Functional Piss-Heads Dating

At Functional Piss-Heads Dating we have thousands of like-minded members waiting to meet you. Whether you’re looking to make new friends or find the love of your life through the bottom of a glass or at the end of a tin of larger, you’re sure to find someone special. So why not join today? One month’s membership is equivalent to only 6 pints of beer or two bottles of average plonk wine or a bottle of semi-descent Scotch. Face it – you get shit faced every night for more! Why not share those magic moments with someone special – like Carlsberg Special Brew 7.3%!

If you freely admit that you love getting wasted more than you love yourself, never mind anyone else – this is the perfect place to meet someone to share those magic moments of  mutual nervous shakes and Aspirins and then – the joy as the first, ‘hair of the dog’, returns you both to the joyous sanity of mutual debauchery and hedonism.

Even blasted out your skull, we have made every effort to fleece a few quid off you whilst you drunkenly attempt to find some like mindlessly inebriated person to share bodily fluids with. Simply fill in the questionnaire by following the template below and as soon as we have your money from your credit card (if you are blind drunk whilst reading this, we have a very hot line where you can slur your credit card details to our highly trained staff in Kazakhstan who are paid to listen to abuse and XXX grade lurid overtures), and within the sinking of two cans of beer, you will be finding the partner of your drunken wet dreams.

Below is a classic example of Her seeking Him. This delightful lady went on to die under the No 47 bus in Upminster whilst crawling across the road at 3.00 pm after celebrating her 6th divorce. At the time she was using a mobile phone to propose to a wonderful man she met here on Functional Piss-Heads Dating. You will be surprised how easy it is to find a mate for a short life!

About Her        

Country of Origin:United Kingdom
Current Location:Gypsies Camp, somewhere in England, United Kingdom
Gender:Female
Age:49 looking on 63
Star Sign: I see all of them after the 17th Tequila
Height:5′ 1”-5′ 7” (depends what state I am in)
Body Type: Large Vat of Beer (like them pictures of the opening of the Oktoberfest)
Looks:Very Attractive after 16 pints of Special Brew 7.3%
Hair Colour: Manky grey streaked with poor quality blonde dye.
Eye Colour: Bloodshot red
Ethnicity: Piss-head Extremos Loveitus
Home Language: Slurry Sloppy Slappy
Other Languages: ya’ What?
Religion: God of the Beer
Education:I could cant to tin till husband no 3 bit 3 fingers ov, so kan  cant to 8 now.
Occupation: Protester against social service cuts
Annual Income: 15.000 tins of beer a year
Drinking Habits:Lots and lots and more lots
Smoking Habits:Like a coal fired energy producer chimney
Relationship Status:Multiple divorces (I think)
Relationship Types:Friends; Open to possibilities; Short-term; Long-term- Quick shag in a car park.
Have Children:Yes, loads but dunno where they are cos Social Services took em away.
Want Children:Don’t care, cos Social Services take em away.

Why should you get to know HER?

Now the kids are all gone, and I don’t care, I wanna make lots more even if my insides don’t work. I can drink all my social without sicking up and I can kick the shit out any tart who look at me man. I am easy to drag home when pissed and all me plates are plastic, so it don’t hurt when I throw em at ya. I love Big Bother and I no that I would be rich if they let me on it like that East end slapper with the fat lips.

She describes her ideal match thus:

Drinks shit loads and don’t shit in the bed and kan shag loads even when me sleeping, has a huge cock which I can send pics of to Celebrity Shags Magazine.

Has Photo:Decidedly important
Star Sign:Any
Height: 5′ 0”~ 7’9” and that’s just his penis!
Body Type:Brad Pitt
Looks:Who cares when me pissed
Hair Colour:Any
Eye Colour:Any
Ethnicity:Piss-ahead-a-lotus
Home Language: (Moderately important) ya What!
Other Languages:Huh!
Religion:God of Beer
Education:He gotta be able to say thank you sometimes
Occupation:Delivery driver of beer
Annual Income:His own beer, the bastard
Drinking Habits:Lots and Lots and Lots
Smoking Habits:   Smokes his own, the bastard.
Relationship Status: Not in jail
Have Children:Any
Want Children: (Moderately important) Don’t care, cos they get taken off me anyway.

More About Her

Personality Traits:

Easygoing; Funny; Intelligent; Adventurous; Outgoing; Crawls across streets with style, Vomits lady-like in the curb, Don’t wear knickers so quicky Shags are real quick, Realistic; Loving; Loyal; Independent; Thoughtful; Happy; Trustworthy; Faithfulness; Generous, Glass ya if ya stich me up. Rant insanely after 12th Gin and Tonic, Brainless, Incoherent after 3.00pm, Lying, evil, conniving, Good sort.

Sense of Humour:

Light-hearted, till 18th pint then me wanna kick fuck out of anyone.

Valued Qualities:

Friendliness; Honesty; Kindness; Patience; Tolerance; Humour; Huge cock, lots of dosh and he can get me on Big Bother. Faithfulness; Chemistry; Sexiness

Intelligence: Preferably as thick as shit like that |Jade cow slapper
Ruled by:The bottle
Party Behaviour:Wham Bam Gang Bang Shag
Is the glass half full or half empty:ya What!- me want it full always.
Hair Style:Greasy, lank, smell of kippers
Facial Hair:Bit of a stubble on chin if I don’t shave for 3  days
Eyesight:I see fuck all after 16 pints but before that I can see a pint in front of me
Body Art:I have a tattoo of a junkie on me left tit. I got it when I was  a hippie.
Fashion Sense:Alternative (I’m stylish in my own special way, it depends wots in the charity shops)
Pastimes of choice:Going on the piss and kicking fuck out of bitches that look at me man
Music Preferences:any shit, love karaoke when I can sing Kylie Minoggy stuff and show off me legs and tits.
Reading:I read stuff from the council and social services and the police. Not the group..hah hah
TV Habits:I watch television all the time when I aint in the pub, but don’t tell anyone, cos I aint paid for no thieving licence, the bastards.
TV programmes:Big Bover, Lots of Bover, Give Me Bover, I Kick the Bover Out of Ya
Movie Frequency:ya What! On the tellie like.
Movie Preferences:Fighting, Drinking, Shagging
Current Relationship:I shag all and sundry when me well pissed.
Date Activities:Meeting for drinks, lots of drink and then I want shag with huge Cocks.
Pace of Life:Layed back pissed all the time when I can.
Cuisine:£1 pizza with saliva and Cheese from Iceland.
Family Size:I’ve got 12 brothers and sisters I sort of know of cos they want presents at Xmas, the bastards.
Family Contact:I see them outside me door in the morning, the begging bastards. Why they don’t get a job?
Time Online:When I gotta a spare quid to use at intercourse caffi.
Animals:I like roast chicken and lamb and duck. Don’t like dogs cos they shit in the caravan and cats pee on me bed.
Turn-offs:Shit in the bed. Groping udder woman in the pub, stealing me pint, thieving me income support.
Honesty:Don’t believe a word.

So what are you waiting for? Seize the moment and join
 Functional Piss-Heads Dating
And find the partner of your dreams TODAY.

Question of the Week : What’s your favourite thing to suck on?

Every week the ObscureInternet Forum ponders a Question of the Week, this week it is what is your favourite thing to suck on?

hansisland

– licorice root
– 9v battery terminals
– If bottles of budweiser could stay cold and ‘full’ i could suck on one of those all day….
– if i could reach my………. censored.
– mint imperials

scribbler

Sweet…
Sweets

Mmmmmmmmm.

Dr.Sauce

Sweets

Mick

maths

Fagash Lil

The filling in Cadbury Creme Eggs.

dawnylou

Lindt chocolates of course Sweets

GLeN

Without doubt it’s Swizzler Double Lollies. Ate two tubs of them other Christmas.

grey

I do find dry oatmeal mildly entertaining…. or salted peanuts…

Crag2804

Sweets are more softspot, I’m partial to the odd wine gum.

Join the Question of the Week in the ObscureInternet forum

Green O’Dare – Fire Fighter

Finally, the raging fires in Hertfordshire oil depot in North London have been extinguished after four days of relentless burning. I have been lucky to witness, as a reporter for this newspaper, the exact moment when, with local fire brigades in turmoil and in pay rise strike anarchy, they sat back and watched how a true dedicated fire-fighter did his job. Just as a Swede was needed to turn up and manage the national football team, it took another foreigner’s professional dedication to tame the worst disaster on English soil since the Second World War.

Patriotic Irishman Green O’Dare, was until recently little known to the general public. He was forever cast in the flaming shadow of his hero and mentor, the late fiery Texan, Red Adair – who could blow out raging oils wells simply by farting! Green O’ Dare comes from an impoverished family in the west of Ireland and he had little inkling of his incredible talents until a freak accident during a candle lit Christmas dinner five years ago. His Uncle Murphy had been blessing the potatoes (braised in Guinness), when the highly intoxicated man had passed his immense whiskey soaked beard and long hair too near the candles. Acting instantly, without fear of harming himself, Green had punted the howling, holocaust engulfed defrocked priest through the only window, landing him head first in the shit-bucket that was the communal bog. It was then that O’Dare realised that his future lay in fire fighting.

A year ago, he became something of a celebrity when he appeared on the popular BBC 2 television program Dragon’s Den. Green had been looking for financial backing for what he dubbed – ‘Poor Bastards’ Bath Tubs’, made from cardboard. At the age of 53 he gave up his life of Reilly, signed off the dole and became self employed. The idea was simple but he sadly failed in his request for a quarter of a million pounds. As he afterwards explained – ‘the fool place had a bleedin’ wood floor, for Christ’s sake! When I used a plumber’s portable Bunsen burner to get the corners nicely lit – to get the water hot, like – the feekin’ place burnt down! Them rich gits legged it, like blue-arsed flies. I tell ye, that Lady Muck is right fit mind, for her age, but not as fit as me – I got me Irish arse out the place first.’
O’Dare was undeterred with the minor set back. As he went on to tell –
‘I tell ye what though. That very next day, me mate Shamus blew himself up when he dropped a lit match into the petrol tank of a motorbike he had just nicked; to see how much gas was inside. I was across the road in the Feek I’m Thirsty pub, having a quite pint and a little rabbit with me boys, when in runs your man, screaming his bleedin’ fool head off!’
Green continues, ‘so I decked the feekin eejit with me bar stool, and then I got the lads to piss on him till he stopped burning and moaning. It took a while like, cos it was his round, and I had a right job getting a tenner out his jeans; what with him rolling about, flapping his arms like a headless chicken, effin’ and blindin’, and such. Afterwards I thought me lads had done me proud and I knew then, I could organise a fire fighting outfit to rival the best.’

Green was not wrong and he invested his life savings of twenty pounds in an extended version of a 1978 East German Trabant as his main fire-fighter carrier. As he explained last year in an interview with the best selling newspaper, Irish Simple Minds,
‘That Trabbi is almost indestructible, and it will go on any liquid shit that burns. I got a ladder in it and three buckets. I’ve not driven it yet, but it’s in a garage waiting for an emergency. I’m telling ye, me and my lads can handle anything.’ That moment finally came this week…

In a late night session of Parliament yesterday, the Prime Minister, Toenee Nutcase, attempted to answer satisfactorily the opposition’s questions, as to why it had taken four days to finally get Green O’Dare to put out the fires. In an emotion filled reply, the Prime Minister, struggling to be heard over the noise of illegal Nigerians, vacuum cleaning with their new Asian made Dissya machines, told the packed house –
‘One of the side effects of my new law, to allow 24/7 drinking, is that Green O’Dare was unfortunately only located by her Majesty’s Secret Service in the Feek I’m Thirsty pub in Kensington yesterday. It appears he has been there ever since the law was passed and he had unfortunately neglected to inform his sick benefits officer of his recent change of address.’
The Prime Minister had been facing massive rising criticism of his governments handling of the entire situation, which has seen a huge increase of panic stricken drivers queuing for hours at petrol stations to fill their MPV, and off road 4×4’s. (Though most are still struggling to find some off- road.)
Toeknee Nutcase went on to explain, ‘Mr O’Dare was awoken at 2.30 pm, and when presented with 50,000 pounds in cash, promised to assemble his team and extinguish the blaze.’

So it was, that I was witness when Green O’Dare and his crew, around 4.30 pm, careered at full tilt straight past the awaiting press. The green painted Trabant, with the Irish Flag painted on the bonnet, was packed with brave fire-fighters. The occupants’ eyes could be seen to bulge with excitement and their comradely, adrenalin inspiring chants –
‘Jeesoos Feekin’ Christ! I shit me cacks!’, could easily be heard above the sound of the screaming two stroke engine as it disappeared at well over 70 miles an hour into the inferno.
It was difficult to see exactly how they started, for the whirling clouds of black smoke constantly blocked our vision, but there were brief moments, when we, the reporters, could look into that raging holocaust. It was soul moving, the emotions we felt, as these gallant men fearlessly fought the very entrance of hell itself.
The Trabant converted fire engine had obviously stopped after colliding with the largest oil tank, O’Dares team had rapidly and professionally dispersed in what apparently appeared to be a well planned circle. As wind flurries opened up gaps in the oily black smoke, it could be seen they had removed their Donkey jackets and were repeatedly beating at each other to put out the fires that broken out all over them. Green himself could be seen protecting his head with a bucket he had removed from the Trabant, just before it blew up. Strands of his screamed instructions to his chivalrous crew came to our ears.
‘Feek me blind, it’s hot. We haven’t got a baldy – Run for ye lives, ye bastaads.’
Several of them had freely released their bladders, so as to extinguish their nylon track suit bottoms that were trying to melt into their skin. The loyalty of the crew to their leader was awe inspiring. Three of them, hair alight, had run out the devils playground, howling like possessed banshees, for a quick fag break. However, as again and again the screams of – ‘don’t let that bastaad O’Dare out ye sights lads, he got the bleedin’ money he promised us,’ could heard, they had rushed back in, their Nicked trainers bubbling from the heat. Still using their jackets, the incredibly brave men, after what seemed an eternity, finally beat a path out. Their super human effort also effectively extinguished the last of the flames.

Green O’Dare was one of the last to emerge from the black soot. He looked like an exhausted bat out of hell. He had staggered over to the applauding crowds and after removing his glowing red bucket with blistered hands, it could be seen his head was now just a mass of smoking curls. I went over, congratulated him and asked what he would do with the money that he had so deservedly earned. His red raw eyes stared at me in post traumatic blankness. Then, with a breath, now smelling of warm fermented stale Guinness, he replied in a quivering fatigued filled voice –
‘Gawd help me, I’m touching cloth. But I tell ye – next time I buy a car, I hope the feekin’ brakes work!’