Dear Jocky: The DAB Dinner

Dear Jocky,

My new girlfriend has asked me to meet her mum and dad for the first time. We’re going to their house for tea. My concern is her auld man being a big United fan, while I’m Derry’d oot my nut. Can you offer me some advice for dealing with the Arab bastard?

Boab, Hulltoon.

Hiya Boab! Hiya pal!

The key to this situation is establishing dominance, Boaby boy. For a kick-off, yer burd’s auld man’s team is a shitey wee 1st division outfit wha got relegated tae fuck at Dens. As if the cunt’s life couldnae get any worse, you’re shagging his daughter and probably shouting “UNITED! UNITED! YOU. ARE. SHITE!” as ye spurt yer muck in her. Boab, you’re running the fucking show here. You’re in cherge! Here’s Jocky’s gemme plan:

You and the burd turn up at her parents’ door. She’s sayin, “Oh Bobby! I just know they’re going to love you as much as I do!” You’re like, “Fuckin’ ken aye, Hulltoon Huns rule ya bas.” She giggles at yer bad boy persona. You’ve done well here, Boab.

The door opens. It’s the mither wha answers. She’s a’ friendly and happy tae see ye. Be nice, Boab. She’s no’ an Arab, she’s probably sound. She might even be up for a pump somewhere doon the line, so play yer cairds right here. A wee cuddle and kiss on the cheek. Tell her it’s fuckin’ teckle tae meet her. Let her catch ye glancing at her tits just so she kens you’re up fur kerrying on should it ever be on the agenda. Ye never ken, aye?

Ye head inside and the auld man’s sitting there in front o’ the telly. He gets up, eyeballs ye, and growls a welcome.

Growl right back at the cunt, Boab.

He offers a handshake. Accept it, and crush fuck oot the cunt’s hand.

“Awright mister? Eh’m shagging yer daughter and cannae help but think yer wife’s likely up fur bein’ pumped until the neighbours complain aboot the smell tae, ken? Dens Derry ya bas.”

The auld man will squeeze yer hand like fuck at that. Maintain yer grip, Boab. Also note the burd’s mum said fuck all in reply. She’s up fur it.

Tea time. A’ cunt sits doon at the table. As a Hulltoon man you’ll be surprised that cunts eat meals both on tables and from plates, but show nae hesitation in front o the auld man.

“So, son: what do you do for a living?”

The interrogation begins. The auld man wants tae ken stuff, Boab. TELL THE CUNT FUCK ALL.

“If ye hate Dundee Yenited…” sings Boab, Hulltoon.

Boy looks perplexed. Nae wonder. You’re the only cunt that claps their hands when you finish the first verse.

“If ye really fucking hate thum…”

The auld man’s no’ happy. He’s struggling to get the top aff the bottle o’ broon sauce. He’s even mair unhappy when you tak it aff him and remove it nae bather. Yas!

“If ye cannae fucking stand thum…”

The auld man gies the broon sauce a rage-shake and splatters half the bottle on his steak peh, ruining it.

Stand up, Boab! Rip yer shirt aff tae reveal the full-torso tattoo o’ Craig Wighton celebrating the goal that relegated United!


The auld man lunges at ye. Boab fae the Hulltoon, a Derry boy, kens what tae dae here. Boot fuck oot yer burd’s dad in front o’ his wife and daughter. It’s necessary. The boy deserves it.

Once the cunt’s defeated and greetin’ like Hooly at the end o’ the Doon Derby, sit him back doon. Gie him a wee consolation cuddle. As he chills oot and relaxes a bit, tell the mum tae stand up, and put an arm roond her. Ask her tae unzip ye. She’ll be enjoyin’ herself beh this stage o’ the gemme and will dae it nae bather.

“Helen, whip yer breeks doon and bend ower the table fur Boaby fae the Hulltoon.” Fuck sake, Boab.

As the mum gladly does as she’s telt, use a wee dollop o’ the broon sauce Arab-auld-man wiz less than economical wi’ and grease yer banger. Her fanny will be wet enough tae drown a midget in, but Helen’s gemme fur anal, and that kerry on needs a wee bit o’ broon sauce tae lubricate the Derry Rhumba her erse is aboot tae endure.

We hate the Celtic and the Rangers, DUNDEE UNITED! ARE SHITE.

When ye finish shagging yer burd’s mum’s erse in front o’ her dad, be sure tae thank the man fur his hospitality. Good manners cost fuck all, and first impressions count.

One team in Dundee. All the best, Boab.


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