Tuesday 9 August, 2022
“THE VISITORS ARE HERE IN EIGHT HOURS HAVE YOU HOOVERED THE GARAGE.” – Mams
St Patrick isn’t Irish. Potatoes aren’t even Irish. Who are we?
“My exposure is through the roof! I’m getting so many unpaid job offers, I don’t know what to do.”
“Let me just read all these terms and conditions.” Noooooo.
It’s all coming down the line to you!
Just whip out the Deflating Balloon. They’ll have no idea.
*puts on kettle* *forgets* *puts on kettle again*
“First thing Friday morning we’re going fishing for wild salmon.”
The Blamer, the Gifter, the Judas… Which one are you?
Time of revival, Friday 5pm.
“I feel cleansed.” “I heard you got the sh*ts.”
Michael Conlan is LOVING it.
Michael Conlan is LOVING it.
No no, we can’t go there.
“I can still have fizzy drinks, can’t I, Mammy?”
May the rent be ever in your favour.
“He was a volunteer… In the charity shop.”
“Yi. You. Yiz. You’iz. Youz.”
But Dad was an alcoholic! “Well, at least he was a bit of craic.”
“I’d KILL for a cup of tea.” *recoils in horror*
Your girlfriend won’t watch football…? Get a boyfriend!
“Marry me, Patrick.” “But…you’re a Protestant.”
Was she a bit of a MILFord?
“Originally a holding cell for illegal immigrants…”
That moment you realise there’s no baby wipes left. *faints*
Bands are only cool when nobody knows who they are.
It’s a hard life behind that mic.
SIX FIFTEEN dog central time.
We identify with all of these painful, intricate tasks.
Now showing at a gate that couldn’t be further away.
“Christmas tunes, Christmas tunes, all day and all night…”
