(Untitled)

[christ_onabike]

Who: Patrick Donal Maguire and YOU. YES, YOU, YOU LUCKY THING.
When: Friday!
Where: All over the shop.
What: It's a day in the life of our favourite angry Irishman. As previously evidenced by... so many people. Too lazy for links. Pioneered by Mr Rube Sofer.
Warnings: Language. Oh, the language.

you folks know the drill by now.

Comments

6pm. the kitchen.

[christ_onabike]

FUCK! I dropped the fucking potatoes! We need more fucking potatoes!

[A pause]

Malc. Potatoes, yeah, you lovely fucking jock?

Re: 6pm. the kitchen.

[f_ckitybye]

Suppose it's too fucking much to hope you dropped them before you boiled them?

[Takes one look at the mess.]

Aw, fucking hell.

[Trudges off to get the ones he's already peeled and to peel some more.]

Re: 6pm. the kitchen.

[christ_onabike]

If I'd have fucking done that, I'd have washed them, c'mon...

[He frowns and starts to clean the floor, as he always tidied up after himself]

Ta, Malc.

Re: 6pm. the kitchen.

[f_ckitybye]

That's a fucking round of pea-shelling you owe me.

[He puts a bowl of peeled potatoes down at Paddy's station and goes back to his own.]

Re: 6pm. the kitchen.

[christ_onabike]

[Paddy sets to work on the potatoes,] Grand. I'll do it fucking tomorrow. And we're having fucking sweetcorn.

Re: 6pm. the kitchen.

[f_ckitybye]

Does anyone actually fucking like sweetcorn?

Re: 6pm. the kitchen.

[christ_onabike]

I fucking like sweetcorn, fuck you. It's better than fucking peas.

Re: 6pm. the kitchen.

[f_ckitybye]

Sweetcorn, fucking Riverdance...

[He sweeps up the potato peelings, discards them, and brings over another bowl of peeled potatoes.]

Next thing you'll be fucking telling me that Jedward's not half bad.

Re: 6pm. the kitchen.

[christ_onabike]

Oh, fuck off, I'm not a thirteen year old girl. [He rolled his eyes, and gets on with cutting the potatoes up and putting them in a pan,]

And don't fucking mention Riverdance again, or I am bringing some in and you'll all have to suffer.

Re: 6pm. the kitchen.

[f_ckitybye]

Yeah? One. Fucking. Word.

[He jabs a finger at Paddy to emphasise it.]

Bagpipes.

Re: 6pm. the kitchen.

[christ_onabike]

[There's a long, long stare, and he ignores the potato in his hand for a minute,]

I'll shut up.

Re: 6pm. the kitchen.

[f_ckitybye]

[Malcolm grins and strolls back to his station, humming something that might be a Scottish folk tune, but badly enough that it can't be properly identified. Not that he cares; point has been made.]