Vast Umbrellas and: ‘The Moisture’

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Vast Umbrellas and: ‘The Moisture’

By:

Connor McDonough-Flynn

It was a rainy day in Foggy Dublin Town, even when wet, the cities beauty and imagination knows no bounds.

Umbrellas were out and about in full force, seemingly growing larger and larger with each passing droplet of rain. Portable fabricated brolly houses on display for all to see. Dry ceilinged havens, as drip drops from the sky trickled down. Creating the excuse to use that, which was purchased. Hoping, praying, pleading for rain, to constitute a reason to justify the gigantic umbrella obtained. Material expenses exchanged, to shield one, from the immense threats of misty moisture.

I’m being facetious to a rather tactless, unwieldy level, though the rain was doing exactly as stated, trickling, down. Trickling! No more, no less, trickling. Not even a dribble or a leak, a Trickle! We’re talking an itsy-bitsy streamlet here people… but I digress.

I bring up the umbrellas, and more importantly the size of the umbrellas, for I don’t understand why a person would need or desire these gargantuan constructions. For more often than not, they’re only canvassing themselves, singularly, from the rain:The Moisture’.

The incredible size of these expansive umbrellas, carry with them the ability to shelter entire small communities from: The Moisture, yet sadly, they’re only used to shelter one – two at most.

It seems that the abilities of the broad umbrellas have not been considered at all. Rather no consideration has been taken on the umbrellas behalf. The poor brolly hasn’t been allowed a say in the matter whatsoever. Leaving the monumental umbrella feeling underappreciated, misrepresented, and misused. Deep down I feel that these umbrellas really want to be protecting the greater good in the colossal numbers that it’s size affords, but the umbrellas cries are not heard. The brolly is caught, held captive, by the singular invested carrier, providing safety for only one – two at most.

Not to mention the dangers created by the stupendous umbrellas to passers bys eyes. The traffic and congestion created, as well as the visibility obstructions presented to the hustling and bustling commuters. The travelers, who’ve chosen to brave: The Moisture, with no security, or have managed to look within their reasonable selves and come to the conclusion that an umbrella aptly sized for one would far suffice, and do the job to properly preserve themselves from: The Dreaded Moisture.

Now I’m not meaning to argue the use of umbrellas, or meaning to be judgmental towards those who choose to utilize an umbrella to safeguard them selves from the rain: The Moisture.

I am curiously poking fun at those who chose to elaborately guard themselves with these vast structures of moisture defense. Broadcasting their general disregard for the people around, and thinking at no point of the safety or comfort for the surrounding hustling and bustling commuters. Instead brandishing these massive moisture evasion mechanisms with no regard at all. Putting all neighboring them at a greater danger and discomfort merely on account of their own dryness.

I suppose I am asking those who wield these humongous canopies of wetness prevention, to perhaps, consider how their actions and decisions impact those around them. Maybe even going as far as to accentuate their undoubtedly titanic character with a more considerate, practical, reasonably sized brolly.

I know: The Moisture, can be quite treacherous and distressing; dangerous even – at times depressingly downright disheartening. But fret not, remain dry, and hold on to the hope that perhaps the floodgates of: The Dreaded Moisture, will one day stop, cease, and reach a more publicly spirited understanding of the discomfort IT: The Moisture, creates.

Perhaps, even lead to a passing chat in a side street nook – an opening – escaping: The Dreaded Moisture, and unexpectedly accompanying an unknown passer by with an injured eye. Where the hazards of the monstrous umbrellas can be discussed, and the sanctity of vision shall be harbored and protected from the menacing probes and prongs of an outstretched brolly in full mushroom.

Unhinged Comedy Story: 8th November 2015

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Was an electrically eclectic evening at Unhinged Comedy Club in The Ha’penny Bridge Inn on the 8th of November 2015.
The crowd was from all over and through the woods. We’d English, Irish, French, Chinese, Americans, Canadians – the place was packed with different cultures, views and temperaments.
From 9pm on the club was chalk-full of audience members, and the buzz was palpable throughout and  laugher was eagerly rearing to take flight on the night.
Aidan Greene started the night off with a sound stutter-step getting the audience roaring right off the bat. The Englishman Chris Williams followed with some interesting insights into married life. Marriage was a through-line throughout the night, as there was an abundance of couples – some young, some old – and the space between the loving couples highlighted how long they’d been together. The 4-month couple was right on top of each other, interlocked. While the couple married 25-years sat at opposite ends of the room. Love, is in the air in between.
The second half kicked off with a bang with Padraig Williams talking about different colours in the gangland that is the South Bronx. One must be careful which colours one chooses in certain areas to ensure bodily harm is not introduced on account of the wrong colour.
Sean Nolan hit the stage with his anti-climactic ways and brought the audience in with his sharp wit, tight jokes, and biting turns of phrase.
Mustafa Sead then brought the audience into an Islamic pun-undrum and had the audience laughing in places where they most likely hadn’t before.
Emma Doran rocked the show in the end. Bringing her darkly sarcastic wit and matter of fact delivery to the stage, Emma hit the chords throughout and brought a proper end to what was a fantastic night of comedy.
Unhinged Comedy Club runs every Wednesday and Sunday in The Ha’penny Bridge Inn. Doors are at 21:00. Every night there’s a different line-up of seasoned comedians and up and comers. It’s a show not to be missed.

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Unhinged Comedy Story: 4th November 2015

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            The Web Summit crowd were in last night at Unhinged Comedy, and they were laughing away so they were – no applications or robots necessary.

The crowd was an eclectic mix of all over, which speaks to the great job the Web Summit does in getting people from the far reaches of the planet to Ireland.

The start was a feeling out session, me bouncing off the audience, the audience finding their own groove and comforts, and then, once a rhythm was established the night floated in a buoyantly laughable fashion.

The styles of the comedians on the night were vastly different. We had a lad from Dundalk talking about “poo” and bog-roll discrepancies. An OCD Murderer who spoke about his deep seeded fear of his wife and intercourse. A new comic talking about his will and how he’d like to see and leave the world when he dies. A local Dubliner talking about sexual matters regarding the acting and relationship world. A Lithuanian giant talking about door-to-door sales. And then a hard-core New Yorker speaking about texts and matters of the heart. The night was a mixed bag of amusement, and the audience ate the jokes up, and returned amplified affable laughter.

The English couple in the front row came up to me during the second break speaking of their surprise that the 800-years of English oppression hadn’t been joked about to that point, so I made it a point to rip into the English a bit, on request of, the English.

There was a lad from Portugal and another from France who were well up for the banter throughout, and an Argentinean woman who was laughing at the oxygen in the air. She was having a great time for herself so she was.

The night filled up nicely, and there was a steady stream of new audience members making their way into the show all evening. New faces, new places, and laugher flying around the shop. It was another successful night at Unhinged Comedy Club in The Ha’penny Bridge Inn. Another night where comedy, laughter and communication won – bringing people of different minds, backgrounds and dimensions together for 2-hours to laugh it out and enjoy themselves.

Unhinged Comedy Club runs every Wednesday and Sunday in The Ha’penny Bridge Inn. Doors are at 21:00. Jokes are provided each night. Get in and enjoy a night of Unhinged laughter ladies and gentleman. You’d be mad not to. All the best.

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Peek-A-Boo Pussy

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Peek-A-Boo Pussy

By:

Connor McDonough-Flynn

            Walter loved vagina. He loved it. He loved eating pussy. Eating pussy was his favorite activity. Satisfying a woman with his mouth was the highest form of pleasure for Walter, and he was excellent at getting females there with his tongue, lips, mouth, fingers, nose and saliva. Oh yes, saliva.

He’d had numerous hands on experiences, he’d researched intently, read articles, studied diagrams; Walter was a self-proclaimed pussy professional. He’d come across some sordid insights along the way, silly ones to – the strangest coming from an article written by a woman in her twenties describing how she liked men to talk to her pussy, and more precisely, to baby talk her pussy. Baby talking is what got her feminine engine revving to hair-raising levels, leaving her elatedly howling to the starry skies.

Baby talking a pussy heightened Walter’s curiosity immediately. Instantaneously captivated. He was intrigued as to how far he could go with baby talking a pussy. At that stage of his life he’d been with his mystical woman for a little over a year, and she loved to get her pussy eaten (what women doesn’t?), and Walter would please her honeypot every day with absolute delight.

That night, when Walter and his beautiful lady came home, Walter was ready to rock with his baby talk. Walter told her that he wanted to taste her. She excitedly got onto the bed, and he slipped her pants and panties down. Her vagina was compressed and scrunched inwards on account of her tight pants and panties. Walter slid his tongue over her pussy, loosening the muscles, introducing moisture, saliva – bringing the hidden pleasures behind her picturesque folds of skin to life. She began to groan with excitement. Her lips opening. She loved when Walter made a meal of her pussy, she came in multiples each and every time.

Walter’s tongue was in rhythm, tickling and moistening her cliterous, labia and vulva. He knew all her spots. His lady was grabbing the back of his head, sensually taking hold of his hair, pushing his head and tongue deeper into her. Her panting, sighs and pleads towards the sky were reverberating around the walls of the room, creating a symphony of bliss in Walter’s ears. She tasted of delicious sweet sweat – her natural body odors and smells – her lush love box. Her hips were gyrating, her hands still navigating around Walter’s head, she was in another dimension, an alternate reality of reflexive ecstasy, she implored him not to stop.

“Don’t stop baby, don’t stop, please don’t stop. Oh…”

Walter listened to her and continued on. His tongue circling her cliterous like a soft rabbit’s foot. Gently lashing at her orgasmic spot like a professor of climactic proportion.

“Baby. Don’t stop, don’t stop, please don’t stop. Oh… Oh…”

Walter didn’t stop, he continued on, his fingers now gliding in and out of her dripping vagina. Her juices flowing freely, uninhibited, her passionate sounds echoing through his ear drums.

“Don’t stop, baby don’t stop, please don’t stop. Oh… Oh… Oh…

He passionately continued on, he could feel her getting close. Fervently. He looked up to see her eyes closed, her head cocked back, her pelvis pulsating, her right hand gliding through the hairs on her scalp, her left hand still pushing Walter on, guiding him towards her holy land. He, still joyously journeying around her most intimate of environments.

Baby. Don’t stop, don’t stop, baby please don’t stop…”

Walter kept going, his tongue was now lapping the inside of her pussy, looking to find the holy grail; her G-spot. She was convulsing with enticement, he felt her juices boiling, her body opening up, her mind erasing. Her entire being becoming one in the moment before climax. Now’s the time, Walter thought.

“Don’t stop baby, don’t stop, baby please don’t stop. Oh… Oh… OhOh… I’m…

Who’s that silly pussy? You want to cum don’t you? Yes you do. Who’s a silly little pussy. Look at you all wet, turned on and juicy…

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?”

She grabbed a hold of his hair, only now in a fist.

“I’m baby-talking your pussy.”

“BABY TALKING MY PUSSY?”

“Yeah. Peek-A-Boo Pussy?

Her hands now tugged his head up and his hair was at it’s wits end, there was a large group of strands being separated from his scalp.

“WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU BABY TALK OR PEEK-A-BOO MY PUSSY? I WAS JUST ABOUT TO CUM. ARE YOU FUCKING RETARDED? I AM NOT A BABY, I AM A WOMAN, EAT MY FUCKING PUSSY.”

Walter looked into the eyes of his infuriated woman, wondering what he’d done wrong? He was the self-proclaimed pussy eating master and he was only intending to add to his arsenal. The magazine, the woman, the article, it’d said that baby talk was a sure thing. He’d even introduced the Peek-A-Boo, a new move that he could patent, the Peek-A-Boo Pussy move. “Perhaps magazines don’t contain ALL the answers?” Walter thought to himself in the moment. “There shall have to be further research done…”

Walter saw the carnal rage in his loving ladies eyes, she’d ripped out a chunk of his hair and slapped him across his head. She’d been seconds away from an orgasm that would’ve shaken the nature of humanity and he’d stopped to play peek-a-boo with her pussy.

He felt in the moment that time was, in fact, of the essence. This was no time for laughter. He looked dead into his vibrant woman’s eyes and dove his face back into her holy land, and ate, and licked – introducing fingers from all angles. She erupted with delight, tearing further chunks out of his head. And as she lay, head and neck extended back, both her hands on the back of his head, her legs spread akimbo, her eyes closed, her vagina glistening with saliva, fluid and flowing moisture. Walter looked up at her and looked back between her legs, at her soundly satisfied pussy and said:

Now there’s a happy pussy, what a good pussy, aren’t you the happiest little pussy in the whole-wide-world, Yes you are. Peek-A-Boo Pussy. Peek-A-Boo…

Walter’s little vixen said nothing, there was no hair pulling, no screaming, she just lay there gorgeously panting in the moment, harmoniously satisfied. And Walter learned in that moment, in that moment of sheer sensuality and intimacy, what the baby talk and peek-a-boo pussy was all about: Timing.

Peek-A-Boo…

“Hear No, See No, Meow No Evil (Grey Cat)” Picture by: http://www.redbubble.com/people/thewhalebaby/works/11164901-hear-no-see-no-meow-no-evil-grey-cat

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