Two boobs good, four boobs better

What’s hot

Jennifer Ellison

What ever happened to Jennifer?  Once upon a time she was in every lads mag around, and calendars and less than reputable websites that would feature “genuine” nude pictures of her.  Now she’s starring in washing powder adverts trying to understand why another former soap actor has bumped uglies with her sister and her ma.  I’d say it’s to do with the fact that there’s probably a strong family resemblance.  Put it this way, if her brother and her da looked like her, they’d be in trouble too.

Come back Jen!

Holding up queues

Sure, being in a queue that doesn’t move is more frustrating than a screaming hot bisexual nun.  But being the one holding the queue up gives me a horn I could bludgeon a lion and a grizzly bear to death with.

It actually nearly pushes me over the edge to hear sighs from behind when I say “Oh, and while I’m here…”

Rainbows

What’s that?  I can hear Paddy making some kind of homosexual joke right now.  But I’m not talking about the majestic colours and romantic feeling in the air when one appears.  I smile inside thinking about a little leprechaun hiding at the end of it with his crock of gold that he won’t share with anyone, like an Anglo banker.  Then I ponder.  Sure, he’s rich but is he truly happy?

Living in a house made of majestic colours and romantic feelings, who wouldn’t, right?

Pete Versus Life

If you haven’t yet caught onto this gem of a sitcom, you should.  It’s just brilliant.  It’s the best comedy on Channel 4 since Father Ted.  And no, we haven’t been told by some PR company to plug it, I think it’s genuinely mega and have it on a Sky reminder.  You should too.

If you have the time, sit back and catch the entire first episode, HERE.  If you’re not sold I’ll eat my left nut.

What’s not

That fucking Polar bear freezer pervert

We usually give a few different things that are not hot in these things, but there’s just the one this week.

One so mind numbingly cuntish that it deserves to be in the “not” bit all on its own.

Here are a few things I’d do if I found a talking stuffed polar bear in my freezer waiting to berate me for not buying over priced Birdseye products:

• Calmly take him from the freezer and stick him head first into my preheated oven along with my Lidl fish fingers
• Sell him on the Russian black market.  A normal performing bear is one thing, but a talking polar bear with an apparent degree in nutrition?  Gold.
• Rip his fucking head off, turn the cunt inside out and use him for lining in the cat litter tray

A bit much?

I don’t think so.

It’s like the marketing department of Birdseye finally realising that a pedo boat captain isn’t selling us shit.  Then they figure they can just tell us that because we copped on long ago that they sell us shite for the privilege of paying through the nose because of their high advertising budgets just like this and refuse to give them any more money that we’re cunts?

Get ta fuck and then get ta fuck again you horrible sound like a sex pest who’d have his hands down his pants while molesting a bag of frozen peas soon to be extinct thanks to me leaving the water running when I brush my teeth wank bag.

Get ta fuck all over again.

I need some more Jennifer Ellison to cheer me up again.

That’s better.

It seems that one, or even two instalments of this weren’t enough.  Everyday we witness more and more men behaving in more and more unmanly ways.

I think it’s everyone’s civic duty to print these lists out and carry them around to happy slap the next silly cunt with.  Together we can stop this behaviour

Thou shall have a bottle opener on a key chain

OI! Men's Health! Noooooooo!

Men’s Health reckon that a man should never carry one.  But they have pictures of dudes on their covers, so we’ll take whatever they say with a dumpster full of salt and a double check that we still have our testicles.

What’s more manly than being ready to open a beer at every, EVERY opportunity that arises.  Beer solves every problem in the world.  Apart from alcoholism, but the jury is out on that one.  The only thing that holds back the epicness of beer time is when we hear the words, “Anyone got an opener?”.

Of course the only thing manlier is to open the beer with a cigarette lighter, or your teeth.

Personally, I’ve trained my beard to open beer bottles, so I trump all you motherfuckers.

Thou shall christen thy self

Give yourself a nickname.  What’s cooler than demanding that everyone calls you Buster McThunderstick?  Or being one of those seasoned old dogs holding up the local bar with names like “Aul Flower” and “A little bit rapey John”.

Sure when you were a kid others would give you a nickname based on your looks or behaviour.  Which would explain why I was called “gonna be a virgin till his late 20′s Maxi” and my best friend was called “doesn’t know he’s gay yet Martin”.

Now you can have complete control over what people call you.  Unless you’re already known as a cunt.  Then you’re pretty much fucked.

This lovely picture of Jessica Jane Clement's only purpose is to show Men's Health what they're doing wrong. Ok, so it serves more than that....

Thou shall lie to children

Children don’t know any better, they have dreams and bless them, they look up to adults.  Lie to them and tell them that they can be whatever they want to be.  A fireman, a wrestler, an actor or a rock star.  Do it safe in the knowledge that Firemen don’t get paid, wrestlers get into lycra onesies and rub up against other men, actors are all waiters and most Irish rock stars end up doing cover versions in pubs in exchange for the slops from the drinks trays.

Then he’ll end up in an office wanting to staple his nuts to the desk just to see if he can still feel anything.

Circle of life and all that.

Thou shalt never tut and sigh

What are you?  A bitch?  If you’re in a queue that hasn’t moved and you can see no acceptable reason why it shouldn’t have moved by now, then be a man and do something.  In raised, but non aggressive voice ask the cunts in charge of the queue what the cunting hold up is, or something.  But standing there, shuffling from one foot to the other, sighing, tutting and looking at your watch makes it look like you have an appointment to get your vagina tightened and don’t want to miss it.

Man up.  Next you’ll be giving out that your UGG boots are scuffed up and your back combed hair hasn’t got enough volume.  And unless you’re giving Katy Perry a generous hoofing, you shouldn’t be complaining about any of that.

Thou shalt never own a small yappy dog

These are for hotel heiresses with no tits, a drug problem and a sex tape.  They’re also for little old dears who take them to the post office and leave the poor little fucker tied up outside for the local delinquents to molest.

You’re a man, if you need or want a dog, get one with a rough sounding name like a Rottweiller, German Shepherd or Bigbollix.  Then name it something like Bruno, King or Fuck me.

So when you’re out walking it and it gets off the leash you can do the thing of calling your dog like

“Heeeee-oooooooooorrrrrrrrrr Bruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuno!”

Or when a fuckwit burglar hops your wall it’ll be greeted by your manly pooch and shout “Fuck me!”.  Then you can’t be done.

Legal fact.

Probably.

Thankfully, the 80′s revival is on it’s last legs.  Don’t get me wrong, I loved the nostalgia factor as much as the next man but enough is enough.

Ireland’s biggest and best 90′s band, Pump Up The Jam, agree and together with Boob.ie, they are offering a lucky reader 2 complimentary tickets to “Pump Fiction”, their Pulp Fiction themed night on the 25th of September in The Sugar Club located on Dublin’s Leeson Street.

This promises to be a balls-out fantastic night, kicking off with 90′s Karaoke at 9pm, followed by a “Jack Rabbit Slims Twist Contest” and then topped off with a fantastic live performance by none other than Pump Up The Jam themselves.  And if you still aren’t satisfied (you greedy bastards) then there is a DJ on afterward who’ll play 90′s music into the wee hours to keep you happy!

For any of you who have never seen Pump Up The Jam live, you don’t know what you are missing.  I was at their Baywatch themed night last month and it felt like I was right back in my local disco lined up against the wall, trying to pluck up the courage to ask a girl to “meet” me.  Great crowd, great music and a great venue.  What more could you ask for?

Some of you stupid fuckers paid in or around ONE HUNDRED Euro to see Guns ‘n’ Roses as a nostalgic trip down memory lane.  Hang your head in shame!  Pump Up The Jam are the ULTIMATE nostalgia trip bar none!

The band cover all of your favourite 90′s classics and you could easily be mistaken to think that you are listening to a CD.  They really are that damn good.   From 2 Unlimited to MC Hammer, it’s all there and it’s still as fucking excellent/cheesy/rocking as you remember.

So dust off your Eclipse Jeans, Gore-Tex and Naff Jackets get down to the Sugar Club on the 25th.  Tickets are a steal at 10 Euro or if you want to immerse yourself in the spirit of the “Pump Ficton” night, you can dress up like a Pulp Fiction character and get in half price!!!!  So there is no excuse to not join the boob.ie crew and pump the fuck out of the jam!!

To be in with a chance to win two complimentary tickets, just add a comment underneath this article, or on our Facebook Page telling us what your favourite 90′s lyric is and why!!!  The most original/funny comment will pick up the prize.

It couldn’t be more simple!

I have already put the world to rights, or at least I thought I had.  It’s just as well I left it open for a sequel.

Men the world over are letting the fucking side down and I have got to do something about it.  WE have got to do something about it.

I simply will not stand for anymore of it.  Here you’ll find another list of what some “men” are getting up to, it must stop.

1.  Thou shalt not count calories

Ladies -  This is how a man should look.  If you’re man isn’t man enough to look like this before you know it he’ll be raiding the tampons and gorging on Special K.  Is that what you want?

Men – if your woman ever looks at you and mutters “Do you really need a straw in that gravy?”, you should fight back.  Never resort to violence, for we are more cunning than that.  Simply turn the tables and respond with “Fuck you, you fat cunt”.  It’s all about subtle psychology.  If she still gets upset it’s only because she’d have to spend a fortune on surgery to get tits like yours.

2.  Thou shalt not use internet speak such as “OMG”, “LOL”, “semi colon dash close bracket” in everyday actual face to face conversation

I swear to holy jeebus that I actually witnessed two grown men using these phrases while talking to each other in a coffee shop the other day.  They were both wearing suits, both were not taking the piss, both were talking about their wives and kids.  If I wasn’t so disgusted at their behaviour I would have wrestled them to the ground and slowly dragged my sweaty scrotum across their top lips.  Having said that they probably would have tweeted the whole fucking thing while rofl-ing.  Cunts.

3.  Thou shalt not watch soaps

No one cares if Phil Mitchell is fucking Vera Duckworth, or what any loser character on Fair City is up to.  Next time I see a man sitting down to an omnibus of Emmerdale Farm with a nice cup of tea I’ll send Twink over to drag her sweaty scrotum over their faces.  I would threaten to dip their nuts into a cup of electrified leprosy, but any man who is up to speed on any of these programmes traded in their marbles for a nice comfy vagina a long time ago.

Oh, and if you ever need another reason not to watch soaps, wrap your eyeballs around this beauty.

4.  Thou shalt not drink cocktails

Does he look manly?  No, he looks so precious and innocent.  At night when he’s helped all of his female friends pick up the men he’s been eyeing up all night, he goes home and cries himself to sleep while wanking over Telly Bingo on the Sky Plus.  He hates himself, his mixed drinks do little to shield his mixed past and emotions from the world no matter how many colours or umbrellas-ellas-ellas he loads in there.  Poignant?  No, gay.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

And TGI Friday’s do a marvellous Barnamint Baileys.

5.  Thou shalt not be fashion conscious

Gok Wan is a cunt.  There he is there in the middle and he looks more feminine than any of those women.   I know he’s gay and outer than an out house, but still.  Either way, he’s surrounded by a circle of naked women and he’s more concerned with his designer glasses and custom made shirt.  Ironic that he should have a program called “How to look good naked” when I bet he looks like a giant shaven quim with no clothes on.  Be honest Gok, and call the program “How not to look like a furry burger”, because you’d be taking your own advice by not wearing those hideous glasses, bitch.  Oh and the one on the right looks like Alan Carr.

HOT: The Return of the Premiership

After a hugely disappointing World Cup, the premiership is back with a vengence.  Already we have had four 6-0 victories and the usual suspects are leading the group.  As always, it will be December before we really can take notice of the league tables, but ominously, Chelsea are looking dominant.

The transfer deadline is fast approaching and there will be undoubtably a few surprise signings as the managers try desperately to tinker with their ensemble cast of overpaid, dogging, serial rapists.

And the fact that Liverpool are still shit makes it even better.

NOT: Shit “Reality” Television Dominating The Media

The phrase “When it rains, it pours” is not just applicable to the floods in Pakistan this week.  We had the return of the X-Factor, the build up to the finale of Big Brother.  You couldn’t pick up a paper or turn on the telly without being informed of every miniscule detail of a day in the life of some attention seeking fucktard.   Sadly, I do actually watch these shows, but with every viewing, a little bit of my, already dimished, self respect disappears.

Big Brother started as an interesting concept.  Part social experiment, part voyeurism, it was fresh and intreiging. Sadly, that was 10 years ago.   Now it is a vehicle for “KRAZY” so-called individuals, so desperate for a glimmer of fame and a feature in OK magazine, that they are willing to prostitute themselves under the guise of being “up for anything”.  Big Brother dies this year, and I for one, will not be mourning.

The X-Factor came back to our screens, surrounded by controversy.  “Louis Walsh Threatens to Quit” barked the Irish Mirror, “Cheryl Collapses” howled the Irish Sun but the most recent and laughable story was the revelation that, SHOCK, HORROR,…..sometimes the contestants voices are altered to suit whatever Herr Cowell decides he wants the public to think.  The only shocking thing about this news story is the fact that the media thinks that we are unaware that the winner is predetermined before the show airs.  You have to admire Simon Cowell, but only in the same way that you admire Hitler.

HOT: It’s Back to School Time!!

It’s that time of the year that strikes dread into anyone under the age of 16.  You can’t walk though any shopping centre or any town without seeing “BACK TO SCHOOL” emblazoned in 4 foot high writing in every window.  Nothing could be more terrifying to a child (other than maybe a picture of Fritzel holding Fred West’s knob while he’s bumming Barney the dinosaur who has a speach bubble proclaiming Santa isn’t real)

Those little bastards have 3 months off for summer, no rent, no bills, not a care in the world.  Except school.  And now it’s back.  Not so fucking chirpy now are you, you little bastards!

NOT: The Recession Obsession

It’s been a couple of years now since we were all told that we are all doomed.  We get it!  Nobody has money, nobody has a job and we are all fucked.  Grand!  Let us get on with it and please shut the fuck up about it.

We’re being told now that Ireland’s credit rating has been downgraded, Anglo Irish are being opposed by the Green Party and NAMA is crippling our economy.  I might be showing my ignorance but I have no idea about what all that actually means to me.  I am trying to be interested but genuinely I dont really understand.

During the Celtic Tiger, I didn’t have a pot to piss in.  When the downturn began, I didn’t have a pot to piss in and now, during the recession, guess what?  I still don’t have a pot to piss in.  I just wish to fuck that people would shut up about it unless they have a solution to the problem.

It’s like being in hospital with a terminal disease and the doctors coming into you every day and saying “Hello Mr Dunne, I just want to remind you, you are dying, and you are slightly worse off today than you were yesterday”.

Shut the fuck up.

HOT: 90′s Revival

10 years ago, we had the 70′s revival, where every nighclub or concert had a Disco theme, films like Boogie Nights were feeding the nostalgia and Flares and big collars were all the rage.  Then in the last couple of years, we had an 80′s revival where we all allowed the most horrific fashions and music to rear their ugly dayglow couloured heads and take over every facet of our lives. 

Sure, I got caught up in both of these nostalgic periods but as I was only born in 1981, I could never fully appreciate them as I never lived through them.   But now, finally we are embracing a time that I can relate to.

It makes me a little sad that my teenage years are now classed as RETRO but fuck it, I made a right bollocks of them first time around, it’s nice to have a second go.  There are a couple of upcoming 90′s night around Dublin and we here at Boob.ie (and by “we”, I mean “me”) are championing the 90′s revival.

Stay tuned to this site for upcoming competitions where we will be inviting you to throw on your two tone eclipse jeans, scanda jackets and boiler suits and dance like drug addled chimps to the best tunes ever!!!

NOT: Ryanair

I would like to reiterate what my colleague said here: http://boob.ie/2010/08/man-facts-10/

It’s a mess of an airline really.  It’s a great idea but genuinely, they couldn’t give a fuck about their customers.  I will continue to use them but only cos I am a cheap bastard but I will never have a good thing to say about them.

And it is because hundreds of thousands of punters are as stupid and as pikey as me and share my attitude, that Michael O’Leary and Ryanair will continue to smile smugly and spit on our backs as they fuck us roughly up the arse.

With no lube.

HOT: THORPE PARK

I’m not going to go into complete detail about my love for Thorpe Park.  There will be a full and detailed recap of Boob.ie’s weekend of debauchery that included beers, tears, cheerleaders and rollercoasters.

But if you haven’t been to Thorpe Park yet, you don’t know what you are missing!

Not: Trying to Lose Weight

Why are all the nice foods fattening??  I used to be a skinny little runt when I was growing up.  When I was in my mid-teens, I used be a ridiculously skinny 25 inch waist.  Then all of a sudden, when I hit my early-mid twenties, overnight, I became this blubbery quivering mess.

I love beer.  I absolutely adore it.  I love takeaways too.  But these two bastards are the main reasons I am the way I am.   I need to exercise and I need to stop drinking and eating crap.  It’s a shit state of affairs but it needs to happen.

It’s a simple equasion though.  Use more calories than you put in your body.  Sounds so fucking simple doesn’t it.  Eat healthy and exercise.  Can the average bloke like me or you do it?  That’s what I am going to find out.

Starting on the 7th of September, for the sake of the readers of Boob.ie, I will go against every instinct I possess and will begin a month long trial, seeing if I can lose weight and tone up.  I will be either cutting down on all my favourite vices and reporting in every couple of days to let you know what the update is.  And believe me, if I manage this, then any one of you fuckers can do it.

So that’s my little recap of what has been floating my boat and indeed, sinking my battleship this week.

If you want me to include something in next week’s edition, either drop a comment below, go over to our forum or email me at paddy@boob.ie and let me know what’s tickling your fancy

Men stare at women.  Fact.

Some men stare at other men.  Fact.

Why do men stare?  It’s in our nature.  Women, we know you read here too, so don’t blame us for what we are, scientists have proven it.

Ok so you may be forgiven for thinking that they may have been male scientists trying to find an excuse to stare down the cleavage of the hot female student scientist, but this is from a woman scientist.

You’re at a café with the woman in your life, minding your own bidness sipping on some spresso when your eyes move inexorably toward another woman walking by.

In one-fifth of a second, before the conscious mind has had a chance to react, the male brain has rendered judgment on whether the oncoming stranger is sexually hot.

If the ruling is favourable, physical manifestations are immediate.

Pupils dilate, heart rate spikes, testosterone surges and the eyes assume a vacant stare — sure signs that the “man trance” has set in.

For genetically preprogrammed men, the offence is as involuntary and natural as breathing, says brain researcher, neuropsychiatrist and author Louann Brizendine, whose book, The Male Brain, mounts a unique defence for such male indiscretions.

We are more visual, more driven to sexual pursuit and more predisposed to cheat than women, she writes.

The sexual pursuit area in the male brain is 2.5 times larger than the one in the female brain “consuming him with sexual fantasies about female body parts,” she concludes.

Consider the implications.

This amounts to conclusive physiological justification for the male practice of staring at female breasts.

SCORE!

“It’s a reflex that’s built into the brain circuits,” she said in an interview. “At its core biological basis, it’s unfair to criticize men for that initial unconscious circuitry.”

In light of this, male ogling must henceforth be considered genetic destiny rather than anti-social creepiness.

“Listen, I’m not saying it’s a cool thing to do, but I’ve done it,” says a 38-year-old pal named Mark. “It’s like those movie dream sequences when everything goes into slow motion as some gorgeous stranger brushes her hair to one side and makes perfect eye contact. Who can look away from that?”

When we finally do look away, the experience fades quickly for men, Brizendine writes.

Man trances are fleeting moments of unconscious aesthetic appreciation that disappear from the mind as quickly as they emerge.

While our women fume for hours over our indiscretion, we’ve obliviously switched focus within moments to the ball game, where to go for nachos or internal debates over who would win in a fight between Batman and Spiderman.

Spiderman, obviously.

This is another point of misunderstanding triggered by differing brain waves, says Brizendine.

What to us is a harmless moment surveying beauty — not unlike the way we might gaze at a free kick that picks the top corner — is, to our partners, an act of high treason.

But if the socially repulsive act of staring at beautiful women is actually an artifact of ancient DNA, surely the trance-induced man should get a little latitude, no?

Even criminal law acknowledges temporary insanity as an extenuating circumstance in the commission of grievous crimes.

Frankly, I think some apologies are in order.

“I tell women, cut the guy some slack,” says Brizendine. “He may cut you some slack for being moody during your PMS.”

In a counterintuitive twist, she says women whose men have healthy interest in curvaceous passers-by should feel relieved.

“It’s good news for her because it means he’s wired normally and has high enough testosterone to be a fertile male.”

I suggested this to several women who have made mental notes in the past of men in their lives who had the audacity to notice, however briefly, the physical enchantments of other women.

I received the following responses.

“Oh, get over yourselves. This is a desperate, pathetic attempt to justify rudeness and disrespect,” said one with eyes rolling.

This was the most sympathetic of the rebuttals. The others were liberally peppered with profanities.

“Give me a fucking break,” came the response from a particularly sharp elbowed 30-something who spat out her response with cringe-inducing shrillness. “So you guys figure it’s cool for you to stare at hot women and expect your girlfriends and wives to laugh it off, give you a high five and join in the fantasy?”

Asked if that were entirely out of the question, the response was swift.

“You’re pathetic.”

That word again.

In short, gentlemen, no female expressions of regret are forthcoming.

But probe the outrage a bit.

Is this white hot intensity really just about a random glance here and there?

“This issue pricks a pin into that horribly sensitive spot for women of being compared negatively to that model image of femininity,” says Brizendine.

“Women feel competitive about their looks with other women. It’s a very core, basic biology that our female brains are very threatened by other women that might out-compete us.”

The peace-seeking male, then, has only one option: To deny his hard-wired humanity and keep eyes focused at the ground at all times.

Best of luck with that.

When it fails, consider very dark sunglasses.

You know the story, you get a call from a rich dead uncle’s lawyer and he’s left you his mansion and all his fortune and his trophy wife that he never got his leg over.  All you have to do is spend one night in his mansion with a group of other hopefuls, which is said to be haunted.  Do that, and the house, money and trophy pussy are all yours.

Simple?

Ever seen a movie with that plotline?  Nothing is ever that easy, unless you follow these steps:

Watch your mouth

Say you believe in ghosts and shit and you’ll be the first one to be bumped off in a murder made to look like a suicide at the hands of the bored and maniacal spirit doing the rounds.  Say you believe in none of that shit and you’ll be tormented all night until you’re carted off screaming and kicking like a Scooby Doo villain.

Saunter into that house, get blind drunk and pass out.  You can do that any other night of the week and sleep through anything.  You can do it here.  The something you have to sleep through might just be a spooky ass raping, but let’s face it, there’s no other kind.  Best you’re in a booze coma for it.  Worst case scenario you wake up with a sore head, and sphincter.

Get your place in the pecking order

This is the last place, the place that sees you smile and sigh a sigh of relief as the sun rises on the horizon and you look around at a pile of dead pieces of bodies.  You will make it through the night, but you need to be savvy.

Yeah maybe, but it'll keep your ass alive and you know it

Fuck being racist for a minute, but don’t be the black/asian/mexican or whatever token minority they’ve thrown in with you.  These people will have stereotypical behaviour and will be the first ones hacked to death or chased around by an invisible ghosty with a case of the giddies.  Make sure you’re white, and from a rough background, but someone who doesn’t feel like they’re owed anything.  Actually, just make sure you’re white and not a complete cunt and you should be grand.

Don’t be the nervous cunt.  You’ll piss everyone else off and if the ghosties and ghoulies don’t off you, one of the others will.  And they’ll get away with it too, because they’ll blame the ghost who has been ethnically cleansing the place all night.

Don’t be the slut.  If horror movies tell us anything it’s that virgins live to the end.  Hopefully you’re not a virgin reading this, but once you’re not the uppity spoiled slut bitch you should be grand.  After she’s gobbled the lawyer to try and cheat she’ll try gobbling the ghost, but he’ll have none of it and splatter her all over the walls.

Don’t be the cocky one.  The one strolling around like he’s packing a tree trunk between his legs and calling everyone else “chief”.  He’s next in line after the slut and he’ll blubber like a kid who has just witnessed his puppy get on the business end of a running over the first time a cat jumps out from behind a door.

Don’t be the psychic one.  They’re never psychic.  If they were they’d be able to see a couple of hours in to the future when their intestines are used to spell out their name over the fireplace.  Instead they’ll mince about saying that they can feel a presence that isn’t happy with them being there.

Run ta fuck

Why do people hang around in movies when they see or hear something in the room they’re in?  I’d be out of there like a hot snot and make no mistake.  Run and never look back.  Head to a room further down the hall and wait there for something to happen, then repeat.

Don’t antagonise

You know the cunt who stands there all big and puffed up screaming “C’mon, you wanna piece of me?”.  Yeah, he’s about to have his nuts handed to him.  Leave him there and never shout anything to get up the ghost’s nose.  The only thing to shout is “Get ta ffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck, ya bastid” as you’re on your toes out of there, leaving a cloud of dust that kind of looks like you a bit.

Fuck de poh-leece

Or in this case, Jesus.  A bible, crucifix, holy water, prayer, priest or anything related will be about as useful as sitting down to have a good read of a leaflet entitled “Coeliac disease and you”.   If you can, try and get hold of a weird little old lady like in Poltergeist with a southern accent.  If nothing else, you can just make her say “Carol Aye-ann” for a giggle.  But if she’s any good, she’ll be taking no crap off the ghost.

No one liners

You’re not in The Expendables, count your blessings.  But in all horror movies there is at least one cunt who blurts out a one liner.  They’re not funny, they’re not clever and they fall into the category of antagonism towards the ghost.  Ghosts hate one liners.  Try to lighten the tension in the air with a quick – “Lots of ghosties and ghoulies around here.  Hope I don’t get grabbed by the ghosties.  Actually fuck that, I hope I don’t get grabbed by the ghoulies” will result in you being impaled on the nearest coat stand.  And rightly so.

Go back to the start

Fuck the rest of it, get twisted and sleep it out.  Why nobody has ever thought of this before is beyond us.  You’ll be hunky dory in the morning and knee deep in free money and minge.

Been scouring the local newspapers of the country this week and I have to say that they make for a much better read than the mainstream press.

Here are a few of my favourite headlines of the week:

“Granny arrested in mobility scooter drug bust” – Mullingar Mover

Tryin to catch me ridin' dirty

“87 year old Gladice O’Reilly Murphy was jailed last night having been found guilty of drug trafficking.  It took the jury 7 minutes to bring in a verdict of guilty on all 257 counts against the great grandmother.  She had been doing drug runs in her mobility scooter to and from her supplier and customers.

Gladice admitted in court that her use of medicinal marijuana for her hip had lead her to use it more and more.

She told the prosecution:

“Ya’ll don’t know me an’ my problems, bitch.  I’m the biggest supplier of green in the midlands, you can’t keep me down.  Shit.”"

She is currently awaiting sentencing, but it’s believed she’ll be sent to a maximum security wing somewhere having told court bailiffs :

“Ya’ll better lock me up and trow away de key cos I’ll fuck ya’ll up”

In a side story, her great grandson won the local supermarket’s finger painting competition.  Gladice has been heard to say that little Billy’s painting was “da bomb”.

Indeed.

“Steak gets tar-tarred ” – Dundalk Diddler

“German man, Hans Auf was admitted to hospital this week with chronic body odour and tapeworms.  At first doctors were completely stumped as to how the patient could be suffering from so many.  The doctor told us….

“He had over 60 different tapeworms in his digestive system.  When we took an X-ray it looked like the floor on spaghetti day in the local creche.  And as for his smell, it was just that of rotting meat.  None of us speaks German and the only English he knows is “3 kilos mince please”.  It’s astonishing.”

After a local Garda investigation, mostly brought on by a huge local interest and boredom on the part of the Gardaí, some answers are arising.

When Gardaí entered Hans’ home to collect some personal belongings for his stay in hospital, they noticed a pungent odour, similar to that emanating from Hans, only much much stronger.  Following the smell, they entered the bedroom where they found approximately 60kg of minced beef in the shape of a woman on the bed.  The Gardaí have been quoted as describing the scene as “a little jarring” because “the woman was on her back, spread eagle with various puncture holes about her person”. 

Upon questioning Hans with the aide of an interpreter and a strong stomach, they discovered that every month Hans would visit his local butcher and ask for 3kg of meat every day until he had enough.  Each day constructing another part of his meaty partner.

Hans came to this country after his wife died and said that he missed her terribly.  She was the local butcher in his town and she would always smell of meat.  “One of ze zings zat attracted me to her in ze first place” is what we imagine he might say as he doesn’t speak English and our editor won’t spring for a translator.

Hans would fornicate with the meat for a period of two weeks, with an average frequency of tri-daily occasions.  When the mould would no longer hold its shape and the ratio shifted from being in favour of meat to his own deposits, he would discard it and begin a new one.

Doctors say his tapeworms will be easily treated and they’ve signed him up to an online dating agency.

When we caught up with the butcher who supplied Hans with the meat, all he had to say was, “Well, I just thought he liked my mince”

That he did.

We get some emails.  Not tons, but our inbox doesn’t have dust settling on it.

Every now and again we’ll get an email or two telling us what they think of the site, what it needs more of, and what it needs less of.  This is great, and we genuinely love to hear it.

Sometimes we get people asking if they can contribute on the site as they have a good idea for a series or whatever.

And other times we’ll get the most random emails from people who we reckon should be under some sort of supervision.  Like this one that we just had to share.

It came in from an anonymous free email account with no name or other detail on it, apart from this…..

“had a dream last night.  you know the sort, the kind where you’re naked.  accept I wasn’t naked, everyone else was and the weirdest and sickest thing about the whole ordeal was that I was at a fat camp.  I didn’t know what to do with myself so I spent the entire dream, which was the longest dream ever by the way, trying to find clothes or blankets to cover all these fat people up.  I didn’t find anything.

Right so long story short, all these fat people started having sex together and it was like a movie I once watched on video when my parents were out for the day where all the people just kind of melted together.  I’ll never forget it, it was called Society and freaked the b’jesus out of me.

This one?

Before I knew what was having sex with them too.  Well trying to at least, but they wouldn’t have me.  there I was this buff piece of beefcake and not a single one of these larger ladies would even touch me.  i felt so rejected but then one of them took me aside and explained that it was because i was so well endowed.  I’d been scaring all the ladies with my tree trunkiness.

That made me feel better about myself so I woke up happy.

Then I was sad again because i remembered that I actually have a tiny one.

Ah well, at least it can’t get any smaller, right?”

*** *** ***

We don’t even know what to say.  The person who wrote this is either a tormented genius or just tormented.  We had to share it anyway.

If you have something to share and want to frighten us, make us laugh, freak us out or just plain confuse us, you know where to send it.

inbox@boob.ie

Now this may be a little out there, but it’s not uncommon for men to become pregnant.

In fact, it’s such an epidemic that I won’t even put you through the usual intro.  Instead we’ll just jump straight in to it.

Just say “no”

Bless, we're all suckers for a bad girl

We all know the story all too well.  We’re sitting on our own in a bar with our boyfriends, not planning on getting involved with a lady.  Then someone will catch our eye.  Someone tall, dark and ever so slightly unshaven and on the mysterious side of dangerous.  They’ll approach us and offer to buy us a drink.  We’ll try not to act interested, but really we’re moist with anticipation.

After a few Cosmopolitans two many, we’ll let our guard down after they’ve kissed us passionately in the back of the Jo Maxi and before we know it, we’re on her doorstep.

Our heads will tell us no, but our hearts will be screaming YES in harmony with our winkies.

Laid down in front of their open log fire on a bear skin rug, they’ll light the candles, turn on some Mariah circa early 90′s and pour some Prosecco.

Running their fingers through our hair, they’ll look us in the eye and take us right there.

It’s at this moment that you’ll be at your most vulnerable.  Women love nothing more than to get off without a condom.  They love blowing their womanly sauce inside your manly tomb.  Makes them feel like a big woman.  Also they say that condoms make sex more pleasurable, but us men all know that nothing could be further from the truth.

In fact when a woman insists on using a condom, it makes us feel loved and respected and all of this points to a more fulfilling male orgasm.  That’s if you can find a woman who cares about giving you an orgasm in the first place, but that’s for another day.

So when she’s looking into your soul with those eyes and saying things like “Ah Jaysus, don’t make me wear one of them, it’s my birthday and all!”, just say NO!

Say no to sex without a condom, it’s the only way to avoid an unwanted man pregnancy.

Too late

Ok, so you had a weak moment and allowed that damaged woman who can be saved, to empty her lady balls inside you.  Don’t beat yourself up, it happens, plus she’ll probably beat you and say you walked into a door when she finds out anyway.  It’s 6 days later and you’re already getting morning sickness.  This is because men don’t fuck around when it comes to spitting out a baby.

None of this 9 months shit dragging it out.  We can go from getting splooged in to shitting one out in about a fortnight.

Your man breasts will become swollen and tender and your penis will develop varicose veins.  Might sound scary, but actually they make your cock look even bigger than it already is.  Awesome.  In fact, this is the one reason to get pregnant on purpose.  Tell the woman that each time you have sex with her it’ll grow your penis.

But all in all, you’ll probably feel the baby kick after about day 8.  It’ll feel like a bout of the shits after the night before, but a little freakier.

Preparation

So you’ve been to the doctor and he’s given you your options.  Sure you can keep it and hope that the mother will want to be a part of the child’s life.  Or as my father used to say, wish into one hand and shit into the other and see which one fills up first.

Yeah! Still want a baby?

So you could try and “take care of it”.  Male abortion is legal, but frowned upon.  This is because you need to untwist a coat hanger and ram it up your japseye.  Really want to do that?  Nope, even if when you actually give birth your cock will end up looking like a cartoon novelty cigar that blew up.  That’s right, you give birth out of your knob.

So if you don’t want to clean out your own pipes, you should do something to prepare yourself.  Try masturbating more often.  And when doing so, instead of putting a finger up your bum like we all do(?), shove that finger in your pee hole.

This will stretch it out good and proper and help to prevent stretching.

The Birth

Feet in the stirrups, you’re wondering what women bitch about when they go into labour.  Sure it’s a little uncomfortable, like mild gas, but nothing too serious.  Sometimes you’ll give birth out of your bum, but this is rare as the medical phrase goes, “Up the bum and no babies”.

Chances are, as we’ve said that you’ll have to squeeze it out of your pee pee.

Take a deep breath and push like when you have a boner in a pair of jeans.  It won’t feel as totally awesome, but it’ll be over in about 4 minutes.

I should have mentioned this before but if you were hoping for a son, but had sex with a woman, then it won’t happen.  Boys come from men, girls come from women.  Fact.

The After Birth

No, not that gross stuff that is sometimes used to pass off a still born twin, what happens after it’s all over.

You’ve got your new baby so all you have to do is stick some Elastiplast on the cut on your knob, take a Nurofen and get back to work.

The longer road of getting the mother to become involved in your life after this will be a long one.  After all, she’s probably got kids all over the place.  Some that she doesn’t even know about.  So good luck with that.

Naming

Don’t call your child something trendy like “Jord-Anne” or “Chardonnay” or “Dave”.  This just makes you look like a cunt.