bargain for an extra few minutes by attempting a small silent but deadly ( SBD ) as I casually walked along the back row of packed seating, whilst searching for the Jacks with a discerning tenacity. The tension in the room was as palpable as the build up of festering christmas dinner towards my well lubricated sphincter.

This attempt failed, as it actually regurgitated as I winced, pan faced, past a couple of fancy looking journo's sitting in the back row. They basically received a full arse belch of Powers whiskey infused cack, nurtured with spiced Brussel Sprouts, Ham n Turkey arid fumes, transposed via the flowing Cab Sac vintage which had been refused bladder admission all night...

" Oh my sweet phucking Jesus " ... " who the phuck was that " and " dirty filthy chunt" were some of the more audible descriptions i simply had not the time to hang around and appreciate, as I made my way towards the Men's public's inside the Tribunal Hall. Even Bertie paused and coughed if I remember correctly.

What greeted me upon arrival at the Men's Toilets of the Mahon tribunal is something I think I will never forget. It was definitely after the eleven's tea break, as the place had been basically scatter dashed and there was not a janitor in sight. It looked worse than the back of the Hogan after halftime.... There was a mountain of used toilet roll hanging out of the toilet bin which looked like last nights' Chocolate Baked Alaska. Every phucking unlockable cubicle had been basically given the Dresden treatment. The banging stench of pish and shight forced a projectile vomit directly into cubicle 4 when I noticed that the previous occupant had left a dark brown hangman over the front ledge, how do you even do that? The Stern of every bowl resembled a map of Indonesia or the Philippines.

As the sweat began pouring down my face I had to make a decisive action, drastic I know, but it involved going to the other side. As I tried leaving the men's toilet of the Mahon Tribunal, I looked back in shock at a bomb site which resembled the final scene of Platoon, I could hear the melancholic melody of Adagio for Strings, as quite suddenly my time expired........

I tried one last clench in vain, but this effort backfired dramatically and I fell to my knees on the wet floor, hands aloft in the hair , my eyes drained to a terrified wide eyed shock... and one of the most foul smelling eruptions of dark brown midden cascaded out of my arsehole straight into the unwelcome backside of my Calvins and began overflowing into my Grey Pinstriped Magee suit trousers and pouring down the back of my legs.... I looked sideways across the toilet sink and could see though the cracked mirror that I looked not unlike a Dairy Farmer who forgot his leggings of a morning. It was everywhere.

Bertie wasn't the only man in the shíts that day.

Lewis_Benson

https://www.boards.ie/discussion/comment/119707352#Comment_119707352

Is his name Johnny Flashington?

Grouptherapy

https://www.boards.ie/discussion/comment/119711399#Comment_119711399

Nope - he's Dave. I was actually having some me-time earlier - logging out and doing today's Wordle (got it in 4) when he ambled in and took possession of a stall a couple of doors down. Knew it was him by the grunting and puffing that accompanied him dumping the load. Sounded like a bullock in a shed. Put me right off my scrolling.

Brendan Bendar

https://www.boards.ie/discussion/comment/119712286#Comment_119712286

Trick is to walk in and loudly say” Jaysus……someone call a vet- there’s a horse after dying in here”.

Unless he’s a very confidant dumpster that usually quietens them down.

You could then get back to your scrolling in peace.

gerrybbadd

https://www.boards.ie/discussion/comment/119712317#Comment_119712317

As i've disclosed before, i'm a big fan of the few loud "tut tut tuts" (always has to be three, to get across the distain). Always great for quietening down those absolute animals who simply cannot unload without the panting, grunting and sphincter whistling

Nevin Parsnipp

Jaze u Christi what is it with these millennials walkin around in their pipe cleaner shorts in this Baltic weather ?

What the actual fcuck is up with these sub humans .??

Tottered into one of my fav pubs in Dub the other day ...knowing that I had a spud that needed peeling.

Hoyed mysell down the the john in anticipation of a fruitful session in my fav trap (2nd from the end) if your wondering

Fcukin can was full of these thirty somethings braying about "shorting" or some such and I suspect some white powder was in play..

Big unit lurched out of my trap and I hastily gained entrance....only to find a huge coil steaming on the back board.

What an absolutely filthy kernt I thought ...then realising the trap was going to need a deep clean anyways ....dropped the breeks and sprayed a generous gush of sour midden in the general vicinity of the badly encrusted bowl.

Thankfully the foul stench cleared the can rapido and I could attend to the considerable ablutions necessary in peace ...

Found the whole incident oddly satisfying .......

Brendan Bendar

Hope u weren’t wearing a set of white breeks Parsnipp, as holding an ‘oven roast’ on the clutch for too long can have disasterous outcomes.

Had that experience recently and I thought I had the issue contained, even had the heated car seat on.

I arrived at my destination to give a presentation when I checked my appearance and discovered a fokking ochre stain like a cockapoodles jaw area seeping thru the seat of the breeks.

Had to cancel and return to base…..just a heads up.

Fedexed the suit to Oxfam, saved the cleaning bill anyway.

Slideways

You’ll have to get the tailor to sew a button on it when you get measured for the replacement suit Bren. Anal leakage, regardless of the circumstances is a heaven burden to live with

Brendan Bendar

https://www.boards.ie/discussion/comment/119723529#Comment_119723529

Well, first lesson is don’t have the car seat warmer up on high when a ‘leg of mutton’ is roasting and the fuhherking timer is bleeping!

Thought I had ‘scarified’ the area for winnitts too, but obviously left a few ‘deep rooted’ raisins intact which didn’t help.

Expensive lesson as it was a good suit ‘Hugo Boss’ , had to complete the presentation on line later in total fresh clobber as the kex were well plastered with arse gravy.

Not a good day…appreciate your concern.

Nevin Parsnipp

Light coloured suits Bendar ?

Wouldn't have "thunk" it as you would say yoursell.

Had you as more in the greasy track suit bracket to be honest ...with a change to loose fitting cargoes when you take the "sticks" for a "gay-am" out to Elm green or Sillogue.

One of our warehouse lads who plays out there was telling he was paired with an elderly corpulent cnunt in the monthly medal - who farted his way round the course and disappeared into the bushes on the back nine to "lay some scent" as he put it.

Bang of stale onions and gange orf him was very orf putting.......

Sounds as if you might know him........??

EmmetSpiceland

Had a chipper for my tea last night. A “treat day/cheat day” type thing. Just a quarter pounder and chips, nothing major.

Since first thing this morning I’ve been blowing out rotten, hot, burger farts. A real bang of Big Al’s “reheats” with onion and ketchup. The ketchup really gets you in the back of the throat.

This is still going on even after my “morning constitutional”, which left the trap reeking like the bins out the back of a Macaris.

Obviously, I played dumb when someone, in passing, asked “what’s that smell?” but if it continues on past lunch I’ll have to pin the blame on one of the admin crowd. Hoping it won’t come to that, though.

Brendan Bendar

https://www.boards.ie/discussion/comment/119729254#Comment_119729254

Do a lot of overseas work Parsnipp, so the serge heavyweight ain’t the lad.

Was on an assignment in Kingston Jamaica in my early career,with a heavy pinstripe on and with the sweat and drittle had the jocks like a Chicago Town deep dish pepperoni at the end of the day.!!

Arse juice had seeped into the serge so a change of clobber was a definite.

Into Tommy John’s Tropical Gear for a lightweight suit and …………total change!!

Plenty of bag room, good loose seat, even after a feed of spicy jerky a brief explosion of arse gas just rippled the cloth.

Bit disappointed in your negativity Parsnipp, but hey, there’s always a scrote ready to try to pull down a respected poster.

Filthy kernt.

Hugo Boss! Much more likely to be an easy stretch number from the late 80’s in a khaki green shade with gold coloured buttons. P Flynn style. Knorr oxtail soup stains on the front, with significant staining on the arse and crotch of the trousers.

Big bunch of keys on the belt loop to show how important you are.

Fooling nobody here, Brendan.

Brendan Bendar

https://www.boards.ie/discussion/comment/119735665#Comment_119735665

Not trying to fool anyone, pal.

Michael Guiney cavalry twill 45/27 like you seem to favour are not for the Bren.

No Knorr oxtail stains either, maybe at a pinch Country Veg. and maybe a slight tinge of staining around the gusset area, but helmet grease is a difficult lad to contain.

De activated the heated seats on the slab, lot less ‘seepage’ from ground zero,at least the drittle is cooler, only stays on the inside.

You might be right on the keys, can’t have them banging off yer nobb all day.

Count Dracula

You should wear a belt Bendar. I know fine well you spend your entire walking life draggin your breaches up above your gut.

I reckon you wear standard issue Dad pants, probably mock tweed polyester grey? Around € 15 euro from the bargain basement in Arnotts or more likely Guineys finest. You grab a pair every time you are in grabbing fresh nylon white y-fronts. Which is a regular enough occurrence given the level of arse belch and follow through they will be forced to deal with over their short lifespan.

You strike me as the type of cheapskate that has convinced yourself that you actually enjoy the development of fart grime which inevitably accumulates along the barse, until the stitching eventually erodes through advanced faecal poisoning which not even the sweat shop in Cambodia was able to anticipate?

You should give BBC wildlife a call, with any luck they could superimpose Michaela Strachan in a pair of Ugboots wading her gorgeous ass though the millions of unique Parasites that have found a welcome new existence between the borders of your skidmarked knickers you have not changed in two days.... and the newly maligned trousies you have yet to realise are ponging out every atom of airspace they occupy. They could call this segment " The Bren Zone ".

The only fresh air that gets down there is when you bend over to pick up whatever gimme your patronising golf partner has charitably afforded you out of the sheer boredom of observing you hack your way around Dunsink of a Saturday morning. When I say fresh air I mean whatever particles that are lucky enough to avoid the sulphuric push back created from the effort of you leaning over like a drunk ballet dancer and grunting your Golf Ball ( probably Topflight XL ) off the ground. The belch that reached for freedom is pure whoopie cushion. " And your survey says" letting a rip that sounds like the extended quack of a lonely Mallard that has lost the rest of the paddling flock.

Sgt Hartman

https://www.boards.ie/discussion/comment/119729818#Comment_119729818

There's nothing quite like a ketchup fart, especially one which is additionally seasoned with the pungent miasma of grated onions. I left off a similar silent stinker while on the computer at work yesterday hoping nobody would approach. Sadly these farts tend to contain some sort of pheromone that immediately attracts females to your vicinity, causing me to get rather embarrassed by the stench I was wallowing in at the time.

Brendan Bendar

https://www.boards.ie/discussion/comment/119737330#Comment_119737330

Very sour and bitther comments there Count.

Im all broke up here.

Going back to bed to absorb the bile.

Slideways

Got stuck talking to this safety dweeb half an hour ago. Blathering on about risks, hazards and critical controls.

He was really getting on my tits and I had the worst itchy hole going. Felt like some bastard had stuff the brown button with fibreglass insulation.

There was no sign of the numbnuts calling a halt to his “safety interaction” so I briefly excuse myself to get my water bottle replenished. Around the corner and hand down the strides and got stuck in with the index finger, gave it a thorough scratching.

The meeting continued on for another 15 mins after I came back but all I could think of was the handshake this clown was going to get with my stink finger in pole position. 😎

Lewis_Benson

Dhuurrtthy

ILikeBoats

Filthy kernt

Grouptherapy

https://www.boards.ie/discussion/comment/119737927#Comment_119737927

Proper order. Let the fcuker risk assess that!

Arthur Fent

Just laid a coil of thick brown rope you could lasso a horse with, if you were inclined.

Brendan Bendar

Good lad Arthur, did you flush the fcuker or leave her to steep.

Thick as the Down Pipe in a block of flats was it?

Filthy kernt.

I’m currently down in Australia on important company business, and decided yesterday that I’d had enough of my colleagues in the Sydney office - loud, boorish, incredibly stupid, very entitled. My recommendation will be to close the place down and transfer the activity to an outsourced function in the Philippines. That should soften the cough of Bruce, “Baz” and the rest of the crew.

Satisfied with my decision and having informed the COO back in Europe; I decided to take an early weekend and pointed the hire car in the direction of the Hunter Valley wine region. Booked one of those wine tours to pick me up straight after the breakfast.

Terrible idea. A 6 glass sampling of Shiraz after the first “cellar door” had me borderline before I hopped on the bus. Started to feel pretty “earthy” about a mile down the road, and eventually had to head up to Sheila, the driver, to mention that I’d prefer we visit a small producer very quickly.

“Touching cloth mate?” she responded as quick as a flash. In fairness, she quickly did a sharp left, and I was left to coat the pan with about 5 minutes to spare.