What's the etiquette here??

IAMAMORON wrote: »

When I was a child I spoke like a child I walked like a child I Shat like a child...... but when I became a man I shat like only a man could.

Just completed one of the finest shights I could ever have imagined that in all my long and dear life I was truly capable of delivering. It surpassed all and many of my best craps in dear memory.

Arrived at my family home on Thursday eve to meet with the entire posse of morons, oh yes , there are many of us, tall dark pale and handsome.... We spent most of Friday morning skulling can after can of dark black stout, purchased at a value added offie, which was thankful for our kind convenience. Personally I estimate I downed well over 40 3/4 pints of sublime dark angel juice ... without a belch or hint of a hiccup. It was only as the dusk of yesterday came calling, that I did grab several of my moron cousins, uncles, brothers, fathers, sons and collapse ( with great greatness ) onto the living room floor to partake in celebratory pile-ons.

Pile - ons :- are an essential bout of human embrace which should never be underestimated, when joined with family and friends of like mind. Whilst painful when you find your self at the bottom of 3 generations of family, the appeasement of laughter and contentment that ensues is simply a must for all partakers.

It is only when you feel a sense of great fear that you can truly reconcile the thoughts that enter a compact piece of nurtured fecal matter, as it struggles though the last tunnels of a compacted arse.

At one point last night as I stood large an tall on top of my great grandfathers box, in the center of the living room that he built with his own posse of morons, that I finally understood that the mastery of Shay Healy and Johnny Logan were never imagined by my forefathers great imagination. I had been waiting such a long time, looking out for you.

" wath's another shight ? For a shight that's lost everything that it owns?
What's another shight ? Fro a shight that is jsut getting used to being laid in the Throne?

I have been shighting , such a long time, shighting without fear, but you are not heeeeerrrrrrre... bum bum , what's another year?

I retired to the outside facilities for my dump. My Grandpa engineered a spectacualar outdoor parlour that still stands thoughout the depths of time though great rigour. Built with the finest of Scots Pine it sits steady for well over half a century out the back of a home he bore with his bare hands. It is a magnifient shighthouse still standing varnished, teetering solidily on the edge of a nearby slurry pit which pours down to the samp laying open below.

The bang of fresh human scutter lay fermenting below, as I dropped my trousers and pants and sat my wonderful ass-cheeks on the 81 year old trap that my father's father plied and curved with great ambition, in a century which had yet to witness the start of the invasion of Poland and his internment on the plains of Kildare. This crapper has the character of many a moment of movement down the years. It is a simple creation which was built to last.

Even today it still lies without a lock , with its rusty corrogated roof which has never been changed in 81 long years. The smell of old varnished pine meets your mind as you light the candle which adorns the shelf on the left hand side of the bench. I love the cold grime of the moss ridden seat as you slowly succumb you arse to its' cold embrace.

I let fly for a good ten minutes - an extoll of great virtue - poooed and flowed out my rampant backside. It flooded hard and strong into the pit below, sounding like large bag of Kippers, Sardines, freshly shelled Crab and Haddock, being poured onto the floor of a large fish barrel overturned and splayed across the floor within. Johann Sebastian Bach would have been proud of its' sublime rhythm... as it scurried out my ass and onto the pile below. The bang was wholesome and familiar, the heartfelt contentment as I dropped, was groundbreaking and I felt as if I was saying goodbye to an epoch of Barry White that I would forever miss?

I sat and took in the fervent stench of my latest statement. There is nothing as satisfying as the smell of your own shight.. in the instant that you deliver it back to the earth, slopping and carefree, back to it's creator's manifest. I sniffed deeper to examine its' potency - if only to inspirit its' creator that its' time within its' great chambers were greatly appreciated? Beautiful hums of tangy Irish whisky flayed with fents of marbled Italian Garlic Salami ensconced in fervour of cheesed out Camenbert and bland red Cheddar ... with a hint of foiled roast chicken, splattered and mired with 3 to 4 gallons of blackened refermented and detoxicated stout. A groundbreaking delivery.

Before wiping I contemplated the plight of the people of the County of Mayo and their long yearning for an All Ireland Football title. I briefly daydreamed that I was receiving fellatio in a Turkish bath from a famous Corkonian ( wegian) Camogie star and that I was finally burying the ghost of poor Dennis Taylor's betrayal. I accepted that Thom Yorke's vocal range was unsurmountable and worthy of great respect, honour and praise - I pitied the lead singer of Coldplay and his plight of underachievement as a result of that realisation. The stars aligned. I realised finally that Ciarán Fitzgerald was the Irish rugby Messiah and that Eoin Mulligan scored the greatest ever goal in Croke park.

There will be no turning back.