These Girls Are Desperate For Fake Tan

This much needed rant is in response to a fake tan robbery statistic released by the Irish Pharmacy Union.

A bit of tan here and there is grand. . . just you know, don’t suffocate yourself.

A real statistic released by the Irish Pharmacy Union (IPU) says that fake tan is the most stolen item in country-wide pharmacies. 50% of all pharmacy robberies to be exact.

Yeah.

But hey, these girls have several good reason to steal a 750ml of L’Oreal. Don’t they?

Girls these days are so desperate to be the next Oompa Loompa employee of the month in their chocolate factory. Willy Wonka clearly doesn’t need any health and safety measures because his workers are already caked in seven layers of fluorescent, high vis tan.

Approach with extreme caution

Many girls now a-days are needlessly spending their hard earned cash on looking like a tangerine. In fact, just last week I saw a ‘tangerine’ girl walk out of Abra Kebabra and getting thrown into the back of an orange truck. I desperately tried to rescue her but my attempts were simply fruitless.

Girls (and some guys) would be safer to accept the fact that us Celts simply have pasty, white skin.

I went up to a girl at a bar who had what I call ‘Cheeto skin’ and I poured my drink over her. What a sight that was.

I spoke over the phone to ‘Star’, a 26 year-old Dublin girl, who, when needs fake tan, robs it from her local Boots Pharmacy. She’s one of my most hated neighbours. . . right behind the annoying woman up my road who doesn’t take her Christmas tree down until the 25th of March.

*some phone chatter later*

Star: ” Yeah so I get out of work at 6pm, let’s say on a Friday. I drive down to Boots to nick me some absolutely beautiful St. Tropez natural tan. Does the trick most of the time. I call the girls up and go out on the lash in town.”

A had to call her out on her actions.

Me: ” Are you aware that you’re abusing the Geneva Convention by luring men into horrible and inhumane traps? An example of which, being your face?”

Star: ” What a horrible thing to say!. . . That’s not true. I only apply seventeen layers of tan. Get off the line!”

I had to finish the call with an important point of information. . .

Me: ” Literally every self-respecting man on a night out can clearly see you’ve lured many poor souls into your terrible traps. By the way, the armed guards are on their way to arrest your horrible soul for false advertising of your face.”

Please know that I have already written to Leo Varadkar to start a nation-wide government crack down on any girls who wear more than 3 layers of tan.

I also want the government to arrest any individuals on the spot who’s named ‘Danni‘.

Burnt Bagels And The Irish Economy.

Now this is the reason our economy isn’t doing as well as it should. Innocent Irish citizens every morning are being screwed over by burning their bagels!

I woke up this morning in my bunker and went to the kitchen to fix myself some breakfast.

Coffee…made. Eggs…poached.

Everything was going well. That is, until I ventured into the riskiest and most dangerous part of everyone’s morning routine; putting on the toast.

This morning I had a choice between bread or a bagel. I took the bagel option. Toaster on.

Well, I burnt the bagel to a crisp after about 30 seconds. How could I do this? I’ve never burnt anything before!

Now this is the reason our economy isn’t doing as well as it should. Innocent Irish citizens every morning are being screwed over by burning their bagels.

I mean, at least with regular bread, we can all calculate the relative time needed for the bread, taking into account various bread specific factors for that bread.

Note that this is a highly established science. This particular example proves Brennan’s second law of breado-dynamics.

Not with bagels. You see, bagels are deceiving to calculate time needed in the toaster because of their deceiving round shape, non existent center and the curve of the bagel circumference is more exposed to heat in the toaster.

This tragic and frequent morning disaster has lead to the creation of ‘Burnt Bagels Anonymous’, where anyone in an abusive relationship with bagels can openly communicate and share experiences with other victims of this phenomenon.

They give tips to each other on how to scrape off burnt parts of the bagel.

Victims of burnt bagels experience heightened levels of stress, anxiety and irritation in the workplace, which I believe negatively impacts our economy. 96% of bagel burners are late to work.

I spoke with a functioning bagelholic ‘Jane’ over telephone.

Jane: ” The first few times I tried a bagel, it was amazing. The texture, the unique shape, the sexy curves. Little did I know that a bagel is actually an unreliable source of nutrition for the early morning rush “.

She continued…

Jane: ” My world came crumbling down when one day I burnt one of the bagels. I’m now addicted to not burning my bagel in the morning, which means going through 6 packs of bagels. I’m usually late to work by 9 hours.”

Listening to this lights a certain fire in my soul. What tragedy! What misery!

I thought this was a first world country. In my opinion this is an utter disgrace.

Sri Lanka’s diary entry #1: You just can’t trust road signs.

Sri-Lanka Byrne has a tough time in an unknown area of Dublin. ‘Read more’ below the ads.

.9th of February 2019.

Dear diary,

I was on the M50 heading northbound on the way to meet the girlos in town for a mid-to-late lunch and an ol’ gossip.

You have to be careful on the M50 as it has a total mix of people driving on the roads. I read somewhere that there’s like 10 commoners for every 1 pure-blooded South-Sider.

Because of this, I have to drive with 6 armoured support units behind me. Ya like it’s expensive, sure, but like nothing beats blowing up a few commoner cars that get too close. After all, my father is the Minister for Private Schools.

For example; John, my explosives specialist like literally blew up this embarrassing Ford Focus in the overtaking lane.

In the confusion and joy of blowing up cars, I may have taken a wrong turn. I thought the exit sign said ‘Young, Handsome Leinster Academy Rugger Players’.

I was separated from the rest of the convoy. But screw it, I was on my way to find the man of my dreams, probs a 6 foot 6 stunner.

Ya, well, I ended up at these like, traffic lights. A man came over in a yellow luminous vest. I was like to myself, “Yas, omergod Sri, that vest could just be the new jersey for the U20’s team”.

And guess what? It was actually a guy trying to sell me newspapers! I nearly puked. Like omergod, just no.

Then the ‘Rover broke down. So I continued on foot to try and find wherever these Leinster Rugger Players were at. I tried cracking open a tub of whey protein to get them to come out of their habitats.

However, after a good few hours of searching I simply gave up and I went to find a hotel to stay the night. I ended up at a massive hotel that had multiple levels of parking. I needed somewhere to stay. I needed a private room.

In the reception, one person was being carted in by like 10 people to their own private room. Like this place was state of the art! 10 private servants? Back at the monsion we only have 1 per room!

Like, what kind of a hotel was this? Especially with a name like ‘A & E’. It sounded fancy.

The receptionist was like “what’s the injury? why are you here? do you need help?”

I was like “Ya I do actually need help, mental injury like. I’ve overdosed on disappointment. I’ll take a room thanks” She was like, “Sorry you need a real injury or life threatening issue in order to stay here”. I left the hotel. . .

The father told me over the mobile that I was in an area that’s not even on the Monopoly board! Ew.

Ya, well I just slept in the ‘Rover out on the street. So, just saying like, it’s deffo Ireland’s worst hotel.

Like, what kind of a name is ‘Tallaght Hospital‘ anyways?

Joey’s diary entry #1: Me Gooser jacket horror story.

Joey is terrified over his ripped jacket!
‘Read more’ below

.Feb 2nd 2019. Joey’s Secret Diary

Dear diary,

‘Ah jaesus this Gooser is so bleedin’ noice’, I thought to meself, after walking out of tha Brown Tomo store. I decided to name the jacket ‘Jackie’.I also just dropped a few hundo euros on a pair of ‘Nike scatterlads‘.

A yous have no clue; the amount of fit girls looking me way was mad. I swear there was wan bird eyeing me up and down as if I was a meal. I nodded to me boy’ose on the corner of Dealersteet, me territory of this part of Dublin.

Business is booming at the moment. That tax reduction the North Side Dáil introduced on Cocaine really makes the difference in me profits. That means I don’t have to add flour or bakin’ soda to the produce to bulk it out.

Speakin’ of flour that reminds me of the days before the tax cut. I don’t tell the lads but I’m actually quite a charitable person. I once donated some cooking ingredients to help with an old people’s home party in BallyCivic.

So basically, I arrived in me Subaru with what I thought was flour for their choco cake. Well long story short it was actually me Pure Columbian Cocaine that I donated!

Funny stuff tha. But I feel so bleedin’ sorry now for the overweight oldy who told me he loves choco cake. Rest In Peace Barry. You exceeded the two-slice dosage pal.

Anyways,

I was walking down tha street on tha way to obtain another load of chips and coke for me lunch. I was starving me face off. A spice bag cost tree euro but I wasn’t going to pay a ridiculous wad of cash for me lunch; so I wipped out me handbook on ‘Dublin Survival Tips For Tha Lads’.

This little bible of a book helped me get through the six year long national shortage of chips and vinegar.

So, what did I do? I used tip no. 56: ‘When doubt, steal tha bleedin’ bag of chips’.

I snatched and ran. The chipper owner was fumin’. I made it out of tha door, but I just had to snatch me Gooser on the door handle. Suddenly a cloud of feathers exploded out of me jacket.

I ran down the street and into an alleyway. I was sweating and breathing more heavily than a Pedo in Legoland. It was at this moment that tears were shed. ‘Jackie’ was ruined.

There I lay for a long bleedin’ time before I called one of the lads to pick me up.

I was a mess. The day will come soon though, when I’ll get a Gooser nicer than ‘Jackie’. Besides she wasn’t that loyal anyways, swear I saw Davo unzipping her the other night at me gaff!

Sincerely, Joey.

Ireland’s 9 to 5 jobs, Article #2: An interview with a speed camera van technician.

Dermot Road: ” Of course I have. It was just yesterday that I clocked an out of order, erratic and public endangering driver at 60 kilometers per hour in a 100 zone!”
”I made sure the Gardaí took away their Toyota Yaris, pension and local bridge club membership”.

It all started when the I.D.C interviewing team was tearing up the N11 one Saturday morning, probably searching for their next insightful story.

A voice chirped up from what was the boot of our SUV.

It was in fact the farmer for whom we had promised a lift into Dublin. However the duct tape around his mouth made every word incomprehensible so we just gave him a Tractor magazine to read and he quietened down.

Don’t worry, he was quite comfortable.

We were planning to buy the farmer a pack of Tayto at the petrol station, however just before we went to grab a 2 for 1 deal we spotted a speed camera van perched on the side of the road.

We thought it’d be a good idea to stop and interview the technician inside. We had to see just who was lurking behind what is considered the most secretive and well paid job in Ireland.

It was nearly hitting lunch time. We walked 200m up the hard shoulder to the van.

After knocking on the window and introducing ourselves to a man eating a burger for his lunch, we asked if we could interview him, to which he gladly accepted because “this is the only human contact I’ve had in years”.

We hopped in the van and completely ignored the fact that there were six Irish Times reporters laying unconscious in a meat grinder next to a burger patty maker, and we started to ask our questions. . .

I.D.C Reporter: So tell us about yourself, what you do, how you got the job and give us an insight into the daily operations of a speed camera van technician.”

These were Dermot Road’s words.

Dermot Road: ” Well to start, it’s no scam. I truly believe that even if you’re within the speed limit that you should receive 3 penalty points, a €100 fine and a slap across the face by Leo Varadkar.”

” Anyways, my name’s Dermot Road, I’m a speed camera van technician and I absolutely love my job. I recently got my degree in ‘Hiding The Van Behind A Bridge So You Can’t See Me Until The Last Moment-onomics’.”

” We believe that this operation is a great way to needlessly fine the common commuter out of their hard earned money.”

I.D.C Reporter: ” Have you ever caught a reckless driver red handed?”

Dermot Road: ” Of course I have. It was just yesterday that I clocked an out of order, erratic and public endangering driver at 60 kilometers per hour in a 100 zone!”

“I made sure the Gardaí took away their Toyota Yaris, pension and local bridge club membership”.

SEE MORE LIKE THIS: Ireland’s 9 to 5 jobs, Article #1: Daily Routine of a Ryanair Check-in desk Manager.

” I got the job when an R.S.A (Road Safety Authority) scout approached me after noticing I’d cut the string on a child’s balloon, and deemed me so uncaring about people’s feelings that I should become a speed camera van technician.”

Van technician Dermot Road continues…

” I follow the RSA’s strict guidelines if I’m approached by an angry commuter”.

” I pepper spray ’em, cuff ’em and behead them with a samurai sword on the side of the motorway to show any drivers coming by that you can’t argue with the heavy hand of the law”.

// SPONSORED ADVERTISEMENT: RSA beheadings can be spectated on most dual carriage ways. Special bookings can be made at TheUltimatePenaltyForSpeeding website for families who love seeing lobbing off the heads of people who were a mere kilometer over the speed limit//

Dermot Road: ” I specialize in first holy communion events actually. Beware any speeding Priests.”

Dermot continues to serve on the frontlines and in the future hopes to write a deluxe Burger cook book, make some friends and to defect to Japan to attend a Samurai head chopping conference.