IRISH DAILY COMPLAINTS

South Side girl Sri-Lanka Byrne discovered clinging to a bottle of Baileys in her Mini Cooper.

With her friends nowhere to be seen, MasterCard dangerously low and with Sri-Lanka’s fear of commoners walking within meters of the car… It would be a long and dangerous night.

News just in: South side student found crying in Mini Cooper.

Sri-Lanka Byrne, 18 from Loretto on the Bank was found crying in her car just hours after being out in town with friends.

Sri-Lanka had supposedly posted a photo on the social media platform, Instagram. A few hours later she was discovered clinging to a bottle of Baileys in her Mini Cooper.

Sri-Lanka had not reached her 2 million minimum ‘like’ threshold and as a result of pure sadness and a feeling of an ending to her life, had nearly fallen into a deep socially induced coma.

These were the events that unfolded…

It was nearly 10pm South Side time.

With her friends nowhere to be seen, MasterCard dangerously low and with dangerous commoners walking within mere meters of the car… It would be a long and dangerous night.

We managed to find Sri-Lanka’s number through her school’s directory.

She gave us an account of what happened over the phone.

Sri-Lanka: “I don’t know where it went wrong like. I was out on the lash with the girlies and got some super-duper cute photos. I was wearing an adorable outfit that I got on sale from BOOHOO.”

She continued…

“It was obsolutely perfect; the lighting, the angles, the time of posting. I’m getting daddy to sue Instagram for me. I only got 1.6 million likes and 20,000 comments”.

“Oi actually think that it’s a sheer lack of appreciation of how amazing I am actually, actually like.”

Sri-Lanka only had mere hours to live.

Luckily, an emergency beacon was picked up by Loretto on the Bank’s Central Emergency Mummy Control Centre, which is located in the school, right next to the school’s private Snobby Pear café.

Fun fact: The private Snobby Pear café in the school lobby is made of 100% recycled iPhone X’s.

Sri-Lanka was discovered by Loretto on the Bank’s emergency Land Rover Discovery Unit, where she was resuscitated and than driven back to her home, in Donnygosh.

Sri-Lanka:“Yea I actually cannot thank the rescuers enough like. I couldn’t find the emergency alert button in the car, mainly because it was obsolutely covered in cash.”

Rescue vehicle para-ya-medic, Eve Fitzyaa told us…

“I was hosting a drinks night for the ladies of Loretto on the Bank in my four-story monsion in Foxbrook when the alarm sounded. It was surreal actually that an emergency like this was taking place… because usually the girls manage to go home with a Leinster Academy rugby player”.

“Anyways the ladies got suited up, I fired up the ‘Rover and off we went…”

“Upon our obsolutely tragic discovery, Sri-Lanka was down to her last 20ml of Baileys so we made sure to establish an IV drip as soon as possible.”

“We were all octually afraid for our lives. The amount of commoners walking around outside only made our jobs more difficult. Their obsolute commoner stench nearly forced us to abort the mission.”

“Because of the dark, differentiating commoners from us is very difficult, so we used our ‘Portable Botox’ pouches to reassure Sri-Lanka that we were there to save her from the lower-middle class zombies outside.”

After telling us of her and her teams’ heroic rescue, Eve Fitzyaa recounts the tragic loss of a former student at Loretto on the Bank…

“Last sommer we actually lost a student…ya…I know right? Her Instagram sadness to blood ratio was simply too high. Rest In Peace Libya, you were a fontastic person.”

Loretto on the Bank has now lowered the required instagram popularity threshold to only 1 million ‘likes’.

Sri-Lanka has since recovered and Eve Fitzyaa continues to heroically serve on the front lines every Saturday night…

That is, only if she isn’t obsolutely smashed after a few G and T’s herself.

Complaint #2: Designer brands and Inner City ‘gentlemen’.

We now see people walking around in designer jacket wear, acting as if they’re going on an expedition to the North Pole; when in fact the only expedition they’re having is to get another spice bag up in the local chipper and to get their cut from the local supplier.

Let’s start by saying that something has to be wrong with modern day consumerism when you realize that every second skinhead walking down Grafton Street happens to be wearing top brand designer clothing.

One of a multitude of possibilities has lead to the traditional grey trackie person (knacker) being able to purchase a brand new €600 winter jacket.

For any unimpressed members of public out there who would like me to use politically correct terminology; I’ll be sure to not offend you and use the term ‘members of a disadvantaged socio-economic class’.

I’ll also use the Latin term ‘addidasicus chipperae knackeridicus‘ if you like.

Let’s continue this brutally honest analysis. We now see people walking around in designer jacket wear, acting as if they’re going on an expedition to the North Pole; when in fact the only expedition they’re having is to get another spice bag up in the local chipper and to get their cut from the local supplier.

We spoke to ‘Joey’, a local dealer in the center of Dublin. Please note that ‘Joey’ identifies as a Brandsexual. That is, on Monday through Friday he wears his Louis, Gucci and Boss.

On Saturday with the lads he wears his Adidas originals. ‘Joey’ adds that the key day for defining his brand sexuality is when he’s at home on a Sunday with Mammy wearing his dinosaur onesie from Penny’s.

These were his words…

“Ah ye ya know like the gooser makes me feel like tha king. I may only be a little over 50kg but I sure can rock some Nikes and a designer jacket that I defo didn’t just steal from Brown Thomas last weekend.”

Something has to be wrong when the Canada Goose jacket to general public ratio is close to 1:2.

Reports have come in to I.D.C HQ that a herd of ‘addidasicus chipperae knackeridicus’ have stormed Brown Thomas and have taken every Moncler, Gucci and Goose jackets.

However maybe they’re just a herd of the modern day South side private school boys. Because now a days you can’t really spot the difference.

Top tips for any hard gang lads who are ‘looking to conquer tha world pal ye’ :

For extra effect, ask for a blade 1 buzz cut and equip only the shiniest of Nike airmax ‘fresshies’. Make sure to add a few grease streak marks here and there to further confirm the fact that you’re a leacher of the public health system.

If your feeling particularly like you want to mug someone, wear a fake Rolex watch.

It seems like the new calling card for selling drugs is no longer a pair of shoes dangling on a telephone line… Oh no…. it’s in fact a top quality jacket intended for people who don’t name their children Kelly, Shano or Danny spelled with an ‘i’.

Complaint #1: Spanish student found incapacitated and without a nose in Irish public toilet.

Set the scene…

You’re a Spanish student from, well Spain. As you shout to your friends in the loudest possible volume known to man you realize you need to do your business. Maybe there’s a public toilet nearby? Let’s hope so Alonso.

As you go to inform your amigos of the situation, thing’s are only getting worse down south.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot an ugly, shiny looking thing. It looks like a prefab version of ‘Doctor Who’s’ TARDIS. You approach with the utmost caution.

You like Ireland so far. In fact, before you needed to hit the head you were on your way to a famous pub of sorts. You ask yourself, ” Es copper face-Jax ?”

Image result for irish public toilets By now you are about 100m out from your designated target. You see a disorientated toddler stumble out of the box with the mother by their side. You begin to wonder why their noses have fallen off. You begin to wonder why their faces resemble the face of a hardened Vietnam war veteran. A corroded wheel from a stroller lays on the path to the door.

You pass multiple warning signs, multiple checkpoints, and even a man clad in a hazmat. It looks like Chernobyl.

You see that you have to pay. You pull out enough coinage for ten minutes. You sign the disclaimer form attached to the door and prepay the ambulance ride to the hospital. While you’re at it, you book a nose reconstruction at a top clinic.

Suddenly the military grade steel door slides open. Inside you notice the interior looks like it was designed by an anti-christ version of Dermot Bannon. It looks like a solitary confinement cell.

A mere 20 seconds in, you become nauseous, your nose turns green and your lungs are screaming for air that doesn’t contain 85% prehistoric urine fumes. The door locks. . . you’re hoping that it’s just a set-up. You wish you’d bought a bottle of Febreeze.

You black out. The next day another brave soul discovers your body on the floor.

Conclusion: Those things absolutely stink.