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Published April 29, 2012

Getting fired had its downsides. Going from 3 meals a day to a can of Four Loko and a packet of ham isn't easy for anybody. But getting sacked also had some perks. Let's just say... when the cats are away my house is gay. Wait. That's completely wrong. Look, I meant getting fired gave me some free time to plot and scheme my way into Courtney's beef garden.

Warning: this blog goes into explicit and epic detail. Hand and tissues at the ready. Its sexy time! 

The message I had sent through the bar had worked. Courtney agreed to go on a date with me. I didn't have much time to prepare. The first thing I had to do was remove the lagging jacket my penis had invested in over the past few weeks... months... years. I took out my sharpest scissors and attacked the wiry undergrowth. My matted dreadlocks slowly returned to their former glory.

I watched with great pride as the little fuzzy paratroopers fell to the bathroom floor with every snip. I don't know if this is an actual fact or not, but looking down at that angle creates a sort of deception in your vision. Things seem further away than they actually are. On my last trim, I accidentally bypassed the intended troublemakers and instead cut through a saggy fold in my balls with the top of the scissors.

Disbelief and an intense heat on my shoulders took over first. My eyes then confirmed the damage and the subsequent blood dripping from my right ball. This confirmation was followed by ten minutes of trying to wrestle the sink off the wall. After the pain had subsided, I entered into deep prayer. Numerous promises were made to the relevant gods. Cathedrals would be built, acres of communion would be eaten and no more Blessed Mary grottos would be mustached, as long as the bleeding would stop. Thankfully the bleeding did stop. The mustaching didn't.

A new lease of life engulfed me. My balls were given a second chance and an embarrassing trip to the emergency room was avoided. With Captain Piccard looking his best and his crew slowly recovering, it was time to assemble my garments.

I carefully smell tested my clothes and selected my cleanest underpants, which luckily happened to be my sex underpants. It has a panther standing on a volcano on the front and, Brian Boru driving over Oliver Cromwell in a monster truck on the back. Dancing and flirting with myself in the mirror, I was finally ready. Ready to tell this American every lie I could think of.

Courtney picked me up at 7:00p.m. I'm not going to go into great detail about the date. I said some predictable jokes, she smiled sympathetically and we both awkwardly laughed at how I had no money and couldn't pay for anything. That was about it. Driving back in the car, I felt the window of opportunity slipping away from me. I could see her pants in the seat next to me. Now I just needed to get into them. Legally. I tried on some of my best moves. I told her I was lonely, sad, angry, poor, hungry, sensitive, dying, old, deaf and anything else that popped into my head. Courtney was not going to crack easily. It was time for a different approach.

I explained to her that I was too horny for her not to have sex with me. Surprisingly, it didn't work. Defeated, I climbed out of the blue balls wagon and prepared for more rejection. But before she drove away, she said she'd like to go on another date with me. Courtney also told me that if I was really that horny I should have just asked her for a blowjob. Morgan freeman narrated the next few minutes of my life as I slowly died on the footpath.

The second date was on the horizon and this time I would not taste defeat. I would taste the fishy residue of success all over at least four of my fingers. We arranged to have dinner at my house where I could cook her a traditional Irish dinner. Plus, it was a home match this time around so I could play to my strengths. The food for the evening was carefully selected and meticulously prepared. Potatoes marinated in vodka, ecstasy carrots, Goldschläger gravy and rohypno-steak.

Courtney arrived late but made up for it by wearing a dress fabricated from blue cling film. Her absence of clothes prevented me from constructing sentences for the first ten minutes. One coma inducing dinner and four bottles of wine later, I finally began to look attractive to her. I was going to show this girl what was really at the end of an Irish man's rainbow. His pot o' testicles.

We made our move to the couch and I began to press her slender body against mine. The second I pressed her against the couch she flipped me on my back, stripped me naked and, wrapped a trojan, magnum, goliath condom around my ding dong. It looked like a sleeping bag thrown over a traffic cone. She pulled, bit, grabbed and mounted me all in a matter of seconds. Her praying mantis like approach to sex convinced me that she was going to kill me afterwards.

While she mined for gold somewhere up near her pancreas, I realised the alcohol had taken its toll and that no matter how much she was going to huff and puff this little piggy was... was... ah... was not going to produce any seamen. I didn't know how the spider queen was going to take the news. After she pretended she had an orgasm, she asked me if I was nearly there. Nearly there? I was a good fortnight away. She could jump up and down for the next two days like she was trying to burst a space hopper but I wouldn't be producing anything.

She released me from the clutches of doom and laid down next to me. Whipping off the awning draped across my schlong, she attempted to finish things off with a hand shandy. Unfortunately, Courtney had never attended foreskin school and therefore disregarded it as anything important. Every painful facial expression was mistaken for unbridled ecstasy, thus increasing the speed and ferocity of the death pump. I had to stop her from killing the captain of the Starship Enterprise.

piccard.jpg

I had a plan. I gripped the edge of the couch, started shaking one of my legs, let out a few ooo's, asked her to look away and spat the nastiest, thickest glugger right on her stomach.

Why is it green? she asked.

Am... because I'm Irish?... oh and I have numerous STD's... 

Thankfully I passed out from a mixture of pain and the alcohol. The next morning, I woke up next to the beautiful Courtney with a pulsating pain down south. I had a look down to assess the damage and, discovered that I was now a fully fledged member of the Jewish community.

Mozel Tov.

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