Yes indeed, its the last time for the gay boys to come out and play in Dublin and watch 30 ‘men’ wearing tight shirts and shorts running around after an oval ‘ball’ for 80 mins.
Surely the gayest thing on the telly after the wrestling? I think so my friends. Rucking, mauling, scrumming and lining-out and all the close gay contact that goes on with it.
Ended up in my favourite City Centre watering hole yesterday, as is my wont, and the place was teeming with them again.
This time there were no stupid bitches with little shamrocks on their ugly faces, only fine beefy men slurping pints and shouting their fat lungs out.
Three of them burst through the doors in a kind of bizarre hunter-gatherer style from the local Subway bearing trophies of the days hunt. They entered the bar holding aloft their swill as if it was the Webb Ellis cup itself!! A drunken raucous cheer rose from the masses and the trophies were crashed on to the bar. No careful unwrapping here, oh no. They tore and ripped those fuckers open like a starving African with a food parcel that was delivered two months late during high drought season would. I counted at least 5 different kinds of meat. Mostly ham. A form of cannibalism in its most basic form which would send chills down the bodies of most mortals.
Mound after mound of dough and meat descended into the bellies of the pigs, all the while washed down with copious amounts of beer. One of them proudly assured me that the thing was called a ‘foot long’. 12 inches indeed. I almost expected to see them shoved up each others arses in a display of manly bonding or some ancient mating ritual. Sadly no meat up any meat-holes for our benefit. I did once hear a story of someone who wanted to insert a frozen leg of lamb up someones arse by way of revenge, all the while rogering them with the bone. A delightful image I am sure you will agree. A chorus of ‘Shoulder to shoulder’ rang out and the hairs on the back of my neck rose to an almost perfect state of erection.
It was then it struck me, these men are athletes of the highest order. They are to be admired not scorned. Looked up to and not pitied. They work their pudgy little fat fingers to the bone all week. They provide for their fat women and fat children and are under stress all the time. Some of them even try to maintain their pathetic bodies by walking or lifting weights. Some even try to keep sober on week nights and why shouldn’t they have the odd blow out on the weekends?
So hurrah and cheers to a new breed of man who is an endless source of entertainment for Me.
The Fathlete…..
Bald Devil loves you all.
