Drunk Irish Skanks Keep Assaulting Bouncers Until One Gets Laid on Sidewalk

Drunk Irish Skanks Keep Assaulting Bouncers Until One Gets Laid on Sidewalk

In front of a popular tourist hangout in downtown Belfast, Northern Ireland, a group of drunk skank kept demanding pussy passes by repeatedly assaulting the bouncers. The bouncers showed a lot of restraint, which is what the skanks used to their advantage and kept getting in the bouncer’s faces until one got properly laid on the sidewalk.

When all was said and done, the skanks got their pussy passes righteously denied. But the white knights watching from the other side of the sidewalk rubbed their manginas by whining “oooh” each time a bouncer stood up for himself against the aggression.

Here’s a little longer version of the video with other view angles:

Author: Vincit Omnia Veritas

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146 thoughts on “Drunk Irish Skanks Keep Assaulting Bouncers Until One Gets Laid on Sidewalk”

      1. I’m Northern Irish & consider myself British. The way I see it I have a British passport, use British money & speak english, not irish (even know the majority of Ireland also speaks English). Bunch of potato eating, sheep shagging, field loving, inbred cunts south of the border anyway.

        1. @norega
          I’m Northern Irish and I consider myself Northern Irish, for all its sins. May as well, British people don’t consider us British and Irish people don’t consider us Irish, so what’s the point in identifying with either. That said, I identify more on a personal level with potato eaters and field lovers more than most of the pricks up here.

          1. Haha I kid of course. I love people up here & down south there is nobody like us. Good to find out I’m not the only sick, twisted individual from NI on here lol.

          2. The greatest heroes in Irish mythology were the Ulster Men. The only difference between us is that the nordies speak a dialect that nay cunt on Earth could understand.

          3. im english and i dont consider myself British. The scots hate us and i wouldnt dream of going to ireland north or otherwise. haha xD

  1. This looked like business as usual for the bouncers, protecting the club against alcohol poisoning lawsuits. The lads on the opposite pavement appear to be having a good laugh while imploring the horrible skanks to push through.

    Those bouncers are true professionals, finessing the lightest and sweetest chin music to eventually send these skanks to their accustomed horizontal position.

  2. Mark,

    Any time a skank gets denied a pussy pass like this, you should put a link in the description to that Russian chick who flicked her cigarette at a dude, who then elbowed her and absolutely knocked her the fuck out! That was the best pussy pass denial I ever saw!

  3. Wrong outcome…
    He should not have thrown a punch, but wrapped his arms around them (maybe cop a feel) so they could`nt throw punches (flailing arms) His Peers then should have done the same to the others.
    Don`t hit a drunkin stupid animal when you are the one being paid to protect them, Simple.

  4. I live in the southern part of the United States. The so called “pussy pass” is mostly nonexistent. The clubs and bars have ladies night where they get in free but any other night you pay the cover.

  5. Not too many pussy passes handed out here in Belfast, or any part of Ireland, North or South. Seen many a drunk girl try to throw themselves about (usually accompanied with an “I’ll get my da for you”) only to get planted. No time for that shit here.

      1. Hey, I’ve got backbone. I just prefer to give em the frontbone… If you use both, it makes for some wonderful rough sex. After that, send em to the kitchen to fix you a nice sammich and everyone’s happy. Right, @happy?

    1. Every woman here thinks she’s a fucking princess and deserves the privileges that comes with being one when in reality the majority are pure skanks. Like 95% of women out there. Didn’t know there was this many people from the North on here lol

  6. Pikies aka gypsies aka irish travellers are tough motherfuckers they will have russians for dinner any day. Here in the uk no one messes with them they’re a bit like land mafia. Once they’ve decided to park their vehicles/caravans on a site it’d be impossible to make them leave. Even roma gypsies are on guard when these yellow (white) irish pikies/gypsies are about

  7. Ugh, nothing makes me happier than seeing vile, screeching Belfast millies getting knocked on their ignorant holes. Punch for a punch, says I. I’ll never speak against a man defending himself from this kind of assault.

    1. @lady-lexis

      The one in the yellow/ orange top is a big fan of Ronan Keating from the Oirish Boyband called “Boyzone”. Ronan was making an appearance at that Belfast Club on that night. She had seen the posters and had immediately started producing vast quantities of fishy sludge in her fizzing minge. Ronan had previously taken out Court Orders to exclude this woman (due to previous violent incidents) and when the bouncers explained this to her she became enraged with feminine clunge-rage. Her volcanic cock-vent started blurping out gallons of Tuna Syrup. The cobbles on that Oirish Lane quickly became awash with the tidal wave of toxic piscatorial effluvium. Her friends were also affected by the bitch’s vaginal-fumes and the pyroclastic-flow from her fish-vent… and they too started to have vigorously enraged pudendas, each violently slathering out copious volumes of hot cunt-liquor from their steaming vaginas-of-doom. All of them wanting Ronan Keating, whose poor manager was upstairs with an elephant rifle ready to take down the rogue female causing all the bother. Ronan had fled and was hiding out in the house of one of his aunts in Cookstown.
      If it was not for the quick-fisted thinking of those poor unarmed bouncers, who knows what carnage those sexually enraged, cock-raping bitches would have done. Imagine their horribly engorged, purple pish-flaps wrapped around poor Ronan Keatings’s face, their white knuckles gripping the poor bastard’s ears as they each in turn ground out their hellish, fishy-syruped, clunge-gasms on his poor face.
      I think a tragedy has been avoided.

      1. @lord-wankdust

        Piscatorial effluvium!! You’ve outdone yourself with this one!
        I hear that he used to perform in full hazmat gear for just this reason but even the gear designed to deal with the most toxic of environments was no match for just one Belfast millie and her bubbling beluga bog. Stripped it right off. Hence the elephant rifle…

          1. Thanks @illegalsmile55 ! It’s true that I can never hope to illicit a full on coffee-out-of-nose situation like we get from LW’s commentaries. He is a wordsmith; I mean “pyroclastic flow from her fish vent”? Masterful! xD
            If I manage to get a little quirk at the side of the lips, I think I’ve done my job!

          2. Oh my! Your “bubbling beluga bog” reference is brilliantly successful on every level. Three words. A mere three words which encapsulate soooo much.

            1. Bubbling – we are talking an active, liquid situation here. Perhaps reacting to heat and some gas generation is involved. Certainly a bit of fizz happening.

            2. Beluga – for me this takes the understanding of this situation to the heightened level of Metaphysical Poetry (I may need to venture into the West Wing and retrieve my 40 year-old bottle of Bushmills Malt later). While this may be a violent drunk Belfast Millie, the inference of quality European fish-eggs (Beluga Sturgeon are a European Species despite the Russian associations of the caviar) reveals the native understanding which perhaps only @lady-lexis can bring to this tasty Smörgåsbord. She has local understanding and tells us all, that even a Norn Oirish “Mackerel Snapper”* is still a tasty, quality fish and her minge will certainly smell and taste like one. Savour this experience. This is poetry on the outer flanges of our ken.

            3. Bog – The fundamental basis of Modernism is its self-reflective nature. Now who says that Norn Irn isn’t a Modernist forward-thinking Motherfucker of a Cuntry? “Bog-Trotter” used to be an Anglo-affectionate term for any dingbat Oirish Paddy or Fidelma with squelchy peat between their twelve toes and three brain cells between their ears. Here we have lady-lexis referring to her fellow cuntrywomen’s front-bottom as a “bog” thus continuing with the bubbling liquid theme and stirring the “Bog-Trotter” reference in for an additional good measure. Lovely.

            * Thank you @illegalsmile55

            This is why Best Gore is so marvellous. Through our Community we develop wider Cultural Understanding, we spread World Peace and extend everyone’s knowledge. We also expand the range of global profanity, expletives and sexual euphemisms. I may start the Lord Wankdust/ Seamus Heinous Poetry Award for Vaginal Euphemisms later in the school term. It will have to go before The Board.

  8. This was some popcorn worthy shit, they both ate concrete which was the best part. The yellow cunt that took the last fall seemed to be a hard shove and goodbye, not proper punches. Pathetic but, bravo.

  9. The one in the yellow/ orange top is a big fan of Ronan Keating from the Oirish Boyband called “Boyzone”. Ronan was making an appearance at that Belfast Club on that night. She had seen the posters and had immediately started producing vast quantities of fishy sludge in her fizzing minge. Ronan had previously taken out Court Orders to exclude this woman (due to previous violent incidents) and when the bouncers explained this to her she became enraged with feminine clunge-rage. Her volcanic cock-vent started blurping out gallons of Tuna Syrup. The cobbles on that Oirish Lane quickly became awash with the tidal wave of toxic piscatorial effluvium. Her friends were also affected by the bitch’s vaginal-fumes and the pyroclastic-flow from her fish-vent… and they too started to have vigorously enraged pudendas, each violently slathering out copious volumes of hot cunt-liquor from their steaming vaginas-of-doom. All of them wanting Ronan Keating, whose poor manager was upstairs with an elephant rifle ready to take down the rogue female causing all the bother. Ronan had fled and was hiding out in the house of one of his aunts in Cookstown.
    If it was not for the quick-fisted thinking of those poor unarmed bouncers, who knows what carnage those sexually enraged, cock-raping bitches would have done. Imagine their horribly engorged, purple pish-flaps wrapped around poor Ronan Keatings’s face, their white knuckles gripping the poor bastard’s ears as they each in turn ground out their hellish, fishy-syruped, clunge-gasms on his poor face.
    I think a tragedy has been avoided.

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