Ms O'Sullivan

A pharmaceutical manager who just might have a go at scratching your eyes out ...

It's as if the slack-jawed Pamela 
O’Sullivan posed for the 
sketch on the right.

Pamela O’Sullivan – who’s employed as manager in this Cork outlet of Boots the Chemist – ranks as one of the most atrocious inbred mongrel bitches that I’ve ever encountered.

She has the looks you’d associate with inbred mountain-type hicks, can’t speak without snarling like a hyena and, completely without shame, attempted to snap a letter from my hand – in much the same manner that a hyena would snatch a piece of meat.

The letter in question was from Boots’ customer-care who were seeking the names of some of this pharmacy's employees whom I had made complaint about – the sibling-fucking scumbags in Cork don't like to have their backwardness related to anyone outside of the area, especially the UK.

O’Sullivan’s way of dealing with my enquiry was an attempt to belittle and cower. The half-witted bastard came at me with the shamelessness of an inebriated sink-estate fishwife; she was so aggressive that her spittle was spraying and dribbling down her chin. She's very much like the diminutive inbred Irish females who Séamus Fahy claimed prodded and beat him with sweeping brushes in St Brigid's hospital, Ballinasloe, Co Galway.

Is criminal stupidity responsible for
this plane’s crash landing and the
deaths of six people?

Her mentality and behaviour is nothing unusual for this part of Ireland. She’s very typical of the inbred backward whore-type that’s to be found in Cork city – this, after all, is the only place in the world where they went against professional advice and constructed an airport on an eternally cloud enveloped site; and where recently a plane, attempting to land in thick cloud, crashed and killed six people.

In south-west Ireland inbreeding is at such high levels that there’s currently examples of half siblings getting married and producing sprogs. Perhaps Pamela O’Sullivan's daddy and mammy were also brother and sister? If they were it would explain Pamela's slackjawed countenance, her vicious coarseness and the disgusting smell of stale urine that she emanates.

Considering the way O’Sullivan carried-on it’s not surprising that the majority of floor staff in this pharmacy are disgusting vitriolic sink-estate types. Pamela and her underlings in this Cork pharmacy are perfect examples of the type of sub-human mongrel that’s to be found in Cork City and south-west Ireland generally – in this part of Ireland the population is, through mental illness that's begot by inbreeding, spiraling downwards to the status of a subspecies.

You’d think when entering that 
the staff would have mediocre 
civil manners – instead you’d 
be meet by hyenas.

When the south-west Irish native gets the urge to reproduce they’ll go sniffing around their extended family in search of a partner. It seems they won’t countenance breeding with anyone with whom they haven’t a blood affinity; only those with closer blood ties than third cousins will be considered – and if a sibling or half-sibling can be wooed then all the better, these bastards really like familiarity.

They then go on to show great pride in the dribbling backward sprogs they produce – little cunts, like Pamela, who'll have to wear nappies until their mid-teens – and are quite capable of scratching the face off anyone who rails against their offspring's idiocy.

The thing, though, that really sticks in my mind about Pamela O’Sullivan is the outrageous stink of urine that reeks from her – the inbred bitch probably has the same knickers on since her baptism. But then a stink of urine is normal for the pissy-knickered mongrel females that’s to be found in Cork City – these diminutive slackjawed cunts will even be encountered as they ride around Cork City on Garda bicycles.