the names have not been changed. i have no interest in your protection.
continue at your own risk.
I began my Irish Pub adventure 10 months ago. To no surprise, it has been a wild an incredible journey into the heart of violence and drunken abandon. Yes, ears have been chewed to bloody bubble gum, feelings have been hurt, bottles shattered, faces broken, guns pulled, people shot, fortunes made and lost, and traded over for bad breath and bewildered organs, and girls, so many girls, wilted before your eyes. Filthy fan blades braiding the smoke polluted atmosphere into a tornado of poison. Air raid sirens, and the smell of vomit, the crunch of broken glass beneath flip flops, close every show. And though the football team sucks, the beer is cold, and we are all in denial anyway so what the hell does it matter. what follows are a few sorted tales of heart break and courage, that i just so happen to bare whiteness to in my days as a bouncer at Corby's
