“Another good reason not to buy Penny’s boxers..”

It’s safe to say I’m not the most intelligent genius walking this earth. I’m man enough to admit that, but I’m 100% certain that I’m not the only Irish man that has battled with himself to give up ‘the drink’ on one or two occasions…

Well, after this particular incident I was very close to giving it up.

One night I was out in Blanchardstown with the other half and the craic was ninety. I’d an awful feed of porter and was baloobas as I staggered home to the girlfriend’s house. Emma made the toasties, we talked shite for an hour and hit the hay; a routine enough night out. I woke up the next morning bolloxed and got the usual hangover first thoughts,

“Ahh no I’m dying, the pure hassle of this for the day; poxy drink!”

I then dragged myself out of the bed had a quick piddle and headed down to the kitchen where Emma’s mother was frying the rashers.

I walked into the kitchen where Emma, her sister and her parents were sitting. As soon as I entered the room the conversation stopped. The four of them looked at me and began to snigger. Oh Fuck, what’d I done now?

 

Finally Emma’s sister piped up and broke the silence.

“I tell ya, I’m glad it wasn’t my bed you got into!”

“Whaaaa??” I shouted, in shock.

They all burst out laughing. “What the fack is going on here??? I thought to myself.

 

“Ehh do you not remember last night!!?” says Emma, with a big grin on her face.

“Awe sweet Jesus what did I do?” I knew well that with a bellyful of porter I was capable of anything.

“You were sleep walking and tried to get into bed beside my ma and da!!” 

“WHATTT??” I say’s, clearly praying the ground would gobble me up.

“Yea!” says Emma’s mother.

“I woke up in the middle of the night and you were sitting at the end of our bed in your boxers, half asleep.”

Then her father says, “yea and I asked you were you ok and you replied ‘ah yea not too bad thanks’ and you fell back asleep”.

“Holy fucking jaysus,” I say’s under my breath. “God I’m so sorry, I must have been sleep walking!”

Then Emma comes out with, “Yea mam had to guide you back into the spare room, you were trying to sing a song aswell.”  

CHRIST!!

Now, I was only going out with Emma about 6 months at the time, so you can only imagine how unnaturally awkward this situation was. So I sat there nibbling on the toast trying to digest this disaster of a situation; wishing the bus home was in 5 minutes and not 2 hours. I felt I had to gather my thoughts so I said I was “just going to the toilet for a minute”. I went upstairs sat on the jacks and thought to myself, “seriously, what kind of a fucking egit are you Rory!!?”

Then my worse fear was released. I looked down below and didn’t I have them cheap fecking aul Penny’s boxers on me; the ones with the stupid buttons that never stay shut. Any honest man will tell you that whether you like it or not, your wee solider always comes out to say hello when you have them useless boxers on.  “This is an absolute disaster,” I thought. So here I was sitting on the toilet bowl in a complete state of fear with the family below probably advising Emma that I’m not well in the head and to leave me well enough in Ashbourne. I pulled myself together headed back down stairs while contemplating running out the door, walked back into the kitchen, sat down at the dinner table and just tried to ignore what had just happened.

“Well so what yis reckon, will the rain stay off for the match in croker later!!?” I say’s. As expected I didn’t get much of reply. Then came the final nail in the coffin. Out of nowhere Emma’s mother shouts over to me in a sneering voice,

“Do you want the last sausage Rory!!?” (Me knowing well there were no sausages in the pan, just Galtee’s finest rashers and a few bits of white pudding!) 

“Sorry what was that Mary!?”

They all just burst out laughing.

 

Lovely hurling, so yet again the cheap useless Penny’s boxers obviously had let me down, so I just had to sit there sup on my tae and take any slagging that was coming my way….

 

That’s certainly one time I was very close to knocking the beer on the head!!

"Home and Away” but never too far away from home..

A few years ago, like most Irish people nowadays; myself and the missus headed off to OZ to see what all the fuss was about. We settled in Sydney and travelled around from there.

One day we were both off work and said we’d do something together. Now like most Irish lads, a day out sight seeing doesn’t appeal to me in the slightest; bores the hole off me to be honest. We had a row over a few ideas before picking a winner. Both of us are huge “Home and Away” fans, so we said we’d head to “Palm Beach” (Summer Bay) for a nice day trip.

We hopped on the bus and headed down. Emma being an organized woman packed a few things. Me on the other hand, being the big lug that I am; brought myself, my wallet, a Meath jersey (typical gobshite wanting to tell the world I’m Irish), a pair of shorts and a hat to prevent my baldy head from getting scalded.

We touched down after an hour or so of travelling. We were having a great day, jaysus it’s a grand spot I must say. We said we would go for a walk along the beach before we got a bit of grub. It was a nice sunny day, not much of a breeze; perfect stuff. We strolled along the shore as the water lapped around our legs. Very relaxing altogether! Then out of nowhere didn’t a whore of a wave, catch me off balance. Being the awkward ogar that I am, I wobbled and eventually landed on my arse; absolutely soaked with a mouthful of pissy, salty water to beat… LOVELY.

As the time passed I eventually dried off and with the crack of my arse smothered in sand, we said we’d get the spuds. The food was class. I went for the causal lunch; BLT and chips; you can’t bait it. As I went to pay I reached into the pocket and there was NOTHING to be found. The alarm bells began!!

           “Emma, ehhh, do you have the wallet!!?” I says to her in an awful worried tone(known well I'd left the house with it!).

           “NO, sure you had it!” she replies and just like that we made eye contact and both thought,

‘Ahh ballix!’

The fucking salty water must have gobbled up my purse (which contained a couple of hundred dollars, my safe pass for the sites and my monthly bus pass in it). NIGHTMARE!

            Now, bullshitting the waitress to tell her we were ‘just popping out to the ATM machine to get cash and would be back in a minute’ was handy enough (I’m not proud of it but sure what else could I say), the big problem was the fact that we only had one hape of dirt of a phone with us that typically had just run out of credit! How the fack were we going to get home!!?

Basically I was just going to have to talk to the bus driver and explain what had happened and hope he was a decent skin and let us on. This would be like a man from India stepping on a Bus Éireann coach in Mullingar and trying to get a free journey to Termonfeckin. My work was cut out for me.

Anyways, we were sitting at the stop for ages, sun beaming down on top of us, waiting for a poxy bus to come. Both of us, as you can imagine getting very, very pissed off with the situation, and of course I was getting constantly bollocked out of it by the missus for losing the wallet, as if I took the shaggin thing out of my pocket an threw it into the ocean for the pure craic.

“JESUS CHRISSTTT woman it was a fucking accident and if you keep at it, I’ll speak for myself when this bus arrives and you can make your own way home!!” her giving out soon calmed down.

So the bus eventually arrived -. Now picture in your heads this scenario; I stepped up onto the packed bus togged out in a Meath jersey, had a pair of horrible aul Pennys shorts and a dorky Titleist hat that I’d robbed on the aul lad before I’d left home. If that wasn’t bad enough, I had the cheapest most worn down pair of flip flops you can imagine on my feet. They were size 12, I’m size 14 so my big infected toes were sticking out over the edge. I looked a right three quarter

I just took one deep breath and said…

“Well how’s things, listen I’m from Ireland and I came down here because I’m a huge fan of “Home and Away” so I wanted to have a look at summer bay beach. We ended up going for a walk along the beach and didn’t a wave hit me, knocked me over and robbed my wallet! Can myself and my girlfriend please get on for free!!??”

I just stood there with a pure browned-off head on me, not knowing what he was going to say or do. He looked me up-and-down and began to laugh his head off and says in a fine cork accent,

“Ha not a bother booiiiieee, hop on there!”

We really are taking over down under!!!

“Paint disaster – nothing like a summer job”

One summer I got work with a local painter. Now to say I’m useless with my hands would be an understatement – I wouldn't catch a balloon if it was floating down on top of me in a portaloo! So even though this painter was only paying me €40 a day from 7.30-6 bells, he was the one getting a raw deal!

Anyways, one Friday afternoon we were finishing a job on a fine big house out in the countryside. I’d say the job was worth a fortune. So, like with all Friday afternoons, we were all in great form; slagging, chatting about football & women, the usual banter.

Now this house we painted in a beautiful cream colour. It looked very well. My job was to finish off the window sills with jet black paint to really give the cream an extra kick. I must say, I did a grand job (for once). All the window sills were done to perfection and looking snazzy.

As I finally finished the last one, I shouted to the boss who was around the corner, “Right Pat, that’s me, all them are done for ya?”

“Good man Rory, just wash the paint brushes out and we’ll call it a day,” he replied.

“Ahhhh nice one!” says I as I skipped around the corner in great form. To clean the brushes I was, as the budding painters amongst you will know, soaking them with water and then shaking the paint off them into the grass. I flew through them and my mind began to wander... What divilment would I get up to this weekend?

As I finished the last brush I turned around and stopped dead, like a deer in headlights. Jesus, I nearly died with shock. Wasn't the whole jaysusin’ good cream gable end wall positively covered in black dots; every fucking corner of it.

“Ahhh nooooooo!” I says.

Being the genius that I am, didn't I take off my old jumper (which was covered in every colour of paint under the sun) and try to rub off the paint. I’ll let you imagine what kind of state I left the wall in. Then, when I realised I was banjoed, I just heard,

“Ya right Rory!!?. We’ll hit the road now,” from the boss.

I just panicked ran around the front just jumped into the van and said nothing.

It was no surprise that I never got a call back from that particular poor unfortunate painter to help him out again!!

“Every young lad’s nightmare”

One rotten dirty January evening I came in from work bolloxed tired. It was a Tuesday evening and like most Tuesdays evenings, I had to give Mammy’s spuds a miss as I was in a rush to head out to training.

I dragged my heavy hole upstairs to rob a pair of socks on the father. I sat back down on my auld pair’s bed, struggling to get the socks up over my kangaroo feet. Then something caught my eye, My bottom jaw dropped with the shock. Wasn't there a brand spanking shiny new copy of ‘50 SHADES OF GREY’ on her bedside locker looking up, almost sneering at me.

“Ahhhh jesus nooo Maaaa!”

I threw on the other sock and headed down stairs like a bull to confront her,

“Ma, where did you get that book on your locker from!!?” says I.

“A friend, why…?” says she

“Who Ma, tell me!?” says I.

“Peggy Smyth, why is it any use!??” says she.

“Peggy Smyth?? Well I’ll tell you here and now, you are not to be hanging around with Peggy anymore. You hear me?! She’s a bad influence on ya!”

I grabbed my bag and marched towards the porch to head to training, On the way I gave the sitting room door (where the auld man was relaxing supping tae and skulling jaffa cakes) a quick knock.

I looked him square in the eye..

“I seen the book Da and I’m telling you, there’d better be no carrying on out of ye pair while I’m at training ya hear!”

The ould divil. 

“Strange Barber shops in Thailand”

I was telling a girl in work a few stories about Thailand. She found this one nuts. Not too sure if it’s a funny one, but jaysus it’s mental. This is the god’s honest truth... Right so, when I was in Thailand the bit of hair I have was getting long, so I said I’d look for a barber to get my head shaved.

I found this little kip of a spot that had a barbers sign outside. I wandered in, big tourist head on me. I says to the women that greeted me (adding in some hand gestures for effect),
“Ehh my hair all gone, no hair left please!” (which I thought was a fairly legit question to ask in any barber shop on planet earth). She nodded and began to shave away. The smell of the place was cat! As she was working away at my head, I looked in the mirror and noticed 3 young people eyeballing me; one girl about 12, one boy about the same age and one… well what I would call a ‘half & half.’ Basically it was a boy (I think) with a pair of knockers and long hair – scary looking crater god love it. So the woman cutting my hair says to me,
“You want out back!?” and points at the girl!
For the first time ever, I was lost for words.
“Eh whatttttt, no no hair only...”
“Oh I see I see,” says she. “You want boy!!?” And points at the young lad!
“No no. Are ya messing!!?” says I. Then she points at the “half & half” and says,
“Ok so you want that?” I was sweating altogether.
“Jaysus no, just shave me facking hair please, that’s all I want.”
I let her finish shaving me scalp, got up off my chair fairly shocked and puzzled, walked out of the shop and says to myself..

“My god, aren't I one lucky chap to have been born and raised in Ireland by a man from Offaly and a woman from Westmeath.”

“Driving Test Disaster”

I’d imagine I’m not the only man or women that had a disaster while trying to pass their driving test, well I had 3 of them before I passed, my first attempt, was quite simply a shambles!! It went like this..

For starters it was a scuttery aul morning, drizzly poxy rain. My test was on in Finglas and I arrived late, slept in, usual bollix to start off a bad day. I sat down waiting to be called out. Eventually I heard “Rory O’ Connor” I looked up and straight away I knew that this was not going to go well, now I know the cliché “don’t judge a book by its cover” but you should have seen the dorky HEADDD on this lad, he was either after pouring gone-off milk on his bran flakes that morning or else he quite simply hasn’t had a scratch of a young wans arse in a long time!!

Anyways we headed out onto the road, me checking the mirrors every 10 seconds like an eejit, Palms sweating the whole lot.

It was very awkward in the car so I just chanced the arm ” Well, any craic with yourself, rotten aul day isn’t it”..!!?  He didn’t reply straight away he just grunted and said “take a left up here.”  At this stage I knew it was just me and my woeful driving skills that would get me the pass as my humour meant nothing to Fr.Stone!!

I taught it was going well enough, indicators working grand, wipers on when needed. All that jazz, I did make a bit of a bags of the “reverse around corner” but didn’t hit a kerb so I thought I might have scraped a pass! So we were driving up the Finglas road, I was confident enough I was on my way to a gold medal then all of a sudden “BEEEEEPPPP” from behind me – a big poxy bus up my hole flashing at me!! “Whaaat’s this lad playing at!?” I says out loud..

Then my heart sank and any hope I had of been a full licensed driver that Saturday afternoon went up in shmoke!! – “Excuse me Mr O’ Connor, but you are in the bus lane, please indicate out”

"AWEEEEEE G’ LACKKK.." 

I just replied (with a couldn’t care less tone of voice) “Well I’m no genius but I’m fairly sure that’s a big “no no” on your sheet there boss so will we just head back to base and write this test off!?” Again the odd ball grunted so I just drove straight back to the centre, shook his hand signed the failure form and drove home to mammy telling her that my 3rd consecutive test was cancelled for no particular reason!!

“When you got to go.... you got to go”

Grand, ok so.. Myself & Emma went on our first holiday together in 2006 to Greece. I was 19 she was 18. Naturally enough to prevent awkwardness we drank A LOT. One morning we woke dreadfully hungover and brains here decides “Mon we go rent a speed boat for an hour, will clear the heads” Even though Emma would rather eat sand than get on a boat with a woeful hangover, like any young lassy she said “OK”.

So we headed off in the speedboat, was a serious hot day late 30s. Everything was going well, was fairly romantic I would say, then all of a sudden “BANG” didn’t the shagging engine go on us and we in the middle of the ocean, a fair bit out from shore..DISASTER!

As we panicked for a few minutes as no one was in an arses roar of us didn’t I get an unmerciful pain in my stomach (now I don’t know about yous but after a heavy night on the soup the next day, my bowels.. lets just say, wouldn’t be to reliable). “I DON’T BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENING, I BADLY NEED A SHITE!!” I says to myself while panicking on the boat.. Emma looks at me “Ehh are you ok!!?” I paused for a minute while hoping this outrageous pain would go away.. Then I just gave in..

“Ahhh aaawwe jaysus Emma I’m so sorry but I have to take a shit..” WHATTT says she.. “No seriously Emma you can dump me here and now if you want to but I need to take a shite” in that same movement didn’t I leap over board and into the freezing salty water and let loose.. Now..  Because I didn’t pay much attention in Science class or general school for that matter I was under the illusion that my waste would head straight to the bottom of the ocean.. but NOOO, I suddenly found myself surrounded in my own disaster!!

It gets worse….

Just as I was looking up at Emma in the boat ashamed as ashamed could be doesn’t a jaysus big whoor of a boat come towards us full of poxy tourists out spotting stupid dolphins.. “Aweee your fuckkkinggg joooking me.. bollix, look Emma” as Emma looked I ducked the head under water till they past bye, Leaving poor Emma to be fed to the dogs!!

Anyways, I got back into the boat and tried to plead to Emma that I am not a crazy lunatic and I don’t know what happened blah blah blah, eventually a life guard came out and guided us back to shore, our evening meal was awkward enough that day!

Now there’s a couple of things you should learn from this story.. NEVER trust a speedboat engine. NEVER lamp a monster fry down on top of a feed of beer the night before and if you do be sure to be within a short distance from da jax.. and finally no matter how much of a disaster you think you are there is always hope for all of us.

I’m with my doll Emma 8 years and have had plenty of disasters during that time which I will gladly share with yous, because lets face it, everyone can do with a good aul laugh these days.

“The truth hurts”

When I was a young lad I was mad into the auld golf, played it morning, noon and night, loved it.

One year when I was about 9 or 10 I asked “Santa” for a Big Bertha(now for those of you who don’t know anything about golf the “Big Bertha driver” was, at the time, the absolute dogs bollix of a driver. Nothing better and cost a fair few pound).

Anyways, that Christmas morning I pelted it down the stairs at all hours of the night burst the sitting room door wide open to find the big brand new shiny Big Bertha staring at me. I was delighted with myself, naturally as it was Christmas morning there wasn’t to much “testing out” I could do with my new driver. So as soon as the local driving range re-opened my auld lad brought me and a pal of mine(who had also struck gold with “Santa” and got the Big Bertha) down to the range to see what they where made of.

As we both got our bucket of balls and headed to the bay both us togged out thinking we where Tiger Woods. I put the ball down on the tea and lined up a shot, me father and friend watching me ready to let rip. I swung the club as hard as I could and SMACK caught the brand new driver off the poxy dirty mat and absolutely made shit of the driver, “o fuck” ...

I looked at the auld lad ready to explode and my friend like any young lad desperately holding in the laughter.  “ Ahhh for facckkk sake” says the auld lad, “your good fucking driver”.. “but sure Da Santa got it for me, not you..” says i “ a Santa my hole Rory” he grunted as he headed out into the pissing rain to collect the other end of the driver. “mon lads outta here, we’re going home.

So that was the day(judging by the utter RAGGGINGNESS on my fathers face when the most expensive part of the driver went flying into the wind) I doubled stamped that there was no such thing as good auld saint Nicklaus.

Introducing me!

My name is Rory O’ Connor, I’m 26 years old and I’m from Ashbourne,Co. Meath. I’ve decided to set up this blog to share with you some funny short stories, some stories I’m sure you can relate to in one way or another. I'll also be throwing in the odd bit of other scandal every now and again. You can follow the stories & the craic on Facebook (Rory's Stories) and  on Twitter @RorysStories. Thanks