BigSaltyDog

McFinleyyy and the Uninsured Truck of Doom McFinleyyy was enjoying a peaceful walk through the neighbourhood, minding his own business, when he heard a tremendous bang behind him. CRASH! A large delivery truck had somehow managed to reverse into a parked car, leaving its rear end looking like a concertina. The owner of the damaged car came sprinting out of a nearby shop, clutching a half-eaten sandwich and looking as though Christmas had been cancelled. “YOU ABSOLUTE MANIAC!” he shouted at the truck driver. “Look at the state of my motor!” The truck driver climbed down from the cab, scratched his head and inspected the damage. “Ah, sure, these things happen,” he said casually. “These things happen? That's a €30,000 car you've just turned into a shopping trolley!” McFinleyyy stopped walking. He had seen plenty of strange things in his time, but this was shaping up to be better than anything on television. The car owner suddenly spotted him. “You there! You look like ...

Govna’s Kitchen, Danny Boy’s Curry and the Usual Suspects Govna was in his element. There he was, standing in the kitchen, surveying the latest developments in what had become the longest-running renovation project since they built the pyramids. “My friends are round at the moment doing more work on the kitchen,” he announced proudly. “Off out later with Danny Boy for a curry and some pints. Are you up to much?” It was a perfectly reasonable question, although coming from Govna, it sounded suspiciously like an invitation to join a committee that nobody had asked to be part of. The kitchen, meanwhile, was entering another exciting phase. One friend was measuring something. Another was holding a piece of wood and looking at it as if it had personally offended him. A third was standing near the kettle, offering technical advice despite having no qualifications beyond watching a few videos online. Govna supervised from a safe distance. “That's not how I'd do it,” he dec...

STORM BOELO: STG. SALTY DECLARES WAR ON THE WEATHER When the wind picks up, the Misfits buckle up! The people of Ireland had barely recovered from the last bout of bad weather when the forecasters delivered another announcement. “Ladies and gentlemen, Storm Boelo is approaching!” In headquarters, Stg. Salty slowly lowered his pint. “Boelo? Who authorised another one? Can't we get a break from this carry-on?” Ye Olde Large Lad looked up from his sandwich. “It's the weather, Sarge. Nobody can control it.” Salty glared at him. “That's the sort of negative attitude that loses wars, Large Lad!” Within minutes, the Misfits were placed on maximum alert. Operation Keep the Beer Dry The Govna called an emergency meeting. Present were Stg. Salty, Big Al, Captain Morgan, McFinleyyy, Gov, Dannyboy and the rest of the usual suspects. “Right,” announced Salty. “Storm Boelo is coming. We need a plan.” Gov stood up. “I propose we establish a national committee to investigate th...

BIGSALTYDOG PRESENTS: HOLMES UNDER THE HAMMER — IT'S HAMMER TIME! 🔨😂 Stg. Salty and the Misfits were enjoying a quiet afternoon when McFinleyyy burst into the room waving his phone. “Lads! New plan. We’re buying a property, renovating it, and selling it for a massive profit!” Salty lowered his coffee. “McFin, the last time you tried DIY, you put a shelf up with three screws and a prayer. It fell down and nearly killed Whizzley.” “Minor technical issue,” McFinleyyy replied. “This time, we’re going professional. We’re going on Holmes Under the Hammer!” Within twenty-four hours, the Misfits were standing outside a derelict house that looked like it had survived three wars and a particularly angry visit from the local council. A television presenter greeted them enthusiastically. “Today, we’re looking at a fantastic investment opportunity!” Salty peered through a broken window. “Fantastic? There’s a tree growing through the kitchen, lads!” Ye Olde Large Lad examined the r...

BIGSALTYDOG 🧂🐕 “HEY, PATEL!” — McFinleyyy Gets Quags GOOD! 😂❤️ Stg. Salty and the Misfits were enjoying a peaceful afternoon when McFinleyyy arrived wearing a suspicious grin. Sarah took one look at him and put down her coffee. “Oh, no. What are you up to now?” “Nothing!” McFinleyyy replied innocently. Susan shook her head. “That's exactly what guilty people say.” At that moment, Quags walked in. McFinleyyy's eyes lit up. The perfect victim had arrived. Ramadan Patel was sitting at the table when Quags strolled over. “HEY, RAMADAN! HOW'S IT GOING, MATE?” “Grand, Quags,” Patel replied. McFinleyyy suddenly looked horrified. “Quags! What did you just call him?” Quags frowned. “Ramadan?” McFinleyyy leaned closer. “His name is Patel!” Quags stared at him. “What?” “His surname is Patel! You've been calling him Ramadan for months!” “But his name IS Ramadan Patel!” McFinleyyy shook his head sympathetically. “Jesus, Quags. And nobody's told you?” Quags looked ...

Buffy the Vampire Slayer Meets the Terminator: Stg. Salty and the Apocalypse That Nearly Ruined His Pint! When a vampire slayer, a killer cyborg and the full Misfits walk into a Dublin pub, you know somebody's going to have a very expensive evening. Stg. Salty had a simple philosophy in life: never volunteer for anything, never trust a politician promising free sandwiches, and never stand between an Irishman and his pint. Unfortunately, the universe had decided to test all three principles on the same Friday night. The Misfits had assembled at their favourite Dublin pub, The Rusty Shamrock. Large Lad was occupying two chairs, McFinleyyy was complaining about the price of crisps, Big Al was calculating whether Guinness could qualify as a business expense, and the Govna was explaining why the pub needed a smart kitchen. "Right, lads," announced Salty, raising his pint. "A quiet evening. No trouble, no arguments, and absolutely no DIY from the Govna." ...