BigSaltyDog

The Get the Beers In Party Is Born! — Stg. Salty Has Had Enough! Ireland has a new political movement, a questionable leader, and absolutely no chance of a quiet life. There comes a moment in every nation's history when ordinary people look at the state of things and ask themselves one simple question. Can it honestly get any worse? Stg. Salty had been asking that question for years. Unfortunately, he had finally decided to do something about it. It all began on an otherwise peaceful afternoon at Misfits HQ, where the gang had gathered to discuss the usual important matters: who had eaten the last packet of crisps, why the kettle was making a noise like a dying tractor, and whether anybody had seen Captain Morgan's missing bottle opener. Then the television news came on. Within thirty seconds, Salty was standing in front of the screen, pointing at it as though the newsreader had personally insulted his mother. "Look at this lot!" he roared. "Another d...

☕ THE MISFITS VS THE €10 CUP OF COFFEE! Stg. Salty discovers that you might need a second mortgage just to get a caffeine fix! BigSaltyDog – Where common sense goes to die, and the price of a coffee causes a national emergency. There are certain things in life that should be simple. Breathing. Walking. Putting on your shoes the correct way around. And buying a bloody cup of coffee. Unfortunately, in modern Ireland, even that last one has become an extreme financial activity requiring the services of a bank manager, an accountant and possibly a solicitor. It all began on a perfectly ordinary Saturday morning when Stg. Salty decided that he and the Misfits deserved a nice coffee. “Right, lads and ladies,” he announced, climbing out of Salty’s Tank, the magnificent Leopard 2 that had somehow become his preferred mode of transport for situations that absolutely did not require a military vehicle. “I'm buying the coffees today. We’ll find a decent café, have a chat and enjoy...

🚔 STG. SALTY AND THE MISFITS: GARDA ON EMPTY — THE GREAT GALWAY GETAWAY! When the law runs out of battery, there's only one number left to call. Unfortunately, it's the Govna. There are days when you wake up, have a nice cup of tea, look out the window and think, today should be fairly straightforward. And then there are days when Stg. Salty and the Misfits get involved. This particular disaster began on a quiet rural road in County Galway, where a Garda patrol car had apparently decided that it had done enough policing for one day. The electric vehicle sat motionless at the side of the road, surrounded by green fields, stone walls and the sort of breathtaking scenery that normally appears on a tourism advertisement. The only problem was that the Garda inside it had somewhere important to be. An incident had been reported a few miles down the road, and he had been dispatched to attend. Unfortunately, his patrol car had other plans. Battery: 0%. Garda: 100% frustrat...

SALTY AND THE MISFITS Baz and McFinleyyy Get Ripped to Bits! The Great Misfits Muscle Mayhem Chapter One: The Gym Gods Have Arrived It was a peaceful morning at Misfits HQ. That peace lasted precisely until Baz and McFinleyyy kicked open the doors wearing matching gym vests. Baz strutted in like he'd just won Mr. Universe. McFinleyyy followed behind him, carrying a gym bag so enormous that Walshyy asked whether he'd packed his entire house. "Make way, peasants!" Baz announced. "You're looking at the future of bodybuilding." Stg. Salty lowered his mug. "You're looking at the future of a double hip replacement if you keep walking like that." Dinkz nearly choked on his breakfast. Big Al examined Baz's arms. "Have you been working out?" "Every day!" "Really? Because I thought you'd been storing two cocktail sausages under your sleeves." Whizzley started laughing so hard that he had to grab the t...

Nice Night for a Walk — Nothing Clean Right, Wash Day Tomorrow Another BigSaltyDog Misfits Adventure There are some evenings when you look out the window and think, What a beautiful night. The sky is clear. The moon is shining. The stars are twinkling. There is a gentle breeze in the air. And then there are evenings when Stg. Salty looks at the same scene and thinks: “Lads, grab your jackets. We’re going for a walk.” Nobody knew where they were going. Nobody knew how far they were walking. And, most importantly, nobody had checked whether anybody had clean clothes. That last detail would become extremely important. The Misfits had gathered outside BigSaltyDog headquarters, ready for an evening hike through the countryside. Salty was wearing his usual outdoor gear, complete with boots and a jacket. Sarah and Susan were looking perfectly prepared, because unlike most of the men present, they had apparently remembered that hiking involved wearing appropriate clothing. McFinley...