Welcome To TheDeadParrots.com

Right finally after weeks and weeks of begging I have finally decided to write the story of how The Dead Parrots were born. Admittedly I really should be studying for my exams or
working or something shit like that but to be honest I could not be arsed. So here we go. It all began on a Friday night in Ballyfermot when me and a few of my colleagues decided to wet our whistles after a hard days "work"(We actually spent the day in Chasers at an Aaron Darcy gig whom happens to be a good friend of ours). Now being in Ballyfermot we had a wide and varied selection of Public Houses from which to chose. Having weighted up all the various pro's and con's of all of the Pubs we decided to go to none other than Chasers in the hope that we would see you of the many celebrities that frequent it. Celebrities the likes of Lillies or Renards would be jealous of. Whom I hear you ask ??? Well to name but a few you have the human cider vacuum, Crappy. George "your barred your not barred", Finchy ( Chris Finch bloody good rep), P.J Murph (More infamous than famous
really) and the quiz meister general who will figure later on in this story...Click here to read on...

A tale of two men hell bent on winning, a salt shaker championship 35 frames of top class snooker and a greasy fry...

A tale of two of the finest snooker players to come out of ballyfermot face to face in a bitter battle to win the illusive mazzoni cup.
The best of 37 frames.
At the end of the crusume battle the winner recives the one and only mazzoni cup which happens to be a salt shaker but not just any salt shaker,a salt shaker from mazzonis,the best fry in the world......Click here for the Full story..

Queueing For the Visas

A tale of one young couple's adventures against a cold night, a drunken fool and an incident with a frozen willy

OK, this is for James who quite honestly cannot remember what happened on the night we queued for Canadian visas (which means James there is simply no point in you writing an account of this).

First off, Wednesday 18th March was a damn cold night. I was content in the knowledge that I was to get up the following morning at 6 a.m. and venture into Aston Quay to queue for the visa. Our plan was clear: James would go to Chasers and drink lucozade (drunken queuing is just not fun) and I would wait at home in Rathmines. When the pub closed he would make his way over to my apartment via Aston Quay to check out the queue. I was cosy in my pyjamas and cuppa sat in front of the TV when my cosiness would be abruptly brought to a standstill. ‘Chaira, ye hive ta cime inta tooowwn, derrrez alriddy ‘bou a hunderhafify people in da queue’. Relaxation forever ruined....Click Here for the Full Story