One time... in Ireland... -- Shamrock Open (920 hits)
Category: Science & EnvironmentalRating: 1.52 on 23 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Wardy (View user info) at 2006-03-01 11:25:22 EST
When shit happens it is generally considered to be in one's best interest to be as far from the fan as humanly possible. This theory is dependent upon one's respect for given situations and the obvious control one has upon said situation. Of course in ideal circumstances, the shit flinging chaos theory would not exist because all of us wouldn't intentionally engage in any event that would have the possible implications of covering us in shit. Two things, more than any thing else in the known universe, make sure that our lives are filled with a certain degree of shit: women and beer.
If one considers the aforementioned theory to be practical in assessment, then one must also consider the notion that any circumstance to have an abundance of either of the causal factors in the shit flinging (or worse yet to have an abundance of both), then one must consider Ireland to be one of the most damned places on the planet. Now this isn't in any way a backhanded attempt at the country itself, but merely an observation of what is an undeniable circumstance in need of further evaluation.
Of course, in order for one to correctly evaluate the situation, one must perform studies, conduct research, and of course drink a lot of beer and spend an inordinate amount of time with women. And who do you suppose was up for the challenge? You guessed it. While it forced me to push my plans of disproving the theory of a supreme being to the side, I really needed the break. I quickly sent out an advertisement in the paper to find a research subject to conduct a field study. Hey fuck you, I haven't left this bunker in fifteen years, and I'd be damned if I was going to jeopardize my safety for the sake of a crackpot theory I'd fudged together while high on smelling salts and cocaine. The ad read:
Free Trip to Ireland!!
Paid vacation, expenses
Call for more info!
I included my number, but at an earnest attempt at anonymity I have extracted it along with a lot of other important details that I will most likely not mention. Needless to say, I was flooded with responses to my advertisement. After a careful screening process was conducted, I finally decided on taking Murphy McGonigle as my research assistant and field study expert. He was a sixty-eight year old man with a B.S. in Biology from Winston University. Murph was unique in that he lacked many of the normal social skills that are considered a necessity in standard social conventions. This was obviously a setback in the legitimacy of my research, but he was eligible for the senior citizen discount and didn't mind the fact that I was in my underwear for the entire interview process.
Me: I see here your name is Murphy McGonigle, is there anything you'd like to tell me about yourself before we get started?
Murph: One time when I was in Spain back in '64 I ran with the bulls.
Me: Hmm... why would I care about that?
Murph: Well... umm... you asked if I wanted to tell you anything, so I thought—
Me: Yeah, well at least make an attempt to have the something you're telling me be somewhat interesting. Fuck, make it up if you have to. Actually, that's a good point. While on this little research trip, if the shit isn't flying like it should be, make something up anyways.
Murph: Uh... research? About that, I think I'm not in the right place, see I was suppo—
Me: No no, you're just old and confused, don't worry. Here's a ticket and a few paragraphs describing what I need you to do. I ran out of computer paper because I am currently making an awesome Garfield collage, so I just wrote it on some toilet paper. Don't worry about that brown stain on there either, it's just brownie.
I don't think he believed me because he sniffed the itinerary, after which his eyes seemed to roll into the back of his head for a few seconds. Clearly you can see how inappropriate this was for the given situation, how dare he disrespect me right to my face by not trusting me. Well this was just the beginning.
Murph: Look, I'm not sure I'm right for your experiment—
Me: Research!
Murph: Right, I think I'm just lost. See the people upstairs said the claim I had to file for my social security would be down the stairs—
Me: Okay, look here. I'm paying for your trip and giving you a stipend of... six thousand dollars!
Murph: ....
Me: What? Don't think I won't change my mind! I've got a hundred people breaking down my door for this once and a lifetime opportunity!
Murph: ....
Me: You son of a bitch, say something!
Murph: This is Monopoly money and a Chance card that says Move Directly to GO.
Me: Of course it is! You didn't expect me to buy into that liberal propaganda machine you call the government, did you?!
Murph: I'm going to go now...
Me: Right! Good idea, I'll call you when your plane arrives in Dublin, just to make sure all is well. God speed, McGonigle, God speed.
Murph quickly exited the room. In his apparent rush to start his adventure, he swung the door shut so hard it banged back open. See, this was the kind of thing I was talking about. He's not very good with people. It didn't matter, my research was under way and soon I'd be in the thick of compelling evidence either for or against my theory, with only my brilliant mind to sift through the madness and discover the truth.
The rest of the day went by rather quickly. I reprogrammed my computer so that Windows would appear upside down and backwards. After that for no other reason than to see what would happen, I took a picture of my ass and emailed it to the president of Home Depot. He hasn't responded, but I know he's thinking up something good.
Well the next day I figured it best that I call the hotel and make sure my assistant had arrived safely and was getting along well. I called the Dublin Hilton and got through on the third try.
Operator: This is a collect call from <Wardy> Will you accept the charges?
Hilton Front Desk: What? No.
Operator: Thank you.
Operator: This is a collect call from <Wardy, Scientist, Magician, and Connoisseur> Will you accept the charges?
Hilton Front Desk: Huh? No.
Operator: Thank you.
Operator: This is a collect call from <OH MY GOD HE'S GOT A KNIFE HELP GOD!!!> Will you accept the charges?
Hilton Front Desk: Oh dear me! Of course, yes!
Operator: Thank you, your call is connected.
Hilton Front Desk: Hello? Hello is anyone there?
Me: Of course silly, it's me! You guys wouldn't accept my call so I had to find another way. Pretty sneaky, huh?
Hilton Front Desk: I'm sorry sir, this is highly inappropriate. I'm going to have to hang up now unless you have a legitimate concern—
Me: Oh come on now... what's your name again?
Hilton Front Desk: Roy. My name is Roy.
Me: Well Roy, I think it would be highly inappropriate of you to hang up on me because you have no idea what I want!
Roy: I'm going to regret this... what do you want?
Me: Funny you should ask that, Roy. Right now I really want a transvestite whore to tell me we're all beautiful on the inside. I'm sentimental like that, you know?
Roy: I'm sorry sir, I fail to see—
Me: Of course you can't see me! We're on the phone, silly. And you wouldn't want to see me right now, I haven't had the money to wash my underwear for about a week now, and well because I used all the quarters on Tekken 3, but that's not important. What is important is that you connect me with the room Murphy McGonigle is staying in.
Roy (After a few moments of typing): Um sir, there is no one by that name staying at the Hilton right now. Are you sure he's staying here.
Me: Of course he's staying there! I gave him the vouchers and everything!
Roy: Well there's no one by that—
Me: Aha! He's probably taken on a pseudonym. Brilliant work, McGonigle! What other names do you have staying at the hotel tonight?
Roy: Sir, we have over six hundred rooms—
Me: What are you trying to say?
Roy: I can't possibly go through all the names, not to mention privacy clauses and such.
Me: Hmm... what would he call himself... do you have any Sasquan Doolittle's?
Roy: No, sir.
Me: Right right, that's foolish because that's mine. What about Jerry Malaria?
Roy: Um... no sir.
Me: Kyle Cancer?
Roy: Nope.
Me: Andrea Aids?
Roy: Not here.
Me: Herpes Infestation?
Roy: Oh come on, that's not even a real name. At least if you're going to prank call—
Me: Of course it isn't a real name, Roy! That's why we call it a pseudonym!
The connection ended with an abrupt, loud click. Once again I was alone in my home with only the dim light of my computer breaking the darkness of the room. A few months prior I had rigged up the power supply of the computer to a power source upstairs, which of course allowed me to stop paying my electric bills entirely. After searching through my files, I found Murph's application and called the number listed. I figured someone was bound to answer, but the voice I heard on the other end of the line was the last one I expected.
Operator: You have a collect call from <Wardy>, do you accept?
McGonigle Residence: Who? No.
Operator: Thank you.
Operator: You have a collect call from <Free Social Security Checks>, do you accept?
McGonigle Residence: Huh? Yes?
Operator: Thank you, you have been connected.
McGonigle Residence: Who is this?
Me: Funny you should ask that, Murph. I distinctly remember a meeting in which you expressed your intention to travel to Dublin for me and do my research!
Murph: Umm, look... I'm not sure how you got my number, but I'd really appreciate it if you'd leave me out of your research. I think you got the wrong idea when—
Me: Silence! Your participation is necessary in the development of my theory! Your research could change all of mankind!
Murph: Yeah, I'm sixty-eight years old. I just took a few teaspoons of Metamucil and my insides feel like the Nile turned red. I'd really just like to go lie down right now, please don't call here again.
Me: Wait! Okay okay, I think I have some government money left over from the seventies. I can't promise it will be enough to get us both there and back, but it's worth a try.
Murph: Wait, so if you're going then why do you need me?
Me: I'm at my best when I'm with company. When I'm alone I tend to... well it's not important. I'll check my bank account and then I'll swing by and pick you up.
Murph: ...
Me: Awesome. Toodles!
My body was overwhelmed with excitement. My toes tingled as I slipped off my dirty underwear and flung them into the hamper. The room was dark, but still it was necessary for me to ensure there was no one watching. I flipped off the computer monitor, clouding the room in a shroud of darkness. My trained senses felt for the hidden trap door at the base of the wall. My fingers methodically spun the correct combination, unlocking the chest. From it a dim battery light illuminated my face and hands. In the safe was my army issue helmet, a brand new, clean pair of 32-34 Jockey's, and a bank number. I pulled the underwear on, grabbed my helmet and the card with the number and left.
The one thing that must be said about saving money on electricity is that it allows you to put that money to things you would otherwise not be able to. In my case I'd spent it on an array of things ranging from Twinkies to sparklers. I bought a Michelle Kwan cardboard cutout off of EBay for six dollars. The other thing that I guess should also be said about saving your money on electricity is that if you do decide to light your house by the light emitted by your computer screen, make sure you have windows. I cannot tell you the optical repercussions of domestic PC illumination, and perhaps it is cause for another study, but what I can tell you is that it tends to give everything a blue hue to it.
At any rate, because I lacked an automobile of any sort and I am also pretty certain some Charlie stole my bike about ten years ago, I was forced to run all the way to Murph's. He lived on the opposite side of the city, so it was a good thing I packed light otherwise I would've been in a world of hurt.
Murph: Good God, son! What the hell are you wearing!
Me: I know, pretty sweet helmet, huh.
Murph was always shaking his head, which I'm pretty sure signals the beginning signs of Parkinson's, but I felt awkward telling him. He led me into his kitchen and told me to wait while he grabbed some clothes for me. I told him that I was fine, but he said he wouldn't take me if I was dressed only in my nillies. As it was, I could not continue without him, and I'd come too far to go back. In the name of science, I wore his blue terrycloth robe and suede moccasins, but don't be fooled into thinking for a second that I enjoyed it.
Murph drove us to the bank where I gave the banker my bank number. She casually punched it in and then fainted. There was a big commotion and all about the whole ordeal, and to be honest I can't understand why. Apparently I'd received a few big checks from the government after being part of a research team in the seventies. Of course I hadn't spent a nickel of their mind controlling greenbacks and had put the whole lot of it in the bank. Well after the thirty some odd years it had been, it turned out the interest had turned a pretty penny on my investment and I was sitting on quite the proverbial pot of gold. I closed the account and lined our pockets with hundreds, a formidable sight to bear and an even more formidable sight to imagine when one considers the amount of money we had to stuff away.
Okay, okay. It was just a shade under nine hundred thousand dollars, which was going to make my inevitable failure that much harder to swallow. But forget about that, we had a plane to catch.
Needless to say, the Customs Department doesn't usually perform scientific research studies, so I could understand their lack of understanding for all the money I was carrying. They also questioned the helmet, which was odd because I would think that in any situation one is at a rather lopsided advantage if they are the possessor of cranial hardware.
Customs: Excuse me sir, you're going to have to check that money.
Me: Huh? No I think cash is fine with me. I can't balance a check book worth a darn.
Customs: No no, sir. You're going to have to let us count that money and make sure it isn't stolen.
Me: Oh, well I can assure you that it isn't stolen, unless you mean metaphorically as in it was stolen off the backs of laboring slaves in the cotton fields of oppression. In that case, I guess I'd have to agree with you but—
Customs: Sorry sir, I am going to have to ask you to be quiet and place your money on the table.
Me: This hardly seems necessary...
Customs: What's with the helmet, sir?
Me: Oh this? Well it's in case a situation arises in which I am in need of cranial protection.
Customs: Cranial protection?
Me: Yes, cranial protection. You know, protection for my dome, my noggin, my penis... wait, not my penis. That'd be silly... although protection of the mind is protection of the soul, and one could argue the phallus to be the soul of man... interesting...
Customs: Riiight... so why are you wearing it?
Me: Why aren't you wearing one is the better question.
Customs: Because my head isn't in any danger, that's why.
Me: Well obviously you don't think it's in danger! Half the essence of what it is to be in danger is that it's unexpected! Hell, if I knew when it was I was going to be in danger, I could circumvent the situation with the necessary variables to alleviate it in the safest way possible! Then danger would cease to exist completely, wouldn't it!
Customs required me to put the money into three security bags that were supposedly unrippable (which I find to be an impossible statement in itself, but that's for another discussion) and was also going to be kept in the Captain's cabin. I'm not sure if they rhymed the location of the money just to fuck with my head or because that's actually what it was called, but it made me angry for the entire flight. It didn't help that they were showing three Rob Schneider movies in succession, or that the choices for dinner did not include chicken flavored Ramen or Easy Mac.
We arrived in Dublin in the early morning hours. Murph called a limo service while I checked a kiosk for a map of the island along with any information regarding the hangouts with the most women. I wish I would've kept listening to the man at the kiosk, but I really didn't care what this guy had to say. I mean, he was making something in the neighborhood of crap money and I was sitting on almost a million dollars in government money. Hell, if I had wanted I could've bought his silly kiosk and used my awesome paper mache skills and turned it into a giant nipple. Not that I would, but money is power. And power is about as cool as fucking Angelina Jolie in the ass just because you can.
Murph got us a room at the Dublin Hilton, which was interesting because...
Hilton Front Desk: Hello and welcome to the Dublin Hilton, do you have reservations?
Murph: Yes, the name McGonigle. I just called about a hou—
Me: Roy! Fuck man! How's it going?
Roy: Excuse me. I'm incredibly embarrassed; I can't say I know you...
Me: Oh come on Roy, how can you not recognize this voice?!
Roy: My God...
Me: Haha, well usually that's reserved for post-orgasm, but it'll suffice. So where's our room? You get us the suite? The bars? They nearby?
Roy: ....
Murph: Look, we'll just take the room key. We'll only be here a few days...
Me: Dammit Murph! We'll be here as long as it takes! Science!
Roy: ...
Roy wasn't very talkative, but we'll get to that later. Murph and I were in room 624 which looked west out over the Dublin Bay. If you strained your eyes it hurt, so I really didn't see the point in trying. The room came stocked with liquors and beers, a king sized bed, a pullout bed, a master bathroom and a second bathroom with just a toilet and sink. I found my closet and took a few blankets and pillows and settled in. Murph didn't seem in the least surprised at my living habits, matter of fact it seemed like he would've been more surprised had I fought for the pull-out bed. Silly Murph, don't think for a second that I would trust the spring loaded coils that are manipulated into submission in order for the pull-out bed to be operational; I'm not going to be any part of that death trap when it decides to hold a revolution.
Murph took a nap for a few hours while I did some research. I planned out our first night which would be spent in the Dublin bar Gaylick's. It seemed like a good spot to start; the brochure was filled with bright lights, a dance stage, and people wearing festive looking masks. When Murph woke up I called the limo. He was still a little groggy and wasn't quite sure why he had to come along for the field study.
Murph: Wh.. Why am I coming along?
Me: Well because I don't drink, silly!
Murph: Then why are we doing this?
Me: SCIENCE, OF COURSE!!!
Case Study 1.01 --
The limo pulled up in front of Gaylick's just before ten o'clock. The place looked packed, and apparently there was some sort of celebration going on because all these guys were wearing furry and feathery necklace things with glitter masks. Murph started cussing a whole bunch when he got out of the limo, but that's just like Murph, being inappropriate and all. When we got in, the terror of the situation started to hit me. It was slow at first, welling in my loins and slowly growing until it gained momentum and reached the tip of my tongue, at which point...
Me: OH FUCK!!
Murph: Shhhh! We'll just exit quietly; they won't touch us if we don't provoke them...
Me: What? Leave? No no, I just realized I forgot to tip the limo driver. Dammit... okay, I'm going to start you off easy with a few beers...
Murph: Good God, man! Do you realize where we are?
God: I know everything, nigga. I'm omnipotent bitch.
Me: Of course I do, Murph. I'm the scientist here; we're at Gaylick's. Now barkeep, three Guinness's for my good friend Murph here!
Barkeep: You got it, mate! Anything for yourself?
Me: No no, I don't drink.
Murph: Look Wardy, I'm not so sure I feel getting drunk here is a—
Man: Well hello there, I'm Steven, and you are?
Me: I'm Wardy, but I'm doing research. This here's Murph, though. Real great guy, very easy going.
Murph: ....
Steven: Well hello there Murph, you look a bit old for me, but...
I've never seen a man drink so much beer before. Poor Murph, he must not know his limits. He just sat there on that bar stool while Steven and a few other guys talked into his ear, I mean I guess it was loud in there but it really didn't seem that loud. Well after sixteen beers and eleven shots, Murph placed his forehead on the table and slowly began to close his eyes. I was going to have none of that. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a bag with some white powder in it.
Me: Here, Murph!
Murph: Injuns... faggot Injuns... ehhh
Me: No Murph, hit some of this! I got it from Roy. It's good shit!
Murph: Nehhh... drugs err bad...
Me: Goddammit Murph!
Murph: Okay yerrrr riiight...
Well it was the strangest thing, that special white powder I got from Roy. In no time at all, Murph was dancing around the bar singing about fairies and leprechauns, kicking his heels like the devil was licking his ass. Of course it was short lived, after about an hour of swinging his shirt around his head he collapsed and died.
Now I know what you're thinking, that Case Study 1.01 proves the shit theory. Well that's what I thought too, until I found out Murph was actually seventy-one years old. What with the life expectancy and all these days, one cannot simply place the blame of a night of drinking and substance abuse as the cause for Murph's death, because natural mortality rates suggest his death was imminent anyways.
Case Study 2.01 -
After about an hour of convincing, I got the only other person I knew in Ireland to help me on my research: Roy. It took a bit of cunningness on my part, though.
Me: Roy! Murph is dead! I desperately need you to help me finish my research!
Roy: Dead? How'd that happen?
Me: Well after he drank all those beers and stuff he was going to pass out, so I gave him that cocaine drug you sold me to perk him up a bit!
Roy: What cocaine? That was dishwasher soap!
Me: .... Really?
Roy: I FUCKING TOLD YOU THAT!!
Me: Hmm... doesn't matter. Tonight we're going to Shannon to this club called Million, I'll pay so no worries.
I told Roy we'd leave in the limo around four, as it was a bit of a drive and I didn't need to end up being late to the party. We arrived in Shannon at six and went straight to Million. Apparently it's a bit early to go to this kind of a club, but they had a great buffet. Roy was skeptical about eating it, but I wasn't going to have any part in his arguing. Lucky for us, there were plenty of women around, and most of which didn't bother swinging around on anything they could get their hands on.
Me: Should we stay here? It looks great for my research.
Roy: Oh hell yeah, give me some money.
Me: Why?
Roy: Because I want that one over there to rub up on my dick...
Me: Oh excellent, I'll have to see this. I'll get you guys some drinks!
We spent a few hours there, but something didn't feel right. The women didn't seem to be getting drunk either, which I think is a crucial part in the theory; both parties must be under the influence. Roy was the only one getting drunk, and drunk he was, and he'd also spent about a hundred grand, which was fine with me, being in the name of science and all. I had to pry him away from Million, but I think it was for the best in the name of science.
Down the street was a crowded bar. Blarney's was packed, with men and women, and this seemed like a great place to set up camp. Roy had some trouble walking, but I got him there all right. I figured I'd have to do all the talking for him, which was fine by me. When we got in, I met a sweet girl that was awfully drunk, so she was a perfect target. Her name was Sara.
Me: So are you from Shannon?
Sara: Ohhhh noooo, my mum's name is Heather....
Me: Well that's great, but I think you misunderstood my question...
Sara: Hahahahhaha!
Me: That wasn't supposed to be funny, say have you met my friend Roy? Great guy, I think he wants to buy you a drink.
Sara: Ohh I don't knooowwww...
Guy: SARA! What the fuck do you think you're doing?!
Sara: Oh Tom tom, it's just my friend... ehh... Rowdy?
Me: No no, it's Wardy, and your hand feels nice...
Tom: Hey mother fucker, that's my girl!
Me: Ah, my apologies. Is it appropriate in these parts if I offer you money for her?
Tom: What the...
Me: Well not for me, for my friend here. Hey Roy!
Sara: Ohh he's cuutte...
Roy: Wellllll helllllo laaaady!
Tom: Fucking I'm going to have to get me boys, shit's 'bout to hit the fan!
Aha! At last, not only did I have all the elements for the theory, but I actually had the statement itself! This was too good to be true, but like a good scientist I wasn't going to risk my neck for the experiment, so I let my field researcher take over. I shouted something over my shoulder as I left the bar. Outside I waited for a little while, but then some ambulances and police cars showed up. It has been my general experience that when flashing lights are in the vicinity, it is best for you to be as scarce as possible. I got the hell out Shannon, and then I got the hell out of Dublin.
But that wasn't the last I ever heard of Roy...
User Reviews
Submitted by MudWhistle (user info) at 2008-01-29 09:05:12 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
why would you come in here and rate a post that has been dormant for almost 2 years?
Submitted by wardy (user info) at 2008-01-29 08:22:40 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
whoopie!
Submitted by LSD420 (user info) at 2006-04-28 20:46:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I AINT NO ALTER
Submitted by wardy (user info) at 2006-03-26 15:06:59 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
and i'm very aroused!
Submitted by Leftwingandunafraid (user info) at 2006-03-26 13:57:30 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
Wardy's got his head up his ass
Wardy's got his head up his ass
Wardy's got his head up his ass
Wardy's got his head up his ass
Wardy's got his head up his ass
Wardy's got his head up his ass
Wardy's got his head up his ass
Wardy's got his head up his ass
Submitted by HighVoltage900 (user info) at 2006-03-20 16:45:19 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Evening out ETS
Submitted by wardy (user info) at 2006-03-20 16:36:20 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by electrictoothsyndrome (user info) at 2006-03-14 12:56:52 (#)
Ranking: 0
By the way, I'm not 'going through' anyone's posts and -2ing them.
My philosophy is 1 for 1. Tit for tat.
You mindlessly -2 me, I'll mindlessly -2 you.
See how that works? Pretty simple, right? Don't like it? Stop rating my posts, I guess. I don't know what else to tell you.
It's not so much that I give a shit what your rating is, but I'm sick of the bandwagon of bullshit my posts seem to attract. But if you insist...
--------------------
this is one.
Submitted by Vengance (user info) at 2006-03-20 02:15:29 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Vengance (user info) at 2006-03-20 01:39:12 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
That's for being a child.
Submitted by Wildman (user info) at 2006-03-01 21:50:22 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by HighVoltage900 (user info) at 2006-03-01 21:02:12 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Submitted by toucan_sam (user info) at 2006-03-01 20:12:39 (#)
Ranking: 2
HV -- that's completely ridiculous, not to mention that by my calculations when you gave him a +1 you dropped him from being within .01 of having an edge on you to being .13 behind.
you're a huge tool. i hope more people read this and actually rate it like they already have.
----
What are you babbling about?
This is why I said to everyone in the beginning "I don't think we should be allowed to rate our competitors posts" but every kept saying "No we're all adults here, we'll understand."
Comedy is about surprise and speed. This was long. REALLY long. I found it funny in the beginning and then when it kept going, began to lose my patience. I read the entire thing. From asking Rob if McGonigle was under an alias of Herpes, to a 71 year old man snorting dish washing detergent and dancing on a gay bar. Every. Word.
This is obviously a case of people assuming I care. I don't. People need to realize ratings are just ratings. Hell I put up shit that I knew would get bad ratings merely because I wanted to say it. And you may respond "Well you started this dialogue after wardy hit your post." I started it because he told me something along the lines of "Fuck off" for something that was idiotic.
I suggested the title, so out of everyone, I would understand best what was intended. If you feel strongly about it, goto my post and drop a -2. Or better drop a 0 because Brdn might calculate around the -2.
I am not the only person who rated this a 1, so piss off.
And FYI, if I was still ahead, why the fuck would I care?
Submitted by toucan_sam (user info) at 2006-03-01 20:12:39 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
HV -- that's completely ridiculous, not to mention that by my calculations when you gave him a +1 you dropped him from being within .01 of having an edge on you to being .13 behind.
you're a huge tool. i hope more people read this and actually rate it like they already have.
Submitted by shadow (user info) at 2006-03-01 17:48:58 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
+2 for the story but i should subtract points since the pic made me throw up a little
very funny
Submitted by HighVoltage900 (user info) at 2006-03-01 15:42:34 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Submitted by wardy (user info) at 2006-03-01 15:31:35 (#)
Ranking: 1
dude, this wasn't about the "one time" that "you were" in ireland, as the title of the post implies.
go fuck yourself, moron.
-------
Have you ever seen American Pie? No? Then let me explain. As was reference in the title when given out by Brdn this was supposed to be said in the "This one time... At Band Camp..." which does not mean you are anywhere. It is referencing a previous time when you were in (in this case Ireland) and did something that you recall and retell.
So in my case where the end line is a man recalling and then retelling something he did previously while on a trip to Ireland, is 100% accurate.
Be happy I don't 0 your post. I didn't find it to be anything more than amusing which was offset by how extremely long it was. I read it out of courtesy for my opponent but did not want to be needlessly mean and give it anything lower than a positive.
Skate it off.
Submitted by wardy (user info) at 2006-03-01 15:30:45 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
last time i checked, this talks about "ONE TIME WHEN I WENT TO IRELAND"
Submitted by MyNameIsTim (user info) at 2006-03-01 15:21:39 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
IT'S FUNNY CUZ IT'S TRUE!
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2006-03-01 13:45:05 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by HighVoltage900 (user info) at 2006-03-01 13:19:42 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Sorry man I'm not trying to shoot you in the foot, but this was almost completely unrelated to the title. That warrents a point deduction from me. If you think I'm being harsh check Orgasmatron's last contest post, I docked him a point for having the title wrong.
This was amusing though.
Submitted by MichelleNJ (user info) at 2006-03-01 12:50:06 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Excallent! Just excellent!
Submitted by wardy (user info) at 2006-03-01 12:39:15 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
wow... sweet...
Submitted by drivebyasshole (user info) at 2006-03-01 11:49:02 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Very good.
Submitted by wardy (user info) at 2006-03-01 11:48:31 EST (#)
Ranking: -1
that's because i'm a fucking gangsta...
Submitted by toucan_sam (user info) at 2006-03-01 11:40:44 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
good fucking show.