Did you see the weather yesterday morning? It fucking pissed from the heavens. I’m talking about walls of rain, horizontal driven airborne tsunamis. And the forecast is for it to get worse.
Isn’t that fuckin great?
It means that, with any luck, there will be a gigantic monsoon-like deluge on the fucking Ryder Cup. All of those stupid bastards in their canary-yellow trousers and lime-green underpants might get washed away to their deaths in a dreadful flash flood. Not to mention all of those sad, over-compensating, under-educated wankers that pass for Irish business people. Little puffed-up auctioneers from Ferbane, and gobshite under-bank-managers from Terenure, complete with the newest fake business accent. Pricks. Fuck off and die.
I hope there’s a huge typhoon, and a hurricane too, and a flood and a deluge and an enormous blizzard. And a plague of frogs, dogs, stoats, lemurs, meerkats, aardvarks, gavials, sucking loaches, shrikes, fuckheads, dickheads, howler monkeys, jesus christ lizards, komodo dragons, mayors of Limerick, warthogs, tasmanian devils, piebalds.
I hope they all catch the flu, the clap, scrofula, scurvy, gangrene, herpes, genital warts, malaria, ingrown toenails, piles, plague, rheumatic fever, typhoid, TB and impetigo.
I hope they all get struck by lightning. The whole miserable fucking lot of them.
Golf? A sport? Ah for fucksake!